[ Verso doesn't know enough about Gustave's life to know if this is unusual him or not, how long it may have been -- but for Verso himself, its been a while. Long enough that he'd almost forgotten how good it feels to be tangled up in someone else, how nice it is to get out of his own damn head and focus entirely on another person. He can almost completely shut off the running calculations in his mind, or at least turn them to another purpose: less concerned about masks and lies and truth and more about the other man's body against his own and what he can do to make him fall apart.
He'll still regret this later, probably. But he'd have regretted not doing anything just as much, and Verso's hardly above indulgence.
The more Gustave gives him, the more Verso takes. Gustave leans into him, and that hand Verso has pressed against the small of his back all but hauls him against his chest, sliding down to the base of his spine. He groans against his mouth, and Verso answers it with a sound that's more like a growl, wanting to hear more as much as he wants to make it so Gustave can't make any sound at all. His other hand drops from Gustave's cheek to his shoulder, squeezing, feeling -- and getting a bit more leverage. Easier to move him, taking one step, another, until he's pushing him against -- something, some metallic trellis frame, decorative, grown over. Verso barely registers what it is and doesn't care, only that he's using it to make it easier to crowd Gustave completely, pinning him there with his weight.
That hand lifts from his shoulders to fist through his hair, fingers carding through those soft waves and curls. When Gustave nips at his lip, Verso answers with something that's bordering on a bite, and when his lungs finally burn enough that it forces him to actually pull back to breathe, he uses his grip in his hair to push his head back, baring the curve of his throat, mouthing down over his neck.
The bit of air he's getting there does seem to clear his head enough where he slows down slightly -- another question, somewhere in there. His eyes flickering open, eyes half-lidded, a hunger and absolute focus in them that borders on predatory. All he needs is permission -- and if Gustave hasn't already started to realizing it, he might quickly learn that Verso really will keep taking, as much as Gustave keeps giving. ]
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He'll still regret this later, probably. But he'd have regretted not doing anything just as much, and Verso's hardly above indulgence.
The more Gustave gives him, the more Verso takes. Gustave leans into him, and that hand Verso has pressed against the small of his back all but hauls him against his chest, sliding down to the base of his spine. He groans against his mouth, and Verso answers it with a sound that's more like a growl, wanting to hear more as much as he wants to make it so Gustave can't make any sound at all. His other hand drops from Gustave's cheek to his shoulder, squeezing, feeling -- and getting a bit more leverage. Easier to move him, taking one step, another, until he's pushing him against -- something, some metallic trellis frame, decorative, grown over. Verso barely registers what it is and doesn't care, only that he's using it to make it easier to crowd Gustave completely, pinning him there with his weight.
That hand lifts from his shoulders to fist through his hair, fingers carding through those soft waves and curls. When Gustave nips at his lip, Verso answers with something that's bordering on a bite, and when his lungs finally burn enough that it forces him to actually pull back to breathe, he uses his grip in his hair to push his head back, baring the curve of his throat, mouthing down over his neck.
The bit of air he's getting there does seem to clear his head enough where he slows down slightly -- another question, somewhere in there. His eyes flickering open, eyes half-lidded, a hunger and absolute focus in them that borders on predatory. All he needs is permission -- and if Gustave hasn't already started to realizing it, he might quickly learn that Verso really will keep taking, as much as Gustave keeps giving. ]