Kidding. Mostly. He'd never kick his boy out onto the street for the sake of his mans, but it is an appealing little fantasy to be able to spend time in private with Gustave whenever he wants. A very selfish, very appealing fantasy.
Grinning: "You're going to have to gift him a— halberd to make up for all the times I'm going to lock him out."
It's— nice, hearing Verso make plans to keep him around, hearing him be so enthusiastic about it. He's under no illusions, knows that this doesn't actually mean anything, but it still makes something warm bloom in his chest.
"Okay. I'll prepare an arsenal of bribery weapons, just in case." He reaches for Verso's hand, bringing it to his mouth to gently kiss his knuckles.
Gustave's facial hair tickles his fingers. He smiles.
"I am," he says, and it sounds like an non-sequitur until he follows up with, "crazy about you." The window of time in which he can express this type of emotion without shame feels like it's narrowing. He knows, rationally, that he should be sorry for feeling this way, and even more so for saying it aloud. The happiness of being intimate with Gustave has created a protective shield around his heart, though, and it'll keep those pesky rational thoughts away for at least another few minutes.
The careful walls Gustave has built were made to deflect Verso's resolution to leave, to guard him against the grief of knowing the relationship was doomed from the get-go. They're defenseless against the genuine affection being lobbed at him, and the sentiments pierce his heart unpleasantly. He decides to blame it on the way the surge of adrenaline is still fading in his blood.
"Verso, mon couer," he whispers at him with a glance and a soft look. He squeezes his hand before releasing it and clearing his throat. "Me, too. I'll— just need another few minutes, I think." His legs still feel gelatinous.
(Affectionate). Sex is messy work to begin with, and this particular type of sex is even more so. That seems like it should make it unappealing, but he's not even slightly turned off. There are very few new experiences left to him, and that was one of them—usually, the thought of repetition grates after a hundred years of just that, but he doesn't mind the idea of repeating this. Many, many times over, preferably.
"I'll take mine first." Since he wasn't the recipient of the dubious honor of having something inside him for the first time. "Then I'll help you and your jelly legs."
Gustave wonders if they'll both have time to bathe before they Gommage in twenty comments.
"I don't need help bathing," he grouses good-naturedly, gently smacking Verso with a pillow. "Hurry up, before I decide to take mine at home." He wouldn't — that's way too far to walk whilst being an absolutely disgusting mess — but he does want just a little bit of quiet alone to rally his inexplicably plummeting mood. He's never felt bad after amazing sex before; it's extremely confusing.
Verso, blissfully unaware of Gustave's unhappiness, smacks him back with his own pillow before he gets up and absconds to the bathroom. The bath itself is relatively quick, but he spends a significant amount of time after brushing his hair and arranging it so it'll dry just so. He finds himself humming while he does it for what must be the first time in decades.
The quiet does help; Gustave is able to close his eyes, to remind himself that he's lived his entire life on borrowed time. He had tried not to let it ruin anything else. It would be a shame if he let the impending heartbeat ruin this, too.
And if Verso fucks off onto the Continent, well. At least Gustave will have an excuse to pop by for a visit, whenever he does manage to convince Maelle to go the fuck home for a while.
"You're an ass," Gustave informs him, tired and flat but obviously fond all the same. He grimaces slightly when he stands, again reminded of how genuinely disgusting he is at the moment, and he'll start for the bathroom. "I—" He starts, then shakes his head. "No, nevermind, you definitely don't have guest towels."
By the time Gustave exits the bathroom, Verso has already fully dressed and stripped the bed of its sheets. That seems to be the extent of what he knew to do with it, though; the dirty sheets are balled up in a corner of the room to be dealt with at a later date.
When he finally ventures out into the common area, he finds a note, written in Monoco's handwriting: I went to visit the apprentices. THEY appreciate me.
Obviously, he's been left feeling a bit insecure about his place as 'Verso's favorite person'. A conversation is in order, but not right now; instead, Verso takes to the kitchen (which, of course, has more knives stuck in the ceiling again), attempting to make something resembling breakfast.
Gustave couldn't really care less if the eggs are burnt or not. It's been years since he's had a lover to make breakfast for him after a late morning together, and he just watches Verso from the doorway in silence for a moment.
When he's sure he won't actively get in the way, he'll step in to wind his arms around his waist from behind, laying kiss on the side of his neck. He smells like Verso's shampoo; he doesn't hate it.
Okay!!! Wow, nonsexual affection. He's still not really sure what to do with this, partly because his hands are busy poking at a piece of rubbery egg with a spoon while he wonders if it's still edible.
"No guest towels and no extra sheets?" It's probably edible. He turns in Gustave's grasp so they're face-to-face, leaning back against the counter and raising an eyebrow. "You think I'm a caveman."
Yes, nonsexual affection!! Gustave isn't breaking free from the "aftercare and sappy pillowtalk after sex" label, unfortunately.
Anyway, he'd seen the balled up bedding on the floor and the naked mattress, so he'd assumed. "I officially rescind my offer, then," he says, wry and gently bumping his forehead to Verso's before he releases him. "I'm sure you've got it all under control, chouchou."
