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 laughs at that, a low chuckle, and gives a little shrug where he's lying against the grass. ]

Yeah. Makes sense.

[ For a moment he thinks about telling Verso about their own trip to the gestral village, about the duels and the arena and the Sakapatates; about Karatom, which... reminds him, he needs to return to the village to bring the mushroom he'd promised to the little gestral for the Ultimate Sakapatate and its cannons. His gaze turns slightly inward for a moment, considering, before he shakes it off and focuses back on Verso with a small, wry smile. ]

I'd like that. A lot.

[ And he would. The wry tinge to his expression doesn't have anything to do with the thought of trekking high up into those far, snow-capped mountains to see the ruins of trains flung there when the Fracture pulled the city and the land around it to pieces. ]

... but we have to get across the sea, first. And to do that, we need to find a rock, because apparently Esquie can't carry us all without Florrie. What makes Florrie different from any other rock? I have no idea.

[ He shifts, looking up into the night sky and drawing his left arm out from under his head so he can wave it through the air, fingers flicking and wrist making circles, pushing out with fingers spread, unconscious gestures. ]

All I know is it's somewhere in the Stone Wave Cliffs.

[ Gustave looks back over at Verso, letting his left hand fall back down into the grass at his side. ]

Have you been there? Any idea what we should expect, aside from massive bloodthirsty Nevrons?

Or, you know, those too. I'd appreciate a heads up before something gigantic tries to kill us.

[versorecto]

[ Ah, Esquie and his many rocks -- including the one Verso keeps carefully hidden. Something flickers across his expression, subtle but present, his eyes flicking down and away from Gustave, over the grass and into the river. Its enough to feel the weight of reality sink back into him again, pulling back the spell that they'd managed to cast for themselves over their little moment of time and space that kept the world at bay. A reminder that for as much as he'd like to keep being Gustave's Monsieur le pianiste and nothing more . . . He's not.

Lie after lie. So it goes. At least Gustave isn't asking him anything too damning. He's smiling a little when Gustave draws those circles in the air, reaching to catch his hand as he lets it fall back down, fingers curved over his wrist. He pulls his hand to his mouth, one light kiss to the back of his hand as he slowly shifts and sinks down beside him, shifting to lie down next to him and stare up at the sky overhead.

Maybe he won't have to look him in the eye for any lies he has to tell here. That might be nice. It's at least nice to jsut be here, beside him, feel his warmth and his presence radiating out -- not quite the same as sharing a bed, but. Its as close they're likely ever going to get. The grass dimples where he's laid down, and Verso can feel it a little the same way you can feel someone else's weight on a bed. The sash and jacket's mostly been neatly tucked under Gustave's head, leaving him to lie in the grass -- it smells bright and fresh, like the river nearby, but it also smells of them, right now, sweat and sex still lingering in the air.

Verso sighs. ]

Esquie's like that with his rocks. [ Like Florrie, or well. Soarrie. ] But he'll be able to help you cross the ocean.

[ A quiet, thoughtful hum. The Stone Wave Cliffs . . . Dangerous, another step up for this Expedition, but they've been handling everything the Continent has thrown their way so far with nothing short of finesse and grace. ]

The Stone Wave Cliffs are a spectacle in their own way. Somewhat rough terrain to move around in, but you can thank the 69th for all the handholds around. Plenty of well-positioned grapples, too.

The nevrons are as nasty there as they are anywhere else -- tougher, though. [ A pause. ] Some of the giant ones might wander over that way, but you'll probably be fine.

[ It's also somewhere he knows Renoir likes to keep watch. Verso's been keeping an eye out as much as he can, but he hasn't noticed any signs of the man nearby, just yet. He must be watching or keeping tabs somehow, but at least he should be able to tell and steer the Expedition out of his way whenever he might decide to show up, or so he hopes. He hasn't been quite as -- vigilant, in his watch, for the past day or two. He'll need to get back to it.

A beat passes, and he turns his head to look at Gustave beside him, smirking languidly. ]

I'll save you, otherwise.

[ Of course he will. ]

[demainvient]

[ Verso shifts to lie down beside him, and Gustave shifts, too, lifting his head to spread out the makeshift pillow of Verso's clothing, offering to share it. It's unlikely enough they'll ever be able to share a real pillow, but this is nice, too: Verso lying next to him, staring up at the sky, so close Gustave can feel his body's warmth, can feel him pressed against his arm and leg. In some ways, it feels even more intimate than when they'd been tangled up before. It feels... normal. Like it could be a usual thing, the way him coming to the opera house to see Verso perform was a usual thing in that fantasy Verso had been detailing for him before.

He smiles, crooked, and rolls his head to look back over at Verso, both his hands settled on his bare stomach. ]

As much as I'd appreciate that, it would be a fairly dramatic way for you to meet the rest of the team, non?

[ (Just a casual reminder that it would be a lot easier for you to let him introduce the idea of you to the team first, Verso.)

Gustave breathes in deep through his nose, chest rising and falling in a smooth motion, and turns his face back up to the star-swept sky, thoughtful. ]

Well, whatever might be in there, it's where we need to go next.

[ A beat, and a slight tip of his head, acknowledging some thought of his own. ]

But we have to go back to the gestral village first. I promised Karatom I'd help him with the gunpowder for his Ultimate Sakapatate's cannons. You know–

[ Gustave looks back over again, squinting, lips pursed, exaggeratedly thoughtful. ]

Really help give it that extra... boost. A really big boom. That ought to help scare off any Nevrons that come calling.

[versorecto]

[ Verso hesitates for only a second before he shifts to share that not-quite-pillow with him. It definitely feels -- intimidate, even with everything they've already done with each other, just one push against some invisible line drawn in the sand. Gustave is warm and comforting next to him in a way that -- isn't familiar, because they simply aren't, because they still don't know each other, have never had that time -- but somehow, Verso thinks could be familiar. The shape of something that could've been. Could maybe still be.

