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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
Yeah.
[ I just thought, Verso starts, and trails off, and Gustave tears his focus from the manor itself to look over at Verso, taking him in. He looks... anxious, a little, or maybe just nervous, and Gustave presses his hand, his smile crooking. He's done so much, his monsieur le pianiste, who can be so sweet and so generous that it makes Gustave's heart stumble all over itself in his chest, threatening to crack.
Probably they could have found a private enough space in the village, or camped just outside it, but Verso had remembered this space and thought it was better, more comfortable, and Gustave does remember the luxuriously appointed room they'd found Maelle in. The bathroom. The closet full of clothes. The bed.
And, well, if no one else is making use of it...
He pushes his eyebrows up, an expression that on his face tends to skew more mischievous than sly, but there's clear interest in his eyes. ]
If the water was running down in the kitchen, do you think it's possible to draw a bath?
[ A real bath, hot water and soap and a smooth tub to soak in, would be nothing short of sinful right now. They've all largely been bathing in cold rivers and lakes, unless they come across a small enough spring that Lune can warm the water with her pictos, and he doesn't mind it, exactly, but merde, he's missed real baths. ]
The last chance I had for a good wash was that river, the first night we met. Remember?
no subject
But it's strange, a little eerie, filled with mysteries and questions. He wouldn't have blamed Gustave for maybe preferring to only stay a while and then to step away elsewhere to rest, or for agreeing to go along with him but end up feeling -- off, uncomfortble. But as always, Gustave seems to know whenever he wanders off into his mind into quiet spirals and anxieties, even if he doesn't always know exactly where they come from ( there's so much truth in these walls that Verso can't afford for him to find out about, this is awful and risky for his own ambitions, and yet ). Gustave is squeezing his hand, smiling at him, sweet and kind -- and then shifting into something a little mischievous.
Verso regards that look with some curiosity, and then Gustave mentions a bath, and. Oh. There's a flicker of something across his eyes, and Gustave might be able to see it, how he's immediately picturing it in his mind's eye: two of them sharing a bath, all tangled up in each other, with nothing between them but skin and the water. Standing next to a made and ready bath, Verso slowly peeling off all of Gustave's clothes, piece by piece, finally seeing him completely naked and bare, leaning into kiss everything he can reach. His own hands running over him, lathering soap, following the lean muscle of his shoulders, his chest . . . ]
-- Yes. [ Said almost too quickly, eagerly. He laughs, a bit at himself, sheepish, but the look in his eyes is definitely warm and heated and definitely sly, the corner of his mouth quirking up. ] Yeah. Definitely. The bath would work.
[ He's used it himself from time to time, but has gotten a bit used to the rivers and lakes around the Continent -- it's been at least months, probably longer. And with company . . . He squeezes Gustave's hand, taking a turn across the landing. He knows the place well and where the rooms all are, it seems. ]
I remember. [ A little petulant, playfully so, leaning in to press a light kiss to his jaw. ] Even if you only decided to wash up after we had to part ways, for the night . . . More than a little unfair, if you ask me.
[ How dare Gustave, honestly, it was a slight that Verso still remembers. He's walking a little faster now, tugging Gustave with him across to a certain door. ]
no subject
[ He's laughing now, a real laugh, not just an amused chuckle, as Verso presses a kiss to his jaw, tickling him with the scruff of his beard. ]
If I hadn't waited until you were gone, I'd never have made it back to camp. It'd be more dangerous than swimming with sharks. I'm honestly surprised you didn't smell blood in the water and come right back.
[ This is good, this is better, Verso sparking into life, understanding followed by clear desire lighting in his eyes. His questions can wait for a while, surely, or he can ask them as they go, but it's clear Verso wanted to share this with him, wanted something special, something nice to offer his fleuriste, and though Gustave might have started out with too practical an assessment of things, he's more than willing to let himself be swept away.
They have a whole night. Why not dream together?
