[ Even with everything, Verso is somehow still a little surprised when Gustave's hand pulls away and then comes back with -- another flower. He's already smiling, but that has his mouth twitching even more, relaxing into that kiss as Gustave leans down over him again. And once more surprised when he feels those fingers in his hair, what he must be doing.
He laughs a little into the kiss with that realization, but doesn't move to pull away or stop him, eyes still shut and languidly dipping his tongue past his lips to taste him a little deeper. Its only when Gustave breaks away from that kiss when he opens his eyes again, and -- well, he can't see himself. But he can just about feel where that flower is tucked into his hair behind his ear, a soft pale purple in the middle of mussed dark waves. ]
Mon monsieur le floriste. [ Another laugh, warm, genuine -- even as the end of it starts to rail off into something quieter. ] I hope it looks good.
[ But then, that statement. The smile freezing on his lips for a few moments, starting to edge away, the quiet yearning in his eyes self-evident, unusually honest on Verso's face. He'd really like to. But it is a dream. Worse than a dream. It's someone else's dream, all of them bound in a pain that runs so deep through the very fabric of their world that most of them could never hope to understand. And he's already been here far too long. ]
It might have to be. [ He wishes he could explain. Slowly he starts to push himself up on one elbow, reaching up to touch callused fingertips to Gustave's face, tracing over his cheekbone. Affectionate and fond. It's absurd for him to feel like this for a man he may have watched for so long but -- that he doesn't know. But when he smiles, when he sees into his eyes, into his heart . . . ] But maybe you can convince me. To dream a little longer.
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Date: 2025-05-29 04:01 am (UTC)He laughs a little into the kiss with that realization, but doesn't move to pull away or stop him, eyes still shut and languidly dipping his tongue past his lips to taste him a little deeper. Its only when Gustave breaks away from that kiss when he opens his eyes again, and -- well, he can't see himself. But he can just about feel where that flower is tucked into his hair behind his ear, a soft pale purple in the middle of mussed dark waves. ]
Mon monsieur le floriste. [ Another laugh, warm, genuine -- even as the end of it starts to rail off into something quieter. ] I hope it looks good.
[ But then, that statement. The smile freezing on his lips for a few moments, starting to edge away, the quiet yearning in his eyes self-evident, unusually honest on Verso's face. He'd really like to. But it is a dream. Worse than a dream. It's someone else's dream, all of them bound in a pain that runs so deep through the very fabric of their world that most of them could never hope to understand. And he's already been here far too long. ]
It might have to be. [ He wishes he could explain. Slowly he starts to push himself up on one elbow, reaching up to touch callused fingertips to Gustave's face, tracing over his cheekbone. Affectionate and fond. It's absurd for him to feel like this for a man he may have watched for so long but -- that he doesn't know. But when he smiles, when he sees into his eyes, into his heart . . . ] But maybe you can convince me. To dream a little longer.
[ It won't ever feel like enough. ]