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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
I just like seeing them.
[ Said with a smile that's almost a grin, half-whispered, a murmur against his ear like its some playful little secret.
Some small way to feel like he's actually with him, a part of Gustave's life that might be intertwined with the rest rather than something neatly sequestered away, that can be excised or left. Just like how, as much as he adores his Monsieur le fleuriste, as much as he understands why Gustave wants to stay that way in his eyes -- he can't help but think of wanting a little of the Monsieur le ingรฉnieur, too. That's the part of him that lived in Lumiere, what he was for most of his life in that city that Verso could have never had the time to know, and maybe even outside of these two lonely, painful years Verso has started to think a bit about what it would've been like to be beside him even outside of that. Not to have been with him, surely Gustave had other suitors, but just -- to have known him, to have seen his face from afar sometimes when they passed on the street, to have heard of the handsome engineer that works on the Dome.
Things he'll never quite give voice to, not easily or willingly, at least. He just smiles, eyes lidding appreciatively at Gustave's touch, the tangle in his hair and then sliding back down over his nape. ]
You can be both, non?
I'm still expecting flowers even while you're at work. You wouldn't forsake me for your projects, would you?
[ There's no real protest to it, of course. Gustave can be his Monsieur le fleuriste a while longer, much longer, as long as he wants, for as long as they have. Something dark and hungry flickers in his eyes at the way Gustave shivers and gasps, a slow smirk again starting to pull at the corners of his mouth, and he shifts over him again to catch his mouth in another kiss. Fond, sweet, just a roil of heat starting to grow under the surface, tonguing deep to taste him and then pulling away. ]
Then ask me more questions.
[ He says, even as he pinches that nipple between his thumb and index finger again, a light tweak and roll between his fingers, feeling it stiffen under his touch as he draws that sensation out for just a little longer than before. Verso ducks his head to press a kiss to his collarbone, instead, sucking just lightly enough on some stretch of skin to not-quite-mark him, to tease at bruising him somewhere that'd be just a bit easier to hide. Not for long, and then already mouthing downward, those eyes flicking up to watch Gustave through his lashes as he seals his lips over his other nipple, teasing it with his tongue, with gentle suction. ]
no subject
No.
[ Smiling as Verso leans in, as he presses his mouth to Gustave's in another deep, sweet kiss that leaves Gustave's head spinning. His own hands tighten on Verso's body, until he realizes, belatedly, and lifts his fabricated left hand off Verso's hip, sets it back in the grass beside his own where if he accidentally clenches his fingers too hard all he'll damage is some grass and earth. As it is, he's sure he's already left bruises of his own on Verso's hip, and leans up to ghost his lips over Verso's again, apologetic. ]
I wouldn't forsake you for my projects.
[ Right now, with Verso paying him such sweet attention, letting Gustave melt into him all over again, it's difficult to imagine forsaking him for anything less than Maelle, and she...
Well, he hopes, when she finally finds out, that she won't ask him to do anything of the kind. ]
But I do need to work.
[ Sternly added as Verso begins drifting downward, dusting lazy kisses over his skin as Gustave's hand slips into his hair, as his breath catches. ]
If I don't finish this cannon for them, they'll try to take my arm โ Verso โ
[ The name coming on the heels of a groan as his eyes squeeze shut and his whole body pushes upward, arching into Verso's mouth, seeking out more of that sweet, perfect, wet heat. His laugh sounds singed around the edges. ]
If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to distract me.
no subject
They'll have to go through me to take it, Gustave.
[ But that's a conversation for clearer minds. Right now Verso is feeling the quiet, heady haze of just being around him slowly start to fill his thoughts again -- it'd never left, for as long as they were tangled hear together, only briefly cleared and now roaring back again. Everything about him is just intoxicating, his smile and his laugh and the way each word falls from his lips, that little edge of some attempted sternness in his voice before it falls away quickly to something breathless and keening under his attentions. He loves it, craves it, wants more of it, the sweet arch of Gustave's entire body curving into his mouth and tongue, the way his laugh frays around the edges, already starting to fall apart.
He lifts his head to brush a kiss to his collarbone, and this time he does suckle a bruise there, small, light, but just red enough that it's clear it'll stay and darken in the hours to come. Verso doesn't lift his head, just flicks his gaze up, lazy and languid with that ever-widening smirk. ]
Me? Trying to distract you?
[ Verso pinches at his nipple again, just a little sharper and harder, now -- and when he does let go its only when he's leaning his head over to tongue at it instead, never quite giving him relief from sensation, licking and teasing. His hand slides down over his chest, settling over his stomach, feeling the way the way lean muscle tenses and trembles under his callused palm in response to all of his touches, thumbing idly at his navel, just barely dipping down to let a fingertip ease past his trousers and brush at heated skin beneath. ]
How could use accuse me of something so wicked, mon chou?
[ A laugh, breathless, and this time he's drawing that other nipple into his mouth, latched onto his skin with an open-mouthed kiss, sucking and feeling him respond under his mouth and tongue. His other arm has to shift a little to make sure he's still bracing his weight well enough, slowly moving over and back on top of him again, a pleasant weight pressing him down into the grass as he slowly slots his leg between Gustave's thighs, fingers starting to pull and tighten slightly through the soft waves of Gustave's hair.
He would never try to distract you. Never. ]
no subject
Really? You're willing to fight a whole village of gestrals and their Sakapatates just for my arm? Mon beau chevalier, how brave. Keep an eye out for the cannons.
[ They're annoying even without an improved design.
It's all absurdity, when Verso is teasing him and he's laughing, ignoring the little sting as Verso pulls hard enough on skin to make blood vessels break and bruise. Another mark, like Verso's determined to leave reminders all over his body, like Verso is drawing a signature over him, claiming him for his own. It's been a long time since someone thought of him as theirs.
