Verso comes very quickly after, still latched onto Gustave's shoulder. He shudders and bites down harder, then untenses slowly, removing his teeth from Gustave's skin and taking a breath. He's a little short of it, panting slightly, and sweating a little, too, even though this didn't require much physical exertion. As he draws back, he absentmindedly brushes his hair out of his face so that it doesn't stick.
Post-nut clarity hits like a ton of bricks. He really got carried away, desperate for some sort of feeling of emotional closeness after spending the better part of a century lonely. "Fuck," he says softly to himself, before shaking his head and forcibly deluding himself into believing that it's still casual and temporary for him.
Light: "I can't believe you let an old man trouble his knees like this."
Gustave is deeply flushed, face slightly shiny with sweat of his own, and he stares — visibly uncomprehending — at Verso for a long second, before his mind catches up with his body. "Oh, sorry," is all he manages at first, reflexive. He wipes his hand on the blanket before he reaches up to tenderly touch the spot Verso had bitten on his shoulder. "Think you got me back, though."
That was — a lot. It had been intense. His eyes are searching Verso's face, like he's trying to make sure he's emotionally alright.
Verso busies himself with crawling off of Gustave and pulling his pants back up, watching himself buckle his own belt like it's impossibly interesting. It wasn't intense for him at all, actually. He feels fine.
"You'll be glad for the experience," he says breezily, "when you have fans in Lumière eager to take a bite out of you."
"Verso—" Gustave's voice isn't hurt, exactly, because the fact that Verso enjoyed himself is pretty much irrefutable. He's confused, maybe, as he starts to dress himself again as well. "If I've done something wrong, you need to tell me what it is."
"You haven't done anything wrong," Verso says, frowning. Maybe Gustave has taken his attempt to lightheartedly reference a future where this isn't happening anymore poorly. "I do think they'll want to take a bite out of the future hero of Lumière."
But he senses that he's somehow ruined the mood, so he leans over to touch Gustave on the arm, reassuring. "It was good."
"That title is going to Maelle a long time before it ever will me," Gustave says, and mostly he just doesn't understand why it was brought up at all. He finishes getting dressed, and instead of packing up the blanket, just takes a heavy seat on it. "I imagine it'll be like it always was, if I go back to Lumière. I'll stay busy in the workshop and look forward to my birthdays instead of dreading them."
Verso pulls his shirt back on, although he's still too hot to wear his jacket. He tugs on his collar, airing out, as he replies offhandedly, "You don't know dread until you've had a gestral birthday party."
A joke, obviously, because he knows Gustave has experienced horrible dread. He can't quite imagine what it's like to dread that you'll have no more birthdays rather than an endless amount more, but he's sure it isn't pleasant.
"Sure," Gustave says, "maybe I'll pencil one in. See what the fuss is all about." He's reaching to grab his pack, retrieving a water skin from inside. Not that he'd ever voice this out loud, but— okay, maybe he's going to remain as neutral as he can, just to see what Verso does with himself.
He's resigned himself to being heartbroken later, if the world really is brought safely together, if Verso makes good on his plan to avoid the city. But Gustave has already spent the better part of the past four years heartbroken; he refuses to allow it ruin what contentment he can find for himself now.
He pauses, stretching his legs out in front of him, worrying his lip, Then, glancing back at Gustave: "Are you going to make me ask if it was good for you, too? You should know that if I don't receive compliments regularly, my ego shrivels up like a raisin."
The question makes him laugh just for the surprise of it, and he tilts his head slightly at Verso. Well. At least he's self-aware. "It was incredible. You are incredible." Gustave's eyebrows go up slightly, silently asking if that's enough.
"You're incredible." Fuck!!! He grabs his jacket, folding it neatly for the sake of something to do while he fantasizes about being put down like a sick dog. "—Thanks. I wager I have at least fifteen minutes until I need my next one."
There's no way this is right, no way this is healthy. Something had splintered in his heart that evening he'd stood on the dock with Sophie and watched her drift away in the wind. Nothing is fixed, but — the warmth he feels at that little compliment shouldn't be so achingly familiar.
Gustave doesn't look at him, but he's fighting and failing to bite down a smile. "Sexy and incredible? I can't wait to let my friends know back home."
"Better keep it to myself, then." Gustave hums thoughtfully, offering Verso a sip of his water. He's genuinely a little surprised he's not made an excuse to get back to camp yet.
Verso takes the waterskin, staring down at it. "You are, though. Both of those things." He takes a sip before handing it back to Gustave, and right on cue: "We should get back before they think Golgra came back for a second round."
"Yeah, well. So are you." Gustave's voice is gentle, fond, and he thinks he's potentially in a lot of trouble here. He gets up reluctantly, shaking the grass off the blanket. "You sure you don't want to fit in a quick duel? Really sell our absence?" He's teasing, only if because he's not sure what else to say.