Verso fully kicks Gustave in the shin. Don't call him chouchou when he was just inside you!!!
"On second thought, it might be a good idea to have another extra set." You know, on top of the extra set he totally already has. "I can pick it up when I walk you home."
If that's something he's allowed to do, or even should do. He's not really sure what the boundaries are. It feels as if something has shifted, and while it feels good, happiness tends to fill him with a sort of dread, too. He ignores it for now; there'll be plenty of time to ruminate after Gustave leaves.
He pipes up with, "I made eggs." Sort of. Chickens aren't abundant on the Continent, so it's been about seven decades since he tried to cook this sort of thing. He looks proud of himself for being such a domestic god, anyway.
"Ow," Gustave protests, but he's laughing as he peels back from him. If anything, he seems pleased at the assumption that Verso will walk him home - he wouldn't blame him for avoiding the place for fear of running into Maelle.
He bites his tongue and patently does not bring up how much this reminds him of the first time she'd made breakfast for him, too. They even fuck up eggs in the same way. Maybe it's the least toxic Dessendre family trait.
Instead, he takes a plate and says: "Thank you. I'm starving, actually." Extremely satisfying sex and a long bath seems to have taken it out of him, apparently. "You'd make a very handsome housewife, you know."
"Ass," Verso says affectionately, grabbing his own plate and setting it down at the table. Look at them, eating breakfast at the table after spending the night together. It's so normal that it almost makes him feel like a real person, and his chest squeezes with yearning again.
He sits, then resumes poking the eggs with a fork. At least they're not underdone; it would suck if Gustave died from eating raw eggs right now. Then again, he has the distinct idea that Maelle won't allow that to happen. Ever, possibly. He wonders if Gustave realizes that, but he doesn't want to ruin the mood, so he keeps it to himself.
"Maybe I missed my calling." Maybe that was his future before the Fracture, seeing as how he seemed to be a stay-at-home son!! Gustave doesn't know.
Gustave takes a bite of egg, decides he's hungry enough that they're actually pretty good, and cuts his eyes up to Verso. "I'm about to say something cheesy." This is his warning.
Gustave makes an offended sort of noise. He'd probably be self-conscious if I'm crazy about you wasn't still knocking about in his head. "Okay, nevermind then. It can wait," he says, just as dry.
Gustave is ridiculous. Verso has been sweet to him all morning, but he makes one (true) comment and Gustave cops an attitude. He's lucky that Verso is crazy about him!!!
Putting his fork down, he shoots Gustave a pointed—and slightly amused, despite his best efforts to be annoyed by this—look. "Cheese goes great with eggs."
He ducks his head, laughing at the both of them. "I was just thinking that the one nice thing about living apart is the fact that I get to look forward to seeing you again." He cuts his eyes to Verso. "Too much?"
"I—" He laughs, a little disbelieving, shaking his head. What does he even say to that? It's impossibly sweet, and he feels his heart speed up despite all of his best efforts. "I bet you say that to all the girls, Casanova."
"Yeah, that's me. Leaving a trail of broken hearts in my wake." Gustave's tone is flat, but it's clear he's pleased with Verso's reaction. "Just looking for the silver lining."
Verso pokes at his eggs again, grateful that his fuckass bob (Gustave has a type, obviously) hides the way his ears are growing pink. He can tell, because they feel increasingly warm with each passing second. "I guess I should give you something to look forward to, then. As a favor."
Edited (nvm I think he should take all the credit) 2025-09-18 18:07 (UTC)
Miraculously un-Gommaged even at the 2,000 comment mark, Verso slides his plate over to Gustave. There's still quite a bit of egg on there. The morning's activity works up an appetite, but also, he's kind of picky and those eggs—despite being made with love—were pretty gross.
"That was me asking you on a date," he clarifies, because apparently Gustave is incapable of picking up on his oblique attempts at flirtation.
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superniceone) wrote2025-06-23 06:53 pm
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Kidding. Mostly. He'd never kick his boy out onto the street for the sake of his mans, but it is an appealing little fantasy to be able to spend time in private with Gustave whenever he wants. A very selfish, very appealing fantasy.
Grinning: "You're going to have to gift him a— halberd to make up for all the times I'm going to lock him out."
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"Okay. I'll prepare an arsenal of bribery weapons, just in case." He reaches for Verso's hand, bringing it to his mouth to gently kiss his knuckles.
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"I am," he says, and it sounds like an non-sequitur until he follows up with, "crazy about you." The window of time in which he can express this type of emotion without shame feels like it's narrowing. He knows, rationally, that he should be sorry for feeling this way, and even more so for saying it aloud. The happiness of being intimate with Gustave has created a protective shield around his heart, though, and it'll keep those pesky rational thoughts away for at least another few minutes.
"...And I could probably use a bath."
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"Verso, mon couer," he whispers at him with a glance and a soft look. He squeezes his hand before releasing it and clearing his throat. "Me, too. I'll— just need another few minutes, I think." His legs still feel gelatinous.