It swells in his chest, threatening to crack ribs, to burst his heart. All this time, he'd only hoped his monsieur le pianiste might occasionally remember him fondly, might sometimes think back to the brief time they shared. He'd never imagined, never dared to, that he could have made as deep a mark on Verso as Verso had made on him, something deeper than muscle and bone, seared directly into the deepest parts of himself. He still doesn't understand how it happened, why, how it could possibly be that while he was wandering morosely through the rooftop gardens of Lumiรจre Verso was picking flowers and watching them die, playing piano but fading back out of the habit once again. He thought his was the only heart that had broken.
And now it feels about to break again, every look Verso gives him that's so full of affection or warmth or desire, every touch that makes him shiver or gasp or moan, the feeling of Verso warm and solid and here next to him, all of it a continual stream of befuddled happiness and desire and longing that makes him feel like a glass of wine, overflowing and heady, that Verso won't stop pouring.
Verso settles over him, a hard thigh tucked warm between his legs, and Gustave wants to wrap himself around him completely, sliding his left arm carefully over the small of his back, running his right hand down over his back, enjoying the way firm muscle shifts and tightens and relaxes under his touch, down over the material of his trousers to curve over his ass, as possessive as Verso's mouth on his body. He's shivering, pushing up helplessly into that mouth, that tongue, nipple hard and aching, every inch of skin crying out for Verso's touch. ]
It certainly feels like wickedness to me...
no subject
For you, mon petit chou? [ A little bit of a push in his own 'revenge' against that nickname. ] I'd fight them all, even if Golgra herself was the one who came to wrench that arm away from you. It might just take a very long time to win.
[ But he'll manage it. Gustave is sweet and perfect beneath him, as always. Verso's pressed so close to him now, skin on skin, and he can feel almost every trembling muscle and tendon in his body as he arches up into his mouth, as his head falls back and he shivers and shakes just from Verso's attentions. He gives himself over to him so completely, so easily, and sometimes Verso still feels guilty, still feels selfish for wanting to have him and take him and call him his own when he knows he doesn't deserve it -- but right now, that feels far away. Right now, he'd like Gustave to be his. ]
Mm. [ Just a slow, thoughtful hum, deep in his throat and echoing in his chest as he presses that leg down between Gustave's thighs, a nice even pressure for him to push back against. Verso takes his time with sucking at that nipple and all but reveling in how sensitive Gustave clearly is, here, closing his eyes with an appreciative half-groan at Gustave's own touch, his hand everywhere over his back, curving over his ass, likes how that grip feels, firm with a distinct edge of something possessive. That hand against his stomach stays where he is, only just barely drifting lower, fingertips dipping further beneath his already dangerously low-slung trousers, opening his eyes again to look at him lazily through his lashes as he kisses at his clavicle. ] I suppose it might be.
[ He trails lazy kisses up from his chest to his neck and throat. He moves so easily with a kind of languid grace, eyes lidded and his pupils completely blown beneath them, a cat that's caught its prey and and is taking its sweet time to savor it. The sound in his chest is almost a purr as he finally reaches Gustave's mouth, not quite kissing him fully but just brushing his lips up against the corner of Gustave's own, curved into lazy, teasing smile.
There's something about how languid and relaxes he is here in all of his movements, a genuine heat and all-consuming want in his gaze and his touch even if there's no urgency to it. It makes it feel almost familiar, like he knows he can take his time ( when in reality he really, really can't ) to pour himself over Gustave like a liquid and cover him completely, like instead of some stolen late evening in the middle of the forest he's waking up in one morning out of hundreds they've already shared and leaning over him in bed to piece him apart.
But it is still Verso, who's shown before that all that can change all at once like a switch has been flipped. And he seems to be waiting for something. His voice is soft, almost whispered, teasing; ]
Would you like me to stop, then?
[ :') ]
no subject
It's difficult to keep his left hand from gripping too hard, but he doesn't even make the attempt with his right, fingers pressing thoughtlessly into firm muscle, gripping him and drawing him as close as possible even as Gustave's hips tip up, pressing himself into the firm muscle of his thigh. Pleasure jolts dully through him, tangling in his gut, flushing his skin. What's left of his voice takes on a rasp โ not so growled as Verso's, but low and breathless and a little like running one's finger over fine-grit sandpaper. ]
No.
[ He's not like Verso; after a certain point, all the banter gets burned away, leaving just the core of him behind, sincere and too earnest, the man who has longed for this touch, these kisses, this man, for years now and who never thought he would ever feel any of them ever again.
Verso's hand is warm against his belly, and he can feel the way his own muscles twitch, tense, beneath that touch. He thinks he can feel each individual finger, the way they flex gently against his skin, imagines it drifting over the gleaming keys of a piano.
A soft groan tugs in his chest, and he turns his head, feeling almost drunk on the things Verso's doing, the touches that are more tease than anything else, to kiss him back. It's open-mouthed and a little messy, his tongue flickering warm into Verso's mouth, his whole body flushed and shivering. ]
That's... pretty much the last thing I want, right now. For you to stop.
Don't stop, Verso.
no subject
I couldn't stop if you wanted me to.
[ Of course he could. But in his voice, it sounds true, like if the world itself tore apart beneath them he wouldn't be able to untangle himself from him, like he's wound up so completely and so deep that he simply has to stay. And somehow, it's still not enough, and he goes back to kissing as his chest, his voice muffled into a quiet murmur against his skin, only just loud enough for them both to hear. ]
-- You're so sensitive. [ He says it with fondness, with admiration, with almost some kind of awe, flicking his tongue over a nipple again just to watch him arch in response. Like he's sitting at a freshly tuned instrument, fingers poised over the keys, plucking out a sweet note with all the skill he's learned over the years and finding some quiet pride and joy and awe in how clear the sound is when he draws it out and lets it ring into the air. ] Makes me wonder if I -- [ just a quiet please dsound as he presses closer, at Gustave's hands on his own body, his own skin -- ] -- could almost make you come, just from this.
[ Teasing touches, kisses, his leg between his thighs, and his attention lovingly lathered onto his nipples, both of them peaked nubs jsut a little wet from saliva. He latches onto one again, on Gustave's left, sucking hard as he lets himself enjoy the feel of Gustave's hands on his own body, lets himself be all but hauled closer to him. ]
We can see how close I can get you.
