[ He likes Gustave like this, all mussed out and spent, weighed down all languid, looking beautiful as always with a gently heaving chest with every breath and that hair all mussed around his head. Verso imagines, briefly, just how much more taken apart he'd look if he got to spread him open, press inside him, feel him come apart all around him --
That fleeting fantasy honestly lasts briefly, because the wet warmth of Gustave's mouth and tongue around his fingers is more than enough to pull him back and ground him here. Verso watches, eyes half-lidded and quietly pleased as Gustave cleans himself off of hs own fingers, and when he tries to pull his hand back, about to take the opportunity to press back in for a kiss -- the movement is arrested. Gently, but firmly, and Verso can't even really push back against it because Gustave is sucking one finger back into his mouth, suddenly a bit more eager, lathering attention over his finger with his tongue.
And Verso's back in the garden, suddenly. It's absurd, how even though he's known Gustave was alive for weeks, after he's been watching him from afar, after they've already had quite a few stolen moments of crashing into each other like this -- that he can still dream of the garden. So easily, so readily. Gustave is a beautiful dream, wreathed in gold as the sunlight catches in his hair, still mostly dressed when Verso pushed him back. He can feel every muscle in his body wanting to move, to push him down, to kiss him, but Gustave had just asked him to stop. So he stops, patient, giving him the space he needs -- only for the man to start tonguing at his fingers almost just like this, worshipful and lingering, and Verso can remember how it was a genuine war to fight back every instinct his body had to reach for him.
Verso's fingers twitch against his tongue, his hand otherwise completely relaxed in Gustave's metal grip. clever and nimble as the gently guide his index finger out and slip another finger back in. He can feel his breath catch almost violently in his chest, his heart leaping into his throat when Gustave looks up at him through those lashes. ]
Merde. [ He does have more of his faculties around him than before, but the words still fall automatically from his lips without thinking. ] You're beautiful.
[ His beautiful, beautiful Monsieur le fleuriste, clever with his mouth and tongue and even more so with his fingers. Verso ends up sitting back slightly on his calves, hips framed between Gustave's thighs, his own breathing only barely starting to truly settle back down, a little pleasant shiver running through him as Gustave sucks at his finger. ]
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Date: 2025-06-14 06:56 pm (UTC)That fleeting fantasy honestly lasts briefly, because the wet warmth of Gustave's mouth and tongue around his fingers is more than enough to pull him back and ground him here. Verso watches, eyes half-lidded and quietly pleased as Gustave cleans himself off of hs own fingers, and when he tries to pull his hand back, about to take the opportunity to press back in for a kiss -- the movement is arrested. Gently, but firmly, and Verso can't even really push back against it because Gustave is sucking one finger back into his mouth, suddenly a bit more eager, lathering attention over his finger with his tongue.
And Verso's back in the garden, suddenly. It's absurd, how even though he's known Gustave was alive for weeks, after he's been watching him from afar, after they've already had quite a few stolen moments of crashing into each other like this -- that he can still dream of the garden. So easily, so readily. Gustave is a beautiful dream, wreathed in gold as the sunlight catches in his hair, still mostly dressed when Verso pushed him back. He can feel every muscle in his body wanting to move, to push him down, to kiss him, but Gustave had just asked him to stop. So he stops, patient, giving him the space he needs -- only for the man to start tonguing at his fingers almost just like this, worshipful and lingering, and Verso can remember how it was a genuine war to fight back every instinct his body had to reach for him.
Verso's fingers twitch against his tongue, his hand otherwise completely relaxed in Gustave's metal grip. clever and nimble as the gently guide his index finger out and slip another finger back in. He can feel his breath catch almost violently in his chest, his heart leaping into his throat when Gustave looks up at him through those lashes. ]
Merde. [ He does have more of his faculties around him than before, but the words still fall automatically from his lips without thinking. ] You're beautiful.
[ His beautiful, beautiful Monsieur le fleuriste, clever with his mouth and tongue and even more so with his fingers. Verso ends up sitting back slightly on his calves, hips framed between Gustave's thighs, his own breathing only barely starting to truly settle back down, a little pleasant shiver running through him as Gustave sucks at his finger. ]