superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

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?

Also new to him: locking doors! Verso holds up a finger before scrambling off the bed to turn the lock, listening for its click before he returns. Admittedly, it sets him at ease. Maybe he is a little self-conscious about doing this while Monoco is in the other room, after all. He's pretty sure he can hear the thunk of knives being thrown again through the wood of the door, but that's a problem for post-orgasm Verso.

"Lumière does have its charms," he says, jerking his head toward the lock before crawling back onto the bed, sliding up Gustave's body and dropping a kiss against his lips, soft and undemanding in an attempt to relax him. "You are... very handsome."

The way Verso bolts off the bed makes Gustave laugh, bright and a little breathless, and he's reaching out to grab him when he returns to the bed. "And you are— everything," he says, a little intense and absolutely smitten. "Come here. Come here, just let me—"

Kiss him thoroughly is what he apparently means. They're both stupid, awkward, and his heart throbs already with the pain of how temporary this is. At least they can be each others', in this little, idiotic way.

He doesn't fight the kiss at all, coaxing Gustave's lips to part with a slide of his tongue. The memory of I like it when you kiss me first is still vivid, and he licks into Gustave's mouth so that he can feel Verso's enthusiasm. 'Everything' is ridiculous when he feels like a mistake that no eraser can etch out, but for this moment, he allows it to make him feel warm inside, the feeling spreading out from his chest and down to the tips of his fingers and toes.

When he pulls back, it's only to let his hand wander downward, palming lightly at Gustave's erection through the borrowed pants.

"I'll take it slow, mon doux," he assures. Another thing that's new to him, but he's learning.

Gustave makes a throaty sort of noise at the brush of the hand against him, a little embarrassed by his own eagerness. He kisses at the side of Verso's face and can't help but find the soft reassurances endearing. "I know," he promises, and then adds: "You do want this, right? Because you're not— obligated."

That's the sort of reassurance he needs, apparently; that Verso isn't just taking certain steps because he feels like he needs to, like that's what Gustave will need to stay content these last three weeks together.

"Obligated—"

Verso suppresses the urge to strangle Gustave, his ministrations slowing and then stopping entirely. He could not be any more enthusiastic about this if he tried. A little exasperated, he reaches for Gustave's flesh wrist, pressing his hand against Verso's own erection. Not quite as at attention yet, but definitively excited and growing more so at Gustave's touch.

"I want you," he echoes, "very badly."

Gustave laughs like he's embarrassed that he needed the reassurance (because he is), stroking him apologetically through the material of his pants. "Sorry— mon beau, sweetheart," he says, and apparently his plan to move past it is just to just lay it on really thick. "I'm yours."

Hey—laying it on thick is Verso's strategy for getting out of jams. Gustave can't have it.

But he's only a 'fond exasperation' level of displeased, not truly displeased. He guides Gustave's hand away now that he's had physical proof of Verso's anticipatory excitement, reaching down to pull at the waistband of Gustave's pants. The fabric is soft and stretchy, with enough give that it's ten thousand times easier to remove than those stupid Expedition jodhpurs, or whatever the hell they were.

"Lift up."

Gustave... had kind of liked the aesthetic of the stupid uniform pants, but that's only because he's a giant fucking nerd who also ran around with a cute little backpack.

But the pajama pants have their merits, too, when he's able to lift his hips just slightly and that's all it takes to help Verso pull them loose. "I can't believe we're doing this in an actual bed," he says, face a little warm.

Admittedly, Verso isn't quite sure how to take that. 'I can't believe we're doing this in an actual bed—because I'd assumed I would die before that'? Or maybe 'I can't believe we're doing this in an actual bed, because I'd figured this would be a wilderness-handjob-exclusive fling'? He tilts his head slightly as he tugs Gustave's pant legs off and deposits the article of clothing on the floor, puzzling it out.

Reaching over to pull a small glass jar from the drawer of his nightstand, he says, "Unless you want me to go kick Monoco off the divan." He'd be so incredibly pissed that Verso had the gall to kick him out of the bedroom and the living room in 24 hours. Popping the top off of the jar, he coats his fingers in the shiny, slippery substance within. Seems like it would be more useful than saliva for this part, too.

Carefully, he strokes Gustave's erection with the slick fingers; everything is a lot more wet than it usually is, but he supposes that's the point. "Mon chéri, you have the most beautiful cock." Just don't think about the fact that his mom basically designed it.

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