[ Verso only seems to lean into those roaming touches, pleased little sounds escaping his throat between kisses, loves how Gustave can't even seem to decide what he wants to touch or hold onto, except just him. Reaching for anything he can touch, gripping squeezing, a gasp caught his throat at pressure tightening through his hair. He leans into that pressure, tipping his head up into it, that same movement leading him to meet Gustave's eyes, to watch as he says his name.
Merde. After everything else, that still gets him going more than almost anything Gustave does, just the sound of his name falling from his lip and on his tongue, on a smile, a laugh, in conversation, gasped and moaned like its a lone prayer when its he's completely shattered and fallen apart. His eyes darken, fingers pinching a little harder at his nipple, but otherwise keeping up a steady rhythm and pressure, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, sometimes taking a moment to flick his thumb over the hardened nub.
He leans in with a speed and intensity that makes it seem like he was almost pulled in by gravity, crashing against Gustave's lips to steal the last of those words with his own tongue. He shifts his weight to press him even further down against the grass, his thigh still slotted firmly between Gustave's legs, breaking away almost just as suddenly and violently as he'd went in with a groan against his throat. ]
You're so fucking beautiful. [ The words are hissed through his teeth as he kisses his way back down over his chest, another lingering bruise added to where his collarbone meets his shoulder. It's almost hard to make out the words between the kisses, for as reluctant as he is to pull too far from his body, from his skin -- almost like he's not even saying them for Gustave to hear. He's saying it because he can't help himself, because it bubbles out from something in his chest, the edge of something feral as he tongues over his other nipple. ] J'ai vraiment envie de toi -- I don't think -- you understand, Gustave.
Just how much -- you're driving me fucking crazy.
[ Just by being him. Just by doing this. He latches on hard to that sensitive bud, sucking, hollowing his cheeks, tonguing at him in his mouth, his beard and scruff scratching against his skin. Maybe he can really bring him over, maybe he can't and will have to touch him, but Verso certainly seems to be throwing himself into that attempt with absolutely no shortage of vigor despite the limitation, as fully as he throws himself into everything else Gustave has ever given him. ]
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Date: 2025-06-14 03:06 am (UTC)Merde. After everything else, that still gets him going more than almost anything Gustave does, just the sound of his name falling from his lip and on his tongue, on a smile, a laugh, in conversation, gasped and moaned like its a lone prayer when its he's completely shattered and fallen apart. His eyes darken, fingers pinching a little harder at his nipple, but otherwise keeping up a steady rhythm and pressure, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, sometimes taking a moment to flick his thumb over the hardened nub.
He leans in with a speed and intensity that makes it seem like he was almost pulled in by gravity, crashing against Gustave's lips to steal the last of those words with his own tongue. He shifts his weight to press him even further down against the grass, his thigh still slotted firmly between Gustave's legs, breaking away almost just as suddenly and violently as he'd went in with a groan against his throat. ]
You're so fucking beautiful. [ The words are hissed through his teeth as he kisses his way back down over his chest, another lingering bruise added to where his collarbone meets his shoulder. It's almost hard to make out the words between the kisses, for as reluctant as he is to pull too far from his body, from his skin -- almost like he's not even saying them for Gustave to hear. He's saying it because he can't help himself, because it bubbles out from something in his chest, the edge of something feral as he tongues over his other nipple. ] J'ai vraiment envie de toi -- I don't think -- you understand, Gustave.
Just how much -- you're driving me fucking crazy.
[ Just by being him. Just by doing this. He latches on hard to that sensitive bud, sucking, hollowing his cheeks, tonguing at him in his mouth, his beard and scruff scratching against his skin. Maybe he can really bring him over, maybe he can't and will have to touch him, but Verso certainly seems to be throwing himself into that attempt with absolutely no shortage of vigor despite the limitation, as fully as he throws himself into everything else Gustave has ever given him. ]