[ Another little breathless laugh, his every single word thrumming with desire as fierce and hotly as every part of his body pressed against him. That hand at his stomach lingers only to tease briefly at his navel and then roaming up along the length of his body, tweaking lightly and teasingly at his other nipple -- and this time, not letting to, or relaxing. Just rolling it continuously and gently between his thumb and forefinger, lips curving into a devilish grin.
Perhaps he is being wicked. ]
no subject
He's tempted to try it now, just to see, but then Verso's kissing his way back down along his chest and setting his warm, wet mouth back over a too-sensitive nipple and the idea of trying to push him away, even a little, even for a joke, becomes utterly unthinkable. Verso might as well be trying to sear it out of his head completely, along with every other word he knows. The only sound he can make for a moment is a moan that's almost a whimper as Verso slides his hand back up to his chest, teasing him so torturously that for a moment Gustave feels like he might simply fall completely apart with need.
He breathes out a laugh, arching up into Verso's mouth, his touch, pressing hard against the thigh that grinds so deliciously against him. ]
โPretty close, I bet.
[ No surprise there. Intimacy like this hadn't been a part of his life in the two years since the garden. Before Verso snatched him out of the air and pressed him up against a rock wall just the other day, the only person to touch him like this at all was himself. Verso, in his dreams, or Sophie, maybe. But when consciousness returned, it was only his own hands on his body, no matter what face his mind tried to attach to them.
He runs those hands over Verso now, cupping and gripping, fingers digging into warm skin and firm muscle, pressing the pink beginnings of bruises when Gustave can't focus enough to moderate how hard he's curling his fingers over an arm, against his back, his shoulders. The fingers of his right hand slide up into the dark waves of his hair and grip there, hard. ]
Verso, my godโ the way you make me feelโ
no subject
Merde. After everything else, that still gets him going more than almost anything Gustave does, just the sound of his name falling from his lip and on his tongue, on a smile, a laugh, in conversation, gasped and moaned like its a lone prayer when its he's completely shattered and fallen apart. His eyes darken, fingers pinching a little harder at his nipple, but otherwise keeping up a steady rhythm and pressure, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, sometimes taking a moment to flick his thumb over the hardened nub.
He leans in with a speed and intensity that makes it seem like he was almost pulled in by gravity, crashing against Gustave's lips to steal the last of those words with his own tongue. He shifts his weight to press him even further down against the grass, his thigh still slotted firmly between Gustave's legs, breaking away almost just as suddenly and violently as he'd went in with a groan against his throat. ]
You're so fucking beautiful. [ The words are hissed through his teeth as he kisses his way back down over his chest, another lingering bruise added to where his collarbone meets his shoulder. It's almost hard to make out the words between the kisses, for as reluctant as he is to pull too far from his body, from his skin -- almost like he's not even saying them for Gustave to hear. He's saying it because he can't help himself, because it bubbles out from something in his chest, the edge of something feral as he tongues over his other nipple. ] J'ai vraiment envie de toi -- I don't think -- you understand, Gustave.
Just how much -- you're driving me fucking crazy.
[ Just by being him. Just by doing this. He latches on hard to that sensitive bud, sucking, hollowing his cheeks, tonguing at him in his mouth, his beard and scruff scratching against his skin. Maybe he can really bring him over, maybe he can't and will have to touch him, but Verso certainly seems to be throwing himself into that attempt with absolutely no shortage of vigor despite the limitation, as fully as he throws himself into everything else Gustave has ever given him. ]
no subject
No more. He crashes into Gustave, passionate as a thunderstorm, almost splitting Gustave's lip when it's crushed against his teeth. He might be facing down a Nevron with sword and dagger in hand for the intensity in his eyes, the precision strike of his movement. He's hot and hard and everywhere, pressing Gustave down into the grass, the groan that's ripped from him landing in Gustave's gut and twisting like a ball of electricity. Every hair on his arms, the back of his neck, stands up; goosebumps sweep over his skin.
Verso tells him he's beautiful, so fucking beautiful, and a fist grabs his stomach, grips it hard, yanks. But he doesn't stop there, words spilling out of him in a jumped mess of language โ I want you so bad searing into him, the words branding themselves over the shivering, overwhelmed skin of his chest โ that scrambles and shatters, tripping off his lips in a thoughtless, breathless rush, and Gustave wants to wrap that voice around him like a ribbon.
His name in that voice sounds like a curse, like a coal; it hollows him out and fills him again in a rush with pure heat. Desire is a river in flood; it sweeps him away with no thought of anything but Verso, Verso, Verso's hands and mouth and the way he's dragging so hard on Gustave's tender nipple, putainโ
He doesn't even realize when he starts talking, distracted, words falling from him like mismatched puzzle pieces cascading from an upended box. ]
Verso, you're โ please, fuck, please don't stop, don'tโ
[ He plants a foot on the ground, bracing himself on it to push himself against Verso's leg, a helpless rhythm now as his hips rock, desperate for his touch, for the feel of him there between his legs. The intensity of Verso's desire, his attack on Gustave's body, breaks over him and around him and he'd not close enough, can't touch Verso enough. ]
My god, you make me crazy, I look at you and I lose my mind, you can have me. Any way you want, just so long as you touch meโ
no subject
He loves it. Gustave pressing up against him, planting a foot against the ground to give himself some much-needed leverage so he can better grind up against his leg. Gustave's hands, both of them, clawing along his back and holding him close, desperate for anything to hold onto. Gustave's body, one long thrumming line of heat and want, arching up in some desperate bid to get more of his touch, more of his mouth and tongue, just more. Gustave's voice, broken thoughts that barely flow into each other except for want and need.
