superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

Verso reaches down to undo Gustave's belt, although he's not in quite as much of a rush this time; as always, his emotions slowly win out over practicality, and his emotions are rather enjoying being right here. "I guess you don't need me to teach you anything, after all."

There is absolutely zero pause before Gustave confesses: "Obviously I was lying. I have no idea what I'm doing."

He shifts to sit upright, weight carefully distributed where he straddles Verso's thighs, just to make access to his own belt a little easier. And then, with a wry grin, "Real community service takes effort, after all."

Verso follows him upright, which is fully so he can remove the belt easier and no other reason. He tugs it loose from its loops, tossing it aside with a shake of his head. "You're supposed to lie and pretend you're an expert." You know, like he does.

Verso sits up, and suddenly it feels a lot more like Gustave is sitting on his lap than straddling his legs. "Sorry," he says, cradling the back of Verso's head to redirect him into another kiss. "Honest to a fault, me."

Verso gives him a little bit of a funny look, then, not because he's said anything wrong, but— it's strange, being face-to-face with someone who is, yes, earnest to the point of flaw. He realizes that he has no idea what that must be like, walking around the world wearing one's heart on their sleeve. Gustave is incorrigibly awkward, but he's real.

It's jealousy that he feels, he realizes. Verso will never be like that; everything he's ever done is, one way or another, predicated on a lie.

Ruefulness passes across his face for perhaps a fraction of a second before it's gone, and he unbuttons Gustave's trousers. "Tell me what you like, then, if you're so honest."

Gustave has had the luxury of thirty-two short years in a world that's never given him much cause to lie. He can tell he's said something strange again by the look Verso gives him; it's easier to read the subtle shifts in expression when your own face is so close to theirs.

"I like watching you do that," he says quietly, and then, like he's a little confused by it: "I liked it when you pushed me up against that tree so much that I short circuited a second. Still can't figure that one out."

Gustave shifts to reach down, gliding his palm with an almost curiosity against Verso through the fabric of his trousers, though it might be obvious he's just making an excuse to look away from his face when he confesses: "I can't stop thinking about that sound you made when you came apart in my hand. That was-" He flounders a moment for the word, and settles on- "Addicting."

More ridiculous earnestness. There's a twinkle in Verso's eye, a wry smile on his lips, like Gustave has said something funny. He hasn't, really — these are the sort of things that probably made his dead-too-soon love swoon. It's charming, endearing, some might even say verging on romantic if they weren't Verso, who is aware of the fact that Gustave has no fucking clue who he is and is therefore incapable of having any true feeling for him beyond an erection.

Still, it's cute. He likes the sound of it. Nothing wrong with basking in the sensation of being special.

"I was asking," he says with a half-grin, "what impolite thing you wanted me to do to you." Not to, like, ruin the sweet moment here. "But, please, go on about your addiction."

Gustave! Was trying!! To be sexy!!! It's maybe true that he's got a frustratingly limited amount of experience with sexual encounters that aren't - well. Pretty vanilla, honestly. Certainly nothing like sitting on top of a man sitting on a pile of their clothes in the woods.

He makes a slightly offended noise, if only because he's a little embarrassed by Verso's half grin, and he frowns to himself as he starts to pull Verso's trousers loose in turn. "I'm still trying to figure out what the options are," he says, but the defensiveness is in good humor.

"If you don't know, then maybe this age gap is an issue." Still, he reaches down to help Gustave with his belt, so clearly he's not that torn up about it. With a cant of his head: "When two people love wine very, very much..."

"I meant I don't know what you're comfortable with, you - utter ass." Okay, Gustave really is grumbling now, pushing at Verso's shoulders to try to urge him back to the ground. He swats the assistance away, stubbornness taking over.

Verso goes down easily, hands up and away from his own waist in a gesture of surrender.

"Don't worry about me — popular, remember?" And he's a fake-ass people pleaser (despite the fact that people often seem to be questionably pleased); it's a requirement to be a certified freak, practically. Besides, when someone lives an ongoing existential crisis, he tends not to be so precious about things like sex. Especially with people who aren't even going to be around soon.

