[ Its nice having this much effect on someone. Nice to be wanted, almost needed. He finds a nice, easy rhythm, languid enough to linger in every stroke of his hand, just fast enough to keep a steady fall of friction over him -- occasionally interrupting it just to squeeze, sometimes just letting his wrist flick just a bit. And all the while, Verso's eyes never leave Gustave's. Fixed, hungry, taking in everything, every twitch of his brow, every time his lips fall open on a gasp or moan.
He leans forward to brush a is against his mouth, catching Gustave's lower lip in his teeth, tugging on it slightly. Chasing it with his tongue, swaying back again so he can see him. ]
Gustave.
[ Its not even necessarily to say anything. Just a heated echo of his name, half-lost against his lips. Appreciative as much as it is wanting. ]
I thought you looked good before. [ Punctuating it with another squeeze, nimble fingers letting pressure ripple along the length of him. That thigh pressed between Gustave's legs stays where it is, warm, solid, a steady pressure to add to everything else. His other hand lifts to Gustave's cheek, cradling it against his palm, touching him just to touch him -- but also distinctly keep his head in place. So he can just keep -- watching him. ] Merde, you look better like this.
[ He wants to do more. He wants to push him down and spread him out across the grass and concrete. Wants to pick him up and sweep him away. Wants to sink to his knees, take him in his mouth -- and its there, in his eyes, just how much more he seems to want to do. But he's not pushing. Not pressing, at least not yet. Taking what he can, in the time they have. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2025-05-27 02:39 am (UTC)He leans forward to brush a is against his mouth, catching Gustave's lower lip in his teeth, tugging on it slightly. Chasing it with his tongue, swaying back again so he can see him. ]
Gustave.
[ Its not even necessarily to say anything. Just a heated echo of his name, half-lost against his lips. Appreciative as much as it is wanting. ]
I thought you looked good before. [ Punctuating it with another squeeze, nimble fingers letting pressure ripple along the length of him. That thigh pressed between Gustave's legs stays where it is, warm, solid, a steady pressure to add to everything else. His other hand lifts to Gustave's cheek, cradling it against his palm, touching him just to touch him -- but also distinctly keep his head in place. So he can just keep -- watching him. ] Merde, you look better like this.
[ He wants to do more. He wants to push him down and spread him out across the grass and concrete. Wants to pick him up and sweep him away. Wants to sink to his knees, take him in his mouth -- and its there, in his eyes, just how much more he seems to want to do. But he's not pushing. Not pressing, at least not yet. Taking what he can, in the time they have. ]