superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

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.

Gustave hadn't put anywhere near that much thought behind the remark. If anything, it was an amused acknowledgment of how unusual their situation together was, that it had taken them so long to progress to sex on a real mattress instead of a jacket spread across the grass.

"I wasn't complaining about the bed," he says, but he's already distracted, watching Verso move with his usual laser focus. Gustave opens his mouth to reply, and thinks suddenly about Verso's remark the night before, about his tendency to brush off the little compliments Verso levies his way— "Putain de merde," he hisses instead. The combination of the careful, slick touch and the voice of the man he's perhaps a little unhealthily attached to complimenting his dick sends a thrill through him. "That feels incredible."

"Good," is half-laugh, fond. That's what he was going for, actually! His hand is gentle, coaxing; he's not trying to rush Gustave to any sort of finish, only make him feel good, relaxed. "You feel incredible."

Again: trying in the most gentlemanly, respectful way to let Gustave know that he's a big fan of all parts of his body. He seems to enjoy cheesy, sort of embarrassing things to traditional dirty talk, though, so Verso adds, "You are incredible, bel homme."

Okay, it's objectively true that Verso has lied to them like... a lot. But it goes against the nature of the world, apparently, to hold that against him for long; Gustave has reconciled that. And it's not like he's ever tried to bring them harm directly—

All of which to say, he was being genuine when he said that he trusted him, and that trust is evident in the way he holds himself, the way he watches Verso. "Je t'adore," he murmurs, shivering pleasantly once beneath his touch, "so when do I get to touch you?"

It's fine!! Verso is inherently untrustworthy, but he's, like, really nice.

"I wasn't aware I'd set restrictions on that." It isn't that he doesn't want to be touched—it's just not a priority right now. The priority is pleasing Gustave enough that, ideally, he won't have it in himself to tense up when the more uncomfortable part comes. "...Unless that's something you like."

It isn't the sort of thing he usually does, but sure, whatever, if Gustave wants to be soft-dommed, he'll give it a whirl.

Verso had asked Gustave to lay back, so Gustave had lain back — but he's probably not the first person in the world to have his general politeness mistaken with a kink, so: shrug.

"Well, you seemed quite proud of doing all the hard work, so I didn't want to take that away from you." He's pushing himself upright enough just so that he can reach Verso, to pull at his waistband in turn.

No, he's definitely the first person in the world this has happened to.

But Verso takes the rejection of his BDSM offer in stride! He withdraws his hand and sits up only so that he can help Gustave remove his pants, underwear and all, a little overexcited despite the fact that his promise to 'take things slow' means that his cock isn't about to get much action just yet.

He reaches over to dip his fingers in the jar again; admittedly, he is not quite sure how wet things are supposed to be in this situation, but more is probably more. His hand returns to Gustave's erection, lightly caressing, and for a moment he wonders if he should get Gustave off before he even tries anything else—but he would like Gustave to be aroused during the main event, so he holds off and lets his fingers trail lower after a moment, exploratory. Certainly not inserting anything, just feeling, waiting to see if Gustave will have an unfavorable reaction to someone touching what he assumes is an as-of-yet untouched body part (although, hey, he doesn't know how freaky Sophie might have been).

Gustave patently rejected nothing — he just assumed that he was being teased, which is exactly why he had teased back. It's probably ridiculous, but stripping Verso of the rest of his clothes helps with some of his lingering anxiety; being the only completely naked person in the room only adds an extra layer of vulnerability.

He sighs, not unhappily, when Verso's fingers brush his cock again, and the subtle tension that tremors through him when that hand moves lower relaxes right away. It's not unfavorable, but it certainly is brand new, and he gives a breathless half-laugh after a moment. "I don't know where I'm meant to be looking," he confesses.

"Wherever you want," he says, voice as soft and encouraging as he can make it. It's impossible, probably, to make someone like Gustave not feel painfully self-conscious, but Verso wants to assuage whatever anxieties he may feel all the same. He wants this to be good; there's no other option than to make it good.

The inward slide of his finger is very careful. Slow, unrushed. This isn't the sort of thing he can treat like a quickie in the woods.

"I know it's asking a lot," he says, "but you could try turning that big brain of yours off."

