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demainvient) wrote2025-05-30 11:00 am
demainvient) wrote2025-05-30 11:00 am
๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ โ๐ฃ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ก๐
๐๐ง ๐ฃ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐ฃ๐ ๐ฌ๐๐ซ๐๐ข ๐๐ ๐ซ๐๐ญ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐ฉ๐ซ๐ฬ๐ฌ ๐๐ ๐ญ๐จ๐ข
๐๐ ๐๐๐ข๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ก๐๐ข๐ก, ๐๐๐ข๐ ๐ฬ๐ก๐๐ ๐๐ฃ๐๐ ๐ก๐๐
no subject
And Verso โ this Verso, Verso here with him, right now, starting to lose his train of thought โ can almost certainly feel the effect it has on him, twitching against his hand, his whole body flushed and arching up and wanting. It's not enough, he has to get his hands on Verso, too, and once he's shoved those aggravating pants down enough he's there, his warm right hand closing around him, squeezing and stroking. ]
Everywhere I'd have you?
[ He's too lost in Verso's touches, his kisses, to think too hard about what he himself is saying, too lost in the taste of his skin when Gustave leans up to run his mouth along Verso's collarbone and up to his throat, drawing up hard on the skin there to pull another reddening bruise into existence. But he'd be a liar if he said he hadn't had feverish daydreams of the same ilk himself, some of which took place in that very garden they'd tumbled into originally and which went not unlike what's happening right now, some which involved the piano and that empty opera house and an evening in which he hadn't had to go home early for dinner.
(Verso would want to hear them, he thinks. He'd want to know every detail, which daydreams involved him taking Gustave and which involved Gustave taking him, which were just light teasing and promises for later, which were slow and sweet and loving and which had them go up like flashes of chroma. But they still stay locked back in his throat; even now, he's too self-conscious to speak them aloud.)
Verso is everywhere, attuned to every rock of his hips and gasp for breath, drowning him in pleasure, and he does his best to marshal his own thoughts enough to do the same, just like he had in that garden. Working over him in a firm rhythm, moving with him when he moves, wanting to give him everything he could possibly need. Verso's thumb sweeps over him, and he arches up, a flush of heat rushing through his body. ]
Versoโ
no subject
Gustave wrapping his hand around him is enough to jar him out of it slightly, any word he was meaning to say next suddenly lost on a low moan, his head dropping to Gustave's shoulder. Warmth, friction, the pressure of a now familiar grip from a hand he's felt all over his body, under his mouth and tongue, seen gripped tight over a sword. His head spins, it takes a moment for Gustave's question to fully register. ]
-- Everywhere. [ He repeats, almost a little automatically as he pulls his thoughts back together enough to actually answer. A laugh, breathlessly lost against where he has his face tucked against Gustave's neck, his hips rolling and pressing into Gustave's touch. ] Anywhere. Any time.
[ His own hand, briefly faltering over Gustave from that momentary distraction, starts to move back into its former rhythm. Verso's mind is spinning, turning his head to kiss again at his neck, over old bruises, down to the dip of his throat, cursing softly under his breath before lifting himself up enough that he can look Gustave properly in the face. His free hand moves, shifting where his elbow is braced against the ground until his fingers can twist through Gustave's hair, using that grip to guide him so that they can actually look each other fully, matching his gaze with his own. Verso's eyes are dark, hungry, starved and wanting. ]
I'd let you have me any way you wanted.
[ Punctuated by a rough squeeze of his hand over him, fingers flexing along his length. ]
no subject
Maybe he even wants to ask for it. Maybe it's what he wants, needs: Verso everywhere, over him and inside him and around him. Maybe then he really would be fully believe this is real, that Verso is, that he's here and will stay and they finally have time.
Is it too much power to be offered? Verso, handing himself over without even a single hesitation, half-drunk on fantasies and daydreams he'd spun out of their too-short meetings. And yet he's already handed over his heart โ it's yours, Gustave โ as if it was the easiest thing in the world. What can he do except cherish it, him, these gifts he keeps holding out like the thought of doing anything else is impossible.
Gustave leans up to catch his mouth with his, settles back again with his hair mussed on the piled-up jacket, breath coming fast and almost panting. Verso squeezes and he moans, answers with a rippling squeeze of his own fingers, the rhythm beginning to stutter as pleasure builds and builds, knotting tightly low in his belly. ]
I want you like this. Here, with me, right now.
[ He watches Verso, that beautiful face above him, blue light glimmering off the streaks in his hair, the curve of his shoulders, the slope of his back. His voice is strained, rough with the effort of putting together words, but his eyes never leave Verso's face. ]
You can tell me more daydreams later. I want you here, now.
You came back.
