[ He can feel it, more than hear it, when Verso agrees, when he listens and those last clinging barriers filter away like they were never there. And really, it's the man's own fault, isn't it? If he can't promise another time, another few stolen moments, another chance for Gustave to see him — if all he can offer is here and now and whatever they can glean from these moments — then he can't be surprised when Gustave asks the same of him.
If he's going to be here, then be here. Let just this hour they've carved out from the world exist. If Gustave can't let himself wonder about the past or worry about the future, Verso can't either.
And it works, Verso's hands roaming even more desperately over him, carding through his hair, blunt fingers and nails digging into his back as Gustave continues to push himself lower. He follows the graceful slant from Verso's ribs to his stomach, kisses along firm muscle, the rough-soft scratch of his beard dragging over skin that's flushed and pink with heat and need. He can feel Verso's movements growing jerky, needy, his hips pushing helplessly up into Gustave's hand with every stroke as he curses into the warm air.
It makes Gustave smile, pleased, and press another kiss low along Verso's belly before he braces himself on his left elbow and strokes his right hand down along Verso's length, following it with his mouth, taking the man in just like had with his fingers, earlier.
It's not deep and drowning, the way Verso had attacked him, but it's dedicated all the same, Gustave sliding him against his tongue, lips wrapped around him, sucking as he moves his head and hand in tandem, stroking Verso with mouth and tongue and fingers all. He can't look up along the man's body to see the effect, but he's attuned to it anyway, listening, following every buck and shift of his hips, relentlessly surrounding him with friction and firm wet warmth. ]
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If he's going to be here, then be here. Let just this hour they've carved out from the world exist. If Gustave can't let himself wonder about the past or worry about the future, Verso can't either.
And it works, Verso's hands roaming even more desperately over him, carding through his hair, blunt fingers and nails digging into his back as Gustave continues to push himself lower. He follows the graceful slant from Verso's ribs to his stomach, kisses along firm muscle, the rough-soft scratch of his beard dragging over skin that's flushed and pink with heat and need. He can feel Verso's movements growing jerky, needy, his hips pushing helplessly up into Gustave's hand with every stroke as he curses into the warm air.
It makes Gustave smile, pleased, and press another kiss low along Verso's belly before he braces himself on his left elbow and strokes his right hand down along Verso's length, following it with his mouth, taking the man in just like had with his fingers, earlier.
It's not deep and drowning, the way Verso had attacked him, but it's dedicated all the same, Gustave sliding him against his tongue, lips wrapped around him, sucking as he moves his head and hand in tandem, stroking Verso with mouth and tongue and fingers all. He can't look up along the man's body to see the effect, but he's attuned to it anyway, listening, following every buck and shift of his hips, relentlessly surrounding him with friction and firm wet warmth. ]