He offers a smirk and a one-shouldered shrug. Verso is aware that he'll have to meet the team eventually, still isn't quite sure how to go about it yet, but an opportunity is likely to arise. Doing it saving Gustave from something -- wouldn't be too dissimilar to things he's done before, whether taking advantage of a natural occurrence or nudging the odds or engineering something to make sure an Expedition has reason to trust him right off the gate. And a long time ago, when Gustave was merely an utter stranger that had taken in Alicia, something like that might've been a distant plan. Now, he'd really prefer not to use him that way.

There aren't any threats on the Cliffs the team couldn't handle, he's quite sure. Maybe he can find some way to help them with Florrie and introduce himself then -- save Esquie from coming back for him after they make it through. ( And he is, unreservedly, believing they'll make it through: few other Expeditions have impressed him as much and they're doing it with so little. Four of them, this incredible thing Gustave has made . . . And Gustave himself. )

He laughs fondly, shifting slightly on his side so he's facing Gustave, one arm pillowing under his head so his hand can comfortably reach to keep playing with Gustave's hair. ]

-- You made a promise to a gestral?

[ Karatom, no less. Gustave sounds like he thinks he can just help a little while and leave. Verso's pretty sure he's going to be stuck there reiterating ( and "testing" ) for far, far longer than he'd like. ]

You might be stuck there for a while, mon chou. And I worry about what they'd do with access to a -- really big boom. Those things aren't great at telling nevrons from not-nevrons.

[demainvient]

[ He looks over and up into Verso's face, amused, his eyes going half-lidded for a moment as he tips his head lightly into the fingers that toy with his hair. It feels nice, but more than that, he can't remember the last time someone touched him this way. Fingers threading gently through his hair, toying with the soft waves and curls there.

Sophie, maybe. A thought which still hurts, even lying here next to Verso. He carefully lifts it, sets it aside into a mental box he can lock and push into the depths of his mind, and re-focuses, smiling right back at Verso. ]

Well, he needed help.

[ This is clearly reason enough for Gustave. ]

And a lot of what I did back in Lumiere was find better ways to build things.

[ He shrugs, lifting his right hand and setting his elbow on the grass so he can lazily swing that hand over to run the back of it over Verso's bare stomach in an affectionate, idle caress. ]

Besides, it's not like it's all that likely anything other than Nevrons are going to be coming toward the village. As far as I know, the current human population of the continent can be counted on just over one hand.

[ And it might help protect them from the white-haired man. He doesn't add it; Verso must already know what Golgra had told them, that he'd showed up and slaughtered so many. ]

It won't take me long. And then we'll head straight to the cliffs.

[versorecto]

[ Verso makes some soft, pleased sound at that gentle touch running up over his stomach. It's a simple, idle movement, not even necessarily any purpose behind it other than contact and touch, and that just -- makes it feel that much more intimate, that much more dangerous in a way that Verso still struggles to define and understand. He looks at Gustave, hears how absolutely earnest he is in his response: the gestral needed help, so of course that's all that mattered. And when he describes his work in Lumiere . . . ]

You know. [ A thoughtful hum, and he pushes himself up slightly just so he can roll over and brace himself over him again, one elbow against his bunched-up sash and jacket, fingers curled lightly into his hair, the other tracing up over his belly as he leans his body over him. His eyes are lidded, fond, those fingers walking their way up over his chest. ] You had your performances from your Monsieur le pianiste, and you know I adore mon fleurist's work --

[ His hand lifts to curve against his chin, thumb tracing lightly just under his lower lip as he leans in to catch his mouth in a kiss. He lingers for just a while, the stir of heat starting to build again just under his tongue, pulling back to murmur against he corner of his mouth with a soft purr. ]

-- But I never got the chance to see mon ingénieur at work.

[ Verso is pretty sure that they'll be stuck there for much longer than Gustave appears to think: he's used to talking with the gestrals by now, but they are stubborn and persistent, not to mention Gustave seems much less likely to be willing to just physically pick them up and toss them away when warranted.

But maybe that's fine. A bit of time with the gestrals to watch Gustave at work, to give the gestrals a hand in some of their projects -- and probably more opportunities to watch him fight. Because the gestrals aren't going to let them go without multiple test rounds of their new toys. ]

[demainvient]

[ He shifts closer as Verso pushes up, looking up into his face again and smiling, lashes lowering as his glance falls to those laughing lips. Verso traces fingers lightly over his belly and a trail of goosebumps follows, Gustave shivering faintly as nerves light into life all along the path those fingers take, as the fingers in his hair tug gently and spark sensation through his scalp.

Verso murmurs words into the air between them and muffles any possible question with a kiss that makes every inside part of him melt at once. It's sweet and lingering and he's dazed when Verso pulls away, already reaching for him again. The way they're lying, he has to turn a little onto his side and reach with his left hand, which he carefully keeps away from Verso's hair, curves deliberate and gentle at Verso's shoulder, runs down along his arm and back up again, cool metal against warm skin.

He's not dazed enough to not find what Verso continues with funny, though, and he laughs, low and warm and a little breathless. ]

It's just as well. It would immediately kill any ideas of further seduction you might have at their inception.

I doubt anyone other than another engineer would find anything interesting in my tinkering and iterations and design process.

[ His glance moves over Verso's face, warm and fond and a little darker than before. Amusingly, it looks like he means it, like he really would enjoy watching Gustave lose hours to calculating the correct mass balance and sketching out designs and working with machines that need to be almost entirely taken apart and put back together with no visible changes made. ]

Even making this gunpowder for them and helping them adjust the cannon design and prototype isn't likely to be anything you'd enjoy watching. It'll take hours.

[versorecto]

[ The rough pad of his thumb brushes over Gustave's lower lip, still with that almost-purr to his voice, rumbling in his chest. ]

Maybe I'm more familiar with the craft than you think.

