Date: 2025-05-30 01:45 am (UTC)
versorecto: (Default)
From: [personal profile] versorecto
[ Verso never had any strong feelings about flowers -- he's gifted a few, received some in his time, sees the petals strewn in the wind and scattered across empty floors in the wake of the Gommage. But he certainly likes them from Gustave, liked the aching mental image of him bringing a bouquet to that lonely opera house, liked the single flower he'd given him tucked against his jacket lapel. And that will stay now, he knows. The memory of Gustave's fingers in his hair, tucking a single flower stem gently behind his ear. His monsieur le fleuriste.

There's part of him that thinks to break from the kiss, but it simply drowns and flickers away the moment Gustave's tongue is in his mouth, his fingers idly circling over the small of his back as he sinks into it. When Gustave thinks to pull away, Verso's other hand lifts to his neck, preventing him from it -- but just for a few moments more. Enough to get a slightly longer taste, to catch his teeth against his lower lip and tug on it slightly when he does break it himself.

With their foreheads pressed together, he smiles, lidded eyes gazing straight into Gustave's. He feels like he can see everything, so much warmth and gentle adoration. He knows it wouldn't be the same for him. ]


And if you did earn it?

Would you leave for the night?
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