[ He leans to kiss Verso again, deep, tongue sliding warmly against his, like he might possibly be able to say everything he's feeling with one kiss alone. How all he wants is all of Verso, right back. How happy he is to finally steal a whole night together. How he already wishes it would never end. ]
Alright.
[ One more kiss, and then he pulls himself reluctantly away, face flushed, his breath already coming harder. His eyes are noticeably darker now, as they trace their way from Verso's face down along his body, to the shirt now revealed, the way it clings to his shoulders and chest, how it follows the trim lines of his waist. He's so beautiful it hurts to look at him; Gustave feels the need to have his hands back on him like a physical ache, a hunger far greater than anything his empty stomach might complain about.
He swallows, throat moving, and takes another step back, far enough that he can take a breath, let a little sanity return. The tub is nearby, surrounded by unlit candles and vases of fresh flowers, and for a moment he wishes he had Lune's skill with the elements, to light the candles with a touch. There must be matches around here somewhere, surely?
But they can wait. First things first: he goes to the tub and finds the stopper, then turns the metal knobs until he can hear water running, until it starts splashing out of the faucet. He leans down, bracing himself with his left hand so he can hold his right hand under the stream, testing the temperature, and glances over his shoulder at Verso. ]
... is there a piano in this place?
[ He almost had decided not to ask, not wanting to put Verso on the spot, to demand a song or two when Verso clearly has other plans, but...
But it's been so long since he heard him play, and Esquie had even said that Verso hadn't played as much in a while, the frequency of it fading over the last two years, since the garden. And maybe, after they've had their bath and sated themselves for a while, Verso might be willing to be coaxed into playing just a little something. His monsieur le pianiste, who had stolen his heart with a song. ]
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Alright.
[ One more kiss, and then he pulls himself reluctantly away, face flushed, his breath already coming harder. His eyes are noticeably darker now, as they trace their way from Verso's face down along his body, to the shirt now revealed, the way it clings to his shoulders and chest, how it follows the trim lines of his waist. He's so beautiful it hurts to look at him; Gustave feels the need to have his hands back on him like a physical ache, a hunger far greater than anything his empty stomach might complain about.
He swallows, throat moving, and takes another step back, far enough that he can take a breath, let a little sanity return. The tub is nearby, surrounded by unlit candles and vases of fresh flowers, and for a moment he wishes he had Lune's skill with the elements, to light the candles with a touch. There must be matches around here somewhere, surely?
But they can wait. First things first: he goes to the tub and finds the stopper, then turns the metal knobs until he can hear water running, until it starts splashing out of the faucet. He leans down, bracing himself with his left hand so he can hold his right hand under the stream, testing the temperature, and glances over his shoulder at Verso. ]
... is there a piano in this place?
[ He almost had decided not to ask, not wanting to put Verso on the spot, to demand a song or two when Verso clearly has other plans, but...
But it's been so long since he heard him play, and Esquie had even said that Verso hadn't played as much in a while, the frequency of it fading over the last two years, since the garden. And maybe, after they've had their bath and sated themselves for a while, Verso might be willing to be coaxed into playing just a little something. His monsieur le pianiste, who had stolen his heart with a song. ]