[ Verso sees that slight curve of a hidden smile, wonders what he might've been thinking. When the other man moves closer, just a step, he can feel some of the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, a not-quite shiver running through his nerves, electric, his own pulse quickening ever so slightly as the warmth of Gustave's hand slips from his grip. He turns ever so slightly into him as his fingers search for the buttonhole on his lapel.
Gustave's head is lowered to watch himself work, and Verso finds himself studying him. Eyes soft, brow ever so slightly creased as he focuses on the simple task, the lingering traces of that private smile still tugging at the corners of his lips. He's dressed plainer, today, comfortably and practically for the work he was doing, and the shirt's slightly loose but still enough for him to see the frame of his shoulders. Verso's thought of that night in the opera house over the past months -- misremembered a few things, or changed over time.
Verso's fingers twitch at his side. The flower stem is neatly threaded into place, a soft purple against his lapel. As Gustave pulls way, he breathes, the faintest curse muttered curse under his breath, he should know better than this --
The movement is more sure than he actually feels, Verso's hand coming up between them, fingers skipping over Gustave's shirt, two fingers neatly curling into his collar. Just enough to pull him forward, for him to lean down -- and like that night, the brush of his lips is light, but this time, more purposeful. Ghosting against Gustave's mouth, his lower lip, leaning into him and turning his head until his lips are pressed against the corner of Gustave's mouth, a murmur against his skin. ]
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Date: 2025-05-24 01:37 pm (UTC)Gustave's head is lowered to watch himself work, and Verso finds himself studying him. Eyes soft, brow ever so slightly creased as he focuses on the simple task, the lingering traces of that private smile still tugging at the corners of his lips. He's dressed plainer, today, comfortably and practically for the work he was doing, and the shirt's slightly loose but still enough for him to see the frame of his shoulders. Verso's thought of that night in the opera house over the past months -- misremembered a few things, or changed over time.
Verso's fingers twitch at his side. The flower stem is neatly threaded into place, a soft purple against his lapel. As Gustave pulls way, he breathes, the faintest curse muttered curse under his breath, he should know better than this --
The movement is more sure than he actually feels, Verso's hand coming up between them, fingers skipping over Gustave's shirt, two fingers neatly curling into his collar. Just enough to pull him forward, for him to lean down -- and like that night, the brush of his lips is light, but this time, more purposeful. Ghosting against Gustave's mouth, his lower lip, leaning into him and turning his head until his lips are pressed against the corner of Gustave's mouth, a murmur against his skin. ]
-- So it does.
[ And he starts to lean back. ]