[ And that is worth more than a hundred, a thousand feverish fantasies: the reality of him, right here, already in Gustave's arms. ]
no subject
And Gustave doesn't look away. Just lets him see everything, every daydream and fantasy flickering through the back of his mind that he can't bring himself to say, how much he wants, how much he needs. He doesn't look away and he tells him, that out of everything he could ever want, out of every fantasy that Verso could weave for him and promise to make true -- all he wants is this.
Both of them. Now. And he feels a pulse of something warm twist painfully around his lungs, something that makes him feel like he's drowning but in the best possible way, taking his breath away and replacing it with something warm and gold and honey-sweet. He squeezes his hand around him again, feeling Gustave's own fingers stuttering slightly around him in turn, his own hips instinctively tipping into that touch.
Gustave is laid out beneath him, spread out and breathless and completely bare from the waist up and looking like a dream, blue gleam of those chroma-stained trees spilling over his skin, catching the tendons and muscle in his arm as he touches him. Verso finds himself remembering the garden, after he'd first tried to steal away, however half-hearted it was: part of him really was ready to leave after finishing him off with his mouth and tongue, to vanish over the horizon and never see him again. But of course Gustave had bid him to stay, with touches, with kisses, with the look in his eyes, and as he'd laid him out on the grass Gustave could tell that there was something in him holding back, locked away, knowing the lies he was living, that he'd have to tell.
And Gustave had simply reached in past those walls to some door he never knew was there and pulled them open. Until Verso was just there, there in the garden with him, moaning into his touch and then pressing up into his mouth, and Verso's head spins because now he's here and thats what matters, more than anything else. He came back, except he didn't -- Gustave brought him back, seized him by the heart and hauled him close, and now he doesn't ever want to leave.
Verso sinks down, presses closer, lips ghosting against Gustave's own. ]
-- I'm here. [ A kiss, a bite, and then a softer murmur; ] I'm yours.
[ And he means it, merde, he means it. His breath is starting to come in shorter, sharper stops, his hand working over Gustave at a good, steady rhythm, trying to match how Gustave touches him but getting a little impatient in turn before forcing himself back down. The knot in his stomach is building, building, his hips starting to stutter as he rocks against Gustave's sweet fingers. He's here. He's yours. And nothing else matters. ]
no subject
Maybe they didn't have those three years. Maybe they've both been existing, half dreaming and half heartbroken, on memories run so many times under their fingers that they almost don't feel real. But this is: Verso's body lowering over his, Verso blanketing him, Verso everywhere, his mouth on Gustave's and his hand around him and his name caught on a moan that falls off Gustave's throat as his hips stutter, pushing helplessly up into the hand that's driving him insane.
He feels when Verso's pace picks up, feels when Verso gathers his willpower to slow it back down again, and recklessly moves his own hand faster, stroking long and firm and building a rapid pace as he tries to catch up with the edge he himself teeters on, between Verso's hand and body and putain de merde, that voice, telling him yes, he's here, yes, he's Gustave's, and isn't that the real fantasy that's come true? That somehow this man, painfully beautiful over him, charming and heated and carrying with him always some of the danger of this wild place, could possibly feel this way. That he could choose Gustave, of everyone.
That he would come back and offer himself so freely. ]
Versoโ
[ Even his thoughts are fragmenting now, and it's harder and harder to keep his eyes on Verso, hazy as they are with pleasure. ]
I'm yours. Mon cher, Iโ Versoโ
[ His name the last thing on Gustave's lips aside from the wordless cry that's dragged up and out of him as his hips rock sharply, once, twice, and he throbs against Verso's palm, spilling over his fingers and onto his own belly in a hot rush as he comes. ]
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And the moment they share together seems to expand, fractals into fractals, until Verso can dig his fingers into every single thing he can reach. His hand wrapped tight around him, every single throb and pulse of him against his palm, the way his hips stutter and shift. The feel of Gustave's own fingers, gripping him hard, picking up the pace, both of them urging each other on, getting closer, closer. Its nothing, its everything, the entire world fallen away. And as Gustave gets even closer, as his own pleasure builds, as he hears those words fall from his lips, its a fleeting second that Verso wants to wrap up all around himself and spend the rest of his long, miserable life in.
Each word sends a jolt of desire and heat through his body, tearing through his spine like fire, each one somehow stronger than the last. His name makes his toes curl in his boots. I'm yours, he says, and if his lungs had any air left in them they would all be swept away. Mon cher, and he feels his heart shatter even further, and there's his name again --
The fleeting moment passes but instead of fading away it crests up into something better, more perfect, more beautiful. Gustave falling apart beneath him, and Verso following him down so quickly that they're making a mess of each other at the same time. It's good, it's so fucking good, feeling Gustave spill hot across his fingers and feeling himself do the same over Gustave's, the muscles in his stomach twisting as his hips judder and shake, as the world whites out into nothing but pleasure, and one word on his lips. ]
Gustave --
[ And coming down from it feels like landing from an impossible height, sinking down into something impossibly soft, all but collapsing onto Gustave's body beneath him. He rolls his face against him, breath still caught on a breathless moan as his fingers stutter over him -- and he as he catches his breath, he can't do anything but smile, but laugh, the sound half-muffled against his cheek.
