[ He sees it land, feels it in the way Verso's rhythm shifts, just for a second, making a corresponding wince flicker across Gustave's face โ not in pain, but still sore, aching for his touch. Every part of him feels narrowed down to this: Verso's hand on him, warm and just a little rough and touching him just right, each firm stroke feeling like it's undoing the nerves in his spine, one by one, and attaching them to the tips of his fingers. Verso's eyes, expressions flickering through them so quickly Gustave can't begin to name them all. The way Verso turns his head, pressing a kiss into Gustave's palm.
His own laugh, a breathless, burned-out groan chasing the tail end of the sound. ]
I hope not.
[ But right now it certainly feels like Verso might be the death of him. His heart is pounding, his breath too shallow and rapid to clear the steam of desire from his head. His hips push helplessly into the man's touch as his fingers curl into Verso's shirt. More.
A hot mouth chasing up his neck as he moans, head tipping back into the metal trellis, the leaves and vines there tangling in his hair just like Verso's fingers. I want more of you.
Merde, but what else can he say other than I want all of you in return? They're entwined just like these climbing vines, here in the sun, and he's almost as desperate to get his hands on Verso as he is for the man to never stop touching him. ]
I wantโ
[ So much more. Verso's body, and his smiles, and the way his eyes light up. More songs, drifting through the air. He wants time. To sit at a cafรฉ table with him and drink wine and let his warm, gravelly voice wash over him. He wants to run his mouth over every inch of the man's skin, here in the sunlight and again in the dark, sheets and shadows muddled around them.
His fingers slide into Verso's hair, curving around his skull, blunt nails running lightly over his scalp. ]
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Date: 2025-05-27 09:55 pm (UTC)His own laugh, a breathless, burned-out groan chasing the tail end of the sound. ]
I hope not.
[ But right now it certainly feels like Verso might be the death of him. His heart is pounding, his breath too shallow and rapid to clear the steam of desire from his head. His hips push helplessly into the man's touch as his fingers curl into Verso's shirt. More.
A hot mouth chasing up his neck as he moans, head tipping back into the metal trellis, the leaves and vines there tangling in his hair just like Verso's fingers. I want more of you.
Merde, but what else can he say other than I want all of you in return? They're entwined just like these climbing vines, here in the sun, and he's almost as desperate to get his hands on Verso as he is for the man to never stop touching him. ]
I wantโ
[ So much more. Verso's body, and his smiles, and the way his eyes light up. More songs, drifting through the air. He wants time. To sit at a cafรฉ table with him and drink wine and let his warm, gravelly voice wash over him. He wants to run his mouth over every inch of the man's skin, here in the sunlight and again in the dark, sheets and shadows muddled around them.
His fingers slide into Verso's hair, curving around his skull, blunt nails running lightly over his scalp. ]
Yes. I want more of you, too.