tfln overflow / open post

[superniceone]

(open / overflow)

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[superniceone]

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."

[recreatable]

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.

[superniceone]

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.

[recreatable]

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."

[superniceone]

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?"

[recreatable]

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?"

[superniceone]

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.

[recreatable]

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."

[superniceone]

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.

[recreatable]

"Oh, yeah?"

Another kiss to the hollow of Gustave's throat this time, stomach tensing slightly under his touch, and— well, he knows what response Gustave is angling for, a sort of comfort that he isn't alone in his feelings. Verso is willing to oblige—he always is—but that doesn't mean he couldn't use a little ego-fluffing first. So, he pulls back, a twinkle in his eye, as he asks, "How often is that?"

[superniceone]

Gustave doesn't quite mean to make the noise of complaint that he does when Verso's mouth leaves his skin, but there's unfortunately no going back. His hand slides up, firm but smooth pressure that slips to curl at Verso's bare waist.

"Sa mère," he says, and the way he kisses him is like a reprimand. "Every time I look at you. Don't be smug."

[recreatable]

Gustave might as well tell a bird not to fly, a fish not to swim. That's all right, though; he's into this chiding Gustave. Kind of sexy.

"Rookie numbers," he teases, sliding a hand under Gustave's collar. Verso's hand is just slightly cool, Gustave's skin under his shirt just slightly warm, and he splays his fingers out to soak up the body heat. Then, more seriously: "I think about it, too."

Often with mixed feelings, although there's no reason to involve Gustave in his rumination when the mood is, for once, so light. "I hope you know what we did counts as sacrilege." Bad boy, Gustave!!

[superniceone]

Gustave cringes very slightly — at the accusation of sacrilege, not the chilly fingers — and sighs softly, like he's extremely put upon by this knowledge. "It's fine. They'll never know."

His own hand slips to Verso's lower back, toying with the waistband of his trousers. "Do you have any idea how long that bruise stuck around?" Not that Gustave had disliked any part of that, but he'll play up the inconvenience here.

[recreatable]

Gustave gripes when he's treated gently, then gripes when he's treated roughly. One might get the sense that Gustave just likes to gripe.

"Oh," Verso says, although he's clearly not very deterred by the comment, considering the fact that he starts pulling Gustave's shirt off. For once, he's not in any particular rush to get to the finish line this time, but he would appreciate more access to bare skin. For non-bruise-related reasons, obviously.

"Well, I'll make sure to keep my teeth to myself, then, since you're so..." He nudges Gustave's leg with his knee playfully. "Delicate."

[superniceone]

Traditionally, for Gustave, sex has been accompanied by a lot of tender words and gentle touches. He is the sort of man who has classically and genuinely referred to it as making love — and so he falls back on good-natured kvetching, if only because he isn't quite sure what else to say without risking an earnestness that comes across as too real.

He rolls his eyes as he shifts back, peeling his shirt off over his head. "Don't recall asking you to do that," he answers, just letting his shirt fall to the floor before he starts to make similar work of Verso's. "Always reading into things, aren't you."

[recreatable]

Verso watches as Gustave's hair gets mussed by his shirt, then smooths a hand over his own hair when Gustave tugs his off. He doesn't attempt to fix Gustave's. He looks cute with his hair sticking up like that.

"Or," he says before pressing his mouth to the crest of Gustave's shoulder, then the jut of his collarbone. "Maybe I just want to hear you ask for it."

Another kiss to the muscle of Gustave's shoulder—if one can rightly call it a muscle—where he'd left a mark the first time. "That's sexy, too," he murmurs against skin. Gustave's not the only one allowed to want to be wanted.

[superniceone]

Gustave laughs under his breath when he sees Verso quickly tidy his own hair, can't help but think back to Esquie's mournful tone. The vanity should be irritating, but he somehow finds it endearing instead. Maybe it's because it's never used as a weapon against anyone else; maybe he's just in far enough to find annoying little quirks sweet instead.

"Sexy, huh," Gustave echoes, tone amused as he gently clasps the back of Verso's neck. If it were anyone else but Verso with his mouth already on his skin, he'd find it laughable, feel like he was being teased. His throat jumps slightly with the force of his own swallow, and he continues in a lower volume: "I hated when it started to fade." He turns his face, sort of just butting against what he can reach of Verso's head. "You should do it again. Please."

idk i kind of liked the tag before

[recreatable]

The fact that Gustave asks so nicely earns him a laugh, soft and fond. Of course he'd say 'please', sweet boy that he is. If that sends all the blood in Verso's body rushing sharply southward, well, that's nobody's business.

He nudges Gustave's head with his own to gently incline it upward, teeth dragging along the thin skin of his neck. He settles on a patch of skin below the jaw and above Gustave's collar, biting down until he feels the involuntary tensing that comes with pain and replaces his teeth with his lips, soft and soothing over the angry skin.

"So sexy," he says appreciatively, pecking Gustave's jaw. "You have no idea."

gustave standing there like a mime 🧍

[superniceone]

The fact that Gustave finds being bitten arousing genuinely shocks him, especially now with irrefutable proof that it wasn't some one-off thing. Distantly he wonders if he's going to need to pull his weird infinity scarf up higher for a few days. The warmth of the breath against his throat makes the back of his neck prickle.

He clears his throat, then pulls back just enough to give himself room to cradle Verso's jaw, pulling him in for an open-mouthed kiss. Gustave feels greedy, a little naked in his want, still learning to shake off his own sheepishness at that. "Merde. You're—" Irresistible, he wants to say, briefly tongue-tied because it feels too sappy, too dorky. Captivating? No, that's even worse. Verso just used sexy, he can't copy that! "—mesmerizing," he blurts after a beat, fully earnest.

[recreatable]

Just painted that way, Verso doesn't say, because the last thing he needs is for Gustave to have an existential crisis in the middle of sex. After, if he wants.

"I was wondering when you were finally going to return the compliment," he says instead, affectionately pulling on Gustave's proverbial pigtails. He has no real complaints. It's still dorky despite Gustave's best efforts, impossibly sincere, and probably one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to him.

Maybe he can make this work after all, if Gustave just never learns what type of person he really is. Like Gustave said: It's fine. They'll never know.

He's had a lot of time to think about removing Gustave's belt, and it gets easier and easier with practice. It's undone relatively quickly this time, and he slips his thumbs underneath Gustave's waistband, tugging. "Tell me what you want." A pause, and he adds, droll, "And before you ask, everything is on the table, including on the table."

[superniceone]

The very first thing Gustave is going to do when he gets back to Lumière is find some sort of reference material for how it is that men usually have sex!! This is not something he has spent a lot of time researching, and Gustave is not the type of person who deals well with jumping into situations without the proper research.

"I don't trust that table to hold us," Gustave huffs, tipping his head forward to rest briefly against Verso's shoulder. He can't quite look at him as he sort of just vocalizes his thoughts, working deftly at Verso's belt at the same time. "Well, traditional— intercourse is out of the question, at least until we're back in Lumière and can source— you know— proper... supplies." If they're going to fuck each other they'll need lube, is what he's taking a million years to say. He pulls Verso's belt loose, sliding his hand around and beneath his waistband to squeeze his ass. "I liked— you know, using my mouth. But it's a bit brighter than it's been before, and I wouldn't mind getting to see your face when— you know—"

Gustave will allow his anxious rambling to trail off there. "Sorry," he mumbles, and then turns his face to abruptly suck a hickey into the warm skin of his throat, like some sort of strange apology.

His metal arm is more than enough for most things in his life, but occasionally he does wish he had two to touch with, to feel with, and it flexes a little uselessly, moving to brace against the table.

[recreatable]

Wow. He can't believe he wants to have intercourse with someone who says 'intercourse' in all seriousness.

Gustave has just babbled for ages and not actually answered Verso's question in the slightest; he can practically feel the anxiety radiating off of him, like the fact that there's things about this that are unknown to him is unbearable. He thinks about reassuring Gustave that it's all right to feel nervous, and that half the time he's just faking his confidence, too, but he wonders if it might be embarrassing to have his inexperience called out, so he does none of that.

Instead, he just tugs Gustave's waistband down further, encouraging him to step out of his trousers. He'll have to kick off his shoes himself. Rude to be wearing them inside Verso's home, anyway. "So," he says warmly, like Gustave didn't just win an Olympic medal in stumbling over his words. "Hand signals, then?"

[superniceone]

"A quick mercy killing might be the kindest thing you can do for us both," Gustave says, and only barely stops himself from stumbling when he takes a step back to toe his boots off. He shoots Verso a pointed look, indignant like his face hasn't flushed bright red. "I'm not the only one getting naked here."

[recreatable]

Gustave gingerly toes out of his boots, and Verso kicks his off with two flicks of his ankles, letting them tumble across the uneven floorboards. They've never actually gotten all the way undressed; there'd always been pants pooled around their ankles, shoes still on. He watches Gustave get naked, as he'd described it, with appreciative curiosity before reaching down to pull his own pants off, chiding, "I have to do everything myself around here."

[superniceone]

It's worse than that: Gustave had always guided them down to the ground before the clothes started being pulled loose. Their pants had barely made it past 'shucked to the thighs,' which is why he's watching Verso with such an intense expression of similar appreciative curiosity. "Pardon me for not helping, monsieur," he says, brow crinkling in amusement. "I was trying not to trip over my own uniform."