A dream come true, that's somehow real. ]
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Good thing we're right next to a river.
[ To wash off, he means, sweat and more, but he doesn't let go or make a motion to get up. Right here, Verso in his arms and the night sky filled with the silvery sheen of stars and the scent of crushed grass warm from their bodies floating around them, he's as content as he can remember being for a long, long time.
He rubs his hand in the grass, lackadaisically wiping it, then lifts it to trail his fingers over the round of Verso's shoulder, marveling all over again at his perfection. There's a faint dusting of bruises from his own mouth, his fingers, but they're the only flaw. In contrast, his torso, his body, has become littered with scars faded by Lune's magic and their tinctures. He's leaner now than he was that day in the garden, a little more battered, a little older, with new sorrows and regrets that cling to him. But right now, when he opens his eyes and turns his head to press his mouth to Verso's forehead, he feels remade, brand new.
A chuckle of his own rumbles in his chest, pressed into Verso's hair. He feels as though he'd just drunk a bottle of sparkling wine, the effervescence bubbling through him, sweet and warm and happy. ]
I think you enjoy making a mess of me.
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He's here. And he does feel . . . happy.
He hums a little, warm and acknowledging and amused, pressing a few lazy, affectionate kisses over Gustave's neck -- not to mark or bruise him further, but just to do it, just to kiss him and feel him and taste him. The river might be nice, later. Right now, he barely wants to move. He shifts, one arm braced against the ground and the puddle of his sash and jacket, fingers just barely threaded through Gustave's hair ( he really likes playing with his hair, clearly ), his other hand idly wandering up over his side, tracing over old and faded scars and lines with so much care that it feels like he's mapping his out with his touch. ]
Oh, I definitely do. [ A smile, tipping his head to kiss at his mouth. ] Looking the way you do? I don't know how I'm supposed to resist.
[ He just wants to kiss him and tear his hands through his hair until it's tousled and tangled, lay him out beneath him and wreck him completely until he's all shakes and shivers. ]
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What, looking what way?
[ Rumpled, grass-stained, barely able to catch his breath? A little rougher from his time spent here on the continent, where such things as hot baths and nice suits and even a decent comb to keep his hair reasonably under control are impossible luxuries, things of the past?
But Verso does seem to find him irresistible, a thought that goes to his head like wine. Those fingers drift lazily over his skin, muscle contracting and twitching beneath the path they take. Verso leans up to press his smiling lips against Gustave's in a sweet, languid kiss, and he makes another sound, humming low and content in his chest, as his right hand comes up to card gently through the mussed waves of Verso's hair.
This, too, is an impossible luxury, something he never thought he'd be able to have. The music of the river is as calm and sweet as the finest music discs he could play back home in Lumiรจre, the grass as soft as any bed, and the starsโ merde, they've never been able to see stars like this in Lumiรจre. He'd never have seen the way the blue light from those chroma-stained leaves overhead kisses Verso's skin so gently, how the moonlight and starlight limns every gentle curve of muscle and limb. It makes his heart ache just to look at him, just to draw his metal fingers idly up the graceful curve of his back.
Verso, smiling in the sun, had haunted him with memories of warmth and golden light saturating everything like molten honey. Verso here in the dark, under his hands, somehow real and warm, a heavy blanket over him, is more perfect than anything his daydreams had ever managed to concoct. He shakes his head and ghosts another kiss over Verso's mouth, sweet and full and smiling. ]
Well, I think it's pretty clear I can't exactly resist you, either.
Not that I've been trying all that hard, if I'm being honest.
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He reaches for that yellow flower he'd tucked earlier into his hair, just a bit displaced, lightly tucking in back into place. ]
Looking like you.
[ That seems to be all that matters.
He presses back down into him, making some soft, pleased sound intot hat kiss, his hand slowly reaching for Gustave's to thread their fingers together one by one. Gentle, intimate, thumb stroking over the side of a knuckle. ]
You're doing an awful job of not being seduced, yes.
[ Teehee. ]
Your master plan must be, of course, seducing me.
[ With another smile, a warm kiss. That plan's working out better. ]
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He's seen those hands travel lightly over the keys of a piano, coaxing music so beautiful it felt like his heart would break just hearing into existence; he's seen them grip a sword and dagger and strike down a Nevron in only a handful of blows. All that, and now they touch him with so much focused gentleness, drawing him into life with every stroke and caress. Their fingers tangle together, and Gustave lifts their hands to press a kiss to Verso's knuckles, lowers them again to set them comfortably on his own chest, just over his heart. Even now it beats a little faster, trying to push past ribs and muscle and skin to the hand lying above it. ]
Perhaps I should be calling you fleuriste.
