superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

"Not exactly the word I'd use," Gustave says slowly, doing the absolute bare minimum to pretend he's not shocked that it's still standing. He bumps Verso's shoulder with his own, shooting him a sidelong glance. "I could probably whip up the blueprints for a nice treehouse, you know. Wouldn't be that hard at all."

It's only a real offer if Verso decides this hut is a better place to live his life than the repainted streets of Lumière.

"Wouldn't be that hard. And he's modest, too," Verso teases, but that's the end of that conversation. If he wanted something better after this, he could have it. There's a whole manor out there that'll be uninhabited, but the thought of living alone within those walls is too painful. A ramshackle hut feels more fitting, besides. Can't let himself have too good of a life.

The entrance doesn't just lack a locking door, it lacks a door entirely. He takes a few steps inside, shoes stepping on uneven floorboards where bits of red grass peek through, and holds out a hand toward Gustave.

"Can I take your coat, monsieur?"

There are a million near-salvageable buildings scattered all over the Continent. Gustave thinks back to the remnants of the farm they'd seen on the Stone Waves Cliff, or the eerie but beautifully lopsided structures in the Floating Waters. Surely Verso didn't lack for habitable spaces. As much as Gustave gripes about the gestrals, he can't say he blames Verso for wanting to keep close to some sort of civilization.

He follows Verso inside what feels like a glorified child's clubhouse, allows himself to look amused as he carefully extricates the flower from his jacket before he peels it off and hands it to Verso. Not a clue where he's going to put it, but it's been through worse at this point. "I can see the appeal," he muses, apparently checking the structural integrity of one of the walls.

Verso watches as Gustave removes the flower, smiling to himself, privately pleased. He takes the jacket, folding it before placing it on a just-as-makeshift table next to a stack of well-read books. He takes his own off as well, a bit less careful with it as he sets it beside Gustave's. This jacket has been through hell and back a few times over. Failing to properly fold it won't be the thing to ruin it.

He leans against the table, then, hands behind him to brace against it. "I wouldn't have taken you here if I thought it was going to collapse on you, you know." With a crooked smile, he adds, "And your lack of faith in me is disheartening."

Gustave leans past him, just to carefully lay the flower atop his own jacket, before he laughs a little sheepishly at Verso's assessment. "Nothing against you," he says, then gently raps his knuckles against the wall, as if accepting that they're sound. "It's just how I am."

He's trying not to think about what an appealing sight Verso makes like that, choosing to instead try to read the names of the books off the spines. "Fiction is your preference, or were these all you could find?" It's curious, not judgemental.

"Both," he says with a shrug, gaze dropping to the stack of books. "I guess... escapism runs in the family."

Bad joke, but not untrue. The only one who ever faced reality head-on was Clea. She didn't much care for fiction, either. Thought so much of it was 'derivative'.

"You can borrow some, if you like. I've got them memorized."

"Maybe we'll have to restart that long-abandoned book club when we're back in the city," Gustave considers. "But I'll pack them up before we leave. Surely reading is a better way to spend my time in the evening than fussing with the journal appendices."

They're as solid as they're going to get— it's likely clear to everyone but Gustave at this point that it's more a channel for his anxiety than anything else.

"Is this the part where I say I have an even better way for you to spend your evenings, or should I wait for more cajoling first?"

Just putting that out there!! Obviously, he's not beating the megaslut allegations.

Gustave laughs at that, shifting to take one of the books. He can't handle not having something to fidget with when he feels a bit awkward, even if it is the pleased sort of awkwardness. "You're not going to tell me it's best to wait until we're back in the city?"

Guilt pangs in his chest at that, the expectation Gustave has of Verso to both keep him on the hook and keep the line long. It isn't unwarranted, and maybe he should. But keeping Gustave at arm's length has done nothing to stop Verso from getting here regardless, and they'll have so little time together, in the grand scheme of things. It can't hurt to experience something good for just a little while before he dissolves from everyone's life like he was never there to begin with. Escapism does run in the family.

He tilts his head, glancing down at the book in Gustave's hands. The Man in the Iron Mask.

"Do you want me to?"

It's not a slim book, and Gustave is sincerely looking forward to having the chance to read it. It's been longer than he's realized since he's just settled down and read for the pleasure of it. Maybe it'll settle some of the buzzing in his chest.

"No, actually," he admits, cutting his eyes up to Verso. "I'd love to spend more evenings with you."

Verso's mouth twitches, and he's grateful for having removed his jacket, because he feels a little warm. "Likewise."

He taps his fingers against the wood of the table, expelling idle, restless energy that he's not sure where else to put. "Glad we cleared that up, then."

Verso isn't the only one. He turns the book over in his hands again, like he's checking the pages. "So— was that it for the tour? Just the table?" What do normal people talk about he has no idea!!!!

Verso laughs again, ducking his head; it might not be intentional, but Gustave is really criticizing his domicile here. Fair, considering there's not much to tour. The table, some assorted crates, a pot for boiling water. Damn, you live like this? is a fair reaction.

"Well, over there's the kitchen," he says, gesturing vaguely to a pot. A cant of his head: "And there's the living room." Then, to an empty spot on the floor: "And that's usually the bedroom, but I didn't want to be presumptuous."

Gustave gets it!! Really! Mostly. He'd mostly been uncertain how to ask did you have a step planned after this, because he'd equally like to not be presumptuous. It wasn't impossible that Verso just wanted to share the knowledge of this little bit of his life with him.

