superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

The kiss is small and sweet and makes something ache just a little in Gustave's chest. This was all easier to reconcile when he was still able to tell himself that Verso was primarily just indulging him. He can handle his own heartbreak; the discomfort thinking that this might be bad for Verso, too, actually, is going to crawl under his skin and live there like a parasite.

"You're a ridiculous man," Gustave says, tone flat, in response to the flirtation, but he's grinning just slightly. "And I won't tell Monoco you said that."

"I draw you and I compliment you, and all I get for it is called a 'ridiculous man'?"

It is ostensibly a grouse, although he doesn't sound particularly put out by it. Hard to mind being called a ridiculous man when it's accompanied by that grin. Besides, it's early enough that the vestiges of sleep still cling to him, awareness blunted enough that his ever-present dread has taken a backseat to more pleasant feelings.

He scrunches his nose. "Tough crowd."

"Shh. I'm percolating," Gustave says in response to that, closing his eyes again even as he reaches out to lightly rest his hand on Verso's waist. He hums after a moment, thoughtful and drowsy and utterly sincere when he looks at him again. "I would be... overjoyed, if this was the only way I ever woke up again."

He squirms in just a little closer, expression clearly asking if that was adequate.

Embarrassingly, Verso's heart flutters in his chest. He's old enough to be Gustave's grandfather—or maybe his great-grandfather, merde—and shouldn't still have this sort of reaction to romance, but so many of those years were spent terribly lonely and bereft of any real human attachment. Shallow friendships, if one can even call them friendships, and minute romances. It's been a long time since he's gotten this far.

"Me, too," he admits, quietly, like it's some horrible secret. "I wish that it could stay like this."

Abruptly, he feels as if he's unintentionally dumped ice water on the conversation with his yearning for things that can't be. To recover, he says, "Don't, uh, tell Monoco that I said that, either. He's already seething with jealousy."

Gustave strokes Verso's side gently, casual affection that comes like second nature to him. He's trying to be soothing, even if he is aware that it's a poor attempt to paper over the worst of the cracks here. "Well, I am at your beck and call for the next four weeks," he murmurs, similarly quiet. "So Monoco may need to find a way to deal with it. I'll be kicking him out of bed as often as I'm allowed."

He's trying to make Verso laugh, over the top on purpose as he attempts to draw him a little closer in a way that's overtly possessive.

"Three weeks," Verso corrects. "...But who's counting?"

He is, because he loves to be miserable. It feels both like it can't get here fast enough and like he never wants it to come. He hasn't even begun to broach the topic of leaving with Maelle, primarily because there's still simmering resentment and unbearable guilt between them, but also because he knows she won't like it. She just wants to be a family again; sometimes he thinks that he should suck it up and give it to her, that maybe time and familiarity will make her more willing to listen to reason.

What he should do is nearly all he thinks about these days, but of course it's not something he feels he can confide in Gustave without bringing the mood down. So:

"But in that time, you could find out all sorts of red flags about me." Heh. "You could find out that I snore."

And similarly, Gustave knows that he should tell Verso to just go. That asking him to stay here when he doesn't want to be here is just going to lead to more suffering for them both. But Verso isn't the only one able to make deliberately poor decisions.

His expression falls at Verso's immediate correction, more at the fact that time is slipping away than at the reminder itself. "I'm all yours for approximately the next twenty-one days," he agrees, squeezing Verso's hip. "But it's cute that you think I don't already know about your snoring."

Twenty-one days doesn't feel very long when you're over a hundred years old. It's an arbitrary number to begin with, though; there's nothing really keeping him here aside from some promise he made when he'd been foolishly hopeful about the future, and if he were really honest with himself (which he never is), he'd have to admit that he's only clinging to it because it's an excuse not to go just yet.

"Guess you know all of my dark secrets, then." He tries not to sound guilty delivering that line. "—But who's to say I won't find out that you snore?"

"Mm. Dunno. Seems like you were up for a while before me - feel like you would've already complained about it." Though Sophie did tell him once that he did, on occasion, snore in a way she found cute somehow; it had left him both baffled and a little embarrassed.

Gustave bumps his leg against Verso's. "Maybe I'll just find out that your pillow talk needs some work."

Verso would not have complained about it. He would have affectionately teased Gustave!! It's different!!!

