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
 

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[demainvient]

[ Verso's fingers grip through his hair and he spends a wild second wondering if that flower finally fell out, if he's going to have to go looking for it later— but then Verso's leaning back, just like he coaxed him to do, and it sends a little encouraging thrill through him. Maybe this won't turn out so badly, after all.

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 been— it's been so long, I'd just— 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 impatient—

[ 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 want— I'd want to make you, make you come for me right there.

[versorecto]

[ Gustave's mouth closes over a nipple and Verso arches into it with a low groan that edges quickly into a growl, fingers tightening through his hair and wrenching his head closer. He forces that grip to relax a moment later, fingers carding gently through those thick curls to settle against the back of his neck, eyes lidded and pupils blown as he watches Gustave work.

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. ]

[demainvient]

[ His name falls, sizzling, from Verso's lips and it's more than enough to push him onward, even as he falters a little with his self-inflicted mission to offer Verso the words, the fantasies, he wants to hear. ]

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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 been— 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. ]

[versorecto]

[ There it is again. Verso is quite distracted, mostly focused on Gustave's fingers wrapped so sweetly around him and working him over -- but there is a certain care that he takes with his metal arm, like it could do more than he realizes. Something that piques his curiosity, that he might have to ask about -- but later, because right now Gustave is there between his thighs, kissing down over his skin.

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. ]

[demainvient]

[ It's perfect, as perfect as it could be back in his own bed at home, as perfect as he'd imagined in the fantasy he'd tried his best to share with Verso. Verso curses and tangles his fingers in Gustave's hair, and his hips do their best to rise while Gustave muffles a laugh around him and firms his hands. His grip isn't hard, but he pushes enough against Verso's hips that it would be difficult for Verso to get a really good lift in without turning this from a game into a wrestling match.

Which... well, it might. But until then, he's going to focus on the task at hand, enjoying himself as thoroughly as he's working: lips wrapped around Verso, cheeks hollowing as he draws on him, tongue sliding along the underside of his length, up and over his head to tongue the little slit there before he's taking him deep again, trying to surround him in sensation.

It's like and not like the garden, the first time he'd tried this with Verso: this time he starts out faster, harder, deeper, changing up his rhythm to drown Verso in as much sensation as he can. His jaw and neck both are beginning to ache, but he ignores them, hums as he slides Verso into his mouth again, feeling almost drunk on the taste and feel of him. And just like before, Gustave adjusts as he goes, repeating something Verso seems to like, moving on from something that doesn't work as well, doing his best to methodically take Verso apart. He loves this, how Verso feels against his tongue, the scent of him, how his hips keep trying to rock helplessly up, wanting more and more and more.

He'll give it. He'd give Verso anything, anything that's in his power to give.

He's already so hard, so sensitive, Gustave wonders briefly how long it might actually take. Verso had ignored himself earlier and Gustave hadn't gotten his hands on him at all; he'd been all worked up with nowhere for it to go.

Not anymore. Gustave flicks a look up the long, beautiful line of Verso's body, still firmly holding his hips down as he slowly licks his way from base to head before taking him in his mouth again, utterly intent and focused on giving Verso exactly what he wants, what he needs. ]

[versorecto]

[ Verso's thoughts are flooded with heady fog, lust and want drowning out everything else. Just because he has a tendency to focus on someone else and ignore his own needs for a while doesn't mean he doesn't have them, and being so suddenly completely surrounded by all this wet heat and pressure and Gustave is already so much. He knows he's not going to last for much longer at all.

But he wants it to. Just a little longer, just a bit more. Gustave muffles a laugh around him and something about that goes straight to his gut, about looking down and seeing that dark head of hair and Gustave working over him and not quite being able to see but being able to imagine the curve of a smile where his lips are wrapped around the base of length. Verso's fingers run aimlessly through his hair, gripping, relaxing, shifting elsewhere, tightening again, movements fueled by reaction and instinct and the pleasure wracking through him rather than any purpose, wanting to feel him more than anything else. He's beautiful. He's perfect. He's somehow even better at this than he remembers, the reality of having him here better than the idealized memory he's coveted over the years, and he can feel how Gustave shifts and adjusts, how he seems to bare him down to the core. He doesn't look or act like a hunter, not the same way that Verso himself does -- but he feels hunted, anyway. In a good way.

As Gustave pushes him in place, holds him down, a dozen images flicker through Verso's thoughts, everything Gustave does sparking inspiration for yet a dozen more fervid fantasies and dreams. Gustave holding him down, Gustave above him. or Verso himself pushing back, fighting him, both of them rolling around and over to see who bests who. Gustave grinning down at him with that metal hand tight over his wrist if he wins. Verso bearing down with a smirk, deep and satisfied, if its him. A blend of aggression and intensity, and another time still when he's pushing back but this time they collapse into laughter and affection and adoration, Gustave rolling onto his back, pulling Verso down on top of him, Verso leaning into murmur something sweet and true into his ear.

