tfln overflow / open post

[superniceone]

(open / overflow)

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[recreatable]

It's not really any of Gustave's business what hurts him, so he chooses not to acknowledge that comment. Besides, at this point, he struggles to see how things could get much worse. He reaches down to work on Gustave's belt buckle, saying, "He calls it 'fucking' now. And here I thought it was just community service."

[superniceone]

Gustave flusters slightly, more at the call-out than the actual phrasing. They're well past the point of polite euphemism, he thinks, and he gently knocks Verso's hand away so he can deftly undo his own. "You get yours," he says, all business now; his mechanical arm is great for most things, but does add just a little bit of conplexity when it comes to pulling loose someone else's belt.

He is not even slightly aroused by what has so far just been standing in the woods and watching Verso suffer, but he'll figure it out.

[recreatable]

This is not even a little bit sexy, and pales in comparison to the near-sacrilege they committed by the Sacred River. Verso undoes his belt anyway. What else is he going to do, go off by himself and cry? He'll probably do that later.

Once he's dealt with his own belt, he reaches out to unbutton Gustave's pants like this isn't the weirdest, saddest sex in the world. He at least has the decency to feel a little bad about it, mumbling, "Sorry I forgot the candles."

[superniceone]

Gustave exhales a sound that's almost a laugh, surprised by the apology. "Hey, come here, slow down a little," he says, gentling his voice. He's trying to coax Verso's face up, wants to pull him into a kiss if it's possible at all, but he'll settle for just trying to skim Verso's jacket off in turn if he's denied.

He'll spin it as just needing a little time to get the metaphorical engine going, will fully accept the mantle of guy who kisses too much if he has to.

[recreatable]

Gustave is sweet. He's not feeling particularly deserving of sweet right now, but Verso has taken a lot of things he's not deserving of, so he lets Gustave kiss him anyway. He likes it when Gustave kisses him first, too, but saying that would mean exposing that he's been replaying their last encounter somewhat incessantly, so he keeps it to himself. His fingers still on Gustave's waistband, and he laughs humorlessly against Gustave's mouth before pulling back.

"It would probably be too much to ask for this not to be a turn-off, wouldn't it?"

[superniceone]

Gustave feels way more like he's floundering than being sweet. He can say with all honesty that this is the first and only time in his life that someone has sought him out for an angsty trauma hookup. More than anything, he's just worried about Verso, but he has no idea how well saying that out loud would go over.

"Mostly I'm thinking that the grass is a little damp," he says, leaning in to sort of brush a kiss against Verso's shoulder, before he kicks his own jacket out a bit flatter. "Sit down. My knees are too old to do all this standing up." He's— okay, well, he's rambling a little bit; he doesn't want to be sent back to the camp alone while Verso is transparently in pain.

[recreatable]

Damn, Gustave really hasn't lived. A good 50% of Verso's hookups have been the angsty, trauma-fueled kind, at least on one side. Lots of Expeditioners afraid to die.

He settles down on the jacket that Gustave very romantically kicked around, smoothing it out a little in an attempt to make this situation not the least appealing one Gustave has ever been in. The back of his neck is a little hot with embarrassment now that the uncomfortableness of the situation is sinking in; maybe he should have gone off to cry alone, actually, instead of trying to engage Gustave in grief-sex.

"Yeah, you really are an old fart," he says, an attempt to lighten the mood.

fuck don't look at me

[superniceone]

"That's what I hear," Gustave agrees softly, and he really does stare down at Verso for is what an inappropriately long moment while he tries to decide what his own next move is going to be. In a strictly practical sense, the ground really is a little too damp to just comfortably park on. Under a less practical lens, he's aware awkward advances are always much easier to overlook in the heat of the moment... and this moment is still pretty much room temperature.

He decides to just do it. If Verso laughs in his face, well— that's better than seeming fully devastated. Gustave doesn't quite park in his lap; he straddles Verso's thighs with bent knees, keeping all of his weight off him. "Uh. We can stand back up if this is— insane."

now all of china knows that was gonna be your first sentence

[recreatable]

Against all odds, Verso does laugh. It's not at the verifiable unsexiness of it all, not malicious. It's just so laughable that Gustave would have any uncertainty about this when not long ago, Verso crawled on top of him, pinned him down, and bit him like a feral animal.