Regardless, Gustave doesn't need the next three weeks to learn about his pitiful pillow talk. Obviously, he already knows it's next to nonexistent, given the fact that during the majority of their more amorous interactions, Verso got up and left him about five minutes after finishing.

Things are different now, of course, and therefore he will strive to have the best pillow talk anyone has ever had. "I would offer to prove myself, but—" An inexorable lean into Gustave's space, and he presses his mouth to Gustave's jaw. Even the depressing reminder of just how temporary this—and everything else—is can't turn him off, baby. "It's my understanding there's something else that comes before the pillow talk."

Well, it's not like Verso can really be blamed — this is the first time they've been even partially undressed anywhere even slightly near a pillow. Gustave doesn't seem displeased in the slightest when Verso leans in; he lifts his hand to hold the back of his neck, stroking it with open fondness.

"I'm amenable," he murmurs, lighthearted, "but my feelings won't be hurt if you're—" Too melancholy? He hesitates, then lands on: "—not awake enough." So maybe a tiny part of him is worried Verso feels obligated to hanky-panky because of their aborted start last night. Can't hurt just to be sure.

"I'm wide awake," he responds, although admittedly, he is still blinking sleep out of his eyes. In a moment of rare self-awareness, Verso realizes that this must have been how Gustave had felt when he'd been trying so hard to be considerate those times in the woods. Vaguely put out about the fact that he's trying to put out.

"And I think you meant something more along the lines of I want you, I need you, I yearn for your touch—" Maybe something about how wild horses couldn't drag him away. A little enthusiasm! Verso evidently does not actually need such complimentary words, though, as he dips to kiss Gustave's throat, a (slightly lazier) pickup from last night. "I'll take it as I know it was meant."

Gustave is left laughing at that, pleased by Verso's (lazy) enthusiasm in turn. He's doing his best not to let the hourglass over their heads ruin the sweetness of the moment; he's speared himself slighty with that arbitrary twenty one days. He wonders if loving someone without a built-in expiration date is something that's ever in the cards for him.

"I want you," Gustave tells him seriously, his voice soft as he combs his fingers through Verso's hair at the nape of his neck. "I thought I was being cute, moving my bedroll closer to yours. Didn't think about how much it would make me..." He trails off, searching for the word. "Crave you." As sweet and earnest as he ever is. Bedding down beside him at night with less than zero privacy was actually maddening in its own way.

Even Gustave's description of, presumably, being turned on in his sleeping bag is a little dorky. Overly sentimental. Unfortunately, Verso likes it. He thinks, idly, that maybe it would be all right if Gustave visited the Continent every once in a while. Not often, and not for long. Not for romance, but—Verso could be a hermit-with-benefits sort of situation.

Asking Gustave if he'd like to have sex every few years to stave off the crippling loneliness would be a definite mood-killer at the moment, so he keeps that thought in his back pocket.

"Oh?" is his official response to that, and he presses his face against Gustave's neck. He'd never thought Gustave had smelled bad, probably due to decades of noseblindness, but he smells very good now that he's back among soap and water. "What did you think about?"

It's cozy, the warmth of Verso's face and breath against his neck, though Gustave won't say that verbatim. He's just nosing at his hair instead, kissing the top of his head with a soft sort of fondness that's a bit at odds with the way he's trying to lean into being a hornball for Verso.

"It was torture, honestly. Licentious, I think I said once," he murmurs, a slight grin in his voice. "All the potential ways to wake you up, and not a single one of them safe for public consumption."

Aw. It's very sweet that Gustave is trying to be dirty for his sake. Sleeping on a bedroll on the cold, hard ground with their shared sister (don't think too hard about it) feet away is hardly the sexiest situation to be in, but—

Well, Verso definitely had unclean thoughts about the whole thing regardless. An unstoppable fuckboy, to be sure. Blame Aline for painting him this way.

He nips at Gustave's throat, leaving a very faint pink mark that disappears soon after it's made. "Do you want to know what I thought about?" Because it is quite a bit more explicit than vaguely 'licentious' things!!!

Gustave! Is! Trying!!

His sex life with Sophie had been great, but their flirtations had been mostly playful implication and cheeky innuendo. He's not averse to explicitness, but it felt like launching into filth with Verso's face tucked sweetly into his neck was mostly just a perfect formula to get him laughed at.