Putain. Verso's hips strain against Gustave's firm grip, only managing to just barely push himself into his mouth, against his tongue. ]

Gustave. Merde, I'm gonna --

[ It's a warning, breathless, his fingers twisting tight through his hair, urging him down to take him deeper as his he does everything he can to push up into his mouth, coming with a deep groan that rocks through his entire body, pleasure ripping through his spine. ]

[demainvient]

[ At the very last minute, he loosens his grip and lets Verso push up with his hips as that hand tightens in his hair, desperate for more, and when Verso comes it's deep in his mouth, letting him swallow down the sharp salt taste of him as he shudders and falls apart.

He stays there a moment, letting Verso soften against his tongue, then carefully pulls away, feeling a heady, amused desire to stretch his tired jaw. He doesn't, just presses a kiss to Verso's hip and solicitously tugs up the waist of his trousers before crawling up to collapse at his side, right hand lazy on Verso's bare belly, feeling the twitch and flicker of aftershocks as they spark through him. He hides his own satisfied smile in the crook of Verso's neck, placing a few languid kisses there, slow and sweet.

Verso's warm, he tastes like salt and smells like crushed grass and he's still the most beautiful thing Gustave has seen in a long time, lying here all wrung out with the blue light of the trees glowing softly over his skin. Gustave wants to lock this in his memory, too, along with the picture of Verso, golden and leonine in the sunlight, that he's been holding in his heart since the garden.

He breathes out and settles down next to him, weary both from the day's exploring and the tumbles they've already had. The only thing that would make this better would be to let himself fall asleep right here, next to this man, and be able to wake up to him again, just like in his most cherished fantasy, the one he'd he'd close to his heart for two years. Despite the many ways he's imagined it ending, it always starts the same way: drifting easily out of sleep, warm and content, to find a familiar body next to him.

How Verso would look, utterly relaxed and peaceful. The slow lift and fall of his chest and shoulders as he breathes. How his face would soften in sleep. He's imagined it so many times, and never thought it would be possible to ever see.

And it isn't here, now, either. He knows that. But it doesn't stop him from wishing. ]

[versorecto]

[ Verso just lies there for a while, sinking in the sensations of it all -- and all of it, Gustave. Gustave's mouth still hot and wet around him, some of that warmth lingering even after he pulls away. His own muscles, weighed down by the heady afterglow, twitching in the echoes of his pleasure. Gustave's touch, his fingers brushing incidentally against his skin as he drags his trousers up, more purposeful as his hand rests warm and heavy over his belly. The warmth of him beside him, how the grass dimples beneath them in a way where Verso could almost imagine they're sharing a bed in that abandoned hotel, the feel of him close, Verso's head tipping automatically to allow him more access to his neck, a soft pleased sigh escaping him. The sound of his own breathing, still a bit too fast like the heartbeat he can feel thrumming in his chest, slowly starting to wind down and down, like his very breath and heart are trying to better match the rhythms of the man beside him.

The rest of it eases in a little bit at a time. The slightest breeze whipping over them in the quiet clearing, the sound of the river, the rustling trees. Very slowly, he rolls onto his side, reaching out to drape an arm around him, lazy and languid like a blanket. He drifts his fingers up along his side, his shoulder, curling into his hair at the back of his neck, just barely drawing him closer so he can pull him into a kiss. Deep, slow, but lingering-sweet, less like he wants to devour him and more just he wants to feel him close, lose himself in it for a little while before he breaks off, their foreheads pressed together. ]

-- I liked that.

[ Everything. He did like everything. But he means the fantasy, the story, Gustave's efforts to tell them to him. He loved it. His voice is soft, lazy like everything else about him right now. All he wants is to just wrap him up in his arms, and. ]

You should stay.

[ Away from camp. Just for a night. Just for a few hours, maybe, would that be too much to ask? He smiles, laughing a little at himself -- but its probably good that after all this time and pulling away from Gustave again and again, that for once, he can be asking him to stay. ]

[demainvient]

[ He slides his hand over Verso's waist as Verso turns toward him, fingers slipping back into his hair and drawing him in for a kiss that feels like a deep breath, like sinking into warm water. Every part of him is relaxed, muscles warm and loose, his breath coming slow, easy. Verso leans their foreheads together and he closes his eyes, wishing they could just linger here for hours.

The comment makes him smile, before his lashes lift and he can meet Verso's eyes with his own. They're so warm, gazing at him from across a distance of only an inch or so: warm and content and beautiful, reflecting the glimmer of the chromatic glow from the trees. Gustave lets himself trace his fingers lightly along his back, just to indulge in the feeling of him there. Here, with him. ]

I'm glad you liked it.

[ Verso could mean almost anything, but Gustave thinks he means the deliberate way he'd tried to give Verso what he wanted, tried to tell him one of the many, many ways he'd thought about him for two whole years, his memory somehow never growing dim and the ache never managing to fade away. He's always hated wasted potential.

He's still not quite sure he did it right, but it seemed to have worked well regardless. He chuckles, a little self-conscious, and leans to kiss him sweetly again, almost chaste. ]

Maybe you're just easy to please.

[ Not that he's complaining, if that's the case. For himself, he thinks Verso could do almost anything and it would sweep him utterly and rapidly off his feet, send his head spinning. Verso's touch, his voice, are electric, no matter what he might be saying or doing.

There's some irony in his other comment, in his request, and it's clear he's aware of it from the way he laughs while Gustave smiles, slightly wry. He remembers almost begging Verso to stay, just a little longer, to come back, and how much it had seemed to hurt Verso to have to tell him no. And then he was gone, and they'd both broken their hearts over it. ]

Trying to get me to be the one to say I have to go this time?

[versorecto]

[ Verso just looks at him for a while through lazy half-lidded eyes, his gaze tracing his face. His jawline, his scuff, his lips and his nose. A face that's been in his dreams, his fantasies, and even a nightmare or two -- for two years, now, suddenly real and warm in front of him in a way part of him still doesn't entirely believe.

The hand he has against the back of Gustave's neck drifts up, fingertips lightly tracing over his cheek as he offers a languid smile. ]

Maybe it's especially easy for you to please me, Gustave.

[ Verso thinks, to himself, that Gustave could do anything at all and it would make some part of him sing. Just to see that much more of him, to learn something about him, to be here next to him and in front of him when he thought he'd never see him again. That yellow flower is still tucked against his ear, in slight disarray from everything they've been doing, he tugs it back into place.

He remembers the garden, how in the idealized memories he's been running through his mind over and over again Gustave had seemed to him almost an angel, wreathed in golden sunlight. This is good, too, the moonlight and the cast blue from the nearby trees. Quietly Verso considers the many different ways he could see him, how they have at least some amount of time with each other, now, even if it has to be under odd constraints, and he feels a little giddy just from the thought. ]

I think you'll find I'm trying to get you not to say "I have to go".

[ He wants you to stay! To make the moment last even longer, to let it spill into the moments after, to fall asleep with Gustave in his arms the way many of his dreams would end. ]

[demainvient]

[ He stays still as Verso fusses idly with that flower he'd tucked into his hair, his own eyes searching Verso's face, soft and lingering, like he's trying to memorize every detail of his features. He'd remembered so much, but over two years some of the finer details had been lost: the individual hairs that float loose to cling to his lip, his cheek, the angle of his jaw, the line of his nose. He should be memorialized in marble, his beauty captured by some artist with the skill to render it into unchanging stone. ]

I want to.

[ More than almost anything. It's an ache that won't go away, constant in his chest, wanting to be here in Verso's arms, trying to make the moments they have left linger. There's something cruel about this shift in who stays and who goes, and he's still not wholly convinced that if he leaves tonight, he'll see Verso again tomorrow. Or ever again, maybe.

He shifts a little closer, tangling his leg with Verso's as if they were back there in his bed, lingering under the sheets together with no place to go. ]

But they'll come looking for me again. And Maelle... she's been having nightmares. I can't leave her alone for too long. If she wakes up from another one, and I'm not there...

[ She'd be all right, but he wouldn't be. He's terrified of failing her again, of losing her the way he had at the beach, of not being there when she needs him. He reaches up to idly brush a wave of Verso's hair back from his face, fingers slipping lazily through dark strands. ]

Come back with me. I'll introduce you to the others and you can, you can stay with me. I could even go back first, get them ready, answer any questions before you show up so they know they can trust you.

[versorecto]

[ Tangling their legs together like that is a simple gesture, and Verso hooks that leg around Gustave in turn, and -- it just makes him ache. He knows, too, that as profoundly simple and almost casual as the movement is, that it has to ache for Gustave, too. He can see it in those eyes he's come to adore to much, spelled out as plainly as if he were looking into the other man's heart: adoration, want, yearning, maybe just a little fear that what little they've found is not enough but still feels too good to be true.

Verso pulls him even closer, pulling him in so Gustave's face is tucked against his shoulder, so he can bury his face against his hair and breathe him in. ]

You know if I would if I could, mon petit chou.

[ He means that completely. Verso has little doubt of the risk that he imposes onto their little Expedition. Even doing this with Gustave is -- more than pushing it, but he only has so much self control, which makes the last vestiges of it he has all the more important. A small smile, hidden against Gustave's hair; ]

I like that you've thought about how to convince them, though.

[ Dork. ]

[demainvient]

[ Verso draws him in and he goes without hesitation, carefully sliding his left arm under the muddled mess of Verso's coat and sash there on the grass and beneath Verso, his right arm sliding over his side and curling there as he settles against Verso's shoulder with a quiet exhale as he relaxes against him. His voice is soft, low, a faint rumble to it. ]

I used to dream about this, too, you know.

[ About waking up together, falling asleep together, sheets muddled around them. Lying together in the grass of one of those rooftop gardens, skin warmed by sun and every touch lazy and sated. Drifting off surrounded by Verso, his scent and warmth, his body there pressed against Gustave's.

If he had to choose, he would have to say these were his favorite daydreams, the ones where Verso was just there and nobody held on too tight because they were afraid of the other one vanishing. ]

Just getting to hold you like this. Waking up and finding you there next to me.... getting up as quietly as possible so I wouldn't wake you. Coming back with a cup of coffee and watching your eyes open... wondering what your expression would be when I'm the first thing you see.

[ Unlike the fantasy of earlier, this one lacks heat, though it has a different kind of wistful intensity. He'd... longed for moments like this, for two years, indulged in daydreams about them even when he knew he shouldn't, even when it left him with nothing more than guilt and grief. His thumb smooths idly over Verso's skin, slow sweeping motions. ]

Of course I've thought about it. I barely thought about anything else all day today except seeing you and how I could convince the team. How I could convince you. If you came like you promised you would.

[versorecto]

[ No real heat behind these words, but no shortage of warmth. Verso closes his eyes as he listens, his fingers playing idly with the soft curls of his hair, breathing him in and filling his lungs with him. He knows by now that Gustave dreamt of things like this so often, that he really has spent so much of their two years apart in wistful fantasies even about small, simple things, but. Actually hearing it, hearing the care he puts behind every work, hearing how simply obvious it is that everything Gustave is describing is something he's imagined countless times over. It's nice, it hurts, it makes his heart break as much as it makes his heart sing.

His poor, wistful Monsieur mon fleuriste. He wishes he could tell him the truth. ]

You'd bring me coffee, but rob me of being able to wake in your arms? [ He laughs, the sound half-muffled, turning his head so his breath and his voice brushes warm against Gustave's ear. ] Seeing you would be enough to ease that sting, I think. Even after I must've spent the night dreaming of you.

[ Verso has had these same daydreams of quiet mornings and languid evenings in each other's arms -- though they tend to end with Gustave beneath him, sometimes in a fit of white-hot passion, sometimes in something sweet and lingering, always with his name on Gustave's lips.

He shifts to press a gentle kiss to the Gustave's temple. ]

I came -- and I will tomorrow, too.

[ Verso is still so sorry for breaking his heart so many times, but now that he's here -- now that there's at least one or two or a dozen different ways learning the truth of something might shatter this man's heart when its been entrusted to him . . . He's doing his damned best to hold onto it, in the places where he has a choice in the matter.

Tomorrow, and the tomorrows after. He won't let him go so easily ever again. He can only hope that his intent will soon be enough, for Gustave to trust and believe him when he says tomorrow. ]

[demainvient]

Don't worry. We'd have had lots of mornings when you got to wake up in my arms.

[ Like Verso's fantasy with the opera house, the pertinent context here is that it isn't a one-time thing, an only chance. He'd already had that, and all it had done was make him yearn for more. His shoulders drop in a sigh as Verso brushes a kiss against his temple, and his arm tightens around him for a moment, unwilling to let go.

He has to. He knows he has to. It's been hours already, surely, and even Sciel will only give him so much time. ]

Then tomorrow I'll try to convince you again. But I can't stay tonight.

[ He presses a kiss to Verso's shoulder, his collarbone, then pulls gently away to lean on his left elbow, reaching with his right hand to tuck the dark wave of Verso's hair back over his ear, thumb soft against his temple. That same wistfulness is in his eyes, along with a quiet resignation. ]

I hate to leave you, mon cher. Even if it's to dream of you later.

[versorecto]

[ Gustave starts to untangle from him and pull away, and Verso sways forward, a soft sigh falling from his lips. He lifts a hand to curve over Gustave's wrist as he tucks some hair back behind his ear, as his touch lingers on his skin, turning his head and leaning into that touch to press a kiss against his palm. ]

Mon Monsieur le fleuriste. My heart aches to see you go. But I will never be far from you.

[ Figuratively, but literally, too, now that Gustave has learned that he's been watching him and keeping an eye on him to some extent. Maybe that will give him some comfort, more likely it'll irritate the hell out of him -- but it's true.

His finges stroke along the inside of Gustave's wrist, thumb pressing against his beating pulse, turning his head against his hand to brush kisses against his fingers, up over his knuckles, his eyes lidded. ]

-- You should go. Or I'll keep asking you to stay.

[ Neither of them can help themselves, can they? ]