Heat pulses though him, tearing through his body like a wildfire, and so much of it rushes straight down between his legs that he can feel his head spin -- but he doesn't care. Touching himself or thinking about that all would mean turning some of his attention away from Gustave, which is as unthinkable as stopping. Instead somewhere in the mess of their tangled limbs he manages to switch his attention between his mouth and fingers, lifting his head to release one nipple and immediately moving to pinch and tweak at it between his fingers, his voice low and heated as he turns his mouth and tongue towards the other side of Gustave's chest. ]
-- Mine. You're mine, now. I'll give you anything, I need you so fucking bad --
[ Just like before the words just seem to bubble up from his throat, barely voluntary at all, in between kisses and bites. His other hand snakes down between them, a little clumsy for how impatient the touch is, heated fingers sliding over bare skin and pulling at the front of Gustave's trousers, already open from before. He has to shift and press his knee further down against the ground, peeling his thigh away from where Gustave was grinding hurriedly against it, a sudden lack of pressure and friction driven by necessity just so he can finally pull his pants down.
A low growl in his throat, and he peels away from licking and sucking at his nipple to draw his way back up to Gustave's mouth and throat, the theme and focus of his heated murmurings suddenly taking a sharp, hard twist. ]
-- I wanna make you come, Gustave. [ Those fingers finally close around the length of him, his other hand still pinching and playing with his other nipple as he immediately tugs at the length of him. The weight and feel of Gustave against his callused palms is familiar, by now ( not familiar enough, he wants to touch him until he knows him as well as anything else, until the feel of him is burned into his palm and fingers ), and he immediately falls into a rough, hard rhythm, breath catching in his chest between nips and kisses at his lips. ] Want to make you come so hard you can't think of anything but me, gonna make you come all over yourself, all over me, make you lick it off my fingers.
Gonna come for me, Gustave? Are you gonna come for me?
no subject
But then Verso's fingers are curling hard around him, stroking him roughly, and it's like Verso's grabbed him by the hair to drag him bodily up the peak of this pleasure. Whatever small amount of control he still had is washed away in an instant, a flash flood scouring through him, slipping the leash on his ability to think, to talk, to control himself at all.
With the last vestiges of sanity before they burn away like tissue paper in a wildfire, he drags his left hand off Verso's back and lets the fingers sink into the grass and earth at his side, digging hard furrows into the dirt as they fist and contract. ]
Yours, I'mโ Versoโ
[ He's all helpless movement, arching and writhing under Verso's relentless assault, mind a static haze of white. He is his body, hot and sweat-slicked and needy, a taut bowstring in Verso's grip. He's back on that promontory, overlooking the continent and the sea, and this time Verso is there, hands hard on his back to shove him over the edge. Every word singes itself against his gasping mouth, that hand unforgiving at his chest, pinching and twisting and driving him out of his mind. Verso talks like some floodgate has opened, like he can't help himself, filthy needy words that strike like lighting. Each one feels like another finger wrapped around him, gripping tight, rough with calluses and need.
He barely has any idea what he himself is saying, a tumble of words in two languages as his mind sparks and catches and stutters. ]
Yeah, Iโ je vaisโ je vaisโ Versoโ
[ And then, abruptly, he's there, his spine locking as his head pushes back, a grimace almost like agony furrowing his brows hard as his hips press helplessly into Verso's hand and he spills hot and hard and wet over those fingers, onto his own belly. It almost hurts, aching and sudden and perfect, and for a moment he does just as Verso demands, forgets everything, everything, except him and his hands and his mouth.
And his name. Dragged out of him on a wrenching groan as he shudders and breaks and falls messily apart. ]
Verso.
no subject
It's one thing for Verso to do what he does, but its another for Gustave to let himself be swept up in it, to let everything Verso does run through him so thoroughly, to give himself over to his hands so he can really take him apart. The other man still seems to be thinking, for a moment, his hands scrambling over his back, but then it all flashes away into instinct, desperation, need and want, and Verso just wants to take those moments and wrap it around himself forever.
He drinks in ever response like he wants to burn it all into his memory, Gustave all but writhing beneath him, arching into him and into his touch so nicely. Nothing has ever sounded as sweet and decadent and so utterly filthy as his own name when it falls from Gustave's lips, like this, once, again, each time a little different, breathless and aching as his thoughts spiral out of control, as Gustave's mind can't even pick a language to settle on. Verso keeps urging him on, his words raw and heated and urging him closer, and Gustave's answers in breathless gasps of je vais as he wills himself closer and closer to the edge are enough to make his head spin.
Verso sees it twist across his face, feels it in every knot and tension in his muscles, their bodies pressed so close that he can almost feel every ripple of tension like its his own. It's like he thinks he can feel Gustave's own heartbeat pounding in his ears, feel Gustave's breath heaving from his own lungs, so tangled up and twisted together with him that when he reaches that peak, it's almost like Verso's right there with him, whiting out, crashing down. He keeps working his hand over him, growling low and pleased as he feels him spill hotly between their bellies, onto his fingers, his other hand still unrelenting over his nipple as Gustave rides it out and out, falling apart on yet another cry of his name.
It's perfect. He's perfect. And Verso just stays in that high with him until Gustave himself has to come down from it, collapsing back against the dirt and grass, the heat of him too-sensitive and softening under his palm. Verso has to take a second or two to catch his own breath, something in his eyes flickering like he needs to come back down to reality with him, pushing himself up slightly, their legs still tangled together but peeling his chest up so he can look down at him.
His gaze is still so dark, so hungry, flitting from Gustave's eyes, to his bruised and bitten lips, to the marks still stretched across his neck -- and he smiles. A low, pleased smile, a predator who's cornered his prey, easing into something a bit more languid again as he draws up his hand between them. He presses his tongue to the heel of his own palm, licking up along his thumb and absolutely making a deliberate show of it, eyes flickering shut for a moment on a quiet groan like he just loves the taste of him. He lingers there for a moment, savoring it, before he's reaching down, pressing two fingers against Gustave's lips -- and pushing them into his mouth.