[ That little yellow flower, he knows, will go between the pages of his journal to join Verso's note and Sophie's picture and the red petals he'd caught in his hand just before the ship set sail from Lumiรจre's small harbor, bow pointed to the continent lying low and menacing on the horizon.
His own smile is caught in Verso's kiss, his thumb running idly, affectionate over the angle of Verso's where their hands are laced together on his chest. ]
You threw all my plans on their ear. And it wasn't even hard, was it? All it took was a song I happened to hear on my way home one night, a few stolen hours in a garden. And now, this...
[ This unlooked for bounty of time. His left hand drifts over firm muscle and soft warm skin to the small of Verso's back, to his hip, thumb sliding under the loosened waistband of his trousers. That laugh hasn't left his voice, warm and low and rumbling in his chest, almost a contented purr, and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks over at Verso, lingering on the line of his nose, the full sweet bow of his mouth. ]
If my attempts at are at all successful, it's not due to my plans or ability to seduce, trust me. But something seems to be working, and I don't know whether I should be glad about it or worried you've hit your head and may yet come to your senses.
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It seems so quick when Gustave describes it like that -- and he knows it is. Not much time at all and a man still doesn't quite yet know, and for beauty this moment brings, will likely never know as well as he wants to. But he knows how he makes him feel: like all he wants to do is piece him apart and ruin him, like his heart is soaring so high he fears how its wings might melt in the sun, like something sweet is swelling in his chest and filling his everything with such a sweet ache that it feels like it might burst. It feels like, for all the lies he's told and will continue to tell, Gustave sees some part of him that's real, that's true. And he wants so badly for him to see everything of it.
It feels less like falling and more like Gustave had just pulled him with him, with a touch impeccably gentle and soft that Verso nonetheless never had the strength to tear himself away from.
And now, this. Reality still far away, but the dream starting to flicker at the edges, maybe, now that he's remembering all the things he wishes he could tell him and all the things he can never say. But Gustave is still here and smiling beneath him, rumbling in his chest almost like a purr, and he can feel it where Gustave's clutched his hand to his chest. ]
Don't downplay yourself like that. You've been able to seduce me perfectly well. Look where we are.
[ Here, together, and that's more Gustave's doing than Verso's own. The flowers, the smiles, the stumbling but earnest words. Hurling himself off a cliff had unfortunately been a factor here, but Verso -- is going to just make sure that doesn't happen again. He leans slightly into the cool metal touch of Gustave's hand, a metal thumb just sliding under the band of his trousers -- he's not sure how much he can feel through that, if any, but it's Gustave all the same, and his eyelids lower slightly in turn, his mouth quirking upwards as he leans for another sweet kiss. ]
Now, if you were talking about your ability to conduct interrogations, then. Yeah.
[ Absolute failure. F minus. ]
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[ A patently absurd observation, and his laugh makes it clear he thinks so: if anyone's been doing any seducing, it certainly hasn't been him, awkward and too earnest with his flowers and the way he'd stumbled over even asking to see the man again. He wasn't the one whispering searing word or stealing kisses, drawing fire sweetly over skin and filling heads with steam. The only thing he'd done that could conceivably count as grabbing Verso's attention was to step off a cliff.
Which, well, had worked, in fairness. Twice now the man has appeared from nowhere to save him from a fall, giving it a one hundred percent success rate. Something to keep in mind in case Verso does indeed slip away again, despite all his promises.
But it's hardly what Gustave would call a successful seduction technique, and he's amused as he lies there, head pillowed by Verso's clothing, body lax and breath easy and slow beneath their tangled fingers, his eyes warm and smiling and full of everything he knows he'd never be able to express in words at this moment, not without tripping over them and making a mess of it all. It's too big, expanding throughout his chest, glowing like the sun.
Just for these few moments, he finally feels the weight of everything... lift, brief but relieving: the grief, the sorrow, the strain, the worry and fear. He's been existing on a razor-thin edge since Lune found him in that cave. Finding Maelle helped ground him, finding Sciel offered even more stability, but he still feels it, more often than not. The teetering sense of trying to keep his balance. The yawning pit beneath him, cool and coaxing and dark. But here, with Verso, wrung out and sweat-slicked and drunk on his kisses and his touch, for these few moments, it's all quietly slipped away. He doesn't know how to say how grateful he is for that, for this reprieve, the way he comes to life and quiets and remembers how it feels to simply be in his body under Verso's touch.
The other comment has him chuckling again, rolling his head back and forth on soft fabric as he shakes it. ]
I don't want to interrogate you. There's — well, there's so much I don't, we don't know, and you do, so of course I have questions, but it's not—
[ He licks his lip, eyebrows flickering into a frown, self-conscious and faintly concerned. Verso's teasing, he thinks, but just in case: ]
It's not why I came to meet you, I'm not going to, going to grill you for information. Yes, there's a lot I'd like to know, maybe need to know, but we can just...
