tfln overflow / open post

[superniceone]

(open / overflow)

Comments

[recreatable]

What, Great Expectations? he might ask, deflective. I'll inform Dickens. But—

He likes having this sort of effect on someone. Verso spends much of his time chasing superficial charm but ultimately feeling as if he has a deleterious effect on anyone unlikely enough to cross his path. It's dangerous stuff, letting himself think that his presence could actually be beneficial, that his existence could ever bring somebody peace.

It's just for a moment, but still. It makes him feel like less of a mistake, which is even more than dangerous. Impulsively, he leans over to press his mouth to Gustave's, the first gesture of affection that he hasn't had to think about at all. Gustave's facial hair has grown back in, thank god, although it's still a little scratchy. Verso doesn't mind.

"And you look enormously handsome when you're happy."

[superniceone]

Gustave can tell right away that there's something different about that little kiss, but it would take a lot of thought to pinpoint what's changed — the fact that it's the first time Verso has kissed him in a way that really just felt like impulse.

His eyes stay closed, but he's smiling just the littlest bit now, visibly content. "I think," he starts slowly, "once, on the Continent— I think I told you that you didn't have to try so hard, you already had me in the woods with you. S'one of those— embarrassing moments that pops into my head when I'm trying to sleep sometimes. I was trying to flirt, not complain. Glad you didn't actually stop trying so hard."

[recreatable]

Only Gustave would still be thinking about an awkward moment that feels like it happened years ago, and only Gustave would think that essentially calling him a tryhard now is a compliment. Verso knows it isn't meant maliciously, though, so he can't find it in himself to be offended. He bookmarks their page and closes the book, setting it aside on the nightstand before stretching his legs out and leaning back against the pillow.

"I will continue to try excruciatingly hard to win your favor, then."

[superniceone]

Gustave makes a face at that, glancing sideways at him and swallowing down the impulse to yawn. "I didn't say anything about excruciating," he complains half-heartedly. "I just— like being liked by you. That's all I meant to say." He reaches over to rest his hand lightly on Verso's leg, seeking out that last little bit of extra connection.

[recreatable]

"You're uncommonly difficult not to like," he admits, leaning his knee against Gustave's in a way that could be accidental but very much isn't. Impossibly earnest, dedicated to the person Verso cares about most in the world, not bad on the eyes. He should have let Gustave die when he had the chance, and then he wouldn't be in such a predicament. "And I did try. Valiantly."

[superniceone]

"You did? That's a little hurtful," Gustave says casually. Knowing what he knows now, he's honestly surprised Verso didn't punch him in the face the second he'd asked can I trust you around Maelle. "I've never tried to dislike you. Though I do get pretty jealous every time Maelle gets all starry-eyed little sister over you."

[recreatable]

Verso laughs at that, because he can only assume it's a joke; he seethes with jealousy whenever Gustave and Maelle are in the same room. At least when he fails to measure up to Verso, he doesn't have to watch someone doing it better than him. When he fails to measure up to Gustave, there he is, right in front of him, the perfect father-brother. Best one she's ever had.

He doesn't say any of that.

"Oh, I know you've never tried to dislike me." Because if he tried for just one second, he would actually be able to. "Despite my valiant efforts at that, too."

[superniceone]

"Hopefully you've given up on that. Was up half the night looking for a poem for you. Don't think there's any turning back now." Gustave gives him a sleepy sort of smile, humming in thought as he tries to recall some of the runners-up. "'Love me with thine azure eyes, made for earnest granting,'" he recites, though it's clear he's uncertain of the beginning or the end.

[recreatable]

'Azure' is not exactly the right word. 'Scary blue eyes' is probably more appropriate. It's sweet all the same, even though Gustave is being awfully free with the word 'love', and pleasure tugs at the corner of Verso's mouth.

"Mon doux," he says, and tries not to sound guilty for how much he's taken advantage of that sweetness. "I assure you, I swooned appropriately when I received your note."

