Gustave's not quite begging but it's almost there, pleading and desperate in his tone, in his eyes, in the way he immediately tries to pull him back into a kiss. Verso lets him do it, even kissing him back. But the words come tumbling out from his mouth, sound almost involuntary, him stumbling his own words -- Its like the night at the opera house, him standing there with his heart on his sleeve and the concert hall echoing around him.
Except that had been full of hope, anticipation, eager nervous excitement for a new possibility. Nervous and sheepish but still with a smile. And this, well.
He lifts both his hands, this time, one hand twisting back through his hair, fingers carding through the mussed curls with a distinct familiarity. His other hand, too, settles against his cheek with a certain familiarity, like he already knows the shape of him, like his touch belongs there. Verso pulls him in for another kiss, full but bittersweet. When he pulls, away, eyes still shut, his lungs burning a little from lack of air and a sweet ache both, keeping their foreheads pressed together, his voice soft. ]
Gustave. [ Low and quiet, his breath warm against Gustave's skin. ] There is nothing you can do.
[ There is nothing he could have done. It isn't his fault.
And slowly, as gently as he can bear, like he's afraid that if he says much more or does too much these newfound cracks will just shatter -- he starts to pull away. Pushing his weight up to perch on the edge of that flower bed. Getting himself a bit more space.
That care is as much for himself as it is for Gustave, but. It is what it is. ]
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Gustave's not quite begging but it's almost there, pleading and desperate in his tone, in his eyes, in the way he immediately tries to pull him back into a kiss. Verso lets him do it, even kissing him back. But the words come tumbling out from his mouth, sound almost involuntary, him stumbling his own words -- Its like the night at the opera house, him standing there with his heart on his sleeve and the concert hall echoing around him.
Except that had been full of hope, anticipation, eager nervous excitement for a new possibility. Nervous and sheepish but still with a smile. And this, well.
He lifts both his hands, this time, one hand twisting back through his hair, fingers carding through the mussed curls with a distinct familiarity. His other hand, too, settles against his cheek with a certain familiarity, like he already knows the shape of him, like his touch belongs there. Verso pulls him in for another kiss, full but bittersweet. When he pulls, away, eyes still shut, his lungs burning a little from lack of air and a sweet ache both, keeping their foreheads pressed together, his voice soft. ]
Gustave. [ Low and quiet, his breath warm against Gustave's skin. ] There is nothing you can do.
[ There is nothing he could have done. It isn't his fault.
And slowly, as gently as he can bear, like he's afraid that if he says much more or does too much these newfound cracks will just shatter -- he starts to pull away. Pushing his weight up to perch on the edge of that flower bed. Getting himself a bit more space.
That care is as much for himself as it is for Gustave, but. It is what it is. ]