[ He can feel himself starting to flounder again, and closes his eyes in a grimace at himself, taking in a breath and letting it out in a sigh before he looks back over at Verso. ]
We can just, well. Talk.
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[ Verso won't press it too much, but it's clear in that simple response: He does, in fact, believe that its' Gustave's doing. Verso's tried to leave multiple times, and has expressed more than once that he wanted for Gustave to forget him; he was never lying. But Gustave has managed to draw him back, keep him close, stay at the front of his thoughts, tangle himself up so close that Verso can't even think to leave, anymore. Maybe everything they've done has been more his fault, the kisses, the touches, how eager he is to push him somewhere and start peeling his clothes from him to touch him, but everything else.
He's stolen moments with Expeditioners before. Nights, days, weeks. He's never done it in Lumiere, but it's still happened, and sometimes he let himself get more carried away with it than he knew he should, his heart falling away from him no matter how much he tries to guard it. But he's never gotten tied up in someone so quickly, so completely. The difference, from his perspective, is Gustave.
Like in this. He'd meant interrogation mostly as a joke, but it's also mostly been true. Exactly how and when he's chosen to make himself known to the new Expedition is never quite the same, but the outcomes are similar. Sometimes he's given more benefit of a doubt, sometimes he's even treated as a friend immediately, but most of the time, especially in the scenarios where he hasn't specifically engineered an occurrence to earn him a bit of trust -- he gets questioned. Sometimes inquisitive, sometimes aggressive, but always questioned. Sometimes pushed further when they brush up against what he obviously doesn't want to talk about. Sometimes given temporary space. It's rarely just a chat or a conversation, it's always at least a questioning, and very often, an interrogation. Verso thinks it only makes sense, acquiesces to it.
Gustave clearly doesn't see it that way. Verso can see the genuine moment of concern play across his face, how his brows knit together in the slightest frown -- how he tries to put that genuine feeling into words and it pours out until he starts to stumble on his own thoughts and words, again. Verso still likes that. It's really adorable.
He laughs, taking another moment to kiss him and tongue into his mouth before peeling away from him slightly -- not to move away, but just to sit beside him, one knee drawn up to his chest as he lets his gaze cast over Gustave's body, close enough they're still touching. Gustave's beautiful as always, sprawled next to him in the moonlight and the glow of the chroma-stained trees, and he idly walks his fingers up over his stomach, to his chest -- wetting his lower lip briefly, as if picturing following that same path with his tongue. Verso glances back up at him, quirking an eyebrow. ]
I thought we were talking.
[ A great multitasker, of course. ]
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Yeah. I guess we are.
[ Another luxury he'd thought was relegated to the world of daydreams and fantasies forever.
His glance shifts minutely, studying Verso's face, caught there even though there's something achingly appealing in the way Verso is lounging, like a predator that just had a big meal and is contentedly lazing around. How could he do anything else, when tiny expressions flit over Verso's features: a quirk of a smile, a lifting eyebrow, the flicker of his tongue over his lip.
His own voice is a murmur, low and just audible over the murmuring breeze, the flowing river lapping gently at rocks smoothed by years of running water. ]
I've always wanted to know... what was it like? Before the Fracture?
[ It's impossible to keep the eager curiosity from his voice. Yes, there are so many things he needs to know that are of more pressing importance — what are the dangers of this continent, has Verso been to the Stone Wave Cliffs, does he know what they should expect there, what remains of the expeditions that made it further inland —
But he's always hungered for information about the world before the Fracture. What it looked like, if people were as happy as he's always imagined, how it felt to be here and simply exist without the shadow of the Paintress hanging over them.
And maybe he wants to exist in this pleasant bubble a little longer, without the worries and fears of the days and their mission creeping back in just yet. ]
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This is nice. Just lingering in this. And the question that comes, Verso can't quite say he was expecting -- not one he hasn't answered before, but not usually very far up the priority list for most Expeditions. But that's probably why Gustave is asking that, isn't it? Pressing questions might come with pressing answers where something needs to be done, and maybe they'd both like to stave that off, just for a little while longer.
There's a clear eagerness in his voice, too, in his eyes -- like he'd maybe tried to restrain it slightly to sound more neutral but it couldn't help but bubble forward. It is, like everything else about Gustave, absolutely adorable. Wanting to know, a chance to learn something that Verso doesn't think modern-day Lumiere has any real knowledge or memories of, anymore. Just stories, warped and faded with time. His hand stills slightly in Gustave's hair. Older memories are difficult, sometimes, just as painful as they are sweet, but the expression on his face is still a small, contented smile. They're fond memories, at the end of the day.
Where does he start? He can picture so much of the old city so clearly. Sometimes when he's in Old Lumiere, he can pull all of it together in his mind. Verso hums softly for a moment again, thoughtful, reaching out to Gustave's hand resting over his belly, sliding his own fingers over his. Just to touch him, just to feel him. ]
It was -- different.
