[ No real heat behind these words, but no shortage of warmth. Verso closes his eyes as he listens, his fingers playing idly with the soft curls of his hair, breathing him in and filling his lungs with him. He knows by now that Gustave dreamt of things like this so often, that he really has spent so much of their two years apart in wistful fantasies even about small, simple things, but. Actually hearing it, hearing the care he puts behind every work, hearing how simply obvious it is that everything Gustave is describing is something he's imagined countless times over. It's nice, it hurts, it makes his heart break as much as it makes his heart sing.
His poor, wistful Monsieur mon fleuriste. He wishes he could tell him the truth. ]
You'd bring me coffee, but rob me of being able to wake in your arms? [ He laughs, the sound half-muffled, turning his head so his breath and his voice brushes warm against Gustave's ear. ] Seeing you would be enough to ease that sting, I think. Even after I must've spent the night dreaming of you.
[ Verso has had these same daydreams of quiet mornings and languid evenings in each other's arms -- though they tend to end with Gustave beneath him, sometimes in a fit of white-hot passion, sometimes in something sweet and lingering, always with his name on Gustave's lips.
He shifts to press a gentle kiss to the Gustave's temple. ]
I came -- and I will tomorrow, too.
[ Verso is still so sorry for breaking his heart so many times, but now that he's here -- now that there's at least one or two or a dozen different ways learning the truth of something might shatter this man's heart when its been entrusted to him . . . He's doing his damned best to hold onto it, in the places where he has a choice in the matter.
Tomorrow, and the tomorrows after. He won't let him go so easily ever again. He can only hope that his intent will soon be enough, for Gustave to trust and believe him when he says tomorrow. ]
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Date: 2025-06-16 06:31 pm (UTC)His poor, wistful Monsieur mon fleuriste. He wishes he could tell him the truth. ]
You'd bring me coffee, but rob me of being able to wake in your arms? [ He laughs, the sound half-muffled, turning his head so his breath and his voice brushes warm against Gustave's ear. ] Seeing you would be enough to ease that sting, I think. Even after I must've spent the night dreaming of you.
[ Verso has had these same daydreams of quiet mornings and languid evenings in each other's arms -- though they tend to end with Gustave beneath him, sometimes in a fit of white-hot passion, sometimes in something sweet and lingering, always with his name on Gustave's lips.
He shifts to press a gentle kiss to the Gustave's temple. ]
I came -- and I will tomorrow, too.
[ Verso is still so sorry for breaking his heart so many times, but now that he's here -- now that there's at least one or two or a dozen different ways learning the truth of something might shatter this man's heart when its been entrusted to him . . . He's doing his damned best to hold onto it, in the places where he has a choice in the matter.
Tomorrow, and the tomorrows after. He won't let him go so easily ever again. He can only hope that his intent will soon be enough, for Gustave to trust and believe him when he says tomorrow. ]