His lips quirk upward, again. Affectionate, adoring, teasing -- and still a little hungry. His voice is slightly hoarse and raw, growling low in his chest. One simple word: ]
-- Good.
no subject
Gustave's own glance, still dazed, catches on the way Verso's tongue swipes languidly over his hand, the pink tip of it sliding over his thumb, licking the mess off himself with his eyes closed and that almost smug hum of enjoyment. And then he's leaning in, fingertips pressed against his lips, and Gustave parts them for him, lets him slide those fingers into his mouth, against his tongue. He tastes the salt sharpness of himself, smells musk and sex and sweat as Verso forces him to do exactly as he'd promised, making him clean himself off those fingers with careful movements of his tongue.
He doesn't enjoy it the way Verso did, more dutiful than hungry, but once those fingers are clean he's reaching up with his left hand, cool metal fingers curling around Verso's hand and wrist to pull his fingers out of Gustave's mouth for just long enough for him to separate the index finger from the others, catching the callused tip of it in his teeth and drawing it once more into his mouth with more enthusiasm, sucking lightly as he swirls his tongue around it, this time tasting Verso and only Verso. Gustave's lashes are lowered, watching his own hand as he manipulates Verso's fingers to replace his index finger with the middle one, before his eyes flick up to meet Verso's from beneath his relaxing brows, chin still lowered.
He needs a moment to catch his breath, but there's a promise there in his eyes, in the way he watches Verso's face. There's nothing of the predator about him the way there is about Verso, always looking as though he's about to pounce; it's replaced instead by the intent focus of a man facing down a challenge to overcome, a problem to solve, a whirring machine to methodically strip down to each discrete part.
One moment, and then you're his. ]
no subject
That fleeting fantasy honestly lasts briefly, because the wet warmth of Gustave's mouth and tongue around his fingers is more than enough to pull him back and ground him here. Verso watches, eyes half-lidded and quietly pleased as Gustave cleans himself off of hs own fingers, and when he tries to pull his hand back, about to take the opportunity to press back in for a kiss -- the movement is arrested. Gently, but firmly, and Verso can't even really push back against it because Gustave is sucking one finger back into his mouth, suddenly a bit more eager, lathering attention over his finger with his tongue.
And Verso's back in the garden, suddenly. It's absurd, how even though he's known Gustave was alive for weeks, after he's been watching him from afar, after they've already had quite a few stolen moments of crashing into each other like this -- that he can still dream of the garden. So easily, so readily. Gustave is a beautiful dream, wreathed in gold as the sunlight catches in his hair, still mostly dressed when Verso pushed him back. He can feel every muscle in his body wanting to move, to push him down, to kiss him, but Gustave had just asked him to stop. So he stops, patient, giving him the space he needs -- only for the man to start tonguing at his fingers almost just like this, worshipful and lingering, and Verso can remember how it was a genuine war to fight back every instinct his body had to reach for him.
Verso's fingers twitch against his tongue, his hand otherwise completely relaxed in Gustave's metal grip. clever and nimble as the gently guide his index finger out and slip another finger back in. He can feel his breath catch almost violently in his chest, his heart leaping into his throat when Gustave looks up at him through those lashes. ]
Merde. [ He does have more of his faculties around him than before, but the words still fall automatically from his lips without thinking. ] You're beautiful.
[ His beautiful, beautiful Monsieur le fleuriste, clever with his mouth and tongue and even more so with his fingers. Verso ends up sitting back slightly on his calves, hips framed between Gustave's thighs, his own breathing only barely starting to truly settle back down, a little pleasant shiver running through him as Gustave sucks at his finger. ]
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With each kiss, he pushes himself up, his right hand set in the grass for leverage as he shifts, light-headed and wrung out but his focus sharpens with every press of his lips to Verso's skin. ]
Verso. Mon beau pianiste.
[ He pushes himself up to sitting, the night breeze cool on his naked back, imprints of blades of grass pressed into the skin there, and lowers Verso's hand to his own side as he pays the same focused attention to the round of his shoulder, the lift of his collarbone against his skin. Here, he commits a little light revenge, drawing the skin up against his tongue until he's left a handful of red spots that mark the path he's taking, like petals dusting Verso's perfect skin. ]
I look at you and I can barely breathe. You're so beautiful I forget what words even are, and when I want to tell you how beautiful you are, how you've... ensnared me, I can't.
[ Another artist would be a better match for Verso, surely, someone who can wield words the way Verso wields his sword, who can draw the same beauty from them that Verso can with his fingers gliding over the keys of a piano. And It isn't that Gustave can't think of them, how Verso is as beautiful and mysterious and all-encompassing as the night sky that arches above them, saturated with stars and impossibly, incomprehensibly deep; how the blue glow of the chroma-stained trees drifts over him and clings to him like a lover's touch, glinting in his hair and limning every curve of muscle, every angle of jaw and shoulder and hand โ
He can think of them just fine. It's his fool tongue that's the problem, just like it always is, his heart doing its best to spill out of him in half-finished sentences and stumbled, too-earnest words.
They haven't had much time, really. Not nearly enough yet. And yet it's been enough for him to learn a few things that Verso likes, that he seems to enjoy with his while vibrant being. Verso likes paying attention to his throat, his neck, leaving marks there like brands. Verso likes playing with his hair, fingers carding gently through the curls or gripping more tightly.
Verso likes to talk, to tell him what he wants, what he wants to do, what he's imagined. And he thinks Verso would like it if he did the same thing.
Back in the garden, he'd been frustrated by the invisible wall between them, wondered if maybe Verso wanted something more what he himself had done to Gustave. And it had worked, when he'd ratcheted up the intensity, the speed, poured all of himself into touching him, taking him into his mouth. Maybe now, as he starts making his way up Verso's neck, grazing him with the edge of teeth and pulling a little more sharply than usual on the skin, he might like something similar.
Gustave's mind isn't working as smoothly as usual, his attempts to determine the best course of action are a little jerky still, but he shifts to his own knees, right hand warm on Verso's thigh and his metal left arm slipping around his back to draw him close as he finally kisses over rough scruff and finds Verso's mouth with his, deep and sweet and heated. He kisses him hard, pulls back enough to press his forehead against Verso's, meeting those clear, beautiful eyes with his own steady and determined and still blown dark with want. ]
Tell me what you like to hear. Let me try to give you what you want.
