[ Once again, Gustave catches him so readily off guard.
The past two years have been lonelier than usual, when he's genuinely kept his distance from the Expeditioners that came, only to help them from afar -- but before that, well, dalliances were hardly uncommon, with people being what they are and with the Expeditioners being so far away from home and at the end of their lives. Verso enjoys that, doesn't mind playing that role for them at all ( even if sometimes, too often, his heart would fall away from him further than it should, not too far but enough for it to sting ), and things there are often simple. Heat, desire, something physical and grounded and real, there at the end of the world.
Gustave wants him for him. An idea that Verso already knows but still doesn't think he fully grasps or understands, sometimes. He lets himself relax a little into Gustave's attentions, tipping his head to the side with an appreciative groan as he mouths a few bruises of his own against his shoulder, against his collarbone, marks that would easily heal in a minute or two if it weren't for Verso making sure they won't. His words are so genuine, heartachingly earnest, and it takes a moment for him to get what he means -- Gustave wants to please him, wants to do right by him, wants him to tell him how. And that's different, from what Verso normally deals with.
Verso smiles, though it gets a bit lost on a sharp gasp when he feels Gustave's teeth against his neck, and then against his lips and tongue when he kisses him. He kisses him back, that still-burning want in him stirring all over again, tonguing hungrily into his mouth, and when Gustave breaks from it his fingers immediately move to twist through his hair to pull him back in -- but he stops, seeing those eyes. Determined, and sure.
What does he say? The truth, he thinks. ]
I think you're finding the words just fine, mon chou.
[ Telling him he's so beautiful that he leaves him speechless is perfectly effective, has him feeling warm and heady, describing him as ensnaring Gustave's attention also fueling that fire lit still burning low in his stomach. He wraps his arms around him, fingers still in his hair, pulls him in for another kiss anyway, starting sweet but quickly edging into something just a little harder before breaking away. Verso likes what Gustave's doing already.
But. ]
If you wanted to try your hand at something else? [ He hums as if in thought even when its clear from the light in his eyes that he already knows the answer, pulling Gustave even closer, making some soft, pleased sounda the way their bodies fit together, at the feeling of skin against his own. His voice eases lower, rumbling in his chest, against Gustave's, in turn. ] I'd really like to hear about -- Any way you imagined me, these past years.
[ His own fervid fantasies were driven by that awful yearning, aching and desperate and reaching across a gap he thought he'd never cross. Gustave has mentioned imagining him already: in his bed, under the morning sun, taking Verso in his mouth. He likesthat image, and wouldn't mind knowing more, wants to imagine his Monsieur le fleuriste dreaming of him in his own bed and touching himself to his fantasies, wants to know what those fantasies were. ]
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The past two years have been lonelier than usual, when he's genuinely kept his distance from the Expeditioners that came, only to help them from afar -- but before that, well, dalliances were hardly uncommon, with people being what they are and with the Expeditioners being so far away from home and at the end of their lives. Verso enjoys that, doesn't mind playing that role for them at all ( even if sometimes, too often, his heart would fall away from him further than it should, not too far but enough for it to sting ), and things there are often simple. Heat, desire, something physical and grounded and real, there at the end of the world.
Gustave wants him for him. An idea that Verso already knows but still doesn't think he fully grasps or understands, sometimes. He lets himself relax a little into Gustave's attentions, tipping his head to the side with an appreciative groan as he mouths a few bruises of his own against his shoulder, against his collarbone, marks that would easily heal in a minute or two if it weren't for Verso making sure they won't. His words are so genuine, heartachingly earnest, and it takes a moment for him to get what he means -- Gustave wants to please him, wants to do right by him, wants him to tell him how. And that's different, from what Verso normally deals with.
Verso smiles, though it gets a bit lost on a sharp gasp when he feels Gustave's teeth against his neck, and then against his lips and tongue when he kisses him. He kisses him back, that still-burning want in him stirring all over again, tonguing hungrily into his mouth, and when Gustave breaks from it his fingers immediately move to twist through his hair to pull him back in -- but he stops, seeing those eyes. Determined, and sure.
What does he say? The truth, he thinks. ]
I think you're finding the words just fine, mon chou.
[ Telling him he's so beautiful that he leaves him speechless is perfectly effective, has him feeling warm and heady, describing him as ensnaring Gustave's attention also fueling that fire lit still burning low in his stomach. He wraps his arms around him, fingers still in his hair, pulls him in for another kiss anyway, starting sweet but quickly edging into something just a little harder before breaking away. Verso likes what Gustave's doing already.
But. ]
If you wanted to try your hand at something else? [ He hums as if in thought even when its clear from the light in his eyes that he already knows the answer, pulling Gustave even closer, making some soft, pleased sounda the way their bodies fit together, at the feeling of skin against his own. His voice eases lower, rumbling in his chest, against Gustave's, in turn. ] I'd really like to hear about -- Any way you imagined me, these past years.
[ His own fervid fantasies were driven by that awful yearning, aching and desperate and reaching across a gap he thought he'd never cross. Gustave has mentioned imagining him already: in his bed, under the morning sun, taking Verso in his mouth. He likesthat image, and wouldn't mind knowing more, wants to imagine his Monsieur le fleuriste dreaming of him in his own bed and touching himself to his fantasies, wants to know what those fantasies were. ]