superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

"That's disappointing," Gustave says, a little amused as he admits: "I feel like I might actually finally win a game of chess against Esquie." So much of the game is just predicting what the other player is going to do, and Gustave is an extremely smart man who fails horribly in that regard.

He looks thoughtful, finally taking off his shoes like it's a declaration that he's going to stay a while longer. "But the gestrals—" Is there a delicate way to ask this? He's not sure. "They've, ah— always been this way?" Gustave is a full-ass hater and privately wonders if they get dumber every time they resurrect, but he's just gonna imply that instead of saying it outright.

"I'm not sure what you mean." He is, but Gustave should have to own his hater-ness out loud. "Always been... wooden?"

Gustave stares at him, both incredulous and extremely stubborn — and also, maybe leaning into it a little, hoping to make Verso laugh. "Completely fucking unhinged?" Monoco threw a knife at Verso's face less than ten minutes ago.

Water under the bridge!

"Hey," Verso says in mock-warning. "They're not..." 'Not unhinged'. He can't say that without sounding a bit unhinged himself. "...Well, not completely unhinged. Most of them, anyway."

Maybe he's just spent far too much time in their presence, but he's fond of them. They're his little guys! "They're more simple than humans. Easier to please."

"Hey, I wasn't trying to say humans are better. How many Expeditions were wiped out by eating the wrong thing?" It's tragic too, sure, but he feels like it makes his point.

Gustave thinks about the way Verso had asked so softly, so earnestly how to make him happy, and he thinks his ribs could break for the ache there. "Anyway. I'm an extremely easy man to please. Sounds like you just have a type."

"Easy to please?" is delivered with a skeptical raise of his brow. Out of everything he likes about Gustave, being easy to please isn't one of those things. It feels as if Verso has just made one misstep after the other with him—

—which is perhaps evidence of being easy to please after all, considering Gustave is somehow still here.

Still, he holds out his thumb and forefinger, nearly touching. "I hate to break it to you, but you're a bit more complex than a gestral."

They've both made massive missteps. It's the end of the world around them, and almost no one else knows; it'd be more shocking if they'd handled things more competently.

Which means Gustave is mock affronted by the assessment. "I stained my coat with grass and was still upset and jealous when you called things off. That's not the way a complicated man would have reacted."

Verso laughs, although he feels a bit embarrassed at the memory of 'calling things off'. It had been stupid and clumsy, but he'd thought he was doing the right thing. Maybe it was the right thing, and he should have stuck to his guns. Wasn't he planning on dumping Gustave again (for either the third or fourth time, depending on if you count the week of ghosting)? How quickly his principles crumple because of some scrawny asshole.

He's into scrawny assholes, unfortunately, or at least this scrawny asshole. Lounging attractively against the desk, he shoots Gustave a megawatt smile. "Maybe I'm just that good."

Gustave is happy to indulge Verso in— well, basically anything, because he's fully bought in to the Dessendre propaganda, at least as far as it concerns the two younger children of the family. It's still not enough to stop the dry look, because he's certain they're both fully aware at this point that neither of them really had any idea what they were doing. The closest thing to actual 'romance' was a blowjob in a ramshackle hut, or maybe a clumsy handjob whilst they were both crammed into a divan.

Not that it was bad by any stretch, but the playful smugness felt like an invite to tease. "You're definitely better than any other man I've been with," he says seriously. "Top of the list for sure."

Ouch!!! Don't tell him where he ranks among all genders — his ego is too fragile. Verso raises an eyebrow, although he's still smiling. "Next you're going to tell me I 'have a good personality'." The worst thing you can say to a person, honestly.

"Am I supposed to have a problem with your personality, Verso?" He's genuinely confused by this one, scanning him in curiosity, before he pulls his tie loose. Verso's version of dressing up for the day seemed a lot more appealing to him than what he'd been forced into.

Yes, he probably should have a problem with Verso's personality, but that's not what he was getting at!!

"It's, uh, what you say when someone only has a good— you know what, never mind." He cannot possibly awkwardly explain all of his pithy quips to Gustave. Cringing a little: "It's not as irreverent if I have to explain it."

"Right," he says, and maybe he should!! But Verso didn't let him die for some reason in this timeline, so maybe Gustave just has some kind of weird metaphysical gratitude thing going on, who knows. "Feels like a really bad way to insult someone as infuriatingly attractive as you, but sure."

"It was a joke," he says, stopping short of saying 'OBVIOUSLY the punchline is how handsome I am'. "I've heard some people tell them in the pursuit of making people they like laugh. Debatable results so far, though."

Come on, man. He turned on the 'PLEASE CLAP' sign.

"Besides, we both know you're here for entirely superficial reasons."

"Hey, I got the joke," Gustave says, playfully defensive as he thumbs through the book just to give himself something to do with his hands. "I just thought you liked when I told you how handsome you are." It still feels strange, somehow, flirting with Verso — he's a little incredulous, still, that Verso would want to hear compliments from someone like him, but he feels that similar urge to try to cheer him up.