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The past two years have been lonelier than usual, when he's genuinely kept his distance from the Expeditioners that came, only to help them from afar -- but before that, well, dalliances were hardly uncommon, with people being what they are and with the Expeditioners being so far away from home and at the end of their lives. Verso enjoys that, doesn't mind playing that role for them at all ( even if sometimes, too often, his heart would fall away from him further than it should, not too far but enough for it to sting ), and things there are often simple. Heat, desire, something physical and grounded and real, there at the end of the world.
Gustave wants him for him. An idea that Verso already knows but still doesn't think he fully grasps or understands, sometimes. He lets himself relax a little into Gustave's attentions, tipping his head to the side with an appreciative groan as he mouths a few bruises of his own against his shoulder, against his collarbone, marks that would easily heal in a minute or two if it weren't for Verso making sure they won't. His words are so genuine, heartachingly earnest, and it takes a moment for him to get what he means -- Gustave wants to please him, wants to do right by him, wants him to tell him how. And that's different, from what Verso normally deals with.
Verso smiles, though it gets a bit lost on a sharp gasp when he feels Gustave's teeth against his neck, and then against his lips and tongue when he kisses him. He kisses him back, that still-burning want in him stirring all over again, tonguing hungrily into his mouth, and when Gustave breaks from it his fingers immediately move to twist through his hair to pull him back in -- but he stops, seeing those eyes. Determined, and sure.
What does he say? The truth, he thinks. ]
I think you're finding the words just fine, mon chou.
[ Telling him he's so beautiful that he leaves him speechless is perfectly effective, has him feeling warm and heady, describing him as ensnaring Gustave's attention also fueling that fire lit still burning low in his stomach. He wraps his arms around him, fingers still in his hair, pulls him in for another kiss anyway, starting sweet but quickly edging into something just a little harder before breaking away. Verso likes what Gustave's doing already.
But. ]
If you wanted to try your hand at something else? [ He hums as if in thought even when its clear from the light in his eyes that he already knows the answer, pulling Gustave even closer, making some soft, pleased sounda the way their bodies fit together, at the feeling of skin against his own. His voice eases lower, rumbling in his chest, against Gustave's, in turn. ] I'd really like to hear about -- Any way you imagined me, these past years.
[ His own fervid fantasies were driven by that awful yearning, aching and desperate and reaching across a gap he thought he'd never cross. Gustave has mentioned imagining him already: in his bed, under the morning sun, taking Verso in his mouth. He likesthat image, and wouldn't mind knowing more, wants to imagine his Monsieur le fleuriste dreaming of him in his own bed and touching himself to his fantasies, wants to know what those fantasies were. ]
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He closes his eyes and breathes out, shoulders rolling back the way he might stretch them before a fight, the way he might fidget before sitting down at his desk and losing himself in his work. This, too, is something he needs to focus on, something that feels about as natural and effective as Expedition 50's giant wheel. Which is to say: not at all.
But he had dreamed of Verso over those two years. Dreamed, day-dreamed, fantasized about him, sometimes almost to the point where he nearly tricked himself into thinking he might open his eyes and see Verso there. ]
Well, I...
[ He clears his throat, lashes fluttering as he blinks a little too fast, before he slides his right had up Verso's thigh to his hip, to his bare side, his palm fitting neatly there in the slight dip of his waist. His thumb strokes along the line of his bottom rib, over firm muscle, enjoying the slight give to it when he presses in. It helps, touching him, and Gustave tips his head to lean in for another kiss, lingering, his tongue sliding lazily into Verso's mouth before he leans back and punctuates his words with kisses along his cheek, over the scruff of his beard, toward the angle of his jaw. ]
You know, at the time, I thought you must be somewhere in the city, and that I'd probably run into you sooner or later. Maybe at the Academy, since you clearly knew your way around a grapple.
[ He kisses along the cord of muscle that runs up Verso's neck, down to his shoulder and back up to his ear, running the edge of his teeth along that delicate shell. ]
And when we did meet, we'd shake hands and introduce ourselves, like it was the first time ever seeing each other. But I'd run my finger over the inside of your wrist, where no one could see, just to let you know I was still thinking of you. And later, I'd pull you aside, ask if you wanted to go on a training run with me.
[ He breathes out, puffing warm air over Verso's damp skin, smiling despite himself at his own foolishness. He'd wasted hours upon hours dreaming of things that never could have happened, though he'd have had no way of knowing it then. ]
Did you know there's an abandoned hotel not far from the Academy? It's all boarded up now, but I remember when it was still in use when I was a boy. Everything is still there, it's just that there aren't enough people to use it anymore, so the doors and windows are all locked up.
You can still get in from the top, though. Through an old fire escape nobody bothered to lock properly.
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But Gustave clearly likes it, had asked to hear more, had shared his own little fragments of fantasies. Simple ones that were just about the wistful could-have-beens, something with a bit more heat and the description of how he'd imagined Verso in his bed. It's there. Maybe he's embarrassed, but Verso thinks Gustave would like to be able to tell him in the same way, and merde he certainly would love to hear any of the dreams his sweet Monsieur le fleuriste had of him, just what thoughts drove him whenever he laid in bed touched himself to the memory of him.
Gustave starts, and he's clearly unsure. Verso is encouraging, listening, leaning into Gustave's touches and kisses with pleased gasps and sighs. encouraging all of his touches and matching them with his own. Languid, teasing, maybe just enough to be a bit distracting ( but not too much, he'll let his fleuriste work ), a hand in his hair and playing with a stray curl between his fingers, a hand stroking along his back, following some old faded scar he can just barely feel. He shivers pleasantly with a soft sigh when Gustave's teeth graze at his earlobe, his languid smile growing a little brighter when he realizes the kind of picture Gustave is painting.