And he's glad Verso catches on quickly to his meaning. A bath would be heavenly, but he's under no illusions he'd be allowed to enjoy it alone, nor does he especially want to. He wants to finally see Verso bare, completely, wants to feel his skin warm from water and slick with soap. He wants to run his hands along every part of him, memorize each and every curve of muscle and angle of bone.
Verso's thoughts are taking the same path, he can tell, a thought that jolts through him like lightning. The anxiety vanishes, replaced by clear determination, and he's laughing again as Verso almost drags him down the hall once they've reached the top of the stairs. ]
But I'll be more than happy to share this one with you, mon pianiste. You've been so patient tonight, you deserve some time and attention.
no subject
Verso laughs, again turning around so he can look at Gustave as he steps backwards and leads him, clearly familiar enough with the space to do so. His eyes are lidded as he leans back against a door, catching it with his shoulder, squeezing Gustave's hand tightly in his own. ]
I think I deserve all of your time and attention tonight, mon fleuriste.
[ And Gustave, of course, would deserve nothing less in turn.
He shifts his free hand to open the door, pushing it open with his back and shoulder, stepping inside. It's a nice bathroom, ornate and tiled, a small vanity off to the side, a sink with a massive mirror, and a long, spacious bathtub. It's warmly lit like everything else in the manor, amber-toned lamps and gentle light from the windows, and its also decorated, vases full of flowers, paintings hanging on the walls. There's towels hanging from the racks, soap, candles. All strangely untouched and unused, again a place that feels -- empty, but.
It's not empty anymore, as Verso steps inside, pulling Gustave with him to the middle of the room, across the tile and carpet and wrapping him up in his arms to pull him into a kiss. ]
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And now Verso is laughing, tell him he expects nothing less than Gustave's complete focus, and, putain, he's almost desperate to grant that request. This place, this continent, is so hard and unforgiving; he's known so much grief in such a short time. And then Verso appeared, like a miracle, out of the blue, and reminded him what it's like to live again, not just for Maelle but for himself, for the way his blood rushes and heats when Verso touches him, for the sounds Verso makes when Gustave kisses him.
The door gives way behind Verso, opening into a luxurious tiled room, as elegantly appointed as the rest of this strange place, but he barely has a moment to look before Verso's dragging him into his arms and meeting his mouth with a kiss, firm and wanting. Gustave groans into it, dropping his coat and the pack from his shoulder without hesitation just so he can bring his hands to the sides of Verso's head, kissing him back with all the passion that had been banked in him for so long, for hours and hours. ]
You can have it. All my time and attention, I'll... je te donnerai tout ce que tu veux, anything.
[ Anything at all that Verso wants, whatever he can give, he'll give it. Verso's made this happen for him, Verso sometimes feels like the only thing keeping him sane in this insane place, Verso feels like the air in his lungs even as this kiss steals that same air from him without mercy, leaving him burning and breathless.
His hands go to work at the fastenings of Verso's coat, a little more familiar now with the buckles and tassels, working them loose a little more quickly. ]
Shall I draw us a bath, mon cher?
no subject
Gustave literally drops everything else he was holding just to lift his hands to his head, and Verso leans into it as much as he can, his arms wrapped tight around his waist to haul him as close to his body as he can, fitting them together so closely and perfectly, feeling the heat of Gustave's body thrum against his own. He loves the sound of his voice, aching and wanting, the stream of heated French pouring right into his heart and soul and setting the very core of him alight.
The only thing that forces him to eventually just barely pull away and get a little bit of space between them is the fact that it's necessary to start to work at their clothes. It's reluctant, but he does unwind from him slightly, his eyes dark with want even as they crinkle slightly with a breathless smile as he looks at him. He's spent all so many hours in that workshop undressing him with his eyes, and now. ]
Anything? [ A bit of a growl, teasing, his hands running up and down Gustave's sides -- not having to fuss with the jacket and those straps is, too, a luxury, and how he looks in just the shirt and waistcoat is something that, do Verso at least, borders on sinful, with how close it fits to his body, how it clings to his skin from sweat. He leans forward for another kiss, brief but wanting and sharp, teeth tugging at his lower lip. ] Thankfully, Gustave, all I want is you --
-- Vous tous.