"Insane," he repeats, incredulous. Although the moment is, yes, far from heated, he'd be lying if he said his body temperature didn't raise a degree from having Gustave in this position. He presses a hand against the small of Gustave's back, encouraging him to rest his weight on his lap. "Deranged, I think. Can't believe they haven't locked you up."

[superniceone]

Gustave had neither crawled on nor pinned nor bitten at Verso, which were all verifiably sexy things to do to a partner as saw it. What he had done was make Verso sit on his jacket and then awkwardly hover over his legs while he was grieving the death of his younger sister. The vibes were entirely different.

"Shut up," he exhales, clear as ever that he doesn't mean it as he gingerly eases himself down into an actual seat on him. (He's not a man who has ever been particularly hung up on masculinity, but it's something to unpack later— the way he didn't bat an eye at Verso on his lap, but how self-conscious he felt about the inverse.)

There's another moment of hesitation, before he props his forearm on Verso's shoulder, gently sliding his fingers through the root of his hair at the base of his skull. "I imagine centenarians must have fragile bones," he says, mock dead serious. "Had to be sure I wasn't going to crush anything delicate."

[recreatable]

Verso feels the urge to lean into Gustave's touch and, instead of anything sexual, have him comfortingly pet his hair all night. That's insane.

The teasing does lift his spirits a bit. There's a dampened quality to the energy he gives back, tired, but it's there all the same as he lets his hands rest on Gustave's thighs. They're skinnier than he'd expect under those baggy trousers, so much so that Verso has to wonder if Gustave didn't come on this Expedition a little physically unprepared, but certainly not unappealing.

"You are very robust," he says, droll. "It's a wonder I didn't shatter into a million pieces."

[superniceone]

It's something Sophie used to do for him when he was ill or tired or a victim of his own anxiety. She always claimed that it was just because she liked to play with his mop of soft, fluffy hair, but they both quietly knew it was always more to soothe him than anything else.

"Robust," he muses, tipping in to rest his forehead lightly against Verso's, blunt nails gentle now against his scalp. "First you compare me to Monoco, and now to a solid red wine. Not sure how I should be taking all this."

[recreatable]

This, finally, is an area where Gustave has significantly more experience. It's been decades since he felt tender human touch, the closest thing to it—embarrassingly—huddling with Monoco in the cold. It's horrific how readily he responds to it now, forehead leaning into Gustave's. He wants to stop himself, but he can't override the base human desire for closeness.

"Handsome," he says quietly, trying not to commit the feel of Gustave's breath on his face to memory. "I also said handsome."

[superniceone]

"Mm. Yes, I did like that one." Gustave keeps his own voice low, like speaking too loudly might shatter a part of the moment they're sharing now. He lapses into silence after that, privately hoping that Verso will just allow this for a little while.

It's a different sort of intimacy than the sort they've shared already, but no less intimate all the same; it's deeply comforting, and he feels a little guilty for that, like he's taking advantage of Verso's vulnerability. Regardless, he won't stop what he's doing until there's some sort of indication that Verso wants him to.

[recreatable]

It doesn't make it any more respectable, but Verso still feels pathetic the whole time. He closes his eyes and lets Gustave soothe him for several long seconds, the gentle scrape of his fingernails pacifying in some difficult to describe way. He has a sense-memory of being young and emotional and being consoled by people who loved him; maybe it isn't really his memory as much as it is one that he stole, but he leans into the nostalgia of it all the same.

"Putain de merde," he exhales in chagrin after an extended moment, hanging his head against Gustave's shoulder. "Don't tell the others I made such a fool of myself."

[superniceone]

There's brief hesitation in Gustave's touch, before his hand settles firmly on Verso's neck again, his thumb carefully sweeping bare skin in a way that's meant to be consoling.

"How so?" He asks, nudging a kiss against Verso's temple through his hair. It's soft, casual, like he's done it a million times before, and not like his heart is hammering too hard in his chest. "You're foolish because you... have emotions? Because you asked me to undress? That's hurtful, Verso."

[recreatable]

Because of all of those things, and because he's now making Gustave comfort someone seven decades his senior like a child. In a moment of weakness, he grasps at the back of Gustave's shirt with his hands, recalling the awkward embrace they'd had on the edge of camp after Maelle had reassembled Gustave from memory. He hadn't appreciated it enough then. Soon, he'll be alone again, and there'll be no one to comfort him.