Not just a singular fervid reunion, but something with a bit more thought and weight, this is clearly a real fantasy, something he'd genuinely dreamed. Both of them meeting at the Academy, and given how two years later they're both still dreaming of the garden, doubtless in this dream memories of that morning in the sunlight would only immediately rush in. Introducing themselves as if they needed to, a small lingering touch from Gustave to let him know, and Gustave being the one to pull him aside. Somewhere quiet, somewhere abandoned, and a real place that Gustave has thought of, just for this. ]
It'd have taken my breath away just seeing you again.
[ He pulls Gustave in for a kiss, tonguing into his mouth and pulling away, lips curved against Gustave's own, their foreheads pressed together. He shifts in the grass, trying to be more comfortable, ends up sitting down and pulling Gustave into him, ducking his head to kiss again at his shoulder, taking a moment to nip a little at his skin and soothe it over with his tongue, that warm thrum of heat and want still singing through his nerves. ]
Sounds like a quiet place, where we might not be bothered. [ His smile curves into a smirk. He does know it. Verso has a practiced familiarity with many of Lumiere's abandoned buildings, left empty as their owners vanished into dust and petals. ] -- Would you take me there?
[ One hand finds Gustave's thigh, squeezing over lean muscle, thumb circling a little against his inner thigh -- just to touch him, just to feel him, but encouraging, too. Keep going, boo. ]
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But maybe he wants him to know how much he'd been thinking of him, just how intricately he'd imagined meeting him again. Not just falling into bed together, but how sharp the surprise and sudden desire would be, how all those days and weeks and months of yearning would pile up at once. ]
I'd see you and I'd decide then and there to do anything I could, everything I could, to convince you to stay this time. Even if it was just for a little while longer.
You'd probably be able to tell how much I'd been thinking about you. I wouldn't be able to keep my eyes off you, even if other people were around.
[ He shifts to settle on his knees, coaxing Verso's legs apart so he can kneel there between them, right hand running up to his chest, thumb rubbing over one nipple, as he presses another kiss to Verso's mouth, and another after that before making his way to pay attention to the other side of his neck, mouthing kisses along the line of muscle there down to his shoulder. ]
So yeah, I'd take you there. Probably under some terrible, transparent excuse, like how good it is for practicing climbing. But once we got to the top, I'd pull you inside and bar the door behind us, then drag you to the first room I can find. Bed still made from the last time a maid was there, just waiting for us.
I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you. By the time we got to the room I'd have your shirt undone and be working on your pants.
[ He leans now to mouth along Verso's collarbone, shifting down as he presses against Verso's shoulder, coaxing him to lean back onto his hands, to let Gustave run his palm down the slope of his chest, his stomach. ]
I'd be too impatient to even undress you all the way, I'd justโ
[ A little stutter, but he pushes through it, even as he feels his cheeks grow warm. Verso can't see it, at least, not while Gustave is pressing kisses along his breastbone: small favors. ]
โPush you down to sit on the edge of the bed and be there, kneeling between your legs, right after, so I wouldn't have to spend another second without taking you into my mouth.
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It's still not easy for him to fully relax into someone else's attentions, something Gustave would remember from the garden, from even just earlier before -- but it's getting easier, with Gustave. Opening himself up more, bit by bit, peeling open the cage around his heart to truly let him in everywhere even after Gustave had carved a place in his chest for himself. That tension is there, especially when Gustave talks about what he'd do to convince him to stay -- something that maybe a fantasy that wasn't as real wouldn't include.
But this is real, he knows. This is a real dream, maybe one of just a dozen different ways Gustave dreamed of seeing him again. And he does regret it, he regrets not coming back, he regrets staying so far away, he regrets hurting him so much. He regrets leaving, and part of him, somewhere, wary of all the lies he's already told, still regrets meeting him at all. But its hard for that to stay too long when Gustave's mouth his hot against his neck, when his thumb runs over a nipple and sends a pleasant ripple of heat through his spine.
He smiles, picturing Gustave, nervous but insistent, grabbing onto his hand to makes sure he doesn't try to leave. They can practice together, the building's right there, what harm is there in just following him? And Verso himself, knowing that once they're wherever Gustave wants him, that the moment they're even remotely away from prying eyes there's going to be nothing to stop them from crashing into each other again -- knowing the danger, knowing he has to go. And going anywhere.
And then, merde. His hands run up over Gustave's back twisting through hair. His breath hitches noticeably, a small growl sounding in his throat -- he can hear that little stutter in his words and feel it in his breath against his chest. And if anything, how clearly anxious he is but how he presses forward just makes it better, with how Gustave tells him he wouldn't be able to stop himself just from pushing him down onto the nearest bed, dropping straight to his knees. ]
Putain. [ A muttered curse, fingers tightening through his hair. ] I wouldn't stop you -- wouldn't be able to think about why I'd ever tried to leave, to have you there knelt in front of me and so eager to take me in your mouth.
[ That same mouth that's telling him all this, that's pressing kisses all over his skin as he leans back onto his hands and lets Gustave touch him where he wants. The same mouth that he can still remember, hot and wet and perfect in the garden, Gustave eagerly working and stares up through the dangling ivy, the sun pouring down around them. The same mouth that says his name in the most decadently sinful ways every time he pushes him to the edge.
Verso's trying to be encouraging, but its not even entirely conscious, at this point -- it's evident, how he's getting swept up in it. Pulled into the dream that Gustave describes. ]
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In fact, Verso seems to be enthusiastically playing along, listening intently, even adding to the fantasy by placing himself in it, an unexpected bonus that hits with surprising intensity. All this time, he'd only ever been able to imagine Verso's reactions, what he might say, do, how he would feel. And now Verso is here, sliding easily into this well-worn daydream, making it feel more real than it ever had. Picturing himself in it, with Gustave.
His heart stutters at the thought, and for a moment he leans in to set his mouth over Verso's nipple, drawing up on it and laving with the flat of his tongue, half to try and make him feel as good as possible, half to try and settle the whirl of his own head.
It doesn't help that he's getting to the crux of the fantasy, the things he would want to do. Even with Verso's easy, enthusiastic encouragement, he feels warmth climbing up the back of his neck, his stomach knotting now from self-consciousness instead of electric desire.
