[ He has just enough time to see the way Verso's eyes turn sharply intent once more, and then the man is everywhere, blanketing him back against the trellis, fingers carding through his hair and gripping almost hard enough to hurt as he tugs Gustave's head back. The metal trellis creaks against their combined weight, giving way just a little to the back of Gustave's skull as he tips his head into Verso's possessive hand, baring his throat to Verso's wandering, dedicated mouth. The milky-green scent of crushed plants wafts around them, the scent of new life and growth. They'll both be a mess of stains by the time this is through.
His fingers curl hard around Verso's wrist as the man undoes with a flick the button at the waist of his trousers but makes no other move aside from to press his thigh back up until Gustave groans, the sound falling off his lips as thick as tar, heat shooting dully up into his gut. All he can do is hold on, his left hand leaving Verso's neck for fear of tangling his hair in metal fingers and instead goes to his back, fisting in the material of his shirt. Hot breath scuds across his ear, carrying a growled order, and Gustave makes a sound that's half laugh, half groan before he turns his head to try and crush their mouths together. ]
Show me.
[ The hand at Verso's wrist loosens, runs warm fingers up his forearm, leaving Verso's hand where it is, teasing and warm and not close enough. Gustave pulls against the fingers in his hair, wanting more: more of Verso's mouth against his, more of that growled voice, more of his touch, more. If he can't be promised more tomorrow, or the day after that, then he wants it now.
But his own voice, though it's rougher around the edges now, tight with desire, is still warmer, softer than the other man's, murmuring his name against his mouth before Gustave kisses him again. ]
no subject
His fingers curl hard around Verso's wrist as the man undoes with a flick the button at the waist of his trousers but makes no other move aside from to press his thigh back up until Gustave groans, the sound falling off his lips as thick as tar, heat shooting dully up into his gut. All he can do is hold on, his left hand leaving Verso's neck for fear of tangling his hair in metal fingers and instead goes to his back, fisting in the material of his shirt. Hot breath scuds across his ear, carrying a growled order, and Gustave makes a sound that's half laugh, half groan before he turns his head to try and crush their mouths together. ]
Show me.
[ The hand at Verso's wrist loosens, runs warm fingers up his forearm, leaving Verso's hand where it is, teasing and warm and not close enough. Gustave pulls against the fingers in his hair, wanting more: more of Verso's mouth against his, more of that growled voice, more of his touch, more. If he can't be promised more tomorrow, or the day after that, then he wants it now.
But his own voice, though it's rougher around the edges now, tight with desire, is still warmer, softer than the other man's, murmuring his name against his mouth before Gustave kisses him again. ]
Verso.
Show me, please.