Lumiere was bigger. Brighter. Seemed like the entire world. [ Its a little difficult to think back through the memories, sometimes, some of them fuzzy around the edges: things that in hindsight just must've been outside maman's focus, and at the time none of them would've ever noticed or thought about it. The world was Lumiere, and Lumiere was the world. Verso doesn't know what it's like outside the canvas, but he doesn't think that's the truth of things, out there. But the truth of it here, his truth, was that he loved it. It was home. ] Every building fully lived in, with so many people moving around all the time. A lot harder to find a bit of space to yourself, though it wasn't impossible.
[ That's what strikes him about Lumiere now, whenever he goes back. Emptier and emptier, every single year. ]
Otherwise I don't think it was that different from the Lumiere you know. There was just a lot -- more. [ And something he doesn't quite want to say: there was a pervasive sense of -- permanence. That everyone's lives were happy in some way, and that it'd always stay that way. A world apart from the quiet resignation he feels whenever he's there now. ] Even more districts that would go for miles, pretty different characters to each one. Gestrals had a part of the city practically to themselves, and it was kind of a mess.
[ He says that fondly, and a bit absently, in that he forgets that the gestrals are probably still fantastical to Gustave and the crew, even if they've now met plenty of them. They were just there in the city along with everything else, with Esquie, with the grandis. ]
I passed through often on the train towards the Conservatory from home, and it always looked a bit different out the window each time.
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It's all incredible enough, he muses, shifting his fingers apart so Verso's can slide between them, and that's before— ]
Gestrals?
[ It comes out on a disbelieving laugh, his eyebrows pushing up and his eyes lighting with bewildered amusement. ]
Gestrals in Lumiere? How on earth did the city stay standing? One good jump from Golgra would have the Crooked Tower collapsing completely.
[ And yet he can almost see it, too: the feisty wooden creatures with their Sakapatates and bloodthirsty readiness for a fight. Although they wouldn't have needed Sakapatates, would they? The Nevrons only came later. Of the little he knows about life before the Fracture, that impossible sense of peace and safety sometimes seems the most fantastical.
He rolls his head to look a little more directly at Verso, careful not to disturb the fingers in his hair, enchanted not just with the story he's weaving, but with the look on his face as he speaks, the tiny fond smile as he sifts back through his memories.
He must have been happy then, surrounded by beauty and life. He mentions the Conservatory and Gustave smiles, a little wistful. ]
Mon monsieur le pianiste, the Conservatory student.
[ How he wishes he could have known him then, young and vibrant and full of the things he was learning, perfecting. It's a tempting mental image, as is his casual mention of train rides through and to the city. There's a near boyish delight in Gustave at the very thought; it shines from him, filterless, as he shakes his head, rueful, wishful. ]
I've always wanted to see a working train. Or even a real one. There are only pieces left of tracks and cars in Lumiere, barely anything at all. I've had to imagine it simply based on toys.
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That's why they had part of the city to themselves. Not all of it.
[ There's a bit of a laugh to his voice -- keeping them to their own little district was the only way to contain the damage. They'd go everywhere anyway, of course, and the people were happy to have them as companions, but in their own part of the city things were being knocked down and rebuilt and moved around constantly and there was never a shortage of tournament after tournament after tournament. Golgra had been as terrifying back then as she is now, generally keeping all of them in check, as much as they could ever be.
He keeps playing with Gustave's hair as he talks, moving onto twisting another curl between his fingers, watching Gustave's expression. He takes in everything he's saying, seems so genuinely delighted, fascinated, wistful. Verso finds it -- difficult, to imagine what things must really be like for the Lumierians today, but this must all sound so fantastical to them. There isn't much history or memory of what they used to be, anymore, and their little slice of Lumiere had been plucked straight from the city's heart with the crooked Tower in tow, but with so much less of the city around it as it was flung into the ocean a thousand miles away.
And that smile, calling him mon monsieur le pianiste, again, a wave of quiet warmth running over him at the name -- and the look in his eyes. He must be imagining it, what he was like, at the time. It was so many years ago that Verso thinks he was almost a different person, when he thinks back. Younger, more vibrant, much less tired, where his biggest worries where his loving but slightly overbearing parents and their expectations, where he had time to fuss over his next recital, making time to play with Alicia in-between all his practice and study, help encourage her and keep her spirits up even after the fire. Verso squeezes Gustave's hand under his own, gently lifts his hand and draws it to his lips, pressing a few kisses across his knuckles.
It might've been nice to meet Gustave then. He'd meet people he took an interest in and invite them to the manor to hear him play, and Clea would roll her eyes a little whenever she overheard him promising to write them a song. He never actually wrote most of them, and his interest didn't always stay for very long, but -- Gustave might've managed, he thinks. Especially given the multiple songs and melodies scribbled in his journal he's written over the past two years, most of them scrawled messily when he was feeling especially awful after another night of lying in flower fields and dreaming of a garden. Most of them accompanied by angrier scribbles of frustration of nothing sounding quite right -- only one had survived. But it's a song. Un Jour Je Serai Retour Prรฉs de Toi. Someday, Gustave might get to hear it.