"I'm pretty comfortable here," he says, reaching for Gustave's hips and carefully pulling them flush against his so that he can feel just how comfortable.

"Popular," Gustave echoes in a deadpan, but he does look privately pleased with himself when he's got Verso's belt hanging loose.

This is - such an insane situation to be in, he thinks. It probably would have been better if Verso had brought Lune or Sciel out here; he's certain they'd both be less clumsy, more able to lead.

He shakes that thought away, bearing his weight down a little into that pressure - if only because it feels really good. He hums at that, a throaty sound of appreciation, before he hazards a little clumsily: "Do you want me to use my mouth?"

Not that he's extremely into the thought of having Verso's on him or anything like that - or at least it feels somehow uncomfortably inappropriate to ask for without being more certain about his interest. Gustave is a guy that cares a lot about comfort and respect!!!

Another half-smile, more amused eyes. It isn't at Gustave's expense, really. It's just— do you want me to, as if there's any universe where that answer isn't 'yes'. Very kindly, he resists the urge to roll his eyes at how, despite the clothed erection pressing against him, Gustave still hasn't clocked that Verso is into this.

He does, however, raise an eyebrow. "That was really in question?" He shakes his head. "Mon dieu, I've got to be more obvious."

"Verso." Gustave's expression is fond, but his voice is playfully scolding. He leans forward and down, his hands propped on either side of Verso's head to brace himself up as he kisses him again. Some of the sweetness is gone from it, and - okay, he knows it's such a horny teenager thing to do, but he grinds himself down against him, just because the friction feels really good.

Gustave leans up and slides back (a little reluctantly), but his hands are certainly both more deft and certain as he rucks Verso's trousers down enough to slide his dick free. He is, of course, talking the entire time he does. "Oh, please, you're the one being - irritatingly evasive. 'What do you want me to do to you, Gustave? I'm just going to tease you when you ask what's on the table,'" he says, voice an unflattering imitation of Verso's as he takes his erection in his hand. "Maybe I just want to be certain I'm not asking you to do something you're uncomfortable with," he complains, and then cuts himself off by leaning in to take him in his mouth.

He has no idea what he's doing, of course - it's the second time interacted with another man's anatomy that wasn't his own - but he knows what feels good to himself, and he's trying.

"I don't sound like—" Oh. Verso lets out a faint sound of surprise, because obviously, he didn't expect Gustave to transition from complaining to oral in less than one second flat. He doesn't even know what he's doing, after all — Verso had expected him to be more intimidated.

But, once again, Gustave dives into this with more gusto than he really ought to have. It's all enthusiasm, no technical skill, which Verso had expected for Gustave's first time on the giving end of this. That doesn't mean it's bad, mind you; a blowjob is a blowjob, and it's been even longer since he's had one of these than a quick wilderness handy. He's never, he notes distantly, gotten one from someone with a beard.

He reaches down to tug Gustave closer by his ridiculous, fluffy hair before remembering, right, this is his first time, and he should probably be gentle. In lieu of sitting on his hands, which is what he should really do, he just places them softly on Gustave's head.

"—that," he finishes lamely.

Gustave will never pass up a chance to be analytical. It's certainly a strange experience if only because of how different it is from anything he's done before, and he tries not to let himself feel just the littlest bit smug about the way he'd interrupted Verso's kvetching. He pulls his mouth up slowly, just to leave enough spit behind so that he can stroke him without too much friction when he pulls a few inches back.

"You are the first person in my life to treat me like I'm - breakable," he says with a little laugh. "You don't actually have to go so easy on me."

He's already paused a near certain march towards death to suck a guy's dick in the woods; there's little reason left to be precious about things now. Gustave resumes the amateur but enthusiastic blowjob, and will probably once again seem like he's made a science experiment out of determining what makes Verso squirm the most.

"I'm being a gentleman," he argues distantly, although the truth is probably closer to being so used to trying to paint himself in a favorable light that he's hesitant to do something that might be real-slash-unlikable even now, while having meaningless sex in the woods.

His breathing hitches, and he curls his fingers in Gustave's hair again — fine, if he's so opposed to being treated with politeness. He tugs slightly, thighs tensing beside Gustave. The curls of Gustave's hair are soft, he registers idly. He's not sure he's ever touched them before.

"Maybe I didn't want to," he says, valiantly attempting to talk shit even as he's interrupted by a somewhat embarrassing jerk of the hips, "mess up your hair."

Maybe if Gustave reminds himself often enough this is just meaningless sex to the both of them, he'll be able to actually believe it. Not that he's thinking about that now; no, right now he's currently cataloguing every reaction he's able to pull from him. He carefully chases his own hand down to the root of Verso's erection, and when he pulls away to catch his breath, he lays a clumsy sort of kiss against the inside of his thigh.

"So maybe excuses. Never asked you to be a gentleman," he protests, still making long, slow strokes with his hand near his own face. "And we both know my hair's a lost cause."

Verso's not proud of it, but he does actually kick Gustave. Lightly, at least, and out of impulse alone. Gustave is no expert at this, but Verso had been enjoying the experiment. "You can't stop talking even now," he gripes breathlessly, although there's a laugh at the tail end of it. He can't say it's out of character.

It's such a natural and human reaction that Gustave just laughs about it. Out of impulse alone, he leans in, latches a kiss near his hip bone. Another experiment; if he gently sucks a mark into his skin, how long will it last?

And, because he doesn't actually hate Verso, he'll resume blowing him right after the setup for the little experiment is complete.

There is definitely something very wrong with him that he's currently letting a man he was all too happy to let die give him a blowjob. But, unfortunately, being wrong doesn't actually make it any less pleasurable. He tangles his fingers in Gustave's hair again, and although, yes, it was a lost cause to begin with, it's certainly made worse by the insistent tugging. Gustave, once again, is about to look like he lost a fight.

Verso makes a low noise in the back of his throat, jerks, and tenses again— "Gustave." Not screaming his name out of pleasure, unfortunately. It's a warning, a gentlemanly(!) attempt not to introduce Gustave to what he'd probably call an impolite taste before he dies.

Gustave wasn't making it up when he said the sound of Verso's voice when he's compromised like that is - overwhelmingly appealing. He risks another few slow drags, before he pulls back entirely, continuing to stroke him through.

"Verso," he says, his voice quiet and coaxing. "C'mon."

Oh, the soft sound of Gustave's encouragement accompanied by his steadily working hand sends Verso tipping right over. It's probably the most ridiculous blowjob he's ever gotten, the only one where someone stopped to chide him partway through, but it still gets the job very much done. He lies still for a moment afterward, panting a little, skin a little damp. It is unfortunately going to be unmistakably obvious that they weren't tussling this time.

Oh, well. That's a problem for future Verso, and future Verso won't even be around soon. He glances at Gustave, smiling crookedly. "Want me to do you?"

It's probably a little silly to be proud of himself, but that doesn't change the fact that he is. Gustave is flush with warmth, pupils blown a bit wide with his own arousal, and he meets Verso's look with a baffled one of his own. "If you want," he says finally, evenly; he's turned on to the point of discomfort, and it takes every ounce of restraint in him not to parrot Verso's Is it not obvious? from before.

Verso tugs his pants up, because it's probably tempting fate to hang out with his trousers around his knees when Renoir could catch him with his pants down any moment. Right after, though, he pushes himself up to verticality again so that he and Gustave are face-to-face. He's very flushed, and strands of his hair stick to his face from the thin sheen of sweat.

"If I want?" Gustave should be begging on his knees!!! But Verso pushes him down anyway, flat on his back (on their clothes, which are steadily growing greener). He's even less experienced in this than anything he's done before, and maybe he's actually the one who's a little intimidated, but— it can't be that difficult. "Kind of you to do an old man a favor like this."

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