[ He leans his head into Verso's gentler touch, watching the way the other man hauls himself back from his own all-encompassing desire. He manages it, but it was a near thing for a moment, Gustave thinks. Both of them are breathing hard, flushed and dark-eyed with want, and seeing the effect he's somehow had on Verso only makes him want to lean back in and capture that mouth, those full and expressive lips, with his again.

His own lips tug into another, smaller smile, one that isn't so wide and laughing but which seeps into his eyes and warms them, crinkling them up into fond half-moons. It's a little bit of an effort with his shoulder and arm joint still wrenched and awkward, but he lifts his left hand to curve it at the side of Verso's neck, running a cool metal thumb over warm, flushed skin. ]

Monsieur le pianiste. You play me like a song.

[ And like a song, he finds himself coming alive under Verso's touch, under the skill and passion in those fingers. His other fingers curl around the hand Verso has low against his belly, gently coaxing Verso to let go and let Gustave take his hand and lift it between them. He lowers his head to meet it, pressing a kiss to the tips of the fingers that had been driving him so mad with need. Another follows, gentle against calloused skin before Gustave parts his lips to slip the tips of those two fingers shallowly into his mouth, tasting the salt and warmth of them against his tongue, gently nipping at them with the lightest possible edge of his teeth.

He lingers a moment there, then turns Verso's hand over so he can press a kiss into his palm, against the thin delicate skin just over the pulse point at his wrist. ]

Are we in some kind of rush?

[ His voice low and still more than a little rough with lack of air, and despite his gentleness, there's heat in the way he presses his mouth to Verso's skin. ]

Must I take what I can now?

Will it be another nine months before I see you again?