But he wants to try. He does want to try. He runs his hand down along Verso's side to his hip, starts dragging at the already loose waist of his pants, tugging them down. ]
It's beenโ it's been so long, I'd justโ I'd want to taste you, feel you... let you see me, watch me there, between your legs... months since the garden, and I'd want to, want to make it last, but I'd be so impatientโ
[ He braces himself with his left hand as he leans further to kiss down along the perfect plane of Verso's stomach, down toward his navel as he finally drags those pants down enough that he can slip his hand between Verso's legs and curl his fingers around him, starting to stroke in long smooth motions. ]
You just, you carry me away, seeing you again, I'd wantโ I'd want to make you, make you come for me right there.
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He's holding himself back. Barely, but he is. He's turned on, not impatient with Gustave but just impatient with his own lack of self control, so utterly helplessly attracted to the man above him that from these kisses and touches and an imagined dream in a dusty hotel room are enough to make him want. He wants to kiss him, wants to roll him back underneath him and draw out those little hesitations between his words into desperate moans. But he's holding back, difficult as it is: He wants to let Gustave push himself further. He wants to hear more heated words in that sweet voice he's come to crave so much, wants to hear even the words that are sweeter, yearning, halting and uneasy. He wants to give himself to Gustave, at least a little, as much as he can, as much as he knows how to. to let the other man hold him in his hands the same way Gustave keeps giving himself over to him so easily.
Gustave keeps talking. The words are heated, but he's stumbling over himself slightly, self-conscious. Verso tries to be encouraging, but again it isn't even entirely a conscious choice. They're good words, clearly Gustave isn't as helpless at this as he thinks he is, every one sending a pulse of heat rolling through his body, something jumping in his throat as he watches Gustave kiss down over his stomach -- but the hesitations, the way he's starting to let those words run into themselves. That's real. Real, genuine, achingly earnest, Gustave trying his best to please him and nervous and turned on as he can't-quite-manage to keep his words together, and fuck tightening his hands through his hair again is all he can do to stop from pushing him down.
Gustave provides an easy distraction from that impulse, at least: his trousers pulled down, the other man's hand finally around him, and fuck. Verso may not have been paying himself too much attention, but he's been hard and aching and utterly neglected for far too long, now, the sudden friction and pressure enough to have his head fall back on a moan, hips arching into that touch. ]
Gustave -- [ Yeah. Yeah, just like that, his hips jumping slightly as Gustave's hand starts to move. ] Merde.
You could do it. I'd want you to. [ Verso can picture it so clearly, a few months since the garden is already enough yearning for them both to be driven mad, all of it falling apart as they cash into eahc other. Gustave trying to take his time, afraid of his Monsieur le pianiste vanishing again, but he can't help but touch him anywhere and swallow him down. ] You'd be moving so quickly, mon chou, you'd feel me harden on your mouth and tongue --
[ His voice breaks on a groan, his other hand digging into grass and dirt where its braced against the ground to keep himself propped up. ]
-- You'd make me come so quick. Just with your mouth. I know it, I wouldn't be able to help myself, with you, your tongue, your lips. I'd have to -- I'd have to stop myself from just fucking your throat.
[ Feverish and half-muttered under his breath. Maybe he shouldn't be saying as much, but even as he lets Gustave take the lead he can't help but respond, every part of him aching with want for him. ]
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Then I guess I'd have to hold your hips down so you couldn't move too much.
[ Like this, maybe: his left hand coming to grip Verso's hip, carefully firm. He doesn't want to hold him down too hard or to press too intensely โ the metal hand and arm are stronger than his right hand and when he's distracted like this he can't always properly gauge the tension and grip of it โ as he finally shifts himself bodily down, lying between Verso's legs, following the V of his groin with his kisses as he continues to stroke along his length, squeezing and running his thumb over the head.
He glances up along Verso's body โ putain, he's so beautiful, spread out like this, leaned back and just waiting, his chest moving rapidly with each breath, his neck and shoulders and collarbone marked with blooming red bruises, and if Gustave weren't already lying down he'd be knocked to his knees just at the sight of him โ his own eyes heated and intent and blown dark, watching Verso through his lashes. ]
Let's find out if it would work.
[ It's the last thing he says before he uncurls his fingers from around Verso and sets that hand, too, on his hips, holding him there as Gustave leans down to take him into his mouth and it's beenโ merde, it's been two years and he can't help himself, swallows him down hard and fast, falling dizzily into the taste and scent of him, drowning in it. He'd almost forgotten how the weight and length of him feels against his tongue, in his mouth, and he groans around him, needy and wanting, giving wholly up on words in order to turn his focus to more important things. ]
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Gustave even gesturing at really holding him down is bold, different, a thought that makes his head spin, and then he's asking if it would work, and well. Verso manages a breathless almost-laugh, wanting to hear more, but. He's not going to argue this.
A moment where Gustave pulls his hand away, where Verso immediately misses the warmth and pressure, his hips instinctively juddering to push up against something it isn't there and chase down some of that friction. But its only a passing moment, that hand now warm and heavy against his hip, and suddenly Gustave is everywhere, all around him. ]
Gustave, mon dieu --
[ Gustave's lips wrapped around him, sinking down deeply and all at once, Gustave's tongue dragging against his length, the sweet wet heat of Gustave's mouth. His head falls back against the bundled up sash and jacket laid across the grass, his entire body arching up on moan -- or he tries, at least, his hips pushed down and held here, arresting him partially in the movement. Verso can hear him groaning around having him in his mouthlike he's just as desperate as he is, somehow, and Verso remembers the garden, the scent of flowers, remembers Gustave noticing that part of him that he always held back and coaxing it away, remembers Gustave's mouth hot and sweet over him.
Fuck. It's just as good now, no, even better now. His fingers twist harder through his hair, pulling hard at the strands, but not guiding his head, pushing him down or pulling him up. Even held down, instinctively Verso's hips start to move, wanting to rock and buck into his mouth, down his throat, wanting more. ]
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