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(Affectionate). Sex is messy work to begin with, and this particular type of sex is even more so. That seems like it should make it unappealing, but he's not even slightly turned off. There are very few new experiences left to him, and that was one of them—usually, the thought of repetition grates after a hundred years of just that, but he doesn't mind the idea of repeating this. Many, many times over, preferably.
"I'll take mine first." Since he wasn't the recipient of the dubious honor of having something inside him for the first time. "Then I'll help you and your jelly legs."
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"I don't need help bathing," he grouses good-naturedly, gently smacking Verso with a pillow. "Hurry up, before I decide to take mine at home." He wouldn't — that's way too far to walk whilst being an absolutely disgusting mess — but he does want just a little bit of quiet alone to rally his inexplicably plummeting mood. He's never felt bad after amazing sex before; it's extremely confusing.
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When he returns to the bedroom, he makes a beeline for the dresser. As he tugs on a clean pair of pants: "Still don't need help, gelée?"
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And if Verso fucks off onto the Continent, well. At least Gustave will have an excuse to pop by for a visit, whenever he does manage to convince Maelle to go the fuck home for a while.
"You're an ass," Gustave informs him, tired and flat but obviously fond all the same. He grimaces slightly when he stands, again reminded of how genuinely disgusting he is at the moment, and he'll start for the bathroom. "I—" He starts, then shakes his head. "No, nevermind, you definitely don't have guest towels."
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By the time Gustave exits the bathroom, Verso has already fully dressed and stripped the bed of its sheets. That seems to be the extent of what he knew to do with it, though; the dirty sheets are balled up in a corner of the room to be dealt with at a later date.
When he finally ventures out into the common area, he finds a note, written in Monoco's handwriting: I went to visit the apprentices. THEY appreciate me.
Obviously, he's been left feeling a bit insecure about his place as 'Verso's favorite person'. A conversation is in order, but not right now; instead, Verso takes to the kitchen (which, of course, has more knives stuck in the ceiling again), attempting to make something resembling breakfast.
Pretty sure these eggs are burnt, though.
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When he's sure he won't actively get in the way, he'll step in to wind his arms around his waist from behind, laying kiss on the side of his neck. He smells like Verso's shampoo; he doesn't hate it.
"Would you like to borrow some sheets?"
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"No guest towels and no extra sheets?" It's probably edible. He turns in Gustave's grasp so they're face-to-face, leaning back against the counter and raising an eyebrow. "You think I'm a caveman."
And he's not wrong, but damn.
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Anyway, he'd seen the balled up bedding on the floor and the naked mattress, so he'd assumed. "I officially rescind my offer, then," he says, wry and gently bumping his forehead to Verso's before he releases him. "I'm sure you've got it all under control, chouchou."
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"On second thought, it might be a good idea to have another extra set." You know, on top of the extra set he totally already has. "I can pick it up when I walk you home."
If that's something he's allowed to do, or even should do. He's not really sure what the boundaries are. It feels as if something has shifted, and while it feels good, happiness tends to fill him with a sort of dread, too. He ignores it for now; there'll be plenty of time to ruminate after Gustave leaves.
He pipes up with, "I made eggs." Sort of. Chickens aren't abundant on the Continent, so it's been about seven decades since he tried to cook this sort of thing. He looks proud of himself for being such a domestic god, anyway.
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He bites his tongue and patently does not bring up how much this reminds him of the first time she'd made breakfast for him, too. They even fuck up eggs in the same way. Maybe it's the least toxic Dessendre family trait.
Instead, he takes a plate and says: "Thank you. I'm starving, actually." Extremely satisfying sex and a long bath seems to have taken it out of him, apparently. "You'd make a very handsome housewife, you know."
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He sits, then resumes poking the eggs with a fork. At least they're not underdone; it would suck if Gustave died from eating raw eggs right now. Then again, he has the distinct idea that Maelle won't allow that to happen. Ever, possibly. He wonders if Gustave realizes that, but he doesn't want to ruin the mood, so he keeps it to himself.
"Maybe I missed my calling." Maybe that was his future before the Fracture, seeing as how he seemed to be a stay-at-home son!! Gustave doesn't know.
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Putting his fork down, he shoots Gustave a pointed—and slightly amused, despite his best efforts to be annoyed by this—look. "Cheese goes great with eggs."
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"I—" He laughs, a little disbelieving, shaking his head. What does he even say to that? It's impossibly sweet, and he feels his heart speed up despite all of his best efforts. "I bet you say that to all the girls, Casanova."
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"That was me asking you on a date," he clarifies, because apparently Gustave is incapable of picking up on his oblique attempts at flirtation.
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wtf i wrote "an disapproving" please freeze the thread i'm so ashamed
no singing chickens for you
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stubborn a weapon
😤😤😤😤
in my tl;dr era
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fucking swype, the enemy of me who doesn't read my own tags
how dare you catch it so i can't immortalize it
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seven gustaves, ah ah ah
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write it cœur with the ligature like a real frenchie or get out of here
you literally cannot make me
only bc i lack the power to freeze the thread 😔
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i don't like that while i wrote this you dmed me "speaking of gay incest"
😎
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