And when Gustave talks about trains? Well. He smiles against the back of Gustave's hand, quiet and fond. Seeing that wistfulness in him over wanting to see a real, working train . . . He's sweet, and almost insufferably adorable.
( Verso liked the trains, too. He knew most of the network by heart, could talk about the design of some of those stations for hours. ) ]
-- You know, there's places out here where there's entire trains basically intact. None of them work anymore, and they're pretty far up North, but when we get there . . .
[ He'll have to take Gustave there. ]
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Yeah. Makes sense.
[ For a moment he thinks about telling Verso about their own trip to the gestral village, about the duels and the arena and the Sakapatates; about Karatom, which... reminds him, he needs to return to the village to bring the mushroom he'd promised to the little gestral for the Ultimate Sakapatate and its cannons. His gaze turns slightly inward for a moment, considering, before he shakes it off and focuses back on Verso with a small, wry smile. ]
I'd like that. A lot.
[ And he would. The wry tinge to his expression doesn't have anything to do with the thought of trekking high up into those far, snow-capped mountains to see the ruins of trains flung there when the Fracture pulled the city and the land around it to pieces. ]
... but we have to get across the sea, first. And to do that, we need to find a rock, because apparently Esquie can't carry us all without Florrie. What makes Florrie different from any other rock? I have no idea.
[ He shifts, looking up into the night sky and drawing his left arm out from under his head so he can wave it through the air, fingers flicking and wrist making circles, pushing out with fingers spread, unconscious gestures. ]
All I know is it's somewhere in the Stone Wave Cliffs.
[ Gustave looks back over at Verso, letting his left hand fall back down into the grass at his side. ]
Have you been there? Any idea what we should expect, aside from massive bloodthirsty Nevrons?
Or, you know, those too. I'd appreciate a heads up before something gigantic tries to kill us.
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Lie after lie. So it goes. At least Gustave isn't asking him anything too damning. He's smiling a little when Gustave draws those circles in the air, reaching to catch his hand as he lets it fall back down, fingers curved over his wrist. He pulls his hand to his mouth, one light kiss to the back of his hand as he slowly shifts and sinks down beside him, shifting to lie down next to him and stare up at the sky overhead.
Maybe he won't have to look him in the eye for any lies he has to tell here. That might be nice. It's at least nice to jsut be here, beside him, feel his warmth and his presence radiating out -- not quite the same as sharing a bed, but. Its as close they're likely ever going to get. The grass dimples where he's laid down, and Verso can feel it a little the same way you can feel someone else's weight on a bed. The sash and jacket's mostly been neatly tucked under Gustave's head, leaving him to lie in the grass -- it smells bright and fresh, like the river nearby, but it also smells of them, right now, sweat and sex still lingering in the air.
Verso sighs. ]
Esquie's like that with his rocks. [ Like Florrie, or well. Soarrie. ] But he'll be able to help you cross the ocean.
[ A quiet, thoughtful hum. The Stone Wave Cliffs . . . Dangerous, another step up for this Expedition, but they've been handling everything the Continent has thrown their way so far with nothing short of finesse and grace. ]
The Stone Wave Cliffs are a spectacle in their own way. Somewhat rough terrain to move around in, but you can thank the 69th for all the handholds around. Plenty of well-positioned grapples, too.
The nevrons are as nasty there as they are anywhere else -- tougher, though. [ A pause. ] Some of the giant ones might wander over that way, but you'll probably be fine.
[ It's also somewhere he knows Renoir likes to keep watch. Verso's been keeping an eye out as much as he can, but he hasn't noticed any signs of the man nearby, just yet. He must be watching or keeping tabs somehow, but at least he should be able to tell and steer the Expedition out of his way whenever he might decide to show up, or so he hopes. He hasn't been quite as -- vigilant, in his watch, for the past day or two. He'll need to get back to it.
A beat passes, and he turns his head to look at Gustave beside him, smirking languidly. ]
I'll save you, otherwise.
[ Of course he will. ]
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He smiles, crooked, and rolls his head to look back over at Verso, both his hands settled on his bare stomach. ]
As much as I'd appreciate that, it would be a fairly dramatic way for you to meet the rest of the team, non?
[ (Just a casual reminder that it would be a lot easier for you to let him introduce the idea of you to the team first, Verso.)
Gustave breathes in deep through his nose, chest rising and falling in a smooth motion, and turns his face back up to the star-swept sky, thoughtful. ]
Well, whatever might be in there, it's where we need to go next.