[ Music is his first real love, and after decades living on the Continent, just the art of fighting and channeling his body to a specific, lethal purpose is probably near the top. But all those years ago, when he was young and didn't have a scar across his eye, he had time for all sorts of interests. He would never have called himself a true engineer, more of just -- a tinkerer, who liked taking things he was already interested in and taking apart and seeing how they worked. After the Fracture, while he can't speak to Renoir's motivations, for him it was necessity and desperation. Music seemed almost frivolous in the face of everything he'd just seen and learned, and throwing himself into something, anything to try and give their precious city a chance against this horror beyond their comprehension. The Dome had taken shape through one of the few things he and Renoir still knew they both had in common, at the time: the need to cling onto the idea that they deserved to live.

How things have changed. But some things are the same: He still likes to see how things work, still has an appreciation for the details and mechanisms and a mind that understands how things fit together. And for as sweet and earnest as Gustave is, working on maintaining the Dome that Verso himself helped build . . . He'd really, really like to see him work. He can imagine it: moments of enthusiasm and energy, other moments of quiet focus, working into the night, huddled over a desk covered in papers. A single flickering lantern that shines over all of it, catching his hair, his brow, the strong line of his nose, oil-stained fingers leaving marks on the papers, a pencil tucked behind his ear with his eyes narrowed in concentration.

Maybe Verso can't know for sure, without having seen him work, but. He does think Gustave is wrong about what watching him would do to his ideas of further seduction. ]

Maybe I'd just like seeing where you work best, Gustave. You're doubtless a man of many talents, and I've yet to see most of them. [ A smile, his fingers again carding through his hair, mussing it up even more and pulling the stem of that yellow flower back in place. ] And if the work really is that boring, maybe you'd appreciate --

[ He leans in a little more, tucking his face against his cheek and the scruff on his jaw, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his skin. The hand at Gustave's chin drifts down, tracing a line over the curve of his throat, down across a collarbone. ]

-- My company.

[ hehehe. ]

[demainvient]

[ He lets Verso murmur his words and play with his hair, an indulgent smile toying around his lips as his left hand runs down along Verso's bare back to curve at his hip, where it already feels strangely comfortable, the gesture already almost familiar. He wishes it could be. The thrill of learning each other, of discovery, is sweet and exciting and sets his heart pounding, but part of him wishes they'd been able to have all that discovery a long time ago, that these touches now are the product of knowing each other so well they no longer have to think or guess about what the other one might like.

At that last comment, though, he laughs, even as he's tipping his head to allow Verso greater access to the expanse of skin he's after. ]

Oh, no. No. As much as I'd enjoy your company, mon cher, I don't think it would be all that conducive to actually getting my work done. You can be very distracting.

[ Like right now, for example, when they've already gotten off topic and Gustave can't even find it in himself to complain. He grins, shifting enough to slide his right arm under Verso and wrap it around him, warm hand running up Verso's spine to curve at the nape of his neck. ]

The way you're distracting me right now, I might add. When I was finally getting some useful information.

Now I'll head merrily off to the Stone Wave Cliffs without a single idea of what I might be facing once I get there. Aside from Nevrons. Which are already everywhere.

[versorecto]

[ Verso leans subtly into his touch, eyes lidded, enjoying the weight of his hand over his hip. Every single touch from him, every time Gustave looks at him, Verso swears it sends a little something running through his spine down to every nerve in his body, sparking electric and shivering even if it makes him feel so warm. There may come a day where each touch becomes so familiar that that might change -- but Verso thinks that feeling won't ever dull. That it'll just turn into something else, a different kind of heat and spark, something comfortable and warm but still sets every part of him on fire just as fiercely. And he's looking forward to that.

Gustave is laughing, protesting in his words -- but hardly pushing him away. Verso is happy to mouth down over the side of his neck as he tips his head for him, tongue lathing over already-bruised skin, shamelessly latching onto the join of his neck and shoulder and sucking hard. More marks to add to the rest. ]

You'd keep me from the pleasures of observing mon Monsieur le ingénieur at work?

Cruel and unusual. I think I've a right to see these hands at work, to see your mind set to the task.

[ And then to distract that mind, liberally, with all sorts of things. Of course.

He only leans further into him as Gustave wraps an arm around him, making some low, pleased sound, kissing his way back up his neck to nip at the shell of his ear. The hand resting over his chest palms down, following the shape of the lean muscle of his chest, pinching a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling gently. ]

We have plenty of time to -- talk -- about what you might find at the Cliffs, mon chou.

[ Look at all the talking you're doing! ]

[demainvient]

[ He laughs again, and it's— so nice to know Verso makes him laugh, that somehow even in the midst of this cloying cloud of pain and fear and grief he can find delight. That for a little while, he can feel so light, just simply... him, without the responsibilities that wait for him back at camp. ]

Hey!

[ Laughing still as he threads his fingers into Verso's hair and gently drags him off his neck. ]

Can't I have one patch of skin that you haven't marked up? What am I supposed to tell the others?

[ It isn't as though Lune and Sciel don't know what these bruises are, after all. His scarf covers most of them, but not all, and he's caught them sliding sidelong glances his way more than once: Lune's exasperated and Sciel's amused. All he can hope is that they each might think it was the other one who gave them to him, but there's not much likelihood there.

He slides his hand back down to Verso's neck, humming a softly amused sound as the man kisses his way back up along his neck to his ear. ]

Maybe I'd prefer to be your Monsieur le fleuriste instead, for a while longer.

[ Not that there's anything wrong with being an engineer, but it's certainly a lot less romantic and appealing, a lot closer to the reality of everything he is and has to do. Particularly when the only engineering and design he's likely to do for a while is this one task for a gestral.

Verso's fingers travel down his chest and he shivers pleasantly, then gasps softly at the bright spark of sensation as they toy with his nipple. It tightens under Verso's touch, his body eager for the feel of his hands, his fingers, his mouth.

A little breathless: ]

Not as much as I might hope for, I think.

[versorecto]

[ Verso doesn't resist when Gustave pulls him off of his neck, going easily and laughing slightly, breathlessly, nuzzling into his neck and jaw, the scruff of his beard. He probably should take his protests more seriously, he knows those bruises are conspicuous, that they must at least have Lune and Sciel at the camp wary and on alert ( or maybe just a little entertained ). But he likes the way they look on him, how they let his touch linger on his skin, how when he watched him from afar throughout the day as Gustave moved around with a kind of nervous energy he could catch glimpses of something dark against his neck peeking out under his scarf whenever he turned his head. ]

I just like seeing them.