[superniceone]

Gustave has already come to accept the fact that he probably loves Verso, even if it doesn't quite make sense even to him. There have only ever been little gasps of peace in their relationship, of moments that even vaguely resemble normal.

"Mm. Should have saved it. Would have liked to see you swoon." He slouches down enough to tip sideways, leaning his head briefly against Verso's shoulder. They're similar enough in height that it's not a position that will be comfortable to hold for very long, but he doesn't really plan to.

[recreatable]

Strands of Gustave's messy hair tickle his shoulder, and Verso feels the ridiculous impulse to lean back against him. He gives in just a little, allowing his temple to rest against the softness of Gustave's hair. Existing companionably like this feels far more intimate than any sex, although he doesn't dare verbalize that thought.

"It was very attractive. Too bad you didn't get to see it." His fingertip nudges against Gustave's torso, lazy. "Guess you'll have to find another poem. Read it aloud, maybe."

It's as lacking in seriousness as most anything else he says, but he can't deny that he'd been overwhelmingly flattered by the poem. Not its contents, really, but the intention behind it. Someone had thought of him, had thought of the things that he enjoys, and had written the poem down for the sole purpose of pleasing him.

"...Let me kick Monoco out onto the couch," he ventures. "It would be doing me a favor. He's a terrible bedfellow."

[superniceone]

Gustave has several poems queued up, thanks; he didn't do all that research just to settle on one. Besides, it's clear that Verso is going to be uncomfortable on Lumière whether or not they convince Maelle to go. If they've only got three weeks, he wants to at least try to make it worth Verso's time.

"Mm. He knows I'm wooing you, right? Which one of us will end up taking the blame?" Okay, so maybe his word choice is a little dorky on purpose, just because it seems to amuse Verso. The little smile on his face is audible in his words, and he's not straightening up just yet.

[recreatable]

"—Is that what you're doing?" is said through laughter, because yes, the dorkiness amuses him. It always has, ever from the first moment that Gustave said 'fraternization'. "And all this time I've been under the impression that I was wooing you."

A fair assumption to make, he thinks. Verso took him on a romantic hike through the Ancient Sanctuary; he wrote Gustave a love poem; he took him to the Hanging Gardens. Surely that all counts as wooing.

"I'll take the blame. There's nothing Monoco likes more than an excuse to challenge me to a duel."

[superniceone]

"Oh, fine," Gustave concedes, like he's admitting defeat. "You're wooing me. Suppose I'm—" He trails off, humming in sleepy thought. "Courting you, then."

He straightens himself up with clear reluctance. "And alright, then. Go let him know. I'll shelter in place."

He's just comfortable.

[recreatable]

If Gustave falls asleep before he returns, he can't be held responsible if he finally breaks open his paint set and paints on his face. Verso slips out from beside Gustave with some reluctance; it had felt nice to be close to someone who isn't a gestral for once. An undeserved peace, to be sure, but peace nonetheless.

He taps a fingernail against the dresser on his way to the door. "If you want to slip into something more comfortable." Although he wouldn't be surprised if, upon his return, Gustave were in the same place, in the same clothes, fast asleep.

[superniceone]

Gustave is admittedly tempted to just let himself lapse into sleep there, but his clothes really aren't comfortable. It feels a little silly, how fast he's allowed himself to get acclimated to the creature comforts of living in a city again, where a soft bed and comfortable clothes are just givens.

He's changed into a pair of borrowed lounge pants when Verso returns, his other clothes kicked into a little pile near where his tie had landed. "How'd it go?" There's a quiet warmth in Gustave's face as he considers him, born of the private comfort of the last hour. Most of the anxious energy wrapped around him like barbed wire early really does seem to have fallen loose.

[recreatable]

"He said that my preening keeps him up at night anyway," Verso says, unbothered by the accusation. "So I think it's safe to say that he's jealous."

But he'd been quite receptive when Verso had suggested that he might allow Monoco to keep the throwing knives if he were in a good mood tomorrow. Whether Verso intends to actually follow through on that is up in the air, at the moment.

