[ It's better, when Verso is on his back in the grass and Gustave can blanket him, pressing their bodies together as he breathes in the scent of green things and Verso, warm and sweet and salt-spiked, a little like the breeze that blows in off the waves that lap through the harbor. His name groaned in that voice, searing itself into his chest, his memory, a brand only he can see and feel. He'd already told Verso the man had marked him. This just carves it a little further into flesh, sore and bleeding and perfect. He wants more. ]
Yes.
[ His own voice is rough, more of a rumble than Verso's growl, but low and sandpapered with desire all the same.
His hand is pressed between them, working hard and relentless against Verso, wanting to feel him arch up again, and his knuckles brush against himself, too, sending showers of sparks through his own system once more, and it's his turn to groan against Verso's skin, head dropping for a moment to press his forehead against Verso's chest, trying to catch his own breath before he pushes onward. Verso's fingers are in his hair, running up his back, and he wants so much more of that touch, wants to feel it skating over every inch of bare skin, firm and gentle and burning and sweet, however the man wants to touch him.
And he wants this, too: to work his way down Verso's chest, setting his mouth over a nipple and drawing up tender flesh up into his mouth, hard and intent, before sweeping over it with the flat of his tongue. But even now, even as he works to set the man alight any way he can, thumb running over his head and fingers stroking, dedicatedly adoring him with mouth and tongue and touch, the edge that had been everywhere in Verso's touch, in his seduction, is missing, replaced instead by a stubborn, persistent sweetness.
He can try to emulate the other man, and it's true that there's another side to him, something harder and stronger than the kind and slightly awkward engineer who offered that purple flower what feels like an eternity and yet only seconds ago. There's something in him that's resilient, marked on his body in the calluses on his own hand, the strength of his shoulders, the intent way he moves. And yet, in the end, he can only be himself, and that self is a mix of both: the engineer and the expeditioner. A man whose broken heart is finally starting to beat again, and remembers what it is to want to lavish all the affection and warmth in him on someone else.
He kisses Verso's chest again and lifts his head to look up along the man's body, his shoulder moving with the rhythm of his hand. ]
Be with me.
[ Let him draw Verso out of his head. Let him coax apart those last lingering hesitations, until there's nothing left between them but the heat of their own bodies. ]
Here, now. Right here with me.
[ The last words muddled into Verso's skin as he lowers his head and presses kisses there, beginning to shift his way down the man's body, deliberate and determined. ]
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Date: 2025-05-28 06:03 pm (UTC)Yes.
[ His own voice is rough, more of a rumble than Verso's growl, but low and sandpapered with desire all the same.
His hand is pressed between them, working hard and relentless against Verso, wanting to feel him arch up again, and his knuckles brush against himself, too, sending showers of sparks through his own system once more, and it's his turn to groan against Verso's skin, head dropping for a moment to press his forehead against Verso's chest, trying to catch his own breath before he pushes onward. Verso's fingers are in his hair, running up his back, and he wants so much more of that touch, wants to feel it skating over every inch of bare skin, firm and gentle and burning and sweet, however the man wants to touch him.
And he wants this, too: to work his way down Verso's chest, setting his mouth over a nipple and drawing up tender flesh up into his mouth, hard and intent, before sweeping over it with the flat of his tongue. But even now, even as he works to set the man alight any way he can, thumb running over his head and fingers stroking, dedicatedly adoring him with mouth and tongue and touch, the edge that had been everywhere in Verso's touch, in his seduction, is missing, replaced instead by a stubborn, persistent sweetness.
He can try to emulate the other man, and it's true that there's another side to him, something harder and stronger than the kind and slightly awkward engineer who offered that purple flower what feels like an eternity and yet only seconds ago. There's something in him that's resilient, marked on his body in the calluses on his own hand, the strength of his shoulders, the intent way he moves. And yet, in the end, he can only be himself, and that self is a mix of both: the engineer and the expeditioner. A man whose broken heart is finally starting to beat again, and remembers what it is to want to lavish all the affection and warmth in him on someone else.
He kisses Verso's chest again and lifts his head to look up along the man's body, his shoulder moving with the rhythm of his hand. ]
Be with me.
[ Let him draw Verso out of his head. Let him coax apart those last lingering hesitations, until there's nothing left between them but the heat of their own bodies. ]
Here, now. Right here with me.
[ The last words muddled into Verso's skin as he lowers his head and presses kisses there, beginning to shift his way down the man's body, deliberate and determined. ]