[ Said with a smile that's almost a grin, half-whispered, a murmur against his ear like its some playful little secret.

Some small way to feel like he's actually with him, a part of Gustave's life that might be intertwined with the rest rather than something neatly sequestered away, that can be excised or left. Just like how, as much as he adores his Monsieur le fleuriste, as much as he understands why Gustave wants to stay that way in his eyes -- he can't help but think of wanting a little of the Monsieur le ingénieur, too. That's the part of him that lived in Lumiere, what he was for most of his life in that city that Verso could have never had the time to know, and maybe even outside of these two lonely, painful years Verso has started to think a bit about what it would've been like to be beside him even outside of that. Not to have been with him, surely Gustave had other suitors, but just -- to have known him, to have seen his face from afar sometimes when they passed on the street, to have heard of the handsome engineer that works on the Dome.

Things he'll never quite give voice to, not easily or willingly, at least. He just smiles, eyes lidding appreciatively at Gustave's touch, the tangle in his hair and then sliding back down over his nape. ]

You can be both, non?

I'm still expecting flowers even while you're at work. You wouldn't forsake me for your projects, would you?

[ There's no real protest to it, of course. Gustave can be his Monsieur le fleuriste a while longer, much longer, as long as he wants, for as long as they have. Something dark and hungry flickers in his eyes at the way Gustave shivers and gasps, a slow smirk again starting to pull at the corners of his mouth, and he shifts over him again to catch his mouth in another kiss. Fond, sweet, just a roil of heat starting to grow under the surface, tonguing deep to taste him and then pulling away. ]

Then ask me more questions.

[ He says, even as he pinches that nipple between his thumb and index finger again, a light tweak and roll between his fingers, feeling it stiffen under his touch as he draws that sensation out for just a little longer than before. Verso ducks his head to press a kiss to his collarbone, instead, sucking just lightly enough on some stretch of skin to not-quite-mark him, to tease at bruising him somewhere that'd be just a bit easier to hide. Not for long, and then already mouthing downward, those eyes flicking up to watch Gustave through his lashes as he seals his lips over his other nipple, teasing it with his tongue, with gentle suction. ]

[demainvient]

[ That's clear. That he likes creating them and seeing them, both, marking Gustave as if there might be some other interested party here to frighten off. ]

No.

[ Smiling as Verso leans in, as he presses his mouth to Gustave's in another deep, sweet kiss that leaves Gustave's head spinning. His own hands tighten on Verso's body, until he realizes, belatedly, and lifts his fabricated left hand off Verso's hip, sets it back in the grass beside his own where if he accidentally clenches his fingers too hard all he'll damage is some grass and earth. As it is, he's sure he's already left bruises of his own on Verso's hip, and leans up to ghost his lips over Verso's again, apologetic. ]

I wouldn't forsake you for my projects.

[ Right now, with Verso paying him such sweet attention, letting Gustave melt into him all over again, it's difficult to imagine forsaking him for anything less than Maelle, and she...

Well, he hopes, when she finally finds out, that she won't ask him to do anything of the kind. ]

But I do need to work.

[ Sternly added as Verso begins drifting downward, dusting lazy kisses over his skin as Gustave's hand slips into his hair, as his breath catches. ]

If I don't finish this cannon for them, they'll try to take my arm — Verso —

[ The name coming on the heels of a groan as his eyes squeeze shut and his whole body pushes upward, arching into Verso's mouth, seeking out more of that sweet, perfect, wet heat. His laugh sounds singed around the edges. ]

If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to distract me.

[versorecto]

[ There may be some faint hints of bruises to come presses into Verso's hip, but he doesn't seem to mind, seems to have liked the pressure of that metal hand against him if anything. Verso has noticed how careful and reticent Gustave can be with that arm, touching him but pulling back, never really applying much pressure or pulling back when he notices it. It's all Gustave, either way, whether its his right arm or his left, and Verso thinks he'll have to ask him about it, some time -- how it happened, how he feels about it, if he knows Verso doesn't care or mind. ]

They'll have to go through me to take it, Gustave.

[ But that's a conversation for clearer minds. Right now Verso is feeling the quiet, heady haze of just being around him slowly start to fill his thoughts again -- it'd never left, for as long as they were tangled hear together, only briefly cleared and now roaring back again. Everything about him is just intoxicating, his smile and his laugh and the way each word falls from his lips, that little edge of some attempted sternness in his voice before it falls away quickly to something breathless and keening under his attentions. He loves it, craves it, wants more of it, the sweet arch of Gustave's entire body curving into his mouth and tongue, the way his laugh frays around the edges, already starting to fall apart.

He lifts his head to brush a kiss to his collarbone, and this time he does suckle a bruise there, small, light, but just red enough that it's clear it'll stay and darken in the hours to come. Verso doesn't lift his head, just flicks his gaze up, lazy and languid with that ever-widening smirk. ]

Me? Trying to distract you?

[ Verso pinches at his nipple again, just a little sharper and harder, now -- and when he does let go its only when he's leaning his head over to tongue at it instead, never quite giving him relief from sensation, licking and teasing. His hand slides down over his chest, settling over his stomach, feeling the way the way lean muscle tenses and trembles under his callused palm in response to all of his touches, thumbing idly at his navel, just barely dipping down to let a fingertip ease past his trousers and brush at heated skin beneath. ]

How could use accuse me of something so wicked, mon chou?

[ A laugh, breathless, and this time he's drawing that other nipple into his mouth, latched onto his skin with an open-mouthed kiss, sucking and feeling him respond under his mouth and tongue. His other arm has to shift a little to make sure he's still bracing his weight well enough, slowly moving over and back on top of him again, a pleasant weight pressing him down into the grass as he slowly slots his leg between Gustave's thighs, fingers starting to pull and tighten slightly through the soft waves of Gustave's hair.

