[ Verso is responsive and active under his touch, his kisses, arching up into Gustave's hand and muttering curses into his mouth, and it's almost perfect. It's very nearly perfect, when his shirt falls open and Verso's there, running warm hands over his skin like he's always been allowed, like touching Gustave is not only his prerogative but his mission.
Verso's thumb rubs over his nipple, which tightens at the touch, sending a flare of electricity through him that's dragged deep into his gut by the fingers that sink into his hair again. It's impossibly mussed, and he can't care. He can't remember the last time anything felt so good as Verso's fingers sifting through those soft waves.
So yes: it's very nearly perfect, as Verso coaxes him even closer, shifting below Gustave to trail a path of heated kisses over his throat, his collarbone, down to his chest, but... it's not, quite. Something's wrong. The man is warm and languid beneath him, a gleam of wolfish desire in his eyes, and he's letting Gustave touch him however he likes, hips rolling up into each stroke of his fingers, but—
Something's wrong. However much Gustave tries to coax him from his thoughts, from that last inch of reservation, of distance between them, Verso stays just slightly out of reach. An absurd thought, maybe, when the man is dragging him close and arching into his hand and his mouth, drinking down everything Gustave can offer him and seemingly wanting more, but it's there, he can feel it. A slight stiffness, something still withheld.
It hadn't been there when Verso had been so utterly focused on burning him to the ground, and now there's a slight hesitation in the way Gustave touches him, too, his mind worrying over the problem like a dog gnawing on a bone. Maybe Verso wants something faster, harder, more like what he'd done to Gustave himself; maybe he regrets staying, after all. Maybe he's already thinking about leaving. Maybe there's something wrong in the way Gustave is touching him, something he doesn't like but is too polite to mention.
He doesn't understand, and now something new curls into his stomach: frustration with himself, with the way he's not getting it quite right, not offering whatever it is Verso needs. Verso's tongue slides warm and wet over the taut bud of his nipple and he groans, the sound singed at the edges, and redoubles his efforts, hand firmer now around him, stroking faster, more deliberately as Gustave shifts his weight and winds his metal arm around Verso's waist, his knees spreading between the man's legs, pushing them further apart. Taking room that he needs to tighten his left arm around the man and lift as he himself twists, aiming to lay him back down again on the grass beside the flowerbed and following him down with his mouth chasing hard kisses along Verso's neck. ]
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Verso's thumb rubs over his nipple, which tightens at the touch, sending a flare of electricity through him that's dragged deep into his gut by the fingers that sink into his hair again. It's impossibly mussed, and he can't care. He can't remember the last time anything felt so good as Verso's fingers sifting through those soft waves.
So yes: it's very nearly perfect, as Verso coaxes him even closer, shifting below Gustave to trail a path of heated kisses over his throat, his collarbone, down to his chest, but... it's not, quite. Something's wrong. The man is warm and languid beneath him, a gleam of wolfish desire in his eyes, and he's letting Gustave touch him however he likes, hips rolling up into each stroke of his fingers, but—
Something's wrong. However much Gustave tries to coax him from his thoughts, from that last inch of reservation, of distance between them, Verso stays just slightly out of reach. An absurd thought, maybe, when the man is dragging him close and arching into his hand and his mouth, drinking down everything Gustave can offer him and seemingly wanting more, but it's there, he can feel it. A slight stiffness, something still withheld.
It hadn't been there when Verso had been so utterly focused on burning him to the ground, and now there's a slight hesitation in the way Gustave touches him, too, his mind worrying over the problem like a dog gnawing on a bone. Maybe Verso wants something faster, harder, more like what he'd done to Gustave himself; maybe he regrets staying, after all. Maybe he's already thinking about leaving. Maybe there's something wrong in the way Gustave is touching him, something he doesn't like but is too polite to mention.
He doesn't understand, and now something new curls into his stomach: frustration with himself, with the way he's not getting it quite right, not offering whatever it is Verso needs. Verso's tongue slides warm and wet over the taut bud of his nipple and he groans, the sound singed at the edges, and redoubles his efforts, hand firmer now around him, stroking faster, more deliberately as Gustave shifts his weight and winds his metal arm around Verso's waist, his knees spreading between the man's legs, pushing them further apart. Taking room that he needs to tighten his left arm around the man and lift as he himself twists, aiming to lay him back down again on the grass beside the flowerbed and following him down with his mouth chasing hard kisses along Verso's neck. ]