"Oh, I do," is shameless. "But I'm not that easy. Unlike you"—apparently, since Gustave wants to argue that he's the simplest man in the world—"I really am more complex than a gestral."

Brag.

"It's all about reading between the lines," he explains, wry like reading between the lines isn't actually a necessary skill for interacting with him. "For example, one usually lounges attractively for this long because they're hoping you'll touch them instead of fondling your book."

Look. Gustave is not the only one here screaming notice me. The least he could do is let their knees accidentally brush.

Gustave exhales a startled sort of laugh at that, putting the book next to him on the bed and standing up. "I asked if this was meaningful lounging or not," he says. "I am learning." But he doesn't want to be a creep and just assume Verso is open to advances every time he lounges!! He seems like a guy who enjoys a good lounge!

He catches Verso by the waist, trying to draw him over. "Besides— I'm trying to be polite while your roommate is home."

Verso would have been content with the brush of a pinky finger, which is hardly impolite; he laughs in response, winding his arm around Gustave's (snatched???) waist and tugging him closer in turn. Again, a serial one-upper. "Fair. Monoco might throw a knife at you to protect my honor."

His nonexistent honor.

"But," he continues, "you should know that I shrivel up like a raisin without attention."

It's not as if Gustave minds it. The weariness in his bones is still there, and— okay, well, part of him is very much afraid that Verso is just going to shatter into a thousand little jagged bits if too much pressure is applied to him at any given moment, but the arm around his waist feels secure. Solid. So Gustave allows himself to lean heavily into Verso for just a few seconds, briefly leeching comfort from the nearness of another body.

"Mm. I'll schedule it into my diary. Compliments at ten am, fawning at noon. Coy looks around dinner, maybe?"

He laughs again, rolling his eyes a little. Gustave is too easy! He can't help but remember, though, Gustave's uncertainty, the way he'd wondered if they shouldn't be doing something more productive with their time. Verso's not quite sure what there is for him to do anymore besides vanish, but Gustave—

"You know," he says, tone casual that Gustave doesn't take it the wrong way. "If you do have more productive things you need to be doing with your time..."

A gentle squeeze, and then he releases Gustave from his grip. "I promise not to fling myself onto the bed crying."

Gustave doesn't pull away immediately. He should. He should. He'd feel better, maybe, if he was taking actionable steps, working toward some kind of plan. He hums, kind of acknowledging what Verso has said, and mostly just stalling.

He's half-smiling apologetically when he does finally lean back. "I can get out of your hair if you need me to." Gustave is pretty sure that's not what Verso meant, but he wants to at least offer. "But tonight's probably a wash on the productivity front either way. My tie's already off, so... past the point of no return, really."

It's increasingly difficult to tell whether this is delusional coping or some incredibly complex form of self-harm. Gustave obviously thinks this is a poor use of his time, but he won't act on those thoughts; meanwhile, Verso feels a little guilty for every moment spent poisoning Gustave's—and everyone else's—life.

He should probably consider dumping Gustave again. It's going to happen in three weeks, anyway — but it's not going to happen tonight, at least. "Oh, right. Genius inventor, useless without his tie." Should've worn it on the Expedition. Maybe things would have gone better.

"—And I don't mind you in my hair," is not entirely true, if only because he thinks he might like it a little too much. "Adds to the volume."

"I'm serious," Gustave says, absolutely not serious. "The tie comes off and the smart part of my brain shuts off. I can only take so much sustained maturity."

He rolls his eyes at himself, leaning in to bump a kiss against Verso's shoulder with a murmured je t'adore — am impulsive reminder he doesn't only feel that way when their clothes are off. And then he returns to the bed, hand on the book even if he doesn't pick it up yet.

"I think a couple of the team really were keen on sparring with Monoco, if you think he'd be amenable." A few of the ones who'd spent the better part of the most recent years training to stand against the Paintress and the Continent's Nevrons, only to be immediately struck down. Gustave doesn't really get it; he'd love it if he never had reason to take up arms ever again, but he doesn't hold it against them.

When Verso sits on the bed, it's with his legs tucked up underneath him, criss-cross, like they're teenage girls at a slumber party who are about to play MASH. There is a small amount of Monoco's hair on the bed, although it's not much worse than everything else in the house, which has quickly become marked by his presence.

"Monoco? Amenable to sparring?" He quirks a brow. "I don't know. He's quite the pacifist."

No, Monoco would certainly be amenable, but— "He's incapable of 'going easy', you know."

"I think it'll be fine," Gustave says, face briefly scrunching. For the most part, the rest of the Expedition is just happy to be alive — but a very small minority does seem disappointed to have missed 'the action' after getting thrashed before they could ever really get started. He doesn't think he'll mind very much if Monoco thoroughly disabuses them of those notions.

But the look eases when he glances at Verso. Gustave's smile is small, but genuine. "Here for another bedtime story?"

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