He would never try to distract you. Never. ]

[demainvient]

[ Verso's teasing him, but his heart tightens pleasantly, the wash of happiness that accompanies his name falling off Verso's lips scudding through him like warm water. It's such a normal thing and yet feels so uniquely precious; he wants to contain it in amber, to press it into a music disc so he can hear it over and over again: his name in Verso's deep and rumbling murmur. Sweet as the little nicknames are, he's not sure he'll ever get over Verso calling him by his name. It hasn't sounded so warm to his ears in a long while. ]

Really? You're willing to fight a whole village of gestrals and their Sakapatates just for my arm? Mon beau chevalier, how brave. Keep an eye out for the cannons.

[ They're annoying even without an improved design.

It's all absurdity, when Verso is teasing him and he's laughing, ignoring the little sting as Verso pulls hard enough on skin to make blood vessels break and bruise. Another mark, like Verso's determined to leave reminders all over his body, like Verso is drawing a signature over him, claiming him for his own. It's been a long time since someone thought of him as theirs.

It swells in his chest, threatening to crack ribs, to burst his heart. All this time, he'd only hoped his monsieur le pianiste might occasionally remember him fondly, might sometimes think back to the brief time they shared. He'd never imagined, never dared to, that he could have made as deep a mark on Verso as Verso had made on him, something deeper than muscle and bone, seared directly into the deepest parts of himself. He still doesn't understand how it happened, why, how it could possibly be that while he was wandering morosely through the rooftop gardens of Lumière Verso was picking flowers and watching them die, playing piano but fading back out of the habit once again. He thought his was the only heart that had broken.

And now it feels about to break again, every look Verso gives him that's so full of affection or warmth or desire, every touch that makes him shiver or gasp or moan, the feeling of Verso warm and solid and here next to him, all of it a continual stream of befuddled happiness and desire and longing that makes him feel like a glass of wine, overflowing and heady, that Verso won't stop pouring.

Verso settles over him, a hard thigh tucked warm between his legs, and Gustave wants to wrap himself around him completely, sliding his left arm carefully over the small of his back, running his right hand down over his back, enjoying the way firm muscle shifts and tightens and relaxes under his touch, down over the material of his trousers to curve over his ass, as possessive as Verso's mouth on his body. He's shivering, pushing up helplessly into that mouth, that tongue, nipple hard and aching, every inch of skin crying out for Verso's touch. ]

It certainly feels like wickedness to me...

[versorecto]

[ Fighting the entire gestral village would, in fact, be a pain -- but Verso knows the gestrals well, and they know him, too. He'd probably be able to trick or convince some of them into giving up the arm in exchange for some idle favor or a couple of fights. But he'd certainly still like to sweep in valiantly and defend his Expeditioner from their unruly grasp. Gustave calling him his beau chevalier has him turning his head to muffle a small laugh against his chest, breathless, amused, and terribly fond. He's not much of a chevalier. But for Gustave, he could be. ]

For you, mon petit chou? [ A little bit of a push in his own 'revenge' against that nickname. ] I'd fight them all, even if Golgra herself was the one who came to wrench that arm away from you. It might just take a very long time to win.

[ But he'll manage it. Gustave is sweet and perfect beneath him, as always. Verso's pressed so close to him now, skin on skin, and he can feel almost every trembling muscle and tendon in his body as he arches up into his mouth, as his head falls back and he shivers and shakes just from Verso's attentions. He gives himself over to him so completely, so easily, and sometimes Verso still feels guilty, still feels selfish for wanting to have him and take him and call him his own when he knows he doesn't deserve it -- but right now, that feels far away. Right now, he'd like Gustave to be his. ]

Mm. [ Just a slow, thoughtful hum, deep in his throat and echoing in his chest as he presses that leg down between Gustave's thighs, a nice even pressure for him to push back against. Verso takes his time with sucking at that nipple and all but reveling in how sensitive Gustave clearly is, here, closing his eyes with an appreciative half-groan at Gustave's own touch, his hand everywhere over his back, curving over his ass, likes how that grip feels, firm with a distinct edge of something possessive. That hand against his stomach stays where he is, only just barely drifting lower, fingertips dipping further beneath his already dangerously low-slung trousers, opening his eyes again to look at him lazily through his lashes as he kisses at his clavicle. ] I suppose it might be.

[ He trails lazy kisses up from his chest to his neck and throat. He moves so easily with a kind of languid grace, eyes lidded and his pupils completely blown beneath them, a cat that's caught its prey and and is taking its sweet time to savor it. The sound in his chest is almost a purr as he finally reaches Gustave's mouth, not quite kissing him fully but just brushing his lips up against the corner of Gustave's own, curved into lazy, teasing smile.

There's something about how languid and relaxes he is here in all of his movements, a genuine heat and all-consuming want in his gaze and his touch even if there's no urgency to it. It makes it feel almost familiar, like he knows he can take his time ( when in reality he really, really can't ) to pour himself over Gustave like a liquid and cover him completely, like instead of some stolen late evening in the middle of the forest he's waking up in one morning out of hundreds they've already shared and leaning over him in bed to piece him apart.

But it is still Verso, who's shown before that all that can change all at once like a switch has been flipped. And he seems to be waiting for something. His voice is soft, almost whispered, teasing; ]

Would you like me to stop, then?

[ :') ]

[demainvient]

[ A huff of breathless laughter at the mental image of Verso stubbornly swiping his way through a field of gestrals, before Verso's mouth is back on his nipple, sweet suction and the long swipes of his tongue over the taut bud of it, and words flee his mind, dissipating like smoke.

It's difficult to keep his left hand from gripping too hard, but he doesn't even make the attempt with his right, fingers pressing thoughtlessly into firm muscle, gripping him and drawing him as close as possible even as Gustave's hips tip up, pressing himself into the firm muscle of his thigh. Pleasure jolts dully through him, tangling in his gut, flushing his skin. What's left of his voice takes on a rasp — not so growled as Verso's, but low and breathless and a little like running one's finger over fine-grit sandpaper. ]

No.

