[ Verso is an artist at heart, but somewhere even before all that and the weight of reality had gripped him by the chest and never let him go -- he was always simply curious. Inquisitive about the nature of the world and people around him, and it'd eventually led him to seeking out a voice of his own to express, to connect, eventually to music and his beloved piano. It's not so unthinkable that a slightly different life might've led to him being the Painter his parents wanted, or that it might've all led him away from art at all. But like any artist, Verso loves passion most of all, someone in love with who they're with and what they do, burning so bright with it that they can't stop it from shining out from every word -- and Gustave loves this. He lives it.
For all of Gustave's previous insistence that his work would surely be boring, he doesn't hesitate to not just let him watch but to actually tell him about it. Verso feels something in his heart warm in response, squeezing his arm around his waist, the thought that Gustave would so readily open the door for him to try and let him into his life, his world. Just like Verso had enjoyed being Monsieur le pianiste, he knows that some of Gustave must have liked just being Monsieur le fleuriste, too, but maybe more and more, those lines are starting to blur. It feels easy, natural and --
( Terrifying. There's too much. Someday that final wall will melt. Someday everything he's keeping back will come to light. Someday Gustave will say that he can't believe he ever let him into his heart, and Verso will have nothing to say, because he'd know he was right. )
Verso hums in quiet acknowledgment as he Gustave talks, and he does pay attention, follow along -- even if he occasionally gets distracted just by the tone of his voice, by the way his fingers trace over some mechanical component. It helps that aside from his own long-ago history of a little bit of tinkering, he knows the gestrals. He knows how they think, can see their childlike but mostly sound logic as Gustave points out the pieces. He nods, his fingers closed warmly over his wrist, thumb circling against his pulse. ]
So you can widen the aperture a little, build the a more sophisticated ignition mechanism, reinforce everything to make sure it doesn't blow itself to smithereens under the new capacity?
[ A hum, pressing another few kisses to his neck and jaw. ]
[ He understands what you're doing! Mostly. Not enough to provide any unique insight, but enough to follow along, to understand what needs to be done, and how the gestrals are likely to fuck it up. ]
no subject
For all of Gustave's previous insistence that his work would surely be boring, he doesn't hesitate to not just let him watch but to actually tell him about it. Verso feels something in his heart warm in response, squeezing his arm around his waist, the thought that Gustave would so readily open the door for him to try and let him into his life, his world. Just like Verso had enjoyed being Monsieur le pianiste, he knows that some of Gustave must have liked just being Monsieur le fleuriste, too, but maybe more and more, those lines are starting to blur. It feels easy, natural and --
( Terrifying. There's too much. Someday that final wall will melt. Someday everything he's keeping back will come to light. Someday Gustave will say that he can't believe he ever let him into his heart, and Verso will have nothing to say, because he'd know he was right. )
Verso hums in quiet acknowledgment as he Gustave talks, and he does pay attention, follow along -- even if he occasionally gets distracted just by the tone of his voice, by the way his fingers trace over some mechanical component. It helps that aside from his own long-ago history of a little bit of tinkering, he knows the gestrals. He knows how they think, can see their childlike but mostly sound logic as Gustave points out the pieces. He nods, his fingers closed warmly over his wrist, thumb circling against his pulse. ]
So you can widen the aperture a little, build the a more sophisticated ignition mechanism, reinforce everything to make sure it doesn't blow itself to smithereens under the new capacity?
[ A hum, pressing another few kisses to his neck and jaw. ]
No doubt this project is in sound hands, Monsieur le IngΓ©nieur. I regret to inform you they'll be overloading the thing with more of your improved gunpowder before long and blowing past any of your safety measures, but. There is only so much you can do, with the gestrals. They'll call setting itself on fire a special firebomb attack.
[ He understands what you're doing! Mostly. Not enough to provide any unique insight, but enough to follow along, to understand what needs to be done, and how the gestrals are likely to fuck it up. ]