[ A beat, and a slight tip of his head, acknowledging some thought of his own. ]
But we have to go back to the gestral village first. I promised Karatom I'd help him with the gunpowder for his Ultimate Sakapatate's cannons. You knowโ
[ Gustave looks back over again, squinting, lips pursed, exaggeratedly thoughtful. ]
Really help give it that extra... boost. A really big boom. That ought to help scare off any Nevrons that come calling.
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He offers a smirk and a one-shouldered shrug. Verso is aware that he'll have to meet the team eventually, still isn't quite sure how to go about it yet, but an opportunity is likely to arise. Doing it saving Gustave from something -- wouldn't be too dissimilar to things he's done before, whether taking advantage of a natural occurrence or nudging the odds or engineering something to make sure an Expedition has reason to trust him right off the gate. And a long time ago, when Gustave was merely an utter stranger that had taken in Alicia, something like that might've been a distant plan. Now, he'd really prefer not to use him that way.
There aren't any threats on the Cliffs the team couldn't handle, he's quite sure. Maybe he can find some way to help them with Florrie and introduce himself then -- save Esquie from coming back for him after they make it through. ( And he is, unreservedly, believing they'll make it through: few other Expeditions have impressed him as much and they're doing it with so little. Four of them, this incredible thing Gustave has made . . . And Gustave himself. )
He laughs fondly, shifting slightly on his side so he's facing Gustave, one arm pillowing under his head so his hand can comfortably reach to keep playing with Gustave's hair. ]
-- You made a promise to a gestral?
[ Karatom, no less. Gustave sounds like he thinks he can just help a little while and leave. Verso's pretty sure he's going to be stuck there reiterating ( and "testing" ) for far, far longer than he'd like. ]
You might be stuck there for a while, mon chou. And I worry about what they'd do with access to a -- really big boom. Those things aren't great at telling nevrons from not-nevrons.
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Sophie, maybe. A thought which still hurts, even lying here next to Verso. He carefully lifts it, sets it aside into a mental box he can lock and push into the depths of his mind, and re-focuses, smiling right back at Verso. ]
Well, he needed help.
[ This is clearly reason enough for Gustave. ]
And a lot of what I did back in Lumiere was find better ways to build things.
[ He shrugs, lifting his right hand and setting his elbow on the grass so he can lazily swing that hand over to run the back of it over Verso's bare stomach in an affectionate, idle caress. ]
Besides, it's not like it's all that likely anything other than Nevrons are going to be coming toward the village. As far as I know, the current human population of the continent can be counted on just over one hand.
[ And it might help protect them from the white-haired man. He doesn't add it; Verso must already know what Golgra had told them, that he'd showed up and slaughtered so many. ]
It won't take me long. And then we'll head straight to the cliffs.
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You know. [ A thoughtful hum, and he pushes himself up slightly just so he can roll over and brace himself over him again, one elbow against his bunched-up sash and jacket, fingers curled lightly into his hair, the other tracing up over his belly as he leans his body over him. His eyes are lidded, fond, those fingers walking their way up over his chest. ] You had your performances from your Monsieur le pianiste, and you know I adore mon fleurist's work --
[ His hand lifts to curve against his chin, thumb tracing lightly just under his lower lip as he leans in to catch his mouth in a kiss. He lingers for just a while, the stir of heat starting to build again just under his tongue, pulling back to murmur against he corner of his mouth with a soft purr. ]
-- But I never got the chance to see mon ingรฉnieur at work.
[ Verso is pretty sure that they'll be stuck there for much longer than Gustave appears to think: he's used to talking with the gestrals by now, but they are stubborn and persistent, not to mention Gustave seems much less likely to be willing to just physically pick them up and toss them away when warranted.
But maybe that's fine. A bit of time with the gestrals to watch Gustave at work, to give the gestrals a hand in some of their projects -- and probably more opportunities to watch him fight. Because the gestrals aren't going to let them go without multiple test rounds of their new toys. ]
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Verso murmurs words into the air between them and muffles any possible question with a kiss that makes every inside part of him melt at once. It's sweet and lingering and he's dazed when Verso pulls away, already reaching for him again. The way they're lying, he has to turn a little onto his side and reach with his left hand, which he carefully keeps away from Verso's hair, curves deliberate and gentle at Verso's shoulder, runs down along his arm and back up again, cool metal against warm skin.
He's not dazed enough to not find what Verso continues with funny, though, and he laughs, low and warm and a little breathless. ]
It's just as well. It would immediately kill any ideas of further seduction you might have at their inception.
I doubt anyone other than another engineer would find anything interesting in my tinkering and iterations and design process.
[ His glance moves over Verso's face, warm and fond and a little darker than before. Amusingly, it looks like he means it, like he really would enjoy watching Gustave lose hours to calculating the correct mass balance and sketching out designs and working with machines that need to be almost entirely taken apart and put back together with no visible changes made. ]
Even making this gunpowder for them and helping them adjust the cannon design and prototype isn't likely to be anything you'd enjoy watching. It'll take hours.
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