Oh. It's an— unfamiliar sort of sensation, and Gustave's breath goes careful and shallow. "Um," he says, and his hand moves to rest on Verso's chest, the pad of his thumb stroking slowly against the skin there. "My brain is— full of nothing but you, mon chéri."

He leans in, like he might solve the question of where do I look by tipping his forehead against whatever of Verso he can comfortably reach, scattering some clumsy kisses to his bare skin. Okay. Yes. He can relax. "Only you." He might be unconsciously trying to reassure Verso that his reassurance is working, because they're both fucking crazy.

Verso shouldn't encourage sentimental behavior like this, but he already has a finger inside the man he was fully willing to let die, so it's hard to imagine how he could be any worse. One corner of his mouth crooks up, the emotional part of him pleased by this even when the rational part of him isn't; currently, the rational part of him has been exiled to the farthest recesses of his mind.

"Good," he says again, and he can't help noticing that his heart is pounding despite the fact that he's not the one having anything inserted into him. His finger moves just slightly, closer to a stroke of Gustave's inner muscles than anything else. Admittedly, he's a little skeptical about fitting more fingers in here, much less anything larger.

"Does it feel—?"

He's not sure how to finish that sentence. Good? Bad? "How does it feel?"

The cogs in his head are functional enough for Gustave to recognize that telling the truth too bluntly here will absolutely obliterate the mood. It feels neither good nor bad, really; just a little strange. Different. He doesn't want him to stop.

"Keep going?" He leans back, dropping his head against the bed again, before he repeats his question in a breathless, coaxing statement instead. "Keep going. Mon coeur, I want you." The discomfort eases with each moment, the unconscious little furrow of his brow relaxing.

It's encouragement enough that Gustave doesn't say that it feels awful, but being explicitly told to keep going certainly helps, too. He draws on prior experience, crooking his finger and gently pumping it in and out, the way he might with a woman. It's a bit more cramped than he's used to, but the general idea must be the same.

Once he feels confident that he's thoroughly explored with one finger, he presses another one inside, suddenly grateful for his overenthusiasm with the lubricant. It's even more cramped now, but the slickness of his fingers helps ease the way.

"It's... very tight," he says, trying not to sound like he's choking on his own arousal.

"I'm relaxing. I'm relaxed," Gustave says; it's meant to be a quiet and reassuring little promise, like he's worried the tightness might be a problem, but the way his breath catches in his throat probably gives away how fast his heart is hammering away. It feels like so much more than two fingers, and he's trying so hard not to get into his own head, not to tense and stiffen for fear of going tense.

He swallows, stretching his arm above where his head lies, then seems to fidget out of that position immediately. "Come here? Give me your mouth, just - for a second?" He wants to kiss him, he means, like he thinks it might chase the rest of his lingering nerves away.

The reassurance causes Verso to look up, surprised—oh, he thinks, oh, Gustave must think that he's worried about the tightness when, in reality, this is quite possibly the most arousing thing he's ever experienced. The pressure between his legs is unbearable, and he wants nothing more than to be inside Gustave right this very second, but like a good boy, he waits. He's good at waiting; he's done it for a long time.

Still, Verso presses his weight down against Gustave in a way that is probably too excited, covering his mouth with his own to ease the discomfort of a third finger breaching him. Surely Gustave can hear the pounding in his chest, it's grown so loud, but for what must be the first time in his life, he can't bring himself to be self-conscious about his own feelings.

"You're doing so well," he murmurs affectionately, although admittedly, he has no frame of reference with which to compare this. "Impossibly sexy."

Gustave's breath stutters hard into the kiss, only barely suppressing the reflex to jerk slightly up. He distracts himself with Verso's mouth, with his tongue, tries his best to relax himself into sinking down against the pressure instead.

His flesh hand catches the side of Verso's face, then winds gently in his hair. Gustave has had to force shut down the scientist part of his brain, the little voice that wanted to pick apart and understand everything around him. He's uncomfortable but he wants this, achingly hard between them, and spending any processing power on figuring out the why of these feelings right now is a waste of energy.

There is an attempt to reply to that affectionate murmur in turn, but he's flustered enough to be tongue tied. "J’ai un faible pour toi," he manages eventually, dropping his hand to the back of Verso's neck.

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