[ Verso could push his hands away, button up his trousers, make his adieus and leave. He could certainly do all those things, and in the end โ if he really wanted to leave โ Gustave would be powerless to stop him. Certainly he wouldn't try to hold the man here against his will.
But Verso doesn't do any of those things, and in fact his arm stays around Gustave, coaxing him even a little closer, his fingers carding gently through the hair he'd mussed so thoroughly, and he doesn't look all that unhappy about it. His throat moves beneath Gustave's mouth, a sigh lowering his chest, and Gustave wants to drink every part of it in: the sounds he makes, the way he tastes, the feeling of his skin beneath the tips of Gustave's fingers as he works at the buttons of his shirt, methodical. And he laughsโ merde, Gustave could go drunk on that laugh. He wants to pour it into himself like wine. ]
I do want to get you more flowers.
[ For this performance. For the last one. Simply to try and spark that surprise and that smile again. Or maybe because he has known Verso for less than two hours but the man is already doing his best to run off with a significant chunk of Gustave's heart and attention. He's... irresistible.
The last button parts easily from its buttonhole and Verso's shirt swings open, baring a wide swath of pale skin and firm muscle, the lines of him as beautiful as any of the statues gracing the streets and galleries and museums of Lumiรจre. Gustave pulls back just enough to lean his forehead against Verso's shoulder, eyes hooded as he watches his own hand palm over his exposed chest and stomach. Slipping up over the muscle of his abdomen to rub the pad of his thumb over a nipple before his fingers drift lower again, to his side, the angle of his hip, the loosened waist of his trousers. ]
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Date: 2025-05-28 03:15 am (UTC)But Verso doesn't do any of those things, and in fact his arm stays around Gustave, coaxing him even a little closer, his fingers carding gently through the hair he'd mussed so thoroughly, and he doesn't look all that unhappy about it. His throat moves beneath Gustave's mouth, a sigh lowering his chest, and Gustave wants to drink every part of it in: the sounds he makes, the way he tastes, the feeling of his skin beneath the tips of Gustave's fingers as he works at the buttons of his shirt, methodical. And he laughsโ merde, Gustave could go drunk on that laugh. He wants to pour it into himself like wine. ]
I do want to get you more flowers.
[ For this performance. For the last one. Simply to try and spark that surprise and that smile again. Or maybe because he has known Verso for less than two hours but the man is already doing his best to run off with a significant chunk of Gustave's heart and attention. He's... irresistible.
The last button parts easily from its buttonhole and Verso's shirt swings open, baring a wide swath of pale skin and firm muscle, the lines of him as beautiful as any of the statues gracing the streets and galleries and museums of Lumiรจre. Gustave pulls back just enough to lean his forehead against Verso's shoulder, eyes hooded as he watches his own hand palm over his exposed chest and stomach. Slipping up over the muscle of his abdomen to rub the pad of his thumb over a nipple before his fingers drift lower again, to his side, the angle of his hip, the loosened waist of his trousers. ]
Would you like more?
Flowers, I mean?
[ And not just flowers, he means. ]