[ And what an effect Gustave's had. Verso feels like he takes far too long to catch his breath, to remember where he is again, to feel the earth behind him and for something that isn't the static fuzz of pleasure and the echoing linger of Gustave's name on his lips to ease back into his mind. And the first thing that does catch his thoughts again -- is still Gustave, his mouth wet and hot around him as he rides it all out, his touch almost achingly gentle when he pulls back, ghosting kisses against his skin.
He feels the weight of his hand against his stomach, the weight at his side of Gustave laying beside him. He turns, slowly, like his body needs a moment to remember how to move, rolling onto his side so he can look at him when he opens his eyes. Dimly, he imagines that there's a version of this happening where somehow he'd be stirring to life in a bed, sheets warm and tussled around them, that he'd be seeing Gustave's face nestled against a pillow -- but this. With a shaft of sunlight cut down through some of the ivy growing overhead, drawing a perfect lines that follow the lines of his neck and throat down towards his bare chest. another burst of light catching against his hair, shining in those eyes. The scent of crushed grass and leaves, and the flowers that in his mind almost seem to arrange themselves around him, purples and yellows and pinks and whites. This is good, too. Maybe better. This is real.
( There is no question or thought about how real this really is. The moment lasting a bit longer, stretching on. He'll savor it. )
Verso is there just looking at him for a few seconds too long before he reaches out, a hand lazily drifting against Gustave's chest before catching at his chin and drawing him in for another kiss. Languid, warm, quietly satisfied but still with the glow of heat and want beneath -- he can taste himself on his tongue. They can taste each other.
He presses their foreheads together when he breaks from the kiss, a breathless laugh falling from his lips. ]
You're beautiful too, you know.
[ He didn't actually return that compliment earlier. But merde he is, just look at him, in so many ways that he Verso doesn't even begin to understand, that he wishes he could take the time to twist his fingers into and unravel thread by thread. His fingers, again, try to push some mussed lock of hair out of Gustave's face, only for it to fall back, his mouth quirking in amusement and fondness from it both. ]
Infuriatingly so. [ His fingers play a little with that lock of hair, idle. ] Mon chou.
[ That too, falls from his mouth without much actual thought behind it. Just letting himself be carried by the warmth until it might inevitably ebb back with the tide. ]
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He feels the weight of his hand against his stomach, the weight at his side of Gustave laying beside him. He turns, slowly, like his body needs a moment to remember how to move, rolling onto his side so he can look at him when he opens his eyes. Dimly, he imagines that there's a version of this happening where somehow he'd be stirring to life in a bed, sheets warm and tussled around them, that he'd be seeing Gustave's face nestled against a pillow -- but this. With a shaft of sunlight cut down through some of the ivy growing overhead, drawing a perfect lines that follow the lines of his neck and throat down towards his bare chest. another burst of light catching against his hair, shining in those eyes. The scent of crushed grass and leaves, and the flowers that in his mind almost seem to arrange themselves around him, purples and yellows and pinks and whites. This is good, too. Maybe better. This is real.
( There is no question or thought about how real this really is. The moment lasting a bit longer, stretching on. He'll savor it. )
Verso is there just looking at him for a few seconds too long before he reaches out, a hand lazily drifting against Gustave's chest before catching at his chin and drawing him in for another kiss. Languid, warm, quietly satisfied but still with the glow of heat and want beneath -- he can taste himself on his tongue. They can taste each other.
He presses their foreheads together when he breaks from the kiss, a breathless laugh falling from his lips. ]
You're beautiful too, you know.
[ He didn't actually return that compliment earlier. But merde he is, just look at him, in so many ways that he Verso doesn't even begin to understand, that he wishes he could take the time to twist his fingers into and unravel thread by thread. His fingers, again, try to push some mussed lock of hair out of Gustave's face, only for it to fall back, his mouth quirking in amusement and fondness from it both. ]
Infuriatingly so. [ His fingers play a little with that lock of hair, idle. ] Mon chou.
[ That too, falls from his mouth without much actual thought behind it. Just letting himself be carried by the warmth until it might inevitably ebb back with the tide. ]