[ A mess indeed: clothes and hair and skin and the inside of his chest, all exploded and warm and alive, alive, alive. He'd held himself so aloof from anything like this for so long after Sophie, only realizing the faintest flicker of it had managed to slip through what he'd believed to be a locked door all those months ago in the opera house, when Verso lifted his hand and brushed that irreverent mouth over his knuckles.
He'd kept everything so neat and tidy and closed-off until then. Until this. And now he feels a lot like this ruined rooftop garden: a mess of color and life and damaged goods. He leans his head into Verso's touch and chuckles, rumbling low in his chest as his own right hand runs down along the line of the man's neck to that rumpled collar, starts working at the buttons of his shirt. Fingers patiently slipping each out of their buttonhole, one by one. ]
You think I'd let you go right now? Really?
[ He has no intention of letting Verso disappear again so soon, not when he can't extract a promise of tomorrow, of another day, an evening, a night. Gustave angles his left hand at Verso's jaw, tipping his head so he can lean forward and taste the flushed skin at his throat, mouth working slow and warm over the pulse point there as his fingers drift lazily down his chest, working his shirt open. ]
When I haven't even had the chance to get my hands on you yet?
[ His burning need has been sated, little ripples of it still coursing through him, but his desire still burns. And it's his turn. ]
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Date: 2025-05-28 02:37 am (UTC)He'd kept everything so neat and tidy and closed-off until then. Until this. And now he feels a lot like this ruined rooftop garden: a mess of color and life and damaged goods. He leans his head into Verso's touch and chuckles, rumbling low in his chest as his own right hand runs down along the line of the man's neck to that rumpled collar, starts working at the buttons of his shirt. Fingers patiently slipping each out of their buttonhole, one by one. ]
You think I'd let you go right now? Really?
[ He has no intention of letting Verso disappear again so soon, not when he can't extract a promise of tomorrow, of another day, an evening, a night. Gustave angles his left hand at Verso's jaw, tipping his head so he can lean forward and taste the flushed skin at his throat, mouth working slow and warm over the pulse point there as his fingers drift lazily down his chest, working his shirt open. ]
When I haven't even had the chance to get my hands on you yet?
[ His burning need has been sated, little ripples of it still coursing through him, but his desire still burns. And it's his turn. ]