[ He could. He would, if Gustave asked him to, if Gustave put a hand on his chest and pushed him back, he knows Verso would go. Growling, maybe, but it wouldn't be the first time Gustave's put up a barrier that Verso's respected.
He's tempted to try it now, just to see, but then Verso's kissing his way back down along his chest and setting his warm, wet mouth back over a too-sensitive nipple and the idea of trying to push him away, even a little, even for a joke, becomes utterly unthinkable. Verso might as well be trying to sear it out of his head completely, along with every other word he knows. The only sound he can make for a moment is a moan that's almost a whimper as Verso slides his hand back up to his chest, teasing him so torturously that for a moment Gustave feels like he might simply fall completely apart with need.
He breathes out a laugh, arching up into Verso's mouth, his touch, pressing hard against the thigh that grinds so deliciously against him. ]
โPretty close, I bet.
[ No surprise there. Intimacy like this hadn't been a part of his life in the two years since the garden. Before Verso snatched him out of the air and pressed him up against a rock wall just the other day, the only person to touch him like this at all was himself. Verso, in his dreams, or Sophie, maybe. But when consciousness returned, it was only his own hands on his body, no matter what face his mind tried to attach to them.
He runs those hands over Verso now, cupping and gripping, fingers digging into warm skin and firm muscle, pressing the pink beginnings of bruises when Gustave can't focus enough to moderate how hard he's curling his fingers over an arm, against his back, his shoulders. The fingers of his right hand slide up into the dark waves of his hair and grip there, hard. ]
no subject
He's tempted to try it now, just to see, but then Verso's kissing his way back down along his chest and setting his warm, wet mouth back over a too-sensitive nipple and the idea of trying to push him away, even a little, even for a joke, becomes utterly unthinkable. Verso might as well be trying to sear it out of his head completely, along with every other word he knows. The only sound he can make for a moment is a moan that's almost a whimper as Verso slides his hand back up to his chest, teasing him so torturously that for a moment Gustave feels like he might simply fall completely apart with need.
He breathes out a laugh, arching up into Verso's mouth, his touch, pressing hard against the thigh that grinds so deliciously against him. ]
โPretty close, I bet.
[ No surprise there. Intimacy like this hadn't been a part of his life in the two years since the garden. Before Verso snatched him out of the air and pressed him up against a rock wall just the other day, the only person to touch him like this at all was himself. Verso, in his dreams, or Sophie, maybe. But when consciousness returned, it was only his own hands on his body, no matter what face his mind tried to attach to them.
He runs those hands over Verso now, cupping and gripping, fingers digging into warm skin and firm muscle, pressing the pink beginnings of bruises when Gustave can't focus enough to moderate how hard he's curling his fingers over an arm, against his back, his shoulders. The fingers of his right hand slide up into the dark waves of his hair and grip there, hard. ]
Verso, my godโ the way you make me feelโ