[ The anger hasn't gone way, bone-deep and white hot, but it twists up in everything else. Desperation, want, the profound simplicity of being next to him again, of being able to touch him, feel him, have him be in arms' reach. Two years have passed of Verso thinking he might never see him again, that he might've long ago succumbed to the Gommage under the dome that he was too cowardly to ever return to. And since seeing him on that incoming ship, following him almost ever step of the way, Verso has watched him, so close, yet so far. Had time to learn and relearn so much about him, the way he walks, the way he fights, the way he smiles and laughs with Maelle at his side. Close enough and real enough that he could reach out and touch him, but always a thousand miles away for how much he actually could.
And stupid enough to try to hurt himself. To just hurtle off a cliff.
Verso kisses him and Gustave opens himself to him immediately, and their bodies mold to each other almost like they've never left. He tastes just like he remembers, warm, heavy, sweet, with the sting of salt, punctuated by the a copper tang of blood as Gustave's lip splits. The kisses are possessive, demanding, taking and wanting, feral like he's trying to stake a claim on him again that he feels like he deserves. One arm wraps tight around the other man's body, hauling him up against him with enough force to have his feet even briefly leave the ground, his other hand immediately moving to fist through his hair, and god he's missed this. He's missed this so much. It was only a few hours, more than two years ago, but the garden has rarely left his mind ever since.
The feel of Gustave kissing him back just as desperate and of his hands digging through his hair is enough to have him groaning, his entire body shuddering, leaning into it. It's almost too much, two years worth of waiting, all built up into a hurricane crash of thunder that threatens to swallow him whole. The anger drives him into it as much as it pulls him back, makes him feel like he wants to push him down and hold him there and kiss him until he bleeds, rip his uniform off piece by piece and cover him everywhere with his mouth and tongue --
The only thing that breaks through is the fact that he still needs to breathe. He breaks away from the kiss to draw a mouthful of air. His thoughts catch up with him, his fingers tightening then relaxing then gripping hard through his hair, his instincts and impulses at war within himself, feeling too many things at once for him to know what to do. ]
You -- [ putain, fuck, fuck, and he manages to break away, pushing him back ( not with too much force, just enough to get some space, not even entirely letting go ). ] -- You said it worked.
You were just trying to get my fucking attention?
[ He's been so afraid, for a fleeting moment, for longer than that. Watching him teetering at the edge. Remembering the cave, the bodies piled around them. ]
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And stupid enough to try to hurt himself. To just hurtle off a cliff.
Verso kisses him and Gustave opens himself to him immediately, and their bodies mold to each other almost like they've never left. He tastes just like he remembers, warm, heavy, sweet, with the sting of salt, punctuated by the a copper tang of blood as Gustave's lip splits. The kisses are possessive, demanding, taking and wanting, feral like he's trying to stake a claim on him again that he feels like he deserves. One arm wraps tight around the other man's body, hauling him up against him with enough force to have his feet even briefly leave the ground, his other hand immediately moving to fist through his hair, and god he's missed this. He's missed this so much. It was only a few hours, more than two years ago, but the garden has rarely left his mind ever since.
The feel of Gustave kissing him back just as desperate and of his hands digging through his hair is enough to have him groaning, his entire body shuddering, leaning into it. It's almost too much, two years worth of waiting, all built up into a hurricane crash of thunder that threatens to swallow him whole. The anger drives him into it as much as it pulls him back, makes him feel like he wants to push him down and hold him there and kiss him until he bleeds, rip his uniform off piece by piece and cover him everywhere with his mouth and tongue --
The only thing that breaks through is the fact that he still needs to breathe. He breaks away from the kiss to draw a mouthful of air. His thoughts catch up with him, his fingers tightening then relaxing then gripping hard through his hair, his instincts and impulses at war within himself, feeling too many things at once for him to know what to do. ]
You -- [ putain, fuck, fuck, and he manages to break away, pushing him back ( not with too much force, just enough to get some space, not even entirely letting go ). ] -- You said it worked.
You were just trying to get my fucking attention?
[ He's been so afraid, for a fleeting moment, for longer than that. Watching him teetering at the edge. Remembering the cave, the bodies piled around them. ]