[ Verso completely believes that Gustave isn't good at this, and he's both a little surprised and somehow not that he's so willing to try. There's something in him that's eager to please, and while Verso's been murmuring heated words into his ear, he can tell that the kinds of things he was saying to him -- maybe weren't completely new, but definitely a bit unfamiliar. Whatever partners and suitors Gustave has had before may not have told him such stories, or at least never did it quite like that, telling im of all the things he wants to do to him, picking just one and feeding the heated fantasy into his mind's eye as he touches him and brings him up and up until he falls to pieces.
But Gustave clearly likes it, had asked to hear more, had shared his own little fragments of fantasies. Simple ones that were just about the wistful could-have-beens, something with a bit more heat and the description of how he'd imagined Verso in his bed. It's there. Maybe he's embarrassed, but Verso thinks Gustave would like to be able to tell him in the same way, and merde he certainly would love to hear any of the dreams his sweet Monsieur le fleuriste had of him, just what thoughts drove him whenever he laid in bed touched himself to the memory of him.
Gustave starts, and he's clearly unsure. Verso is encouraging, listening, leaning into Gustave's touches and kisses with pleased gasps and sighs. encouraging all of his touches and matching them with his own. Languid, teasing, maybe just enough to be a bit distracting ( but not too much, he'll let his fleuriste work ), a hand in his hair and playing with a stray curl between his fingers, a hand stroking along his back, following some old faded scar he can just barely feel. He shivers pleasantly with a soft sigh when Gustave's teeth graze at his earlobe, his languid smile growing a little brighter when he realizes the kind of picture Gustave is painting.
Not just a singular fervid reunion, but something with a bit more thought and weight, this is clearly a real fantasy, something he'd genuinely dreamed. Both of them meeting at the Academy, and given how two years later they're both still dreaming of the garden, doubtless in this dream memories of that morning in the sunlight would only immediately rush in. Introducing themselves as if they needed to, a small lingering touch from Gustave to let him know, and Gustave being the one to pull him aside. Somewhere quiet, somewhere abandoned, and a real place that Gustave has thought of, just for this. ]
It'd have taken my breath away just seeing you again.
[ He pulls Gustave in for a kiss, tonguing into his mouth and pulling away, lips curved against Gustave's own, their foreheads pressed together. He shifts in the grass, trying to be more comfortable, ends up sitting down and pulling Gustave into him, ducking his head to kiss again at his shoulder, taking a moment to nip a little at his skin and soothe it over with his tongue, that warm thrum of heat and want still singing through his nerves. ]
Sounds like a quiet place, where we might not be bothered. [ His smile curves into a smirk. He does know it. Verso has a practiced familiarity with many of Lumiere's abandoned buildings, left empty as their owners vanished into dust and petals. ] -- Would you take me there?
[ One hand finds Gustave's thigh, squeezing over lean muscle, thumb circling a little against his inner thigh -- just to touch him, just to feel him, but encouraging, too. Keep going, boo. ]
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But Gustave clearly likes it, had asked to hear more, had shared his own little fragments of fantasies. Simple ones that were just about the wistful could-have-beens, something with a bit more heat and the description of how he'd imagined Verso in his bed. It's there. Maybe he's embarrassed, but Verso thinks Gustave would like to be able to tell him in the same way, and merde he certainly would love to hear any of the dreams his sweet Monsieur le fleuriste had of him, just what thoughts drove him whenever he laid in bed touched himself to the memory of him.
Gustave starts, and he's clearly unsure. Verso is encouraging, listening, leaning into Gustave's touches and kisses with pleased gasps and sighs. encouraging all of his touches and matching them with his own. Languid, teasing, maybe just enough to be a bit distracting ( but not too much, he'll let his fleuriste work ), a hand in his hair and playing with a stray curl between his fingers, a hand stroking along his back, following some old faded scar he can just barely feel. He shivers pleasantly with a soft sigh when Gustave's teeth graze at his earlobe, his languid smile growing a little brighter when he realizes the kind of picture Gustave is painting.
Not just a singular fervid reunion, but something with a bit more thought and weight, this is clearly a real fantasy, something he'd genuinely dreamed. Both of them meeting at the Academy, and given how two years later they're both still dreaming of the garden, doubtless in this dream memories of that morning in the sunlight would only immediately rush in. Introducing themselves as if they needed to, a small lingering touch from Gustave to let him know, and Gustave being the one to pull him aside. Somewhere quiet, somewhere abandoned, and a real place that Gustave has thought of, just for this. ]
It'd have taken my breath away just seeing you again.
[ He pulls Gustave in for a kiss, tonguing into his mouth and pulling away, lips curved against Gustave's own, their foreheads pressed together. He shifts in the grass, trying to be more comfortable, ends up sitting down and pulling Gustave into him, ducking his head to kiss again at his shoulder, taking a moment to nip a little at his skin and soothe it over with his tongue, that warm thrum of heat and want still singing through his nerves. ]
Sounds like a quiet place, where we might not be bothered. [ His smile curves into a smirk. He does know it. Verso has a practiced familiarity with many of Lumiere's abandoned buildings, left empty as their owners vanished into dust and petals. ] -- Would you take me there?
[ One hand finds Gustave's thigh, squeezing over lean muscle, thumb circling a little against his inner thigh -- just to touch him, just to feel him, but encouraging, too. Keep going, boo. ]