[ Verso calls him his and Verso attacks him like a wild animal, wolfish and devouring in his desire. Some small flicker of sanity struggling somewhere in the back of Gustave's mind, threatened by the onslaught of need and pleasure and want, reminds him that he shouldโ he should get his hands on Verso beforeโ
But then Verso's fingers are curling hard around him, stroking him roughly, and it's like Verso's grabbed him by the hair to drag him bodily up the peak of this pleasure. Whatever small amount of control he still had is washed away in an instant, a flash flood scouring through him, slipping the leash on his ability to think, to talk, to control himself at all.
With the last vestiges of sanity before they burn away like tissue paper in a wildfire, he drags his left hand off Verso's back and lets the fingers sink into the grass and earth at his side, digging hard furrows into the dirt as they fist and contract. ]
Yours, I'mโ Versoโ
[ He's all helpless movement, arching and writhing under Verso's relentless assault, mind a static haze of white. He is his body, hot and sweat-slicked and needy, a taut bowstring in Verso's grip. He's back on that promontory, overlooking the continent and the sea, and this time Verso is there, hands hard on his back to shove him over the edge. Every word singes itself against his gasping mouth, that hand unforgiving at his chest, pinching and twisting and driving him out of his mind. Verso talks like some floodgate has opened, like he can't help himself, filthy needy words that strike like lighting. Each one feels like another finger wrapped around him, gripping tight, rough with calluses and need.
He barely has any idea what he himself is saying, a tumble of words in two languages as his mind sparks and catches and stutters. ]
Yeah, Iโ je vaisโ je vaisโ Versoโ
[ And then, abruptly, he's there, his spine locking as his head pushes back, a grimace almost like agony furrowing his brows hard as his hips press helplessly into Verso's hand and he spills hot and hard and wet over those fingers, onto his own belly. It almost hurts, aching and sudden and perfect, and for a moment he does just as Verso demands, forgets everything, everything, except him and his hands and his mouth.
And his name. Dragged out of him on a wrenching groan as he shudders and breaks and falls messily apart. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2025-06-14 04:08 pm (UTC)But then Verso's fingers are curling hard around him, stroking him roughly, and it's like Verso's grabbed him by the hair to drag him bodily up the peak of this pleasure. Whatever small amount of control he still had is washed away in an instant, a flash flood scouring through him, slipping the leash on his ability to think, to talk, to control himself at all.
With the last vestiges of sanity before they burn away like tissue paper in a wildfire, he drags his left hand off Verso's back and lets the fingers sink into the grass and earth at his side, digging hard furrows into the dirt as they fist and contract. ]
Yours, I'mโ Versoโ
[ He's all helpless movement, arching and writhing under Verso's relentless assault, mind a static haze of white. He is his body, hot and sweat-slicked and needy, a taut bowstring in Verso's grip. He's back on that promontory, overlooking the continent and the sea, and this time Verso is there, hands hard on his back to shove him over the edge. Every word singes itself against his gasping mouth, that hand unforgiving at his chest, pinching and twisting and driving him out of his mind. Verso talks like some floodgate has opened, like he can't help himself, filthy needy words that strike like lighting. Each one feels like another finger wrapped around him, gripping tight, rough with calluses and need.
He barely has any idea what he himself is saying, a tumble of words in two languages as his mind sparks and catches and stutters. ]
Yeah, Iโ je vaisโ je vaisโ Versoโ
[ And then, abruptly, he's there, his spine locking as his head pushes back, a grimace almost like agony furrowing his brows hard as his hips press helplessly into Verso's hand and he spills hot and hard and wet over those fingers, onto his own belly. It almost hurts, aching and sudden and perfect, and for a moment he does just as Verso demands, forgets everything, everything, except him and his hands and his mouth.
And his name. Dragged out of him on a wrenching groan as he shudders and breaks and falls messily apart. ]
Verso.