[ Everything. All of him. Nothing more. Nothing less. He pulls at the buttons of Gustave's waistcoat, and its clear that part of him wants to go slowly, wants to really savor this and take his time to sensually peel his fleuriste apart, but the rest of him is impatient, desperate, only barely being held back. He manages a somewhat measured pace, even as he licks his lower lip, helping to shrug off his coat once Gustave is done with the buckles. ]
Please do.
[ Start the water, run it slow, and then they can take their time with this, maybe -- or as much time as they can stand to take. He's undressed Gustave before, of course, but stripping him down completely bare still remains a quiet fantasy, and one that he wants to enjoy coming true. ]
no subject
Alright.
[ One more kiss, and then he pulls himself reluctantly away, face flushed, his breath already coming harder. His eyes are noticeably darker now, as they trace their way from Verso's face down along his body, to the shirt now revealed, the way it clings to his shoulders and chest, how it follows the trim lines of his waist. He's so beautiful it hurts to look at him; Gustave feels the need to have his hands back on him like a physical ache, a hunger far greater than anything his empty stomach might complain about.
He swallows, throat moving, and takes another step back, far enough that he can take a breath, let a little sanity return. The tub is nearby, surrounded by unlit candles and vases of fresh flowers, and for a moment he wishes he had Lune's skill with the elements, to light the candles with a touch. There must be matches around here somewhere, surely?
But they can wait. First things first: he goes to the tub and finds the stopper, then turns the metal knobs until he can hear water running, until it starts splashing out of the faucet. He leans down, bracing himself with his left hand so he can hold his right hand under the stream, testing the temperature, and glances over his shoulder at Verso. ]
... is there a piano in this place?
[ He almost had decided not to ask, not wanting to put Verso on the spot, to demand a song or two when Verso clearly has other plans, but...
But it's been so long since he heard him play, and Esquie had even said that Verso hadn't played as much in a while, the frequency of it fading over the last two years, since the garden. And maybe, after they've had their bath and sated themselves for a while, Verso might be willing to be coaxed into playing just a little something. His monsieur le pianiste, who had stolen his heart with a song. ]
no subject
But finally, Gustave takes a step away, and there's a bit more space between them, a bit more time for his own breath to return and for his mind to clear, even if it's still filled with heady fog and want, how he can't think much past getting Gustave back in his arms again. He looks around, briefly catching his own reflection in the mirror, considering how mussed he is, if he could just shrug off his own shirt, and -- no. Why would he do that? Better to let Gustave do it, to feel his fingers work at every part of his clothing, better to let himself be quietly unraveled just like he wants to pull at Gustave with his own hands.
He's already moving closer to Gustave, and the question, unexpected, causes him to stop.
The answer is, simply: Yes. There is a piano. In his room, or the empty echo of it, whatever this strange place is, there's a door that leads to old forgotten things that he was meant to put aside as he grew. Old toys and playthings, trainsets and books, and a piano. Its a memory of the piano he had in his youth, different from the one he'd taken away from the manor that he actually remembers living in, that he has stored away in pictos pressed into his bare skin. This piano is older, a different character, he can still remember the notes. Not as clear and sweet as the one he used later in life, but its the one he fell in love with, as a child. He misses it.
He does want to take him to his bedroom. He'd been quite sure he didn't want to take him into that room. Surely there being a piano next to a room like that, with enough small touches that Gustave might be able to connect them to him, would be a step too incriminating. Surely the toys scattered around that room would only invite more questions and vulnerability than he's actually willing to have. Surely its too much of a risk, one step too far when all of this is already several steps too far, when he's already plunged so many of his plans into the abyss just from wanting to be close to him.
And Gustave asks, so haltingly but with clear earnestness, and -- ]
-- Yeah. [ He answers before he realizes it. He hears the word falling from his lips, and he can't help but laugh at himself. Putain de merde, Gustave doesn't even understand the hold he has on him, how tightly he has a grip over his will and his heart. ] I think there is.