[ He's not like Verso; after a certain point, all the banter gets burned away, leaving just the core of him behind, sincere and too earnest, the man who has longed for this touch, these kisses, this man, for years now and who never thought he would ever feel any of them ever again.

Verso's hand is warm against his belly, and he can feel the way his own muscles twitch, tense, beneath that touch. He thinks he can feel each individual finger, the way they flex gently against his skin, imagines it drifting over the gleaming keys of a piano.

A soft groan tugs in his chest, and he turns his head, feeling almost drunk on the things Verso's doing, the touches that are more tease than anything else, to kiss him back. It's open-mouthed and a little messy, his tongue flickering warm into Verso's mouth, his whole body flushed and shivering. ]

That's... pretty much the last thing I want, right now. For you to stop.

Don't stop, Verso.

[versorecto]

[ Verso kisses him back easily, still a bit laid back and languid compared to Gustave's mounting desperation. Not for lack of want, not when that slow quiet burn of desire is so apparent in the way he kisses him back, in the dark of his completely blown out pupils, in the way his heated touch on Gustave's stomach presses into every twitch and tremble of the muscle under his palm. Gustave lifts his hips up against him, and Verso answers it with by digging his knee into the grass and dirt beneath them, pushing his thigh more firmly down against him, a soft, pleased sound as he breaks from their kiss. ]

I couldn't stop if you wanted me to.

[ Of course he could. But in his voice, it sounds true, like if the world itself tore apart beneath them he wouldn't be able to untangle himself from him, like he's wound up so completely and so deep that he simply has to stay. And somehow, it's still not enough, and he goes back to kissing as his chest, his voice muffled into a quiet murmur against his skin, only just loud enough for them both to hear. ]

-- You're so sensitive. [ He says it with fondness, with admiration, with almost some kind of awe, flicking his tongue over a nipple again just to watch him arch in response. Like he's sitting at a freshly tuned instrument, fingers poised over the keys, plucking out a sweet note with all the skill he's learned over the years and finding some quiet pride and joy and awe in how clear the sound is when he draws it out and lets it ring into the air. ] Makes me wonder if I -- [ just a quiet please dsound as he presses closer, at Gustave's hands on his own body, his own skin -- ] -- could almost make you come, just from this.

[ Teasing touches, kisses, his leg between his thighs, and his attention lovingly lathered onto his nipples, both of them peaked nubs jsut a little wet from saliva. He latches onto one again, on Gustave's left, sucking hard as he lets himself enjoy the feel of Gustave's hands on his own body, lets himself be all but hauled closer to him. ]

We can see how close I can get you.

[ Another little breathless laugh, his every single word thrumming with desire as fierce and hotly as every part of his body pressed against him. That hand at his stomach lingers only to tease briefly at his navel and then roaming up along the length of his body, tweaking lightly and teasingly at his other nipple -- and this time, not letting to, or relaxing. Just rolling it continuously and gently between his thumb and forefinger, lips curving into a devilish grin.

Perhaps he is being wicked. ]

[demainvient]

[ He could. He would, if Gustave asked him to, if Gustave put a hand on his chest and pushed him back, he knows Verso would go. Growling, maybe, but it wouldn't be the first time Gustave's put up a barrier that Verso's respected.

He's tempted to try it now, just to see, but then Verso's kissing his way back down along his chest and setting his warm, wet mouth back over a too-sensitive nipple and the idea of trying to push him away, even a little, even for a joke, becomes utterly unthinkable. Verso might as well be trying to sear it out of his head completely, along with every other word he knows. The only sound he can make for a moment is a moan that's almost a whimper as Verso slides his hand back up to his chest, teasing him so torturously that for a moment Gustave feels like he might simply fall completely apart with need.

He breathes out a laugh, arching up into Verso's mouth, his touch, pressing hard against the thigh that grinds so deliciously against him. ]

—Pretty close, I bet.

[ No surprise there. Intimacy like this hadn't been a part of his life in the two years since the garden. Before Verso snatched him out of the air and pressed him up against a rock wall just the other day, the only person to touch him like this at all was himself. Verso, in his dreams, or Sophie, maybe. But when consciousness returned, it was only his own hands on his body, no matter what face his mind tried to attach to them.

He runs those hands over Verso now, cupping and gripping, fingers digging into warm skin and firm muscle, pressing the pink beginnings of bruises when Gustave can't focus enough to moderate how hard he's curling his fingers over an arm, against his back, his shoulders. The fingers of his right hand slide up into the dark waves of his hair and grip there, hard. ]

Verso, my god— the way you make me feel—

[versorecto]

[ Verso only seems to lean into those roaming touches, pleased little sounds escaping his throat between kisses, loves how Gustave can't even seem to decide what he wants to touch or hold onto, except just him. Reaching for anything he can touch, gripping squeezing, a gasp caught his throat at pressure tightening through his hair. He leans into that pressure, tipping his head up into it, that same movement leading him to meet Gustave's eyes, to watch as he says his name.

Merde. After everything else, that still gets him going more than almost anything Gustave does, just the sound of his name falling from his lip and on his tongue, on a smile, a laugh, in conversation, gasped and moaned like its a lone prayer when its he's completely shattered and fallen apart. His eyes darken, fingers pinching a little harder at his nipple, but otherwise keeping up a steady rhythm and pressure, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, sometimes taking a moment to flick his thumb over the hardened nub.

He leans in with a speed and intensity that makes it seem like he was almost pulled in by gravity, crashing against Gustave's lips to steal the last of those words with his own tongue. He shifts his weight to press him even further down against the grass, his thigh still slotted firmly between Gustave's legs, breaking away almost just as suddenly and violently as he'd went in with a groan against his throat. ]

You're so fucking beautiful. [ The words are hissed through his teeth as he kisses his way back down over his chest, another lingering bruise added to where his collarbone meets his shoulder. It's almost hard to make out the words between the kisses, for as reluctant as he is to pull too far from his body, from his skin -- almost like he's not even saying them for Gustave to hear. He's saying it because he can't help himself, because it bubbles out from something in his chest, the edge of something feral as he tongues over his other nipple. ] J'ai vraiment envie de toi -- I don't think -- you understand, Gustave.

