[ Verso doesn't stop him. He might need to adjust slightly, as that rhythm keeps builds -- he knows what he's doing but its been a long, long time, and there are moments where his throat needs a moment to catch up with what he actually wants to do. But he manages it well enough, and if anything, the more Gustave moves, the more breathless he gets, the more he keeps trying to urge him on. He likes that, seeing him lose control, so overwhelmed by his mouth and his touch and by him that he can't stop.
Verso himself doesn't stop either, not content to let Gustave just move against him, keeps building his own rhythm with him, working his tongue and his throat around him as much as he can. Verso's hand shifts over Gustave's left hand on the frame, his own fingers fitting between the gaps of Gustave's metallic ones, gripping onto him tightly.
His other hand palms hard over his ass, back down to the back of one thigh, gripping hard enough to leave some bruises in his skin alongside everything else -- and then falling away. It's a bit clumsy, compared to how he touches Gustave, its clear where his focus and attention really is, his mouth and tongue never faltering as he bobs against him and he pops open the front of his own trousers. He starts to work a hand over himself, languid, unhurried, almost an afterthought compared to his focus elsewhere but doing it all the same, groaning appreciatively around his mouthful, eyes flickering open to look up at Gustave again.
This is nice. This is good. No need to think about anything other than this, Gustave in his mouth and under his hands and under his tongue and above him and under him and everywhere else, Gustave and his breathless gasps and moans, Gustave and his hips rolling deep and hard against his mouth, his grip tight over his neck and shoulder, anchoring him close. If Gustave wants to stop, he'll have to summon self-control himself, because Verso isn't stopping him, hungry to keep pushing him on and on and on until he hurtles over the edge. ]
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Date: 2025-05-28 12:12 am (UTC)Verso himself doesn't stop either, not content to let Gustave just move against him, keeps building his own rhythm with him, working his tongue and his throat around him as much as he can. Verso's hand shifts over Gustave's left hand on the frame, his own fingers fitting between the gaps of Gustave's metallic ones, gripping onto him tightly.
His other hand palms hard over his ass, back down to the back of one thigh, gripping hard enough to leave some bruises in his skin alongside everything else -- and then falling away. It's a bit clumsy, compared to how he touches Gustave, its clear where his focus and attention really is, his mouth and tongue never faltering as he bobs against him and he pops open the front of his own trousers. He starts to work a hand over himself, languid, unhurried, almost an afterthought compared to his focus elsewhere but doing it all the same, groaning appreciatively around his mouthful, eyes flickering open to look up at Gustave again.
This is nice. This is good. No need to think about anything other than this, Gustave in his mouth and under his hands and under his tongue and above him and under him and everywhere else, Gustave and his breathless gasps and moans, Gustave and his hips rolling deep and hard against his mouth, his grip tight over his neck and shoulder, anchoring him close. If Gustave wants to stop, he'll have to summon self-control himself, because Verso isn't stopping him, hungry to keep pushing him on and on and on until he hurtles over the edge. ]