[ Maybe he can just -- take them somewhere else, summon his piano from pictos there. Maybe they can go into that room. He'll . . . Have to think about it. Or more likely, given how thought seems to slip from his mind whenever Gustave is near, he must just have to see where his heart carries them. ]
no subject
I'm sure it's not as well kept up here as the one in the opera house was, but...
[ He turns the flow of water down, judging the volume of the tub and the rate of flow with a critical eye, then straightens, shaking droplets from his hand as he turns to Verso. His smile now could almost be the very same one he'd given Verso that first evening, warm and kind, a hint of curiosity in the curve of his lips, in his eyes. ]
But I would love to hear you play again. Mon monsieur le pianiste. After so long only hearing your music in my dreams.
[ But not, unlike the night in the opera house, his glance wanders away from Verso's face to the loose button at his collar, the way his shirt is already rucked up and mussed, just begging for hands to come and unbutton it, tug it fully out of those trousers, push it off Verso's strong, smoothly rounded shoulders. The water continues pouring behind him, slowly filling the tub, but he'd slowed it enough; he should have plenty of time to savor this, to enjoy the simple pleasure of finally stripping every piece of clothing and armor from Verso's body.
He comes close, steps slow, and reaches with both hands for the material of that shirt, where it's loose at Verso's waist, and tugs gently on it, drawing it slowly, so slowly, out of the waist band it's tucked into. ]
We can look for it together, maybe. Later.
[ Much later, if he has any say in the matter, because as much as he wants to hear Verso play again, he wants this more: leaning in to set his mouth against Verso's neck, lazily pressing kisses to the warm skin there as he begins slipping button after button from their holes, loosening the shirt that's between him and Verso's skin. ]
no subject
And after the opera house? After the garden? He'd thrown himself back into it with such fervor. Yearning and heartbreak that could find nowhere else to go, where words in a journal like Alicia had taught him to simply weren't enough, where he knew the only thing that would be able to give any shape to what he was feeling was the feeling of those ebony and ivory keys under his fingers. He'd played until his fingers blistered, until softened calluses on those fingertips started to reform, he played until nevrons would arrive from the noise. And when just pouring his heart out over the keys wasn't enough, he started to try and write, to write something to give shape to what he was feeling. Un jour je serai de retour prรจs de toi, aching, wistful, hope and regret, written out over months and months of attempts between a thousand different scattered papers and ink, to the memory of Gustave sitting next to him on the piano bench, swaying with the notes.
That fervor had run dry, after a while. Given away to more melancholy and sadness. The piano-playing went with it. But now, Gustave is here again, in his arms, right in front of him, standing with kindness and curiosity in his eyes. He looks like an angel even here, Verso thinks, framed in warm amber light from the room's lamps and the gentle moonlight from the open window, swathed in swirls of steam rising gently from the bath. He's finally here, they finally have time, and of course. Of course he should've thought to play for him. Of course Gustave would want to hear.
Gustave steps close, and Verso's hands move automatically to his side, making some soft, appreciative sound and tipping his head back to allow him more access to his neck, his eyes sliding shut as he savors that feeling, as Gustave starts to work open each button one by one. ]
-- Yeah. Of course. I just didn't think -- I wasn't thinking about it.
[ Breathless, honest. It wasn't that Gustave said anything wrong, just that somehow it wasn't really to mind, but now that Gustave has mentioned it, and now that they have time. It warms him to know how much Gustave really has dreamed of his music, of his playing. Again, one of those things that underscores the reality that they both know is true but they both have trouble believing of the other: How much they both desperately missed each other. ]
Later.
[ Definitely later. They can both agree on that, as Verso's hands roam up over his sides and start pulling at the remaining buttons of his waistcoat again, gently pulling it from Gustave's shoulders. He turns to tuck his face against his hair, breathing him in warm and deep as he works at his shirt underneath, his fingers trembling slightly just from some instinctive anticipation, from the considerable effort of keeping a measured pace and not simply ripping the shirt from his body. ]