[ Verso looks into Gustave's eyes and sees everything plainly, some things he can't quite read even if they're all laid out for him to se, but that he still feels the truth of anyway, deep in his own heart. He's happy, content in the moment, amused by his Monsieur le pianiste's antics -- but surprised, too, disbelieving. Humble, uncertain, almost in the same way he still doesn't entirely trust him whenever he tells him they'll see each other tomorrow, like he isn't sure why Verso really does keep coming back. Verso doesn't know how to ( or maybe just doesn't want to ) put words to it, but he knows, with utter conviction, that he will keep returning to him even as long as the world itself doesn't tear them apart, as long as Gustave himself still wants him to stay. Un Jour Je Serai de Retour Prés de Toi, scribbled messily in his journal over bars of written and rewritten hand-sketched bars of music.
Verso's the one who feels undeserving, in ways he knows he Gustave can sometimes feel, even if he can't understand. And all Verso can do in return is take the moments like these, when Gustave seems to almost be able to really see and believe just how much Verso adores him, and try to pull them open -- to make them last.
He really does want to just push him down and take him apart right here, heat dragging in the wake of his gaze, his eyes briefly dropping from Gustave's to linger over his lips, his gently kiss-bruised neck, where bare skin disappears under the collar of his shirt. He's not often seen the uniform just like this, without the jacket, but he likes it, likes how he sees more of the shape of him, all leanly muscled, solid, real. But Gustave's words bring him back a little -- he needs to not be interrupted to be done by morning, and. He had hopes. He did have some plans, for the night.
Verso nods -- his eyes noticeably lit up just a little that Gustave won't mind him staying. As long as he's good. ]
I'd like to stay and watch you work.
[ He's clearly genuinely happy about that, like he really does want to just spend hours not just tangled up in him or even talking with him but just quietly in his company, sharing space with something that has been so much a part of his fleuriste's life that he could've otherwise never even seen. ]
If it's any motivation, mon chou, I know your friends are leaving you for the night. [ He watches, and listens. Sorry about that, still, but at least you should be more used to it now. ] And I have -- plans, that I think you'd like.
[ His thumb sweeps over Gustave's lower lip, leaning closer, his eyes lidded -- ]
-- But I'd still like that kiss.
[ But for everything he's saying, for the obvious heat in his gaze and in his voice, when he tips Gustave's head up and catches his mouth in his own -- its more affectionate, than anything else. Really lingering in it, making the best of this one kiss that he's allowed himself, sinking into it and tonguing deeper and deeper into his mouth, searing his taste into his memory, staying even as his lungs start to gently ache from lack of air. The one kiss is all he'll get, and he's damn well going to make the most of it, that hand slipping along his chin and jaw to tangle through his hair and hold his head closer, his other arm winding back around him, palming down over the curve of his ass, over his thigh, gripping him and hauling him closer against his chest. ]
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Date: 2025-06-17 10:56 pm (UTC)Verso's the one who feels undeserving, in ways he knows he Gustave can sometimes feel, even if he can't understand. And all Verso can do in return is take the moments like these, when Gustave seems to almost be able to really see and believe just how much Verso adores him, and try to pull them open -- to make them last.
He really does want to just push him down and take him apart right here, heat dragging in the wake of his gaze, his eyes briefly dropping from Gustave's to linger over his lips, his gently kiss-bruised neck, where bare skin disappears under the collar of his shirt. He's not often seen the uniform just like this, without the jacket, but he likes it, likes how he sees more of the shape of him, all leanly muscled, solid, real. But Gustave's words bring him back a little -- he needs to not be interrupted to be done by morning, and. He had hopes. He did have some plans, for the night.
Verso nods -- his eyes noticeably lit up just a little that Gustave won't mind him staying. As long as he's good. ]
I'd like to stay and watch you work.
[ He's clearly genuinely happy about that, like he really does want to just spend hours not just tangled up in him or even talking with him but just quietly in his company, sharing space with something that has been so much a part of his fleuriste's life that he could've otherwise never even seen. ]
If it's any motivation, mon chou, I know your friends are leaving you for the night. [ He watches, and listens. Sorry about that, still, but at least you should be more used to it now. ] And I have -- plans, that I think you'd like.
[ His thumb sweeps over Gustave's lower lip, leaning closer, his eyes lidded -- ]
-- But I'd still like that kiss.
[ But for everything he's saying, for the obvious heat in his gaze and in his voice, when he tips Gustave's head up and catches his mouth in his own -- its more affectionate, than anything else. Really lingering in it, making the best of this one kiss that he's allowed himself, sinking into it and tonguing deeper and deeper into his mouth, searing his taste into his memory, staying even as his lungs start to gently ache from lack of air. The one kiss is all he'll get, and he's damn well going to make the most of it, that hand slipping along his chin and jaw to tangle through his hair and hold his head closer, his other arm winding back around him, palming down over the curve of his ass, over his thigh, gripping him and hauling him closer against his chest. ]