"I would love to know what you were thinking about," he hums, tensing appreciatively beneath that little pinch of teeth.

Wow, bet he never fell asleep while Sophie tried to bang him.

It's not in his nature to be crass, but it certainly is in his nature to be horny. Verso died during his slutty summer, and now this Verso exists eternally in it. He laughs, then takes a moment to figure out how he can word this that says I want to bone down in the most gentlemanly, respectful way.

"I thought about... your mouth," seems safe. "And your hands. And more interesting parts of your body." Another kiss, this time to the hollow of Gustave's throat. "I thought about being between your legs," he ventures, a little bolder. "And I thought about how it might feel to be inside you, if you were ever so inclined to let me."

On one hand, the idea is a little intimidating, if only because it's pretty far beyond the scope of any of his sexual encounters before. On the other, the way that just hearing the words in Verso's careful voice sends his blood rushing south seems like a pretty objective indication as to his own inclination.

Gustave shifts just slightly, moving to try to guide Verso's face up so he can kiss him soundly. That proposition was indeed both gentlemanly and respectful; and now Gustave is the one who can't resist from leaning into crass, expression playful when he breaks the kiss. "Mon chéri," he whispers, "you want to fuck me?"

Obviously, he does not say, because he is a gentleman.

"I think the proper term is intercourse," he says instead, and he should probably feel worse about the fact that he's attempting to deflower someone that he's betrayed in more ways than Gustave even knows, but that's guilt he'll let himself stew in later.

"—Are you amenable to that as well?" is a little uncharacteristically awkward, fumbling. He hasn't exactly done this before, either, and while Gustave certainly doesn't seem turned off by the idea, there's always the possibility that he finds it an affront to the masculinity he's never professed to care about before.

"I— yes, of course," Gustave says, because Verso get awkward and fumble makes him so fond that it almost breaks his heart. He's not sure he'll be able to separate the act from the real emotional intimacy, but if that's a problem it's one he'll just have to broach later.

He clears his throat, presses a nuzzling kiss against Verso's temple. "Have you ever— with another man?" He imagines it can't be easy to casually source lube on the Continent??? "Either way, uh. I meant it. That I want you."

No, the Gestral merchants do not, in fact, sell lubrication. (Although maybe they should, for their wooden joints?) Verso probably could have gotten creative, but there'd never been a need to. He'd done very little involving another man's body until recently; offering to blow off some steam by exchanging handjobs is a far cry from asking if he could interest anyone in a little friendly penetration.

"I'm a fast learner." Bravado, as always. How difficult can it be? He's good at everything (except carpentry and honesty).

In what could be either the slickest or cringiest moment of his life, he runs a very seductive back of his hand down Gustave's scrawny arm and says, "And I have... science supplies."

There's no reason why it can't be both. It's definitely no cringier than Gustave helpfully volunteering a description of his adequate crepes right before a messy hookup in the woods, or trying to cuddle up to him after.

"Okay. I trust you," he says softly, squeezing Verso's ass with an affectionate sort of look. "I—" Gustave laughs a little breathlessly. Why is he nervous? They're not even naked yet, and he feels like an anxious teenager. "You haven't even touched me yet." He's already hard somehow??? How is he this gay???

Verso laughs in return, heart pitter-pattering a little faster, too. He hasn't been intimate like this in the better part of seventy years (in case you forgot their problematic age gap); just doing this in a bed instead of rolling around on the cold, hard ground feels strange enough. Gustave is the one who's about to be put in a physically vulnerable situation, but he certainly isn't the only one who feels vulnerable.

"Don't be nervous," is genuine, soft encouragement. "I'll make it feel good."

Just in case Gustave is worried that this is about to be the worst experience of his life, or something. Verso could certainly sympathize if he were. Gently, he nudges Gustave's shoulder, urging him to lie on his back. Fondly teasing: "Don't I always do all the hard work?"

Gustave's face scrunches up slightly at that last remark, his eyeroll exaggerated and just as fond. There's a part of him that still thinks this sort of intimacy should be purely soft, tender, overtly loving; the rest of him thinks that he prefers it like this, teasing and a little silly.

"It's meant to be a mutual thing," he says, reclining back to rest against his bent arms. Gustave pauses, then glances at the door. "I, uh- should we lock it, or-?" Is it already locked? How certain is Verso that Monoco isn't going to just pop in to say hi?

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