Just how much -- you're driving me fucking crazy.

[ Just by being him. Just by doing this. He latches on hard to that sensitive bud, sucking, hollowing his cheeks, tonguing at him in his mouth, his beard and scruff scratching against his skin. Maybe he can really bring him over, maybe he can't and will have to touch him, but Verso certainly seems to be throwing himself into that attempt with absolutely no shortage of vigor despite the limitation, as fully as he throws himself into everything else Gustave has ever given him. ]

[demainvient]

[ For a while, Verso had been holding himself back; not the way he had been in the garden, when Gustave had felt his hesitation, the invisible barrier erected between them, but keeping his own desire at a slow simmer rather than the rolling boil he was stoking in Gustave's blood.

No more. He crashes into Gustave, passionate as a thunderstorm, almost splitting Gustave's lip when it's crushed against his teeth. He might be facing down a Nevron with sword and dagger in hand for the intensity in his eyes, the precision strike of his movement. He's hot and hard and everywhere, pressing Gustave down into the grass, the groan that's ripped from him landing in Gustave's gut and twisting like a ball of electricity. Every hair on his arms, the back of his neck, stands up; goosebumps sweep over his skin.

Verso tells him he's beautiful, so fucking beautiful, and a fist grabs his stomach, grips it hard, yanks. But he doesn't stop there, words spilling out of him in a jumped mess of language — I want you so bad searing into him, the words branding themselves over the shivering, overwhelmed skin of his chest — that scrambles and shatters, tripping off his lips in a thoughtless, breathless rush, and Gustave wants to wrap that voice around him like a ribbon.

His name in that voice sounds like a curse, like a coal; it hollows him out and fills him again in a rush with pure heat. Desire is a river in flood; it sweeps him away with no thought of anything but Verso, Verso, Verso's hands and mouth and the way he's dragging so hard on Gustave's tender nipple, putain—

He doesn't even realize when he starts talking, distracted, words falling from him like mismatched puzzle pieces cascading from an upended box. ]

Verso, you're — please, fuck, please don't stop, don't—

[ He plants a foot on the ground, bracing himself on it to push himself against Verso's leg, a helpless rhythm now as his hips rock, desperate for his touch, for the feel of him there between his legs. The intensity of Verso's desire, his attack on Gustave's body, breaks over him and around him and he'd not close enough, can't touch Verso enough. ]

My god, you make me crazy, I look at you and I lose my mind, you can have me. Any way you want, just so long as you touch me—

[versorecto]

[ This is what Verso always chases, hunting down with a relentless single-minded drive: the moments when someone just can't think, can't help themselves, can't stop. Not just in Gustave, but in himself, too. The tide is rising, building, cresting, he can't stop it and he doesn't intend to. He just lets himself get swept up in it, and when Gustave starts to fall apart, too, when he meets his fervent, disjointed words with his own, its like they're crashing into each other and spiraling into a hurricane, caught up in each other's pull with nowhere to go but down.

He loves it. Gustave pressing up against him, planting a foot against the ground to give himself some much-needed leverage so he can better grind up against his leg. Gustave's hands, both of them, clawing along his back and holding him close, desperate for anything to hold onto. Gustave's body, one long thrumming line of heat and want, arching up in some desperate bid to get more of his touch, more of his mouth and tongue, just more. Gustave's voice, broken thoughts that barely flow into each other except for want and need.

Heat pulses though him, tearing through his body like a wildfire, and so much of it rushes straight down between his legs that he can feel his head spin -- but he doesn't care. Touching himself or thinking about that all would mean turning some of his attention away from Gustave, which is as unthinkable as stopping. Instead somewhere in the mess of their tangled limbs he manages to switch his attention between his mouth and fingers, lifting his head to release one nipple and immediately moving to pinch and tweak at it between his fingers, his voice low and heated as he turns his mouth and tongue towards the other side of Gustave's chest. ]

-- Mine. You're mine, now. I'll give you anything, I need you so fucking bad --

[ Just like before the words just seem to bubble up from his throat, barely voluntary at all, in between kisses and bites. His other hand snakes down between them, a little clumsy for how impatient the touch is, heated fingers sliding over bare skin and pulling at the front of Gustave's trousers, already open from before. He has to shift and press his knee further down against the ground, peeling his thigh away from where Gustave was grinding hurriedly against it, a sudden lack of pressure and friction driven by necessity just so he can finally pull his pants down.

A low growl in his throat, and he peels away from licking and sucking at his nipple to draw his way back up to Gustave's mouth and throat, the theme and focus of his heated murmurings suddenly taking a sharp, hard twist. ]

-- I wanna make you come, Gustave. [ Those fingers finally close around the length of him, his other hand still pinching and playing with his other nipple as he immediately tugs at the length of him. The weight and feel of Gustave against his callused palms is familiar, by now ( not familiar enough, he wants to touch him until he knows him as well as anything else, until the feel of him is burned into his palm and fingers ), and he immediately falls into a rough, hard rhythm, breath catching in his chest between nips and kisses at his lips. ] Want to make you come so hard you can't think of anything but me, gonna make you come all over yourself, all over me, make you lick it off my fingers.

Gonna come for me, Gustave? Are you gonna come for me?

[demainvient]

[ Verso calls him his and Verso attacks him like a wild animal, wolfish and devouring in his desire. Some small flicker of sanity struggling somewhere in the back of Gustave's mind, threatened by the onslaught of need and pleasure and want, reminds him that he should— he should get his hands on Verso before—

But then Verso's fingers are curling hard around him, stroking him roughly, and it's like Verso's grabbed him by the hair to drag him bodily up the peak of this pleasure. Whatever small amount of control he still had is washed away in an instant, a flash flood scouring through him, slipping the leash on his ability to think, to talk, to control himself at all.

