[ I don't understand, Gustave says, and that's something Verso is used to. How could anyone? There are a dozen layers of truth to the world that no one's begun to unravel, that he could never have known if it wasn't forced down his throat for him to choke on all those years ago, and there are a dozen layers of lies he has to live through to keep going. And even at the surface level of it, with the way Lumiere has to live, how society has warped itself to lives that are inevitably fleeting and short -- how can anyone even hope to understand a life lived too long? He's learned to accept it. That no one will understand.
But in this, for a fleeting moment, he feels something twist in his chest. He wishes someone could, wishes Gustave could, but no -- no. With the weight of what he knows . . . He wouldn't wish it on anyone.
He leans into Gustave's touch, grounding himself back in this, in him -- the metal is cooler than his other hand, yes, but its a touch all the same, still has his warmth and intention to it, still has comfort. He can tell Gustave is trying to understand, to figure out what is holding him back, what keeps him away. And Verso will have to let him keep wondering. He'll never know. He turns his head slightly against his hand, metal as it is, brushing a kiss against his fingers, and his eyes flicker noticeably when Gustave guides his hand back down.
That's something he can focus on again. He thumbs over his navel, fingers curving back into the hem of his trousers. ]
I know. [ He knows now, though he's still at least a little surprised, had hoped that their encounter from nine months ago would be the last, unfortunate but forgotten in Gustave's mind. But now, after this, after learning he'd turned up that night with a bouquet in hand, after hearing Gustave's breathless voice tell him about how he's left a mark already. He knows. And feels awful for it, as much as he savors it, and feels awful for that in turn. Push that aside, swallow it down. Back to this, now. More -- urgent, matters. ] I can't promise that.
But I can give you something else.
[ Similar to before, his demeanor shifts. It isn't quite as instantaneous, not like a light switch, but an easing from one stance into another, almost the way one would shift in a fight, aligning his body to a different purpose. That hunger in his eyes never went away, but it did quieten down, patient enough, waiting -- and now it it surges back as he ducks his head. His other hand moves up to Gustave's hair, again, he does love how it feels between his fingers, tightening hard through the curls and yanking his head back to bare his throat so he can mouth hungrily over his pulse, pushing him up against the grown-over frame behind him as he kisses even further down towards the dip of his throat.
He shifts his knee again, pressing up between his thighs, rocking purposefully against him. His thumb plucks at the button of his trousers, pops it open -- but doesn't work on them past that. Instead he lingers there, fingers resting against him through the material, and it'd be easy to slip his fingers under the material to touch him, or even just palm at him over his trousers -- but he doesn't. His hand is just there, fingers resting over him but applying no pressure. All the while his kisses only get more heated, his body molding itself to Gustave's again, pinning him bodily to that trellis behind him. He kisses his way back up to his ear, his voice a murmur; ]
-- If you ask for it.
[ There's a hint of something teasing there, but there's also something else under the heat, an air of authority, a demand. With Gustave teasing him before, he might like to extract a little bit of petty revenge -- you told him to wait. Now you want him to touch you? He wants to hear you say it. ]
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But in this, for a fleeting moment, he feels something twist in his chest. He wishes someone could, wishes Gustave could, but no -- no. With the weight of what he knows . . . He wouldn't wish it on anyone.
He leans into Gustave's touch, grounding himself back in this, in him -- the metal is cooler than his other hand, yes, but its a touch all the same, still has his warmth and intention to it, still has comfort. He can tell Gustave is trying to understand, to figure out what is holding him back, what keeps him away. And Verso will have to let him keep wondering. He'll never know. He turns his head slightly against his hand, metal as it is, brushing a kiss against his fingers, and his eyes flicker noticeably when Gustave guides his hand back down.
That's something he can focus on again. He thumbs over his navel, fingers curving back into the hem of his trousers. ]
I know. [ He knows now, though he's still at least a little surprised, had hoped that their encounter from nine months ago would be the last, unfortunate but forgotten in Gustave's mind. But now, after this, after learning he'd turned up that night with a bouquet in hand, after hearing Gustave's breathless voice tell him about how he's left a mark already. He knows. And feels awful for it, as much as he savors it, and feels awful for that in turn. Push that aside, swallow it down. Back to this, now. More -- urgent, matters. ] I can't promise that.
But I can give you something else.
[ Similar to before, his demeanor shifts. It isn't quite as instantaneous, not like a light switch, but an easing from one stance into another, almost the way one would shift in a fight, aligning his body to a different purpose. That hunger in his eyes never went away, but it did quieten down, patient enough, waiting -- and now it it surges back as he ducks his head. His other hand moves up to Gustave's hair, again, he does love how it feels between his fingers, tightening hard through the curls and yanking his head back to bare his throat so he can mouth hungrily over his pulse, pushing him up against the grown-over frame behind him as he kisses even further down towards the dip of his throat.
He shifts his knee again, pressing up between his thighs, rocking purposefully against him. His thumb plucks at the button of his trousers, pops it open -- but doesn't work on them past that. Instead he lingers there, fingers resting against him through the material, and it'd be easy to slip his fingers under the material to touch him, or even just palm at him over his trousers -- but he doesn't. His hand is just there, fingers resting over him but applying no pressure. All the while his kisses only get more heated, his body molding itself to Gustave's again, pinning him bodily to that trellis behind him. He kisses his way back up to his ear, his voice a murmur; ]
-- If you ask for it.
[ There's a hint of something teasing there, but there's also something else under the heat, an air of authority, a demand. With Gustave teasing him before, he might like to extract a little bit of petty revenge -- you told him to wait. Now you want him to touch you? He wants to hear you say it. ]