superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

It would be frustrating how infectious Verso's grin was if he weren't enjoying himself so much. "Would it be more appealing if we called - it community service? I have spent the last several years too busy with the Lumina Converter for fraternization, you know. Maybe I'll be less of a stick in the mud."

This is so dumb.

It's very dumb, and made even dumber by the fact that Gustave calls it fraternization. That's all the proof Verso needs to know that Gustave is out of practice. Next, he's probably going to say something like 'funny business'.

"When you put it that way, it would be wrong not to."

He was being silly!! On purpose!

Gustave holds his own face, just sitting with this for a moment. "Great. Love this. I've made myself literal charity case. This is why I drink alone." He's laughing pretty hard though.

Verso pushes himself up to a sitting position; the wine makes his head feel a little swimmy as he does. The laughter from the campfire has died down significantly, but he can still hear the sound of Lune and Sciel talