𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒆𝒕 𝒍𝒆 𝒑𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆 —𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑜

[demainvient]

 
𝐔𝐧 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐣𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐢 𝐝𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞̀𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐢
𝑈𝑛 𝑗𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑗𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑖 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑡, 𝑝𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒̂𝑡𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑐 𝑡𝑜𝑖
 

Comments

[demainvient]

But I would mind being kept longer.

[ He tips his head to give Verso room at the angle of his jaw, running the fingers of his left hand lightly over the arm Verso has belted solidly around him as he chuckles. If he'd been wholly honest, he might have admitted to himself sometime over the last two years, over the last few days, that he hadn't been one hundred percent totally certain he and Verso would... work together, past a superficial, physical level. They'd barely spent any time together in Lumière, and much of it was spent doing things other than talking. The Verso in his daydreams enjoyed talking with him, enjoying small quiet moments together, as much as the rest of it, but he hadn't really been sure that would be the case.

But Verso came here and he's already pressed against Gustave's back, a warm steady presence he can feel with every breath, and it feels... normal. Natural. Like maybe they really could have spent two whole years together even after the initial passion bloomed. Like Verso just enjoys being with him, and vice versa. For a moment, he's back in his own workshop with his own projects and it's his own work Verso is distracting him from. The mental image is so strong that for a moment it makes his head spin, like he's seeing two realities at once.

He's not home in Lumière. But he does, miracle of miracles, have Verso. After all this time.

He doesn't try to make Verso let go, just runs his hands fondly over the arms around his waist and then reaches for Karatom's design with one hand and the hinged opening to the ignition chamber with the other. ]

Besides, I think I see what the problem is. See this?

[ He half-turns his head toward Verso, lifting the piece of machinery in his left hand and indicating the somewhat amateur metalwork of its hinged lid. ]

The aperture is too small. With the new powder mix, they'll need to be able to inject more oxygen at a much quicker — but still steady — rate. And the chamber needs to be reinforced so the Sakapatate doesn't just set itself on fire when it uses the cannon. See?

[ He turns the piece, pointing out the elements like they're obvious. ]

Really the whole design could use a bit of an overhaul, but, you know, it's really not bad work overall. Just needs a few tweaks. The ignition itself could be faster and more efficient... right now it's basically just a glorified steel and flint striker...

[versorecto]

[ Verso is an artist at heart, but somewhere even before all that and the weight of reality had gripped him by the chest and never let him go -- he was always simply curious. Inquisitive about the nature of the world and people around him, and it'd eventually led him to seeking out a voice of his own to express, to connect, eventually to music and his beloved piano. It's not so unthinkable that a slightly different life might've led to him being the Painter his parents wanted, or that it might've all led him away from art at all. But like any artist, Verso loves passion most of all, someone in love with who they're with and what they do, burning so bright with it that they can't stop it from shining out from every word -- and Gustave loves this. He lives it.

For all of Gustave's previous insistence that his work would surely be boring, he doesn't hesitate to not just let him watch but to actually tell him about it. Verso feels something in his heart warm in response, squeezing his arm around his waist, the thought that Gustave would so readily open the door for him to try and let him into his life, his world. Just like Verso had enjoyed being Monsieur le pianiste, he knows that some of Gustave must have liked just being Monsieur le fleuriste, too, but maybe more and more, those lines are starting to blur. It feels easy, natural and --

( Terrifying. There's too much. Someday that final wall will melt. Someday everything he's keeping back will come to light. Someday Gustave will say that he can't believe he ever let him into his heart, and Verso will have nothing to say, because he'd know he was right. )

Verso hums in quiet acknowledgment as he Gustave talks, and he does pay attention, follow along -- even if he occasionally gets distracted just by the tone of his voice, by the way his fingers trace over some mechanical component. It helps that aside from his own long-ago history of a little bit of tinkering, he knows the gestrals. He knows how they think, can see their childlike but mostly sound logic as Gustave points out the pieces. He nods, his fingers closed warmly over his wrist, thumb circling against his pulse. ]

So you can widen the aperture a little, build the a more sophisticated ignition mechanism, reinforce everything to make sure it doesn't blow itself to smithereens under the new capacity?

[ A hum, pressing another few kisses to his neck and jaw. ]

No doubt this project is in sound hands, Monsieur le Ingénieur. I regret to inform you they'll be overloading the thing with more of your improved gunpowder before long and blowing past any of your safety measures, but. There is only so much you can do, with the gestrals. They'll call setting itself on fire a special firebomb attack.

[ He understands what you're doing! Mostly. Not enough to provide any unique insight, but enough to follow along, to understand what needs to be done, and how the gestrals are likely to fuck it up. ]

[demainvient]

[ As much as he loves sinking into the flow of his work, problem-solving and focusing on all the fiddly details that might otherwise go missed, he's always loved this part — the teaching, the collaboration, having someone there with him following along with every word — just as much. Maybe more, even. Even when he'd given up on ever being a father to children other than Maelle, he'd found fulfillment as a mentor and teacher with his apprentices, going over designs with them like this, pointing out the details they might have missed or the pitfalls they should look out for.

Verso is far from being his apprentice, but he slips into old habits anyway, his passion for the subject at hand sweeping him easily right back into that role. His hands move, first pointing out different areas on the mechanism, then gesturing with it as if words alone aren't enough to express his thoughts. ]

Well, yes, but it's not just about widening the aperture, it's about controlling the flow of oxygen. It can't all rush in too fast or it'll blow the thing sky high, and it can't be too slow or the timing will be off on the shot. And this—

[ He sets down the piece he'd been holding up, points towards a large cylinder leaning against the workbench nearby. His body twists in Verso's arms, but he's not trying to get away, just turning in place, his right hand coming to rest briefly for a moment on Verso's arm, squeezing fondly before he lets go again. ]

I'll add some rifling to the bore to help with aim and spread. They don't need much in the way of range, but with more power behind it the shot itself needs to be directed more accurately.

[ He glances back at Verso's comment, arms coming to wrap over the ones Verso has around him as he pauses, takes a moment to lean back into Verso's sturdy warm body, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth at those kisses. He's right, of course, and Gustave knows it, but just knowing that the gestrals will more than likely push his design past how it should be used doesn't mean it isn't worth giving them the best work he can, right? ]

Setting it on fire and letting it crash into the enemy would be effective, too. As special attacks go, it's not the worst one I can think of.

[versorecto]

[ The more Gustave explains and talks, the more he seems to light up, the more he seems to settle into it. Verso's heard him mention apprentices before, and he can just picture it in his mind's eye, all of this part of his natural workflow back home in Lumiere: Gustave talking in a workshop not too unlike this one, gesturing and explaining in just the same way. His young apprentices gathered excitedly around the workbench, all oohs and ahhs and taking notes, asking as many questions as they could. He warms at the thought, tucking his chin over Gustave's shoulder, watching his hands move with a small smile.

Its nice. There's so much of him he doesn't know, that he could never have known ( he could have, if he'd made different choices, less mistakes, he weren't the way he was with too many secrets and lies bursting at the seams ), that he will likely never know in the time they have. Getting these glimpses into him and his life . . . It means something, makes something in his heart ache gently and sweetly. Especially when Gustave seems to be welcoming him into it so easily and readily, occasionally resting his hand over his arm like its something he's done dozens of times before, like this is just one of many times he's come to hassle his dear ingénieur at work. ]

Don't tell them that part, either. [ About blowing it sky high with too much oxygen, too quickly. ] Warnings are just suggestions. More like goals for them, really.

[ Gustave leans back against him, hands wrapping over his arms, and Verso makes some small sound into his neck that's just gentle and content. He's beautiful, its infuriating, especially watching him gesture and talk and work, Verso loves those hands, his arms, wants to kiss them and touch them and map out everything about them with his mouth and tongue, wants to feel them working over him and his body with the same care and precision and passion, leaving bruises on his skin as easily as he'd leave oil stains with his fingers. That heat that he'd found so irresistible is still there, coiling in his stomach, the edge of it showing through as he turns his head to drag his teeth against his jaw, pressing a more heated kiss just at the shell of his ear.

But this is nice, too. This feels like a slice out of Gustave's life in Lumiere, a moment out of time, and he just likes being in it. Slowly, Verso moves one hand to find Gustave's right one, fingers sliding between the waiting gaps of Gustave's own, thumb soothing along the side of his palm. He must work with his own pistol, he thinks: modifying it, adjusting it, maintaining it. He'd really like to watch him do that, too. He'd like to watch him do just about anything, a realization that isn't exactly new but still hits him hard enough to have his head spin, for a moment, wondering if this is a little of what Gustave must feel like when he'd watched him at the piano in that empty concert hall. ]

-- You have enough here to work with? [ His voice is a bit lower now, a murmur, lifting Gustave's hand over his shoulder so he can lift his head and press kisses to those fingertips. He tried his best in making sure the gestrals supplied actual, human things, but what Gustave is describing sounds like relatively complex work. ] Sounds like you have a lot of work to do.

[ His arm squeezes more around his waist, fingers curved over his hip sliding down to toy a little wit the hem of his trousers. ]

[demainvient]

[ Verso's right, of course, and Gustave chuckles as he nods, leaning his head slightly into those kisses as they climb languidly up his neck to his ear. ]

I won't tell them anything they could use to make it worse. I'm sure they'll find out on their own, but they don't need to go looking for ways to make it explode.

[ This is nice, in the same way it was nice to work with Sophie on Aquafarm 3, in the same way it was nice when Maelle would come to hang out with him in his workshop, perched on the edge of a nearby bench and watching as he fiddled with some broken piece of equipment or other. It's nice to have company, and it's nice for that company to be someone he adores. Every rumbled word from Verso, every squeeze of his arms, every question and response that proves he's listening attentively, quietly gladdens his heart, glows warm and happy in his chest. He has no illusions about how interesting this is to most people, but it's interesting to him, and it's clear Verso recognizes that.

Even as he captures Gustave's hand in one of his and starts toying with the waist of his pants with the other. Gustave half-turns his head as Verso lifts his hand over his shoulder to press his lips to those oil- and ink-stained fingers, and his eyes are warm even as his words are a little scolding. ]

I have plenty to work with, and I have my own tools. I'll be fine.

But I do have a lot of work to do.

[ Laughing, as he runs his left hand over Verso's forearm to gently clasp metal fingers around his wrist and lightly tug it away from his pants. ]

Which I won't be able to get done if you keep distracting me.

[versorecto]

Mm. [ Verso laughs with him, softer and more gently amused, pressing another sweet kiss to his neck. His wrist doesn't resist Gustave's grip, not protesting, letting it be pulled away -- briefly twisting to briefly twine his fingers together with Gustave's metal ones, playful and teasing, before pulling away to let both his arms wrap around Gustave's waist instead. ] It's not my fault you're especially tempting when you're working.

[ Gustave won't believe him, he knows. But the warmth and underlying heat in his tone is real, as had the way he'd almost stalked across the room at the sight of him, and just listening to him talk, watching his hands up close, is making that much more adoration and want twist through his belly. He squeezes his arms around him again, slowly pulling away -- only to gently grip him by the side and turn him around, so he can look at him fully. There's a flicker of a smile when he meets his eyes directly, just happy to see him, even as he gently crowds him against the edge of that workbench, a hand lifting to curve against his chin and jaw.

The look in Verso's eyes is a little different than what Gustave may have seen in him before -- he tends to switch between that raw hunger and gentle affection. Right now, it's both, warm and fond and absolutely adoring, with a clear edge of something darker just underneath it, like all he wants to do is piece him apart until he shatters under his touch, like all he wants to do is wrap him up in his arms and kiss every part of him he can reach just so he knows he's adored. He grips at Gustave's chin, gentle, thumb soothing just under his lower lip. ]

-- Maybe I can be convinced to leave you to your work, if I can have just one kiss?

[ Just one. He promises! ]

[demainvient]

[ That wins another laugh, indulgent and good-humored as he runs his metal thumb carefully over Verso's before that hand slips away again. ]

Right. What could be more tempting than discussing a gestral cannon's power loads and efficiencies?

[ But he lets Verso turn him anyway, leaning back against the workbench and feeling the wood bite into the small of his back, and then Verso is right there, pressing gently against him and pinning him there in a way that makes Gustave's mind flit right back to the fantasy Verso had detailed for him, the one in the opera house. It had started something very like this, hadn't it?

His hands go naturally to Verso's side, settling there almost as if this really were some familiar interruption, as if they've stood this way dozens of times, having the same silly, affectionate argument over and over again. The feeling only grows as he looks into Verso's eyes, at everything he sees there that makes his heart clutch and stumble and pick up its pace in his chest, a little flustered by the warmth and affection there, by that simmering shadow of want beneath it all.

Verso looks at him like he could imagine no better way of spending his time than by using it to be here, listening to Gustave prattle and watching him work, and he thinks, all over again, that he has no idea what it is that made Verso choose him. How could he possibly have earned the genuine fondness he sees there in those startlingly clear eyes? He knows he's nice-looking, he tries his best to be engaging and kind, but he's like the familiar glow of a lamp while Verso is a lightning strike, vibrant and deadly and beautiful.

And yet here he is, eyes going lidded, a mischievous tilt to his mouth as he negotiates for a kiss, as if he really would have to be dragged away to keep from staying right here, solid and curved against Gustave's back, for as long as Gustave would let him stay. ]

You don't have to leave.

[ He tips his head into that touch, his own eyes clear and steady, open windows to everything he's feeling, thinking, a potent mix of amusement and disbelief and a quiet, pervasive happiness under it all that fills him like the glow of a hundred candles. ]

But you also can't interrupt, not if I'm going to be done with all this by morning.

[versorecto]

[ Verso looks into Gustave's eyes and sees everything plainly, some things he can't quite read even if they're all laid out for him to se, but that he still feels the truth of anyway, deep in his own heart. He's happy, content in the moment, amused by his Monsieur le pianiste's antics -- but surprised, too, disbelieving. Humble, uncertain, almost in the same way he still doesn't entirely trust him whenever he tells him they'll see each other tomorrow, like he isn't sure why Verso really does keep coming back. Verso doesn't know how to ( or maybe just doesn't want to ) put words to it, but he knows, with utter conviction, that he will keep returning to him even as long as the world itself doesn't tear them apart, as long as Gustave himself still wants him to stay. Un Jour Je Serai de Retour Prés de Toi, scribbled messily in his journal over bars of written and rewritten hand-sketched bars of music.

Verso's the one who feels undeserving, in ways he knows he Gustave can sometimes feel, even if he can't understand. And all Verso can do in return is take the moments like these, when Gustave seems to almost be able to really see and believe just how much Verso adores him, and try to pull them open -- to make them last.

He really does want to just push him down and take him apart right here, heat dragging in the wake of his gaze, his eyes briefly dropping from Gustave's to linger over his lips, his gently kiss-bruised neck, where bare skin disappears under the collar of his shirt. He's not often seen the uniform just like this, without the jacket, but he likes it, likes how he sees more of the shape of him, all leanly muscled, solid, real. But Gustave's words bring him back a little -- he needs to not be interrupted to be done by morning, and. He had hopes. He did have some plans, for the night.

Verso nods -- his eyes noticeably lit up just a little that Gustave won't mind him staying. As long as he's good. ]

I'd like to stay and watch you work.

[ He's clearly genuinely happy about that, like he really does want to just spend hours not just tangled up in him or even talking with him but just quietly in his company, sharing space with something that has been so much a part of his fleuriste's life that he could've otherwise never even seen. ]

If it's any motivation, mon chou, I know your friends are leaving you for the night. [ He watches, and listens. Sorry about that, still, but at least you should be more used to it now. ] And I have -- plans, that I think you'd like.

[ His thumb sweeps over Gustave's lower lip, leaning closer, his eyes lidded -- ]

-- But I'd still like that kiss.

[ But for everything he's saying, for the obvious heat in his gaze and in his voice, when he tips Gustave's head up and catches his mouth in his own -- its more affectionate, than anything else. Really lingering in it, making the best of this one kiss that he's allowed himself, sinking into it and tonguing deeper and deeper into his mouth, searing his taste into his memory, staying even as his lungs start to gently ache from lack of air. The one kiss is all he'll get, and he's damn well going to make the most of it, that hand slipping along his chin and jaw to tangle through his hair and hold his head closer, his other arm winding back around him, palming down over the curve of his ass, over his thigh, gripping him and hauling him closer against his chest. ]

[demainvient]

[ Verso brightens, allowed to stay, and Gustave would laugh if he weren't so terribly charmed. He has no idea what the appeal might be, aside from the appeal that's also tugging on him, that of simply... having Verso near him. After most of two years without him, Gustave is still starved for his company, for his presence, as much as he is for his kisses and touches. It feels like he's been showered with impossible riches, to have seen Verso for even a few moments nearly every day since the cliff, their argument, everything that happened after, and he's not ready for it to end yet.

So perhaps he does understand, after all. Verso doesn't want to be away from him anymore than he wants Verso to go away, even if Verso isn't the one who's still waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for this all to evaporate like so much mist under the implacable light of day.

His brows push up and then in, his eyes narrowing in mild bewilderment as Verso goes on. Plans? And yes, the girls are gone for the night — not a difficult request for them to grant, seeing as Lune was all but leaping at the idea that she could spend more time among the gestrals and Sciel was happy to see her friends of the last few weeks. He'd thought he'd heard them say something about a beach nearby, but that can't be right, can it?

But even so, he's not sure what plans Verso could have— oh. Oh.

Realization flashes across his face, followed by a faint, warm flush to his cheeks, but he only gets the chance to open his mouth before Verso is there, stopping anything he might say with a kiss that floods him from toe to the top of his head with heat. It's sweet and deep and wanting, Verso's tongue warm against his, Verso's hands roaming hungrily over his body as Gustave's fingers slide into his hair, his left arm going around Verso's back as Verso grips him, drags him close.

His head is spinning by the time he can pull back enough to get some air, his chest lifting and falling quickly as he tries to catch his breath, his smile stunned and crooked. ]

I guess I'd better work quickly, if there's going to be time for whatever plans you might have.

[versorecto]

[ That brief flicker of heated realization and the pink in his cheeks right before Verso leans in to kiss him is definitely gratifying -- that alone and the thought of what might be to come when they finally get a night together might just be enough to sustain his self control, for as long as Gustave needs to actually work. When they break from their kiss for air, Verso stays close, looking down at him with a smile that only widens when he sees Gustave's own expression, breathless, surprised, his smile just a bit off-kilter.

Verso nods -- and leans back in for another kiss. This one quick, brief, one stolen kiss where he barely gets to taste him again, pulling back from it with a grin. Already breaking his own terms of negotiation, but he thinks Gustave won't mind, will he? ]

-- Just don't overwork yourself either, Gustave. I'm sure your friends would be willing to give you another day.

[ And Verso will personally fight the gestrals about it.

With that, and a few moments where Verso just looks at him, squeezing his arms around him, his hand running up and down his back and carding through his hair -- he finally pulls away. Slowly and gently untangling himself from him, taking a few steps back to give him some actual space. He lifts his hands in front of him just to emphasize the space he's giving, look at how good he's being. ]

You'll forget I was even here, don't worry about it. Go on.

[ He indicates the workbench with a nod, taking a moment to poke around the edges of the space. Verso does want to watch him and will find some corner to post himself up with, sitting on some stack of old furniture or leaning up against it, and while it is terribly difficult to resist -- he will keep to his agreement, and let Gustave work in peace. It turns out that when he's spent this much time following Expeditioners from afar, when he's spent a lot of time keeping an eye on Gustave from somewhere closer than he might imagine, he's gotten quite good at melting into quiet corners and into shadows. He makes sure to not disappear completely, though, would provide conversation and his own limited insights into the work to Gustave talking to himself. But also sitting there, half-caught in the light, Gustave glancing his way would definitely be met with a little lopsided smile and a meaningful raise of an eyebrow, as if asking if he'd like to come closer for another kiss, for maybe more. ]

[demainvient]

[ The look he gives Verso hovers somewhere between exasperated and fond, an expression Maelle would be singularly familiar with were she to see it, but seeing as all Verso does is find a few broken old crates to lean against, he simply shakes his head and turns back to his work.

Yet as distracting as Verso is, it's only moments before Gustave is deeply absorbed back into his work. He sketches out a design, murmuring to himself, and works sums to find the right dimensions, then takes the pieces of the ignition chamber back into his hand and bends over them, working carefully with a rasp and other tools to improve the size and shape of it.

His fabricated left hand comes in handy a few times; he uses it as a clamp more than once, holding down a large piece of metal or wood so he can work on it without it moving, the light from the lamps around the workbench chasing gleaming patterns in the pictos engraved there in the metal. Thanks to the nature of gestral design, there's quite a lot of blunt force he needs to apply to the various pieces before he can persuade them into his improved versions, and it's not long before the white shirt is sticking slightly to his shoulders with a light sheen of sweat beneath, the waistcoat still snug at his back and ribs.

But there's a good deal of detail work, too, once he's cracked open or bent or widened the pieces he needs to adjust, and in this he really does very nearly forget that someone else is here. He bends close, tools in both hands, tightening hinges and joints and loosening others, carefully building the cannon back up nearly from scratch.

He does, though, occasionally blink out of his workflow, and when that happens he turns almost too quickly, eyes glancing around the workshop until he finds Verso, perched on some stack of cracked and useless furniture or leaning languidly against a wall. Only then do his shoulders relax, only then does he smile and offer some amused comment or question before he turns back to the task at hand.

It's a lot of work, and it takes a long while, but finally he's screwing the pieces carefully back together, the newly rifled cannon barrels waiting patiently to the side. His hair is a little damp with sweat and his head is aching from how intently he'd been peering at the pieces, but there's satisfaction in the set of his shoulders. ]

There. Nearly.

[versorecto]

[ Verso really does spend that entire time just watching him work.

Sometimes he can almost follow what he's doing, especially catching the occasional almost-audible words that he mutters to himself. Occasionally when Gustave is especially focused and when he thinks he can get away with it, he even drifts closer, peering over his shoulder or coming around to the other side of the workbench, careful not to block out any of the light. He can follow the logic of it if not quite know all the details, see what each component is meant to do and what he needs to make, and it's fascinating, because he can see Gustave in all of it. It's like seeing someone think through their hands, and Verso thinks that, yes, this must be how Gustave felt when he'd watched him play the piano. This isn't his world, not a thing he can really hope to comprehend on the same level that Gustave does, but he can feel it, somehow, the rhythms and careful thought of his work, can see the skill and precision with which his fingers move.

Other times, he's just watching him. Watching the sweat bead on his brow, resisting the urge to slip closer and gently dab at it before Gustave finally swipes it away himself with the back of his hand, watching the way his lips press together in thought and concentration, how something flickers in those eyes whenever he realizes something, notices it, or has an idea. It does get genuinely difficult to hold himself back, especially as that shirt starts to cling to his body, when he can see more of the lean muscle of him that he's already learned and memorized with his fingers and with his tongue. He just wants to trace those familiar paths, again, wants to press close just to feel him, wants to touch Gustave's arm while he works just to feel how those muscles and tendons shift. He wants to treasure and guard and protect this utter focus he sees on him just as much as he wants to jar him out of it, reach out and pull him close with a kiss just to see him jump and then melt into his arms.

And the rest, he loses in moments of quiet fantasy. Less now. Gustave has a way of -- grounding him, even in the short time they've known each other, noticing somehow whenever he gets too far away in his own head, when he's a little too adrift in fantasies of what might have been, when those walls he's built around himself get in the way of something raw and real. But he still can't help but slip into a daydream. Imagining that when he looks outside, it isn't the charming strange scenery of the village, but from some apartment in Lumiere, well into the night with the city's gentle lights outside. He imagines that this is something they do often, no, something even more precise -- maybe every Wednesday, every week when Verso schedules in a rest from his practice, when he comes to visit with Gustave at work, fond and maybe just a bit distracting -- Gustave's apprentices know by now that while they can visit him any other time, Wednesdays are off limits, for reasons their mentor will not specify. He imagines spending hours watching him work, or maybe missing him so much from a few days of being busy that he just comes in and kisses him and they're immediately lost in a tangle on the floor or up on the workbench itself. He imagines sinking to his knees while Gustave works, kissing his way along his thighs, taking him his mouth, either working to distract him until he can't help himself or just -- tasting him, being there, making him feel good and just as normal as any other part of his work.

Those thoughts are usually in mind whenever Gustave breaks from his work to look his way, and Verso's heart aches when he sees him relax and smile before he returns to his work.

Eventually, though, enough hours pass ( they go quicker than Verso thought they would -- ), and Verso can see something different in the way he's holding himself even before he says anything. He smiles, slowly peeling himself from the corner he'd been tucked in, stepping up behind him, one hand reaching out to settle against Gustave's hip -- and again, waiting until he actually notices before he sidles up closer, pressing himself against his back. He peers over his shoulder down at the workbench, humming curiously. ]

-- Nearly?

[ Does that mean nearly nearly or does this mean nearly as in three hours, he can't tell and somehow has a feeling that's something that might happen, with you. ]

[demainvient]

[ He almost jumps when a hand comes out of seemingly nowhere to slide over his hip, before he relaxes into it, leaning back a little as Verso fits himself against his back. ]

Nearly.

[ Which could mean... well, a lot of things other than I'm almost done. Gustave nods toward the workbench, wishing fervently that he'd thought to bring a cup of water. ]

Yeah. Look—

[ The bench itself has been transformed from earlier. No longer the confusing mess of designs and cannon pieces, now everything Gustave had worked on and built is set neatly in a row in precisely the order he needs to assemble it. The designs and notes are stacked nearby, set aside once he no longer had any use for them, and the cannon pieces all gleam, newly polished. There are significantly fewer of them, but when Gustave picks up the first two to fit them together, they click easily into place. ]

See, I took out most of the redundancies, lightened the whole thing. It's much simpler now, but it didn't need all those other parts, they were just dead weight. I improved the ignition mechanism — here — and the valve here to control oxygen flow.

[ He tugs lightly on a cord and the mechanism swings easily into motion: a spark flaring into life as the valve above it opens and allows a flood of oxygen into the chamber, turning the spark into a tiny controlled fireball. ]

All that's left to do is assemble it and mix up the powder. Shouldn't take long.

[versorecto]

[ Verso really did want to give Gustave the time and space to finish, and he's been doing great so far. Maybe coming this close, let alone this, was a bad idea, if there's still much more to be done -- but it's a little too late for him to regret it, with him pressed against his back, burying his face against his neck, breathing him in. He's watched Gustave carefully build and arrange the components on the workbench over time, but it's still nice seeing them all laid out from here, everything neatly arranged. A far cry from Verso's own working processes with music, but he likes to think there's similarities all the same, and he can't help but gleam with something that feels a bit like pride, looking at Gustave's work. They look lovely, and finished, like little complete mechanisms that he's just watched him assemble painstakingly over time.

Some of that pride might come through in as he presses another kiss to his shoulder, as he hums softly, rumbling a bit in his chest where he's pressed against Gustave's back. And when he explains -- here, the ignition mechanism, here, the valve -- Verso nods, and it isn't just for show. He's watched the entire time, actually paid attention, he does have a good idea of what each thing is meant to be. Then he's demonstrating, a sudden tiny little fireball right here in the workbench, and Verso can't help but just beam with pride and delight, pressing another kiss to his neck. ]

-- Looks like it works beautifully.

[ His very multitalented Monsieur le fleuriste is so good at what he does. ]

Could the gestrals maybe -- assemble it themselves? I'm sure they'd want to learn to mix the powder, too.

[ And they'll probably identify the dangerous component in the mixture that Gustave wants to limit and add far too much of it, but gestrals are as gestrals will always be, and he's been very, very patient. He'll pull back if Gustave insists, but.

His self control is really straining, here. He's doing his best. ]

[demainvient]

[ The last time he showed off a completed project and received the kind of warm pride that he can hear in Verso's voice, see in that smile when he glances back, he'd been much younger, reviewing his work with his own mentor. Since then, he's largely been the one doling out praise and encouragement, and he feels a bubble of surprise pop in his chest, only to flood him with faintly bashful warmth. ]

Yeah. It should get the job done.

[ He's pleased, too. He hadn't really expected to be able to design or build anything here, or do much tinkering at all unless it was to fix the music player at the camp or his own arm if it started to malfunction, and it feels... good to do something with his hands that isn't destructive. To create something... even if that something is only going to be used to blow up other things down the line. Well, there's only so much you can do with gestrals.

Maybe that's why it takes him a moment to recognize the particular innocent tone to Verso's voice, as he presses a kiss to Gustave's neck that makes him shiver, realizing his skin is warm and flushed and a little damp with sweat from his work. He'd undone the top few buttons on his shirt ages ago, and now his collar hangs loose and slightly limp from the humidity of his own body, easily pushed out of the way in favor of Verso's lips against his skin. ]

Well...

[ He's not wrong. The gestrals have proven themselves to be remarkably adept at construction, all things considered, and it really would be better for them to mix the powder themselves so they can learn the ratios — and probably immediately abandon them, but that's hardly his problem —

So there's no real reason for him to feel reluctant, except that as he looks over his work his fingers almost itch to finish it completely, to search out any last needed tweaks and test out the various mechanisms to be sure they work as intended. And there's Verso, of course, with his plans, and it's already been hours...

His lips press together, expression scrunching for a moment, but even he knows saying anything but yes is just him looking for excuses to keep going. And he will, would, right into the early morning hours if no one stopped him. ]

...Probably...

[versorecto]

[ Gustave's attachment to his work would be charming and adorable if it wasn't also, in this moment, absolutely infuriating. And it still is endearing -- Verso can practically feel the way Gustave's fingers twitch when he looks back at the components all neatly laid out on the bench, like they just naturally want to go back to work, to what they know best. He's been working nonstop for these hours, and has never even gestured at stopping to take a break, and Verso has little doubt that if he weren't here Gustave would be finishing all this and then finding a few other improvements to add on and tweak and modify all the way until the gestrals actually come calling.

( He imagines Gustave spending long nights in his workshop in Lumiere, and in his mind, Verso already knows him well enough, even talks to him about his projects over dinner, that he knows which ones are more critical and which ones can be left for another time. He visits with wine, with coffee, with food, because Gustave just forgets if he isn't reminded. Sometimes he has to be convinced, other times he'd happily take a break with him for a somehow-still romantic meal shared under the workshop's flickering lamplights, and sometimes he might even persuade him up to the rooftop for fresh air as they eat. Sometimes Gustave would have to go back to work, and other times he'd simply want. to, and it'd be up to Verso with a smile and a kiss and probably more to gently coax him away. And sometimes, more forcibly coax him away. ) ]

Mon Monsieur le fleuriste. [ Muttered soft and low against his neck, one hand sliding up to his shoulder to just lightly tug on the material of his shirt -- with some buttons undone and the collar hanging loose, it slides easily to expose more skin, baring a shoulder. Verso's lips chase the material with kisses and nips, fond, adoring -- and absolutely hungry for a little more. His other arm snakes around his waist, again, fingers settling just over the front of his trousers, not starting to work to undo them, but certainly hinting at it. ] You've been working so hard, and you've done well.

[ And your Monsieur le pianiste has been waiting, so very, very patient. ]

I think, especially on a night that we might finally be able to share together -- [ a warm purr in his voice, lingering on the thought of it, of just being able to share a night like they've been yearning to since they found each other again ] -- you deserve some, ah. Time to yourself.

[ And by time to yourself, Verso does mean time with him, but he thinks Gustave would agree to that. ]

[demainvient]

[ No more monsieur le ingénieur now, it seems; Verso all but cleaves to his back, arms circling him and his voice turned low and intimate. Mon Monsieur le fleuriste, he calls him, and Gustave thinks it's a sure sign that Verso's desires are shifting toward the romantic, the wanting. He enjoyed watching his engineer work, yes, that voice and those words say. But now isn't it time for something else?

And Gustave is far from immune to a sweet nickname murmured warmly into his skin, to a hand sliding low over his belly and leaving a tight, sweet ache in its wake. He makes a small, soft sound, eyes closing as he leans back into Verso's chest, as his hand comes up to rest on the wrist of the one now toying with the waist of his trousers. ]

Verso...

[ All of it compelling enough, almost enough for him to give in and agree, but then Verso keeps muddling words along with kisses into his skin and Gustave can feel his heart give a hard, confused leap in his chest. ]

You'll... you'll stay the night?

[ His surprise is genuine, though in retrospect maybe he shouldn't feel surprised at all. Verso told him earlier, didn't he? That he knew the girls were leaving him alone for the night. At the time his head had been full of the task at hand, he hadn't really considered what Verso might be saying, but...

A night. A night together, like he's dreamed of for so long, like he's longed for ever since he realized Verso was here, alive, on the continent with them and nearby, within reach.

He half-turns, wanting to see Verso's face, some small part of him still wary that Verso will shake his head, say no and I'm sorry and vanish again until tomorrow. Hope leaps in his throat, his chest, lights up his tired face and soothes a little of the ache in his temples. A night together, to hold each other close and fall asleep in each other's arms. Will it be anything like what he'd imagined? Could it be? ]

Is that your plan?

[versorecto]

[ Verso adores his fleuriste and his ingénieur both, but there are a few ways the names differ in the way he uses them that he's only half-aware of. Gustave the engineer is a world he never knew, an entire life he wishes he could've been a part of, wistful and longing -- it has the weight of what Verso wishes he could have somehow had, with him, a life in Lumiere for these past few years, or maybe even before that somehow since he's already succumbing to wishful thinking. There's an appeal to being so sequestered off, but more and more he's wanted to just be with him, be a part of his life, and le ingénieur is a part of him that Verso could simply never know. But -- at the same time, Gustave is Lumière's engineer, his apprentice's engineer, Maelle's engineer, even. But there's only one person, only Verso, who knows him as his fleuriste. Only his.

He can feel the other man steadily melt in his arms, sinking back against him, giving in -- and then the way his words jar him so suddenly that he's starting up again, half-turning in his arms. Verso is a bit surprised, mostly because he thought he'd been fairly clear earlier, but Gustave had been busy, he supposes, his mind already fixated on the project ahead. Verso only doesn't immediately answer him because he's so caught off guard by the look in his face, in his eyes, all bright and hopeful like nothing else he's ever seen, like a simple offer of spending a night together is everything he's ever wanted and everything he's ever dared to dream of, like Verso's just casually offered him a gift so perfect that it could only be an answer to all of his hidden prayers.

A beat, and a smile, turning Gustave more in his so he can lean down and press their foreheads together, one hand lifting to his cheek. He makes some sound, soft and amused, his other hand settled at his hip, the look in his eyes nothing short of affectionate and adoring for all the hope and light in Gustave's. ]

Yeah.

[ Of course it is. He's also had a few dozen different dreams about what they could do during this night together, but in all honesty, it isn't too important. The moment he realized that the Expedition was actively considering giving Gustave a night to himself to work, the moment he realized that that was actually what they were going to do, there was a never a question about what he should do with it. All the previous days before, when Gustave would all but beg him to come back to camp, and Verso would all but beg him to stay. For a night, at least, they can put that aside.

He tips his head to the side slightly, indicating some direction, still with their foreheads pressed together. ]

I know a place.

[ It might be a lot. But he hopes you'll like it, and -- who knows what chances he'll get, with this? Verso wouldn't have minded at all a night together under the stars, in a makeshift tent, even in one of the gestral houses, just wants to spend a night with him -- but, since he has tne option, here. He does know somewhere special. ]

[demainvient]

[ He really must have been focused, not to pick up on Verso's meaning before, considering it's something they've talked about both as a wistful daydream from the past and as a luxury held just out of their reach here. Verso refuses to come to the camp and Gustave can't stay away; they've been at an impasse, snatching at the very most only an hour or two together before they have to fall apart again.

But now... and it isn't even that late, the girls had left him here in the evening, well before true nightfall, which gives them so much time it makes Gustave almost giddy to think about. Hours and hours, enough time to sleep, even, though he'd be just as tempted to stay awake the whole night through to be able to give his monsieur le pianiste all his focus, now that the project is (nearly) complete.

He lets Verso turn him again until they're standing like they had been before: Gustave leaning slightly back against the workbench, his hands coming to find the gentle dip at Verso's waist, over that purple sash that looks so dashing. Verso leans their foreheads together and he can feel the way it melts down his neck, into his shoulders and back, the muscles relaxing and softening just to be this close to him. ]

You know a place?

[ Amused and a little skeptical, but maybe he can be forgiven, considering their current location. ]

Does this village have some private hotel I missed seeing on the way in? They could probably repurpose a Sakapatate for one, honestly, they're big enough.

[ But those Verso's smiling and fond, he looks serious, and maybe it really isn't a joke. Gustave gives him a bemused look, thumbs running idly along the curve of his ribs, over the material of that Expedition uniform he still needs to ask about. ]

Alright, I'll bite. Where?

[versorecto]

[ Verso doesn't blame Gustave for being skeptical. Knowing a place could be anything: just making a joke about one of his first ideas which was just taking the time to set up camp somewhere, setting out a bedroll, a decent shelter, maybe some flowers, ramshackle but heartfelt. He'd also considered pulling a favor with the gestrals themselves -- gestral accomodations aren't exactly robust, but they're still a structure, a shelter, and some unused gestral house would be better than nothing, surely, a curtain drawn over the entryway. It'd taken him walking around the village to remember he even had another option: a space he has access to but doesn't normally like using as his own, because it . . . Feels strange to do so, and because its one occupant is more than a little uncomfortable.

But the curator for now has moved on to stay with the Expedition. Verso's already made use of the manor a bit more because of that, a convenient transportation in some places, and. One chance he and Gustave have of using an actual bed. ]

You know how you imagined taking me to an old abandoned hotel? It's a bit like that.

[ Verso laughs a little, a sheepish half-shrug, he knows it sounds a bit ridiculous, given where they are. But also not too unthinkable: even if Gustave has yet to see Old Lumiere, all across the Continent there are sometimes just... entire buildings scattered out from the Fracture, remnants of city blocks, a piece of a town square. The idea that he's maybe found an old hotel of some kind that might be accessible, if maybe tilted at an uncomfortable angle, isn't too unthinkable. ]

It's best to just show you, I think.

[ And Verso does think you'd like it, if maybe be confused by it, but ultimately it'd be a warm bed, and -- there's part of him, wistful and sentimental, that would just like to pretend at being able to bring Gustave home. A different world, a different life. If he'd made some different decisions, if the world wasn't what it was, if Verso wasn't who he was.

He lingers there, just enjoying Gustave's presence, his touch, comfortable and familiar like they've done this so many times before as he sways closer to steal a quick kiss, his fingers playing lightly with his hair. ]

-- I promise its not a Sakapatate.

[demainvient]

[ He returns the kiss, amused and smiling, and lingers a moment to enjoy the feeling of Verso's fingers toying with his hair before he puts his hands on Verso's shoulders and pushes him gently back. ]

Then I guess I'd better pack up.

[ Not that he has much in the way to pack up aside from his tools, but he turns away from Verso to collect those with the efficiency of someone who's done this same thing a thousand times before: set everything out, maybe trying to keep it neat and in one place, only to have to go hunting around once they're finished to make sure they haven't forgotten anything. He's left this workspace a good deal neater than he found it, but he still finds an errant screwdriver that had accidentally rolled off the bench and onto the floor.

They all go into their respective slots in the long piece of leather where he keeps them, before he rolls it up and tucks it into his pack before looking for the little yellow and purple flowers he'd set carefully aside early on. He considers them for a minute, then reaches into his pack for his journal, opening it to an early page that has no writing, but which hosts a variety of small objects: a different yellow flower, pressed carefully into the paper; a note, now almost three years old and slightly faded; a small, grayscale photograph created with a collodion process of a young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties in the image. Her dark hair is cut into a jaunty bob that curls at her cheeks, her eyes are big and laughing, faint freckles scatter across the bridge of her pert, retroussé nose.

Gustave sets the new flowers carefully among this small collection of memorabilia, then closes the journal back up and slides it into his pack, which he slings over his right shoulder without bothering to strap it across his chest like usual. He's not sure how far Verso's promised place is, but unless they'll be doing a lot of walking, this should be fine. ]

Okay.

[ He reaches for his coat and slings it over his left arm, then turns to lift his eyebrows and hands both at Verso in a show me what you've got gesture. ]

Lead the way.

[versorecto]

[ Verso lets himself be pushed back, smiling fondly and leaning back against some nearby furniture as he watches Gustave pack -- its almost as interesting as watching him actually work. Practiced hands, neat and efficient, moving around the workspace he's already been organizing as he worked, a well-organized toolkit where everything clearly has its proper slot. The day Gustave might ever see Verso at work writing or working aside from just playing, or if he sees him just practicing, his own rather more -- haphazard processes might horrify him a little, Verso thinks, but he thinks that fondly, wants him to see, sometime. To share a little more of his life ( or what his life might've been ), like Gustave's sharing a bit of his own, here.

And especially when he circles back to those flowers. Verso can feel a bit of pink rising in his cheeks, and thankfully Gustave's not looking at him right now. The flowers were a bit -- impulsive, sentimental. He'd done what he could to get the gestrals to prepare for Gustave's arrival, and then he'd had time to kill as the Expedition made their way to the village. He knows of a few clearings in the Crimson Forest where those purple flowers bloomed, and he'd found himself wandering there, finding a delicate butter-yellow flower, staring at them together as he held them in his hands, freshly plucked.

Gustave takes them, clearly careful, and when he flips open what Verso guesses must be his journal ( he's seen him writing in it from time to time in the past weeks ), Verso does think to himself he should look away, but -- can't help but be curious. And he leans in just enough to catch a few glimpses of things that have his heart skipping in his beat, leaping into his throat: he sees the other yellow flower first, and that gives him context for what a small faded note might be, even if he can't quite catch the writing from here. And a photograph, old but well-kept, a woman that Verso isn't sure he recognizes. Someone from Lumiere whose face Verso probably never knew to remember, someone dear to him, clearly, and absurdly Verso feels a pang of something in his chest, something that feels like jealousy.

Stupid. He -- shouldn't ask about it. But when Gustave tucks his things away and looks back up at Verso, he might still be able to see the remnants of color dusting on his cheeks, even as he tries to play it off. He smiles, a little lopsided and sly, reaching out to take Gustave's right hand in his own, threading their fingers together and lifting it to his lips to brush a kiss against his knuckles. ]

It's not far.

[ But it's a bit of a walk. And as he gently tugs Gustave by the hand outside, into the night air of the gestral village, where there are definitely still gestrals running around -- Verso doesn't seem as fussed about not being seen. The gestrals already know he's here, and he's tried to tell them to be secretive, but he already knows the risks with that. He does seem to try to urge them towards a quieter path, apparently knowing the village very well, but -- he'd thought about this beforehand, too.

It's not Lumiere. But for a few moments they could almost pretend it is, maybe. Walking hand-in-hand along an old cobblestone street, the gentle glow of lights around them, the cool night air and the buzzing anticipation of an evening together as they walk close enough their shoulders brush, as Verso squeezes Gustave's hand in his own, thumb stroking against his hand like he's reminding himself that he's really, really here. ]

-- I really do like watching you work, you know. [ A soft murmur, a small smile. ] I know you won't believe me, but I could've stayed there all day.

[ It wasn't boring at all! ]

[demainvient]

[ It's not far, but just going outside and into the village proper is the furthest they've ever walked together, and Gustave glances down at the hand Verso has twined with his before looking over at him, hardly knowing how to feel. Happy? And he is, but there's an ache to it, to finally strolling through... well, a gestral village, but it's still a public place, in plain sight, hand in hand with Verso, the way he'd imagined so many times before. His daydreams had seen him shyly, awkwardly brushing Verso's knuckles as they walked before building up the courage to take his hand, or maybe they'd walk out of his workshop just like this, like they'd done it a million times before.

But they haven't, and he doesn't know if they'll ever be able to walk hand in hand along a town street again, let alone along Lumiere's. For a moment he can almost smell the salt breeze from the harbor, the flowers from the rooftop gardens, the warm scent of butter wafting from a nearby patisserie... but the stars were never so bright in Lumiere. ]

I believe you.

[ Spoken with a chuckle, as he turns his attention away from the stars and back toward Verso, ignoring the two gestrals squaring up to each other at a nearby hut. ]

I don't know why you might like watching me fiddle with cannon components so much, but I do actually believe you. Even if I don't believe you could have managed to refrain from distracting me for much longer.

[ He squeezes Verso's hand back, marveling that he can, that they're out here together where the gestrals and indeed anyone could see them, if there were anyone to see. ]

Aren't you worried we might run into one of the girls and you'll be forced to finally explain yourself?

[versorecto]

[ Verso laughs, his voice quiet, leaned in close. ]

It's less about enjoying cannon components and ignition mechanisms and more about watching mon ingénieur do something he loves, Gustave. [ Something he loves, thrives in, and clearly feels at home doing, something that has defined most of his life in Lumiere in a way that Verso can never hope to know or be a part of, something that seems so natural to his hands as breathing is to his lungs. It'd only been a few hours but he feels like he's seen so much more of Gustave than he'd ever seen before, like he could see him in every single little mechanical piece he'd so delicately fashioned. ] I imagine it's -- not unlike you watching me play music.

[ Not quite the same, he knows. One is more distinctly a performance, and he's sure to Gustave that the comparison might seem absurd. But they're both expressions of themselves, ways in which they've found to pour their souls out into world. In that, Verso thinks, when he's sitting there watching him and leaning in to peer curiously over the shoulder, the look in his eyes probably isn't too different from what he remembers of Gustave, sitting next to him on the piano bench, eyes wide and swept away.

As for the girls, well. Verso could easily make up something here: He's prepared, he's not that afraid, no one will see them. But instead he just squeezes Gustave's hand in answer, even as he guides them down a slightly quieter path. ]

I am worried, yeah. Just --

[ He glances at him, a bit sheepish, a one-shouldered shrug, giving Gustave's hand another gentle squeeze, thumb brushing over a knuckle. He is worried about it. He is aware there's a non-zero chance. He's been careful, knows where the girls have said they'd be, has even asked some favors from gestrals to make sure they're occupied, and the moment he does see them he is prepared to let go of Gustave's hand and slip away.

But it's a risk. Just one he decided he's willing to take, to hold Gustave's hand and walk quietly beside him for this short walk -- but its a much too short one. They're already winding their way somewhere a little outside of the village, past a gestral standing guard that Verso doesn't even bother acknowledging as they move past, towards a strange, ornate door. It looks entirely unlike any of the gestral architecture, though that in itself isn't unusual, with how many things are scattered across the fractured Continent. It looks almost built into the rocky cliff, a stone carved archway, an ornate wooden door within it -- and if Gustave thinks far enough back, it might look distinctly familiar, a door in a hut with weird corals. ]

[demainvient]

[ That... does make some sense, actually. He'd loved sitting there, watching Verso play the piano all those years ago now, but it hadn't been because of the music, exactly, though that had been beautiful, magical in its own right. What had swept him away was the way Verso lost himself in it, how it seemed to flow right from his fingers, speaking as clearly as he could with his voice. It had been easy to see how much he loved it: not just the performance, not just the music, but simply the act of playing. It had looked as natural as breathing, opening a door for Gustave to peer into a world about which he knows almost nothing but whose beauty charmed him effortlessly.

So perhaps he can see how Verso would be interested, especially if Gustave weren't so determined to focus. He can imagine Verso coming into the workshop — and in his mind, it's his workshop, the one he spent so much time in back in Lumiere, and this wasn't the first visit but one of many — and sliding his arms around him just like he had before, asking questions and making small suggestions, offering his perspective. It's a sweet enough image to make him ache, even walking here with Verso, hand in hand under the open sky and through the gestrals' strange little village.

He looks over at Verso, amused, as they pass a series of increasingly threatening sign. This one says TURN BACK!!! in large, jagged letters that he's not sure a gestral would even be able to paint. ]

Your work?

[ But his amusement fades as they make their way fully out of the village, past a gestral guard (no password needed, thank goodness) and along a winding little path that leads to a strangely familiar looking door. ]

Is that...

[ The last time he saw a door like this, it was tucked into Noco's hut, hidden amongst the weird corals the note at the Indigo Tree had mentioned. He shoots a bemused glance at Verso, sidelong, before frowning at the door itself. ]

How did you find this?