—Unimportant. What is important is that he has a very sweet man looking very cozy in his bed; it feels unreal, like some sort of ridiculous fantasy that he would be too pessimistic to entertain for long. It'll crumble to dust in his hands one way or another, as good things tend to do, and he can't argue that he doesn't deserve that — but he lets the Sword of Damocles swing over his head for one more night, pulling his shirt off, ridding himself of his belt, and crawling back onto the bed where he settles beside Gustave.

"I'd like to say you look handsome in my clothes, but I'm hesitant to let you brush off my flattery yet again."

[superniceone]

"Mmh. I've decided I must be handsome enough if someone who looks like you is willing to be seen on my arm in public," Gustave says with a crooked smile. His voice is low, affectionate, and he hums before he punctuates it with a murmured, "Mon bien-aimé."

A bit intentionally cheesy, but hey — he's been looking forward to this since they were on the Continent.

[recreatable]

Very cheesy. And undeservedly affectionate, although he doesn't say so. Sometimes it's difficult to find the balance between deflecting misguided attachments like he should and soaking them up like he wishes he could. "Does this mean you've moved on from chouchou?"

[superniceone]

"I like chouchou," Gustave says, and then follows with an uncharacteristically crass: "But I do like having sex with you more, so I'm trying not to actively shoot myself in the foot."

[recreatable]

Wow, Gustave is a real dog. Verso breaks out into an amused grin anyway, laughing softly as he commends, "Smart man." It's not exactly a turn-on to be likened to a cabbage. It's not exactly a turn-off, either, though, and he leans in to say, "But I have to admit, I doubt even that could lessen my inclination to fraternize with you."

[superniceone]

"I'm unconvinced." It occurs to him again how stupid this is, and he laughs. "I've been lounging handsomely in your bed for several minutes now, and all you've done is compliment your own pajamas. I must have got something wrong." He's tits out and everything!! And also probably the most genuinely relaxed he's been at any point since their return to Lumière.

[recreatable]

This all sounds like something he would say, and Verso thinks—not for the first time—that he's probably a bad influence.

"They're nice pajamas," he argues, voice lilting. "—And how was I to know that you were lounging with intent, and not just being recreationally handsome?"

If it's an excuse Gustave is allowed to use, surely he can utilize it as well. This hasn't been the most romantic night, what with their stuttering moods and Monoco throwing knives in the kitchen and Gustave's obvious fatigue; some forgiveness is in order, he thinks, if he'd assumed the extent of their affection tonight was going to be a brush of the hands.

Not that he's unwilling or uninterested — he very rarely is. He swings a leg over Gustave's handsomely lounging form so that he can crawl on top of him and kiss his stupid (affectionate) face. "But now that I know, I'm happy to do some"—Gustave has provided him with no shortage of ridiculous euphemisms. He laughs under his breath as he considers the multitude of options—"pouncing."

[superniceone]

Gustave primarily assumed that Monoco in the other room of this cozy little domecile would be a primary roadblock here, considering the fact that Verso seemed to get antsy about Emma merely existing on the other side of Gustave's considerably larger house.

"'Recreationally handsome,'" he echoes, but he's laughing about it again, at the way Verso is pelting him with reminders of what idiots they both are. He doesn't say anything else after that; instead, he just coaxes Verso closer to kiss him sweetly, deeply. He's unhurried about it, not pushing immediately for anything further than that — but still gently insistent about it if Verso goes to pull away.

[recreatable]

Monoco already likes him. Emma does not, and he's loath to let one of her first impressions of him be trying to fuck her brother while she's home, thanks.

Gustave is, as always, sweet, and—again as always—it makes him feel a little out of his depth. This sort of intimacy is a distant memory, something he shed in favor of isolation and the occasional doomed fling to stave off crippling loneliness. He has a romantic's soul, but reaching it still requires excavation from under piles of rubble.

He's trying, though. He leans his weight against Gustave's, enjoying the feeling of another person's body heat, and kisses the corner of his mouth. "Sorry. Obviously, it's a professional undertaking, not just recreational."