"I like it," he says, then chuckles at himself. "No, really. Home is home, whatever shape that takes." He cringes slightly at the cheesiness he can hear in his own tone, flapping a hand at Verso as if to say don't bother, I know. He tries for gentle teasing again. "Basically zero light pollution, too. That's nice."

This is perhaps the most socially awkward man alive. Verso cocks his head as he watches Gustave chatter; he can't believe that he actually finds this charming, but he does. He lets the prattling continue, leaning back a little further onto his hands until he's sure that Gustave is done.

"Not that I don't appreciate the babbling, but I was just wondering how much longer I'm going to have to pose here attractively before you get the hint."

It has been so long.

Gustave stares at him a moment, dumbfounded, pretending he's not feeling his face go warm. "You are always posing attractively," he says like that's a complaint, very comfortable at this point with admitting that he always finds Verso physically appealing.

He will move to close the small distance between them, crowding Verso against the makeshift table. "I didn't realize it was an invitation this time."

Verso, the most opaque person alive, can see no way that he could have been clearer. He gave Gustave a flower, took him to his terrible hut, showed him the books that he's spent hours, days, and weeks reading. Maybe it's nothing to Gustave, who is painfully sincere and never anything but true, but showing someone any real part of himself requires an awful amount of emotional vulnerability from Verso. It was a proposition for romance from the beginning.

He makes space for Gustave between his legs, hooking an ankle behind Gustave's and reeling him in. "Oh, we should probably work on those hand signals, then."

An echo back to Gustave's ridiculous idea when, mon dieu, he didn't even realize he'd been being flirted with. This whole thing has been an upward battle.

Gustave cottoned on pretty quickly to the fact that something was different about today. Not that it was subtle, exactly: Verso had actually told Maelle they were going out together, had intentionally allowed their path to meander a bit on the way here. It feels like there's room to breathe a little easier.

And, god, he really is easy for Verso, isn't he? He's stepping in closer the second Verso urges him to, leaning in to press a soft, warm kiss against the side of his neck. "Might be helpful," Gustave says quietly, smile a little crooked.

He remembers what Gustave had said: I like it when you kiss me first. It had been soft, quiet, like maybe he'd been embarrassed about wanting to be wanted. Verso takes Gustave's face in his hands, tilting it so that he can press their lips together. He can feel the warmth of Gustave's face against his, and it makes him smile, a little narcissistically. He likes to be wanted, too.

I'll show you some hand signals would probably ruin the romantic vibe he's attempting to cultivate here, so instead, when he pulls back he runs a thumb over Gustave's jaw. "Good thing the gestrals didn't take your facial hair. There'd be rioting in the streets."

It is deeply embarrassing, but he's aware that no smell part of that embarrassment came from just not being used to the dynamics of being fuckbuddies with another man. (Okay, well, not that he'd use that term now with Verso's hands on his face.) He's smiling subtly, unconsciously as he leans in pursuit of another sweet and lingering kiss.

His hand moves to rest on Verso's chest, idly seeking out the steady pulse of his heart. What he thinks is no chance I'd let with near my throat with a blade; what he says is a chuckling, "It doesn't bother you too much?"

As if Gustave would ever be able to use the term 'fuckbuddies' without turning red.

"Bother me?" Verso squints, eyebrows raised skeptically. Gustave seems entirely unaware, even now, of the fact that he's ridiculously hot, facial hair included. Sure, there's a bit of cheek-scratching from their combined hairy faces when they kiss, but he's not opposed to it. It's a little exciting, actually. Something different.

"I think it's sexy." Hence the rioting in the streets. He was talking about himself, idiot. "Does it bother you?"

Honestly, Gustave is barely used to thinking of himself as a sexual creature at all at this point. He'd played dumb to the occasional encounter in Lumière just because that was simpler than the alternative, but it's still strange to think about the fact that someone might look at him with desire. He's really neglected this part of his life, he realizes; maybe that contributed to how goddamn hard he'd fallen for Verso.

"No," he says, reaching up to grab one of Verso's hands on his face so he can turn his head, scattering a few kisses against Verso's palm. He finds basically everything they do together sexy. "But I know how delicate you can be, so..."

Gustave's eyes are bright, warm. Playful, even, at they lock with Verso's.

The kisses to his hand are... sweet. He's still getting used to sweet. It had never been harsh or overly rough, even in the most angst-filled moments, but it had always been very practical; everyone involved had known they were there for a half-dressed, life-affirming fuck in the face of impending doom, and they'd been fine with that. There was never much time for anything else.

"Dainty, really," he agrees good-naturedly, even though he's nothing of the sort. Taking Gustave's chin in his hand, Verso angles him so that he can leave a trail of warm, wet kisses up the side of his neck, teeth scraping against skin in a way that's not at all delicate.

Teasing, he adds, "Be gentle with me, monsieur."

It had occurred more than once to Gustave that the kinder thing for everyone would have been to never have started this in the first place. He should have known better, known that he was incapable of not seeking emotional intimacy in hand with physical intimacy. It would have simply been easier for everyone in the Expedition if he were never part of this odd equation.

Not that he's thinking any of that right now, because the damp heat on his neck is about the only thing he can focus on. "Please tell me you think about our evening at the river as often as I do," he whispers like it might make the admission less embarrassing. Gustave's hand slides up the front of Verso's shirt, just feeling at his stomach to feel him.

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