[ Verso had a plan: prepare a nice quiet space for his ingénieur, make sure it suits him and that most of all its private. He'd slip in, greet him gently with a kiss, say that he doesn't want to interrupt his work but he'll be back to see it later, give Gustave some time to work before he comes back to watch him, mostly letting him focus until he starts showering him with more and more distractions and affection, until its too much for them both to bear. Maybe he'd slip in and Gustave wouldn't even notice him, and he might be able to just tuck himself into a corner and watch him work, surprise him at some point with a soft kiss to his shoulder, a hand sliding over Gustave's own.
These plans are all dashed against the rocks when he slips in to actually see him working. Most of the workshop is dim, but Gustave is standing by the workbench in a shaft of amber light framing him like a halo, pouring down his hair, his shoulders, the long line of his back. From here Verso can see his profile, strong brows furrowed in gentle concentration, his lips pulled into an expression of quiet focus.
Damningly, Gustave has taken off his jacket and left it draped somewhere by the table, so Verso can see the cut of his shoulders, lean but strong, hugged closely by his shirt, can make out the muscle in his arms, the light following those lines like a gentle caress. His sleeves are pushed up over his elbows, and merde he loves the way that looks on him, too, his gaze tracing the tendons in his forearms as he works, fingers lightly stained with something that looks like oil.
It takes a tremendous amount of control to even do so much as draw a breath, slowly, letting the door fall shut behind him. As distracted as Gustave is, Verso probably could just watch in silence for a while, but -- he just wants to touch him, wants to feel those arms as they work, wants to hold him and tell him he's missed him even though he just saw him last night, no matter how briefly. Verso moves to him with focus and purpose, pupils already dilated, every step quiet like a hunter stalking prey -- but also just, a little afraid to break the spell that his dear fleuriste is under, this absolute focus he's never quite seen on him before. Its new, something to learn about Gustave that Verso knows without a shadow of a doubt has been a large part of his life, and so he just wants to take it and memorize it and treasure it always, hesitant to break that spell.
But once he gets within arm's reach, when he gets to see what Gustave is working with, small, delicate, precise movements as he fiddles and works -- Verso just sighs, reaching out with a gentle touch against his elbow, just where his sleeve is rolled up. He lets him take as long as he needs to actually notice the touch, and when Gustave turns to look at him his hand is sliding down over his forearm, following the long line of a tendon towards his wrist, Verso pressing himself against his back and ducking his head to press a kiss to his shoulder, breathing him in, warm and deep. ]
-- Mon ingénieur. [ A smile in his voice. Gustave will always be his Monsieur le fleuriste, but he's glad to see this of him, too -- and to quietly claim it like he wants to claim everything else about him. ] I'm afraid you're much too beautiful for me to let you work in peace.
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These plans are all dashed against the rocks when he slips in to actually see him working. Most of the workshop is dim, but Gustave is standing by the workbench in a shaft of amber light framing him like a halo, pouring down his hair, his shoulders, the long line of his back. From here Verso can see his profile, strong brows furrowed in gentle concentration, his lips pulled into an expression of quiet focus.
Damningly, Gustave has taken off his jacket and left it draped somewhere by the table, so Verso can see the cut of his shoulders, lean but strong, hugged closely by his shirt, can make out the muscle in his arms, the light following those lines like a gentle caress. His sleeves are pushed up over his elbows, and merde he loves the way that looks on him, too, his gaze tracing the tendons in his forearms as he works, fingers lightly stained with something that looks like oil.
It takes a tremendous amount of control to even do so much as draw a breath, slowly, letting the door fall shut behind him. As distracted as Gustave is, Verso probably could just watch in silence for a while, but -- he just wants to touch him, wants to feel those arms as they work, wants to hold him and tell him he's missed him even though he just saw him last night, no matter how briefly. Verso moves to him with focus and purpose, pupils already dilated, every step quiet like a hunter stalking prey -- but also just, a little afraid to break the spell that his dear fleuriste is under, this absolute focus he's never quite seen on him before. Its new, something to learn about Gustave that Verso knows without a shadow of a doubt has been a large part of his life, and so he just wants to take it and memorize it and treasure it always, hesitant to break that spell.
But once he gets within arm's reach, when he gets to see what Gustave is working with, small, delicate, precise movements as he fiddles and works -- Verso just sighs, reaching out with a gentle touch against his elbow, just where his sleeve is rolled up. He lets him take as long as he needs to actually notice the touch, and when Gustave turns to look at him his hand is sliding down over his forearm, following the long line of a tendon towards his wrist, Verso pressing himself against his back and ducking his head to press a kiss to his shoulder, breathing him in, warm and deep. ]
-- Mon ingénieur. [ A smile in his voice. Gustave will always be his Monsieur le fleuriste, but he's glad to see this of him, too -- and to quietly claim it like he wants to claim everything else about him. ] I'm afraid you're much too beautiful for me to let you work in peace.
[ Alas. He has no choice. ]