With the last vestiges of sanity before they burn away like tissue paper in a wildfire, he drags his left hand off Verso's back and lets the fingers sink into the grass and earth at his side, digging hard furrows into the dirt as they fist and contract. ]

Yours, I'm— Verso—

[ He's all helpless movement, arching and writhing under Verso's relentless assault, mind a static haze of white. He is his body, hot and sweat-slicked and needy, a taut bowstring in Verso's grip. He's back on that promontory, overlooking the continent and the sea, and this time Verso is there, hands hard on his back to shove him over the edge. Every word singes itself against his gasping mouth, that hand unforgiving at his chest, pinching and twisting and driving him out of his mind. Verso talks like some floodgate has opened, like he can't help himself, filthy needy words that strike like lighting. Each one feels like another finger wrapped around him, gripping tight, rough with calluses and need.

He barely has any idea what he himself is saying, a tumble of words in two languages as his mind sparks and catches and stutters. ]

Yeah, I— je vais— je vais— Verso—

[ And then, abruptly, he's there, his spine locking as his head pushes back, a grimace almost like agony furrowing his brows hard as his hips press helplessly into Verso's hand and he spills hot and hard and wet over those fingers, onto his own belly. It almost hurts, aching and sudden and perfect, and for a moment he does just as Verso demands, forgets everything, everything, except him and his hands and his mouth.

And his name. Dragged out of him on a wrenching groan as he shudders and breaks and falls messily apart. ]

Verso.

[versorecto]

[ Gustave is absolutely perfect.

It's one thing for Verso to do what he does, but its another for Gustave to let himself be swept up in it, to let everything Verso does run through him so thoroughly, to give himself over to his hands so he can really take him apart. The other man still seems to be thinking, for a moment, his hands scrambling over his back, but then it all flashes away into instinct, desperation, need and want, and Verso just wants to take those moments and wrap it around himself forever.

He drinks in ever response like he wants to burn it all into his memory, Gustave all but writhing beneath him, arching into him and into his touch so nicely. Nothing has ever sounded as sweet and decadent and so utterly filthy as his own name when it falls from Gustave's lips, like this, once, again, each time a little different, breathless and aching as his thoughts spiral out of control, as Gustave's mind can't even pick a language to settle on. Verso keeps urging him on, his words raw and heated and urging him closer, and Gustave's answers in breathless gasps of je vais as he wills himself closer and closer to the edge are enough to make his head spin.

Verso sees it twist across his face, feels it in every knot and tension in his muscles, their bodies pressed so close that he can almost feel every ripple of tension like its his own. It's like he thinks he can feel Gustave's own heartbeat pounding in his ears, feel Gustave's breath heaving from his own lungs, so tangled up and twisted together with him that when he reaches that peak, it's almost like Verso's right there with him, whiting out, crashing down. He keeps working his hand over him, growling low and pleased as he feels him spill hotly between their bellies, onto his fingers, his other hand still unrelenting over his nipple as Gustave rides it out and out, falling apart on yet another cry of his name.

It's perfect. He's perfect. And Verso just stays in that high with him until Gustave himself has to come down from it, collapsing back against the dirt and grass, the heat of him too-sensitive and softening under his palm. Verso has to take a second or two to catch his own breath, something in his eyes flickering like he needs to come back down to reality with him, pushing himself up slightly, their legs still tangled together but peeling his chest up so he can look down at him.

His gaze is still so dark, so hungry, flitting from Gustave's eyes, to his bruised and bitten lips, to the marks still stretched across his neck -- and he smiles. A low, pleased smile, a predator who's cornered his prey, easing into something a bit more languid again as he draws up his hand between them. He presses his tongue to the heel of his own palm, licking up along his thumb and absolutely making a deliberate show of it, eyes flickering shut for a moment on a quiet groan like he just loves the taste of him. He lingers there for a moment, savoring it, before he's reaching down, pressing two fingers against Gustave's lips -- and pushing them into his mouth.

His lips quirk upward, again. Affectionate, adoring, teasing -- and still a little hungry. His voice is slightly hoarse and raw, growling low in his chest. One simple word: ]

-- Good.

[demainvient]

[ For a long moment, all he can do is breathe, his chest working like he's just sprinted a mile, the eyes that are locked on Verso's face blown wholly dark with only the thinnest ring of mossy gray-green circling his pupils. Verso watches him with undisguised satisfaction, a big cat lounging there on top of him, and Gustave can still feel the coiled tension in him even as Verso lazily slides his hand up between their bodies and licks at his fingers with every evidence of enjoyment, eyes lidded and almost laughing in how pleased he looks.

Gustave's own glance, still dazed, catches on the way Verso's tongue swipes languidly over his hand, the pink tip of it sliding over his thumb, licking the mess off himself with his eyes closed and that almost smug hum of enjoyment. And then he's leaning in, fingertips pressed against his lips, and Gustave parts them for him, lets him slide those fingers into his mouth, against his tongue. He tastes the salt sharpness of himself, smells musk and sex and sweat as Verso forces him to do exactly as he'd promised, making him clean himself off those fingers with careful movements of his tongue.

He doesn't enjoy it the way Verso did, more dutiful than hungry, but once those fingers are clean he's reaching up with his left hand, cool metal fingers curling around Verso's hand and wrist to pull his fingers out of Gustave's mouth for just long enough for him to separate the index finger from the others, catching the callused tip of it in his teeth and drawing it once more into his mouth with more enthusiasm, sucking lightly as he swirls his tongue around it, this time tasting Verso and only Verso. Gustave's lashes are lowered, watching his own hand as he manipulates Verso's fingers to replace his index finger with the middle one, before his eyes flick up to meet Verso's from beneath his relaxing brows, chin still lowered.

He needs a moment to catch his breath, but there's a promise there in his eyes, in the way he watches Verso's face. There's nothing of the predator about him the way there is about Verso, always looking as though he's about to pounce; it's replaced instead by the intent focus of a man facing down a challenge to overcome, a problem to solve, a whirring machine to methodically strip down to each discrete part.

One moment, and then you're his. ]