He keeps his face buried against Gustave's shoulder, too mortified by his own vulnerability to show his face. Muffled in the fabric of Gustave's shirt: "At least tell me I look appealingly tortured."

[superniceone]

"I happen to be into tortured guys," Gustave murmurs, affectionately and intentionally mimicking Verso's phrasing. The grip he can feel on his shirt breaks his heart. It's not shameful to love your family is what he wants to tell him; that he can't imagine the pain of watching his father and sister go from immortality to oblivion in front of his face without the room for so much as a genuine goodbye. The Gommage had been insidious partially because there was never any question about getting closure. There was always a chance.

Gustave shifts just enough to relieve some pressure from one of his legs, but he clutches Verso as he does, trying to telegraph that this isn't a hint to move. "You're going to be in trouble when you're feeling better, in fact. Might be that you start waking up with me attached to you like a bedbug."

[recreatable]

There is no part of this that feels tortured and sexy; it feels pitiful and selfish and somewhat deranged, seeking comfort from somebody he's wronged more times than Gustave knows. Doing selfish and deranged things is hardly new to him, though, so he presses his face into the fabric of Gustave's shirt a moment longer, inhaling, before he forces himself to pull back.

Merde. The fantasy of being put down like a sick dog grows stronger.

"You're going to destroy those knees, old man."

[superniceone]

"Payback for last week, isn't it? I'm fine." Verso pulls back and Gustave watches him - tries not to make it so obvious that he is, but there's only so many things you can look at sitting cowgirl on someone's lap.

He isn't sure what's going to come next, but he has a guess. "Hey," Gustave says, a little more seriously. "We don't have to talk about it. Or— anything. But let me be here. Physically, if nothing else."

[recreatable]

Gustave has been conditioned to expect Verso to leave the moment things get uncomfortable, and he wouldn't be wrong that Verso is thinking about it now. It feels deeply wrong to have unmasked himself in this way, and he can feel himself scrambling to put it back on before Gustave sees something he doesn't like.

He's quiet for a moment, contemplative, eyes cast down from Gustave's face and resting on his collarbone instead. It is, objectively, a nice collarbone. He leans forward to press his mouth to the notch between collarbone and throat, then says, "You can tell me to stop."

[superniceone]

The main problem here is that Gustave doesn't want him to stop, and it makes him feel a little bit monstrous. This is the most blatantly he's ever seen Verso hurt, and it's not like this Expedition has been easy on any of them so far. He's not sure if the mouth on his skin is because that's what he wants to do, it if he just thinks Gustave meant something else by physically.

"I'm easy," he says softly, then pulls a face at himself. "Easygoing, I mean. I mean— I definitely don't mind, just don't force yourself to do anything." Exasperated.

[recreatable]

It's probably a bad sign that they're both giving each other outs. Verso hesitates—because Gustave did say he wanted to 'be there for him physically, and it's difficult to imagine what else that could mean—before letting his head rest against Gustave's shoulder again, somewhere between horrified and amused at the situation he's blundered his way into.

"You're supposed to take advantage of my compromised state," he chides. "Clearly, I underestimated your gallantry."

[superniceone]

Gustave will firmly stand by the fact that he'd meant physical affection like this, not necessarily sex. He sighs, turning his face to press another idle kiss into Verso's hair. "Don't praise me too much," he says like he's telling a secret, just sheepishly scrambling to lighten the mood. "One or two moments I'll probably be revisiting in my head when I'm alone later."

[recreatable]

Verso cannot think of a single moment that Gustave might want to replay. A wet kitten is sexier than Verso is right now. This whole thing has been a mess from start to finish, and it couldn't possibly get worse—

Maelle calls his name in the distance; understandably, since she probably thinks he's gone off to try to test the limits of his immortality. He doesn't mean to shove Gustave off, it's just that Gustave happens to be on his lap and his belt is undone and he really doesn't want to sear that image into poor Maelle's brain. Apparently, she has the same idea, because she calls, "Please don't be doing anything weird!"

Rudely jostled back into reality, he curses under his breath as he scrambles to do his belt up. "We should get back."