superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

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."

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.

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."

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.

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?"

"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."

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."

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."

Verso peels off his uniform trousers and deposits them in a heap on the floor, kicking them to the side and out of the way before he leans a hand back on the table, very much trying to pose attractively again. He can't remember the last time someone saw him fully undressed. It's a little intimidating.

A moment passes, and then he says, "Are we just going to stand here and stare at each other, then? Unconventional, but it could be hot."

Gustave doesn't seem to have any body shyness of his own, folding his arms in contemplation as he very openly checks Verso out. "No, it is hot, no question about it. From where I'm standing, at least." His eyes flick down, then back up to Verso's face. "So impatient, anyway. I'm trying to figure out if you're worth splinters in the knees."

That's— fair, actually. He probably should have thought ahead a little more, been more conscientious. Like a cat knocking an expensive vase off of the table, he tosses his jacket on the floor. "Wonder no more."

Gustave laughs aloud, a short and surprised sound, pushing forward suddenly like he's going to turn to stone if he doesn't kiss Verso immediately. It's a slightly aggressive kiss, at least at far as Gustave is typically concerned, more tongue and teeth than usual— though softened by the careful way he reaches between them to gently palm Verso's erection. "You are a criminally beautiful man. You're not allowed back in Lumière, actually. The competition for you will end me."

He doesn't mind tongue and teeth at all; when he pulls away, it's only to lick his palm and wrap his fingers around Gustave's erection in turn. Never let it be said that he's not a giver! He's just a shade more rough with Gustave than Gustave is with him, slow but firm.

"I should be the one worried about that." Sciel's assertion that he'll be forgotten about the moment Gustave's real point of interest returns knocks around in his skull. He pushes the feelings that stirs in him way, way down. "Luckily," he says with a squeeze, "you're terminally oblivious."

"You— ah—" Gustave's first attempt sort of just sputters out; it's not easy to be eloquent with a handsome man's hand squeezing your dick. He pulls away from him (with open faced reluctance), before he drops smoothly to his knees. Verso's jacket under his bare kneecaps isn't quite cushiony, but he'll admit it could be worse.

"I think," he starts again, holding Verso's erection firm so he can lick the very tip, "you overestimate my popularity."

It's possible Gustave is back in Science Experiment Mode now that he can easily see Verso's face.

No, Gustave underestimates how hot he is. Case in point: watching him sink to his knees is the most erotic thing Verso has experienced in— a very, very long time. Heat pools in his stomach, and he inhales sharply at the sensation of Gustave's tongue, hand resting gently on his head. There's no insistence to it, just fond fingers brushing his hair back.

"Oh, good," he says, and it comes out sounding a little stupider than he wishes it would have. "I hate sharing."

Gustave does his very best not to think about the unspoken implications of that statement, especially in light of the way that he and Verso have very much not broached the idea of labels, of boundaries. "Yeah," he agrees a bit hoarsely, brown eyes searching Verso's pale blue ones for just a single long moment, and he leans his head up slightly at that touch like a shy cat. "Me, too."

It's easy like this, having physical proof of Verso's interest literally in front of his face. Never let it be said that Gustave isn't a quick study; his grip is firm but gentle, chasing his own hand with his mouth, and he doesn't pull away to scold him this time. He will, however, stop quite abruptly when he thinks he can feel a tremor in Verso's thighs, leaning in to instead press a sharp kiss to the bone of his hip.

"I like doing that more than I thought I would," he mumbles, casual, like he's not deliberately edging him.

Verso stares down at Gustave, breathing out a shaky breath as he tries to figure out a polite way to tell Gustave to get back in there and finish the job. He can't even tell if it's on purpose — surely it must be, but then again, Gustave uses the word 'intercourse'. Verso's not sure if he even knows what edging is; he's just glad that Gustave has any idea at all how sex happens between two people with the same parts.

"Yeah," he says in a strained voice, pointed but trying not to sound overly insistent. "Yeah, I was actually just starting to like it, too."

Dick.

Gustave looks up at him again, color high on his cheeks. There's warmth and mischief both in his expression, bracing his hand against Verso's thigh. "My knees hurt," he says. "Help me up?"

Verso stares again, dumbfounded at the idea that sweet Gustave is apparently about to give him blue balls. After everything!! "Um," he says, blinking. He's still painfully hard, and the thought of Gustave just stopping is agonizing, but he can't exactly do anything about it.

So, his hand slides out from Gustave's hair, palm out for the taking.

Gustave uses his hand to pull himself to his feet, and he's laughing a little bit at the Verso's genuinely speechlessness. "Sorry," he says, pressing a kiss to his cheek, his jaw, mouthing at his neck. "Sorry, I can keep going in a second, just— trying to savor you."

"I'm a hundred," he gripes, "if you savor me any more I'll be dessicated."

Facetious, of course, because he looks eternally youthful, thanks. Just look at this 26-year-old face. Smooth and wrinkle-free.

"—But I wouldn't want to hurt your old knees." He tugs Gustave in by the hips, pelvis to pelvis. He's sensitive and wet from Gustave's mouth, shuddering a little at the contact. "Let me do all the work."

It's true: Verso absolutely, definitely does not look like he's pushing forty at minimum in most scenes. "All the work, huh," he echoes, his voice a little rough at the edges. It's idiotic that Verso shuddering like that gives him pleasant goosebumps, but that's where they're at.

He laughs then, quietly and at himself as he lifts his head. The apology rounds out with some more ego fluffing. "I don't think I've ever— I didn't even realize I could be this attracted to a man. Merde."

Don't say that, Gustave, poor Lucien died for you!! But Verso will gladly take advantage of it regardless, even though it probably helps his chances a lot that there are literally only three people in existence right now that aren't Renoir or legally related to Gustave. Pickings are pretty slim.

"Happy to enlighten you," he says, pressing a thigh between Gustave's and rutting gently against his leg, since apparently he really does have to do everything around here if he wants to come within the next century. "Always glad to be of service."

Okay, the way he can actually feel Verso's hips twitching against him makes Gustave feel a little bad. He'd been aiming for sexy playfulness, for - well, okay. Maybe for greedily dragging this interaction out, because if he's certain of anything, it's that this might be the most privacy that the two of them ever actually get, and there's not even a door to this hut.

"You talk so much without saying anything at all sometimes," he says a little breathlessly, reaching to take Verso in hand with the clear intent to stroke him to completion. Gustave isn't kissing him again, caught by a weird concern that Verso might find his own dick second-hand unpleasant. Instead, he just swallows and tries to tuck his mouth in near his ear, breath slightly uneven against it.

Fine, if Gustave is going to complain about his talking. He doesn't need to talk at all; the feeling of Gustave's hand on him is instant relief, and he wraps a hand around Gustave's head to hold him there as he bucks into his palm, coming against his hand with a groan a moment later.

So much for seeing his face. Oh, well. He takes a few breaths, enjoying the come-down, before he takes Gustave by his scrawny little hips and manhandles him so that he's the one leaning against the table instead; if he gets ass splinters, that's a personal problem that Verso will not be taking responsibility for. He's fairly certain Gustave likes being kissed more than he'd like beard burn on his inner thighs—although he can't be sure—so Verso presses against him, tongue licking into his mouth as he strokes him from base to tip.

Then, pulling back a little: "Good?"

idk i kind of liked the tag before

gustave standing there like a mime 🧍

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oh we pulled out the slutty v neck icon

couldn't be helped....

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