Verso stands, draping his jacket over one shoulder rather than put it on. The prospect of a duel makes him laugh under his breath again; he still doesn't believe Gustave has a chance against him in a one-on-one fight. Scrawny bastard.
"If you don't want to go back yet," he says slowly, hands on his hips and eyes tilted downward, considering. "It wouldn't hurt to take five more minutes."
"You think you can last five minutes against me? Bold," Gustave says a little breathlessly — but it's mostly said to make Verso laugh, his eyes back to searching his face. He stretches his arm out to his side, summoning his sword like he's egging Verso on.
"I'd go as far as six," he teases, and he is laughing; mission accomplished. He holds his hand out and conjures his sword, but— "You know, most people would be lighting a cigarette right now." A post-coital challenge to a duel is insane. Gustave should know that.
Gustave points at Verso, shaking his head — chastising. "No, no, those things are awful for your health," he says, clucking his tongue. "A death sentence, really. What do I get when I win?"
"Unimaginative," Gustave sighs, taking a step forward to indicate he's planning to attack.
And! He'll do pretty okay, thank you very much! He will be the one to fling his arm up to breathlessly concede defeat, but he's not ashamed of his performance. "Okay, okay, fine. Give me a minute, and we can head back."
And he does give Gustave a minute, not only because he's a little breathless himself. He wants to check in before Gustave has to return to the others; his fingers brush Gustave's elbow briefly, and he says, "Feeling better?"
This had all been ostensibly to cheer Verso up, but he'd seen the unrest on Gustave's face after they'd brought Noco back. Something about it had been upsetting, and Verso can imagine why. It's difficult to contend with the realities of this existence. He's been doing it for decades, and it's still hard; Gustave has only had a few days.
"Yeah," Gustave answers, and he closes a little more of the space between them when Verso gets close enough to touch him. "Thanks." He's aware that he probably wasn't as subtle as he'd hoped to be, and he cuts his eyes down, reaching forward to pluck at the hem of Verso's shirt like he's pulling out a wrinkle.
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Post-nut clarity hits like a ton of bricks. He really got carried away, desperate for some sort of feeling of emotional closeness after spending the better part of a century lonely. "Fuck," he says softly to himself, before shaking his head and forcibly deluding himself into believing that it's still casual and temporary for him.
Light: "I can't believe you let an old man trouble his knees like this."
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That was — a lot. It had been intense. His eyes are searching Verso's face, like he's trying to make sure he's emotionally alright.
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"You'll be glad for the experience," he says breezily, "when you have fans in Lumière eager to take a bite out of you."
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But he senses that he's somehow ruined the mood, so he leans over to touch Gustave on the arm, reassuring. "It was good."
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A joke, obviously, because he knows Gustave has experienced horrible dread. He can't quite imagine what it's like to dread that you'll have no more birthdays rather than an endless amount more, but he's sure it isn't pleasant.
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He's resigned himself to being heartbroken later, if the world really is brought safely together, if Verso makes good on his plan to avoid the city. But Gustave has already spent the better part of the past four years heartbroken; he refuses to allow it ruin what contentment he can find for himself now.
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Gustave doesn't look at him, but he's fighting and failing to bite down a smile. "Sexy and incredible? I can't wait to let my friends know back home."
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"A mysterious stranger who came out of nowhere to lay it on that thick?" He shakes his head. "I'm afraid they'll think I'm your imaginary friend."
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"If you don't want to go back yet," he says slowly, hands on his hips and eyes tilted downward, considering. "It wouldn't hurt to take five more minutes."
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"A sense of accomplishment?" is sheepish, and then he laughs again, gesturing to himself. "I'm afraid I don't have anything to offer."
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And! He'll do pretty okay, thank you very much! He will be the one to fling his arm up to breathlessly concede defeat, but he's not ashamed of his performance. "Okay, okay, fine. Give me a minute, and we can head back."
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And he does give Gustave a minute, not only because he's a little breathless himself. He wants to check in before Gustave has to return to the others; his fingers brush Gustave's elbow briefly, and he says, "Feeling better?"
This had all been ostensibly to cheer Verso up, but he'd seen the unrest on Gustave's face after they'd brought Noco back. Something about it had been upsetting, and Verso can imagine why. It's difficult to contend with the realities of this existence. He's been doing it for decades, and it's still hard; Gustave has only had a few days.
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"Thanks. This was— yeah. Thank you."
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"I live to please," he repeats, a hint of amusement in his voice, before taking a step away and beckoning Gustave to follow. "Come on."
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btw i initially read this as gustave offering verso a piece of chewed up fruit jerky
you can't prove he didn't
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fuck don't look at me
now all of china knows that was gonna be your first sentence
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