[ Someone certainly will see it, even if Emma doesn't. Gustave will know it's there, hidden beneath a neat collar and tie; he'll feel it when he tips his head to stretch the muscles of his neck and shoulder. A little souvenir, just for him, courtesy of the mysterious pianist he'd met almost a year ago and hadn't managed to forget in all that time. A bruise smudged into his skin the way ink had smudged on that note; another ephemeral bar of music, this time written on his body instead of on paper. A signature, maybe.
As if there were any way Gustave would be able to forget him now, even without any visible reminders. The fresh green summer-hot scent of crushed plants that wafts through the air now will always carry a little of the taste of Verso's kisses on it. It'll be a long while before he'll be able to see a purple flower and not remember the one that was smashed between their bodies, how it looked, tucked snugly into Verso's lapel, in the moment before he kissed him. ]
You think you haven't marked me already?
[ Not visibly so, but it's there, drawn along the inside of his chest in lines of fire, a little uncomfortably similar to the way he can tag a target with pictos for an attack. Verso is there already, bruises and the pink flush of a bite mark just superficial remnants of his touch, his mouth, the path he's taking along Gustave's body. They will fade far sooner than the true mark he's leaving behind.
Verso's hand runs over his skin, traveling beneath the light material of his shirt, not hard but firm and it feels so good that it's an enormous shock when those fingers slide over a section of his body and are met with a surprised flinch of pain instead of pleasure. The side he'd landed on when they crashed onto this roof is scraped and sore, bruises blooming beneath the surface of his skin; he'd forgotten about it, lost in the heat and sensation of Verso's mouth against his and Verso's leg pressing between his and his own hands desperate to feel more of the man beneath his fingers.
It's a jolt, enough of one to feel for a moment like he's stuck his head into a bucket of cool water, clearing his steam-filled mind for long enough to lift his own hand away from Verso for the moment, lay it over the one the man has working at the front of his trousers. ]
โwait. Wait.
[ It's almost the last thing he wants to do โ wait โ but he pulls his head back from Verso's devouring kiss, enough to take a breath, to try and calm his wildly sprinting heart. His fingers curl around the hand he's stopped, and all he wants is to let go, to urge him onward, to take that hand and guide it lower to where he's so desperate for the man's touch, but this is all so sudden. He justโ needs a moment.
Gustave licks at his lip, sore and bruised with kisses, and smiles, searching Verso's expression, wanting to know what he's thinking beyond the need that's driving them both; if he's thinking at all. ]
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Date: 2025-05-26 03:51 pm (UTC)As if there were any way Gustave would be able to forget him now, even without any visible reminders. The fresh green summer-hot scent of crushed plants that wafts through the air now will always carry a little of the taste of Verso's kisses on it. It'll be a long while before he'll be able to see a purple flower and not remember the one that was smashed between their bodies, how it looked, tucked snugly into Verso's lapel, in the moment before he kissed him. ]
You think you haven't marked me already?
[ Not visibly so, but it's there, drawn along the inside of his chest in lines of fire, a little uncomfortably similar to the way he can tag a target with pictos for an attack. Verso is there already, bruises and the pink flush of a bite mark just superficial remnants of his touch, his mouth, the path he's taking along Gustave's body. They will fade far sooner than the true mark he's leaving behind.
Verso's hand runs over his skin, traveling beneath the light material of his shirt, not hard but firm and it feels so good that it's an enormous shock when those fingers slide over a section of his body and are met with a surprised flinch of pain instead of pleasure. The side he'd landed on when they crashed onto this roof is scraped and sore, bruises blooming beneath the surface of his skin; he'd forgotten about it, lost in the heat and sensation of Verso's mouth against his and Verso's leg pressing between his and his own hands desperate to feel more of the man beneath his fingers.
It's a jolt, enough of one to feel for a moment like he's stuck his head into a bucket of cool water, clearing his steam-filled mind for long enough to lift his own hand away from Verso for the moment, lay it over the one the man has working at the front of his trousers. ]
โwait. Wait.
[ It's almost the last thing he wants to do โ wait โ but he pulls his head back from Verso's devouring kiss, enough to take a breath, to try and calm his wildly sprinting heart. His fingers curl around the hand he's stopped, and all he wants is to let go, to urge him onward, to take that hand and guide it lower to where he's so desperate for the man's touch, but this is all so sudden. He justโ needs a moment.
Gustave licks at his lip, sore and bruised with kisses, and smiles, searching Verso's expression, wanting to know what he's thinking beyond the need that's driving them both; if he's thinking at all. ]
Are all musicians this passionate?