[ There it is again. Verso is quite distracted, mostly focused on Gustave's fingers wrapped so sweetly around him and working him over -- but there is a certain care that he takes with his metal arm, like it could do more than he realizes. Something that piques his curiosity, that he might have to ask about -- but later, because right now Gustave is there between his thighs, kissing down over his skin.
Gustave even gesturing at really holding him down is bold, different, a thought that makes his head spin, and then he's asking if it would work, and well. Verso manages a breathless almost-laugh, wanting to hear more, but. He's not going to argue this.
A moment where Gustave pulls his hand away, where Verso immediately misses the warmth and pressure, his hips instinctively juddering to push up against something it isn't there and chase down some of that friction. But its only a passing moment, that hand now warm and heavy against his hip, and suddenly Gustave is everywhere, all around him. ]
Gustave, mon dieu --
[ Gustave's lips wrapped around him, sinking down deeply and all at once, Gustave's tongue dragging against his length, the sweet wet heat of Gustave's mouth. His head falls back against the bundled up sash and jacket laid across the grass, his entire body arching up on moan -- or he tries, at least, his hips pushed down and held here, arresting him partially in the movement. Verso can hear him groaning around having him in his mouthlike he's just as desperate as he is, somehow, and Verso remembers the garden, the scent of flowers, remembers Gustave noticing that part of him that he always held back and coaxing it away, remembers Gustave's mouth hot and sweet over him.
Fuck. It's just as good now, no, even better now. His fingers twist harder through his hair, pulling hard at the strands, but not guiding his head, pushing him down or pulling him up. Even held down, instinctively Verso's hips start to move, wanting to rock and buck into his mouth, down his throat, wanting more. ]
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Date: 2025-06-15 04:13 pm (UTC)Gustave even gesturing at really holding him down is bold, different, a thought that makes his head spin, and then he's asking if it would work, and well. Verso manages a breathless almost-laugh, wanting to hear more, but. He's not going to argue this.
A moment where Gustave pulls his hand away, where Verso immediately misses the warmth and pressure, his hips instinctively juddering to push up against something it isn't there and chase down some of that friction. But its only a passing moment, that hand now warm and heavy against his hip, and suddenly Gustave is everywhere, all around him. ]
Gustave, mon dieu --
[ Gustave's lips wrapped around him, sinking down deeply and all at once, Gustave's tongue dragging against his length, the sweet wet heat of Gustave's mouth. His head falls back against the bundled up sash and jacket laid across the grass, his entire body arching up on moan -- or he tries, at least, his hips pushed down and held here, arresting him partially in the movement. Verso can hear him groaning around having him in his mouthlike he's just as desperate as he is, somehow, and Verso remembers the garden, the scent of flowers, remembers Gustave noticing that part of him that he always held back and coaxing it away, remembers Gustave's mouth hot and sweet over him.
Fuck. It's just as good now, no, even better now. His fingers twist harder through his hair, pulling hard at the strands, but not guiding his head, pushing him down or pulling him up. Even held down, instinctively Verso's hips start to move, wanting to rock and buck into his mouth, down his throat, wanting more. ]