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]

[ 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? ]