[ Verso is quite content to stay there on his knees for a while, reality not quite yet seeping back in. Pressing lazy kisses to his skin, happy to watch Gustave in the lingering moments after. Small twitches, shivers, breathless and flushed, sweet and vulnerable and absolutely beautiful. Eventually, though, his own head starts to clear, maybe egged by the pulse of heat still lingering in the pit of his own belly reminding himself he's not exactly taken care of himself -- but he doesn't care. That was never the focus, never the intention. He can take care of it later when he's alone if he wants to.
Which, ah. There it is. That sinking feeling, the reminder of who he is and where they are. His eyes flicking briefly from Gustave's to the sky behind him, still bright, the shards of the Continent and the monolith suspended between clouds stretched across the sky. But before he can even start to think about what kind of excuse he could try to make to leave -- Gustave is there, sinking down beside him. Instinctively Verso reaches to his waist, the tiniest flicker of a frown creasing at his brow, watching how he holds his weight, remembering he's still hurt, but he seems well enough. Not just smiling, but laughing, reaching close.
Some part of him thinks, now. Now he should pull away. But the thought never materializes beyond that, not when it's so easy to just lean back into him, to wind both his arms around his waist and let himself be pulled in. He kisses him back easily, that heat and want still present even if some of the urgency has edged back.
This has gone poorly, technically. But it feels good. He breaks from the kiss, sitting back a bit to look at him, pupils still blown. Gustave is still beautiful. Maybe more beautiful, like this, all freshly taken apart. One hand stays around his waist, sliding up a bit under his shirt, following the notches of his spine -- the other reaches for his face, tucking some messy hair back. Its futile, it falls back forward, Gustave's hair is a mess with how much he's been gripping it. ]
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Which, ah. There it is. That sinking feeling, the reminder of who he is and where they are. His eyes flicking briefly from Gustave's to the sky behind him, still bright, the shards of the Continent and the monolith suspended between clouds stretched across the sky. But before he can even start to think about what kind of excuse he could try to make to leave -- Gustave is there, sinking down beside him. Instinctively Verso reaches to his waist, the tiniest flicker of a frown creasing at his brow, watching how he holds his weight, remembering he's still hurt, but he seems well enough. Not just smiling, but laughing, reaching close.
Some part of him thinks, now. Now he should pull away. But the thought never materializes beyond that, not when it's so easy to just lean back into him, to wind both his arms around his waist and let himself be pulled in. He kisses him back easily, that heat and want still present even if some of the urgency has edged back.
This has gone poorly, technically. But it feels good. He breaks from the kiss, sitting back a bit to look at him, pupils still blown. Gustave is still beautiful. Maybe more beautiful, like this, all freshly taken apart. One hand stays around his waist, sliding up a bit under his shirt, following the notches of his spine -- the other reaches for his face, tucking some messy hair back. Its futile, it falls back forward, Gustave's hair is a mess with how much he's been gripping it. ]
My finest work.
[ A smile. And -- ]
I -- shouldn't stay.
[ Even to his own ears it sounds half-hearted. ]