superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

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?"

There is some vague disappointment at not being able to see Verso's actual expression, but Gustave can't say he actually minds. Being clutched like that while Verso bucked and twitched in his hand stands as, objectively, one of the most intensely arousing moments of his life. He makes a little sound of surprise when Verso turns them, loosely grabbing at Verso's upper arm with his own mechanical one just to brace himself.

He surges eagerly into the kiss, like it's a relief when it happens; his mouth yields easily to Verso's, breath stuttering slightly at the touch. "Yes. Very good." It is possible that he's hoping to make Verso forget any plans for teasing payback if he's complimentary enough.

"Good," he echoes, wry. It's very difficult not to bully Gustave when he really deserves it, but he presses into Gustave's mouth again, tongue sliding against his in a way that makes it very apparent that, no, there's no secondhand distaste here. His hand is just a little on the rough side, emboldened by Gustave's newfound proclivity for being bitten — he would have thought Gustave allergic to anything but soft and tender, but he's not exactly upset that he isn't.

Then— "You don't want me to savor you?" His hand's still moving. It's only an idle threat. "Because I can savor you."

Oh. Had he said that? Gustave said that, hadn't he. Verso might not be edging him on purpose, but he's going to cringe hard at himself, even as his breath catches in his throat at the touch. He chases after the kiss for another one, just as sharp as the last, like he's trying to distract himself from his own frankly embarrassing words.

"You knew what I was like when you invited me to your hut," he mumbles, then groans low under his breath as he rocks his head back, left slightly wild-eyed by that slight roughness in Verso's hand. There's absolutely no reason why a handjob on a rickety makeshift table in the gestral woods should feel this good. What follows immediately after is a half plea: "Just like that, just like that, Verso."

It's pretty insane, actually, that Gustave was even willing to do this after seeing Verso's /r/MaleLivingSpace. Pickings really are slim.

The thought of denying Gustave now is very tempting, but Verso is a people pleaser first and an annoying person second, and the encouragement only spurs him on. Again, Gustave wildly underestimates how hot he is; his voice saying just like that is going to be on repeat in Verso's head for at least a week.

He can tell Gustave is close, and, well, he has a pretty good idea of what gets a guy like this, who tried to cuddle him after their no-strings-attached blowjob exchange in the woods, off. So, he keeps up the steady pump of his hand and leans in toward Gustave's ear like the male manipulator he is, voice soft as he says, "Mon chéri. You're perfect."

Wow! Verso is blatantly and effortlessly playing him like a fiddle, and Gustave is absolutely defenseless against it. He's going to be weirdly annoyed by it later, when he has the time to sit back and actually think about what they've done out here together in this depressing little shack. For now, though, he's going to shiver and clutch Verso as that shoves him predictably, panting, across the finish line.

Gustave leans forward to rest his weight against Verso for just a few seconds — just long enough to collect himself and try to even out his own breathing — before he moves to grab for his trousers from ground. He only has to fight with one pant leg a little, caught between some uneven boards. "Good guy talk," he says, the slightest sheen of sweat on his brow.

It goes both ways: Gustave knew what Verso like before he came with him to his hut. If he didn't want to be manipulated a little during sex, he really shouldn't have taken his clothes off at all.

Verso laughs, then goes searching for something he can use to clean up the mess in his hand. Surely there's a cloth or rag somewhere around here. He yanks one out of a wayward crate, wiping his palm before standing and holding it out for Gustave.

"How do I rank on dates?"

Gustave accepts the cloth with gratitude and tries not to think about how desperately he misses hot showers. "No complaints here," he says, leaning down to start tugging on his insane little boots. There's still the urge to follow sex with emotional intimacy; he's discomfited by the fact that it feels transactional, but it's better to swallow his own unease than to just risk making it outright weird again by trying to loiter in the moment after.

He tilts his head at the books, practically cavalier compared to the way he'd tried to tentatively coax affection from Verso following their previous encounters. "You really don't mind if I borrow one or two?"

For the record, if it feels transactional, it's because Gustave has made it transactional. Verso hadn't expected to cuddle by any means, but he had expected some level of physical affection after all of this, so when Gustave immediately starts talking about books again, he tilts his head in confusion for a moment before awkwardly tugging his pants back on.

"Oh," he says as he steps back into his shoes, trying not to sound like Gustave's shift in behavior is surprising or disappointing. "No, not at all."

He scans the little hut for his shirt, finding it crumpled in a pile under the table. He crouches to retrieve it, saying, drolly, "We can start a book club."

Gustave straightens up, pulling his shirt on over his head as he struggles to try to read Verso's tone. He's trying to be respectful by keeping things businesslike, but that confused head tilt has thrown him slightly.

There's the impulse to beat around the bush, but if they're both evasive and avoidant, they're never going to talk about anything. "'Oh'? Oh, what?" What has he done this time??

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oh we pulled out the slutty v neck icon

couldn't be helped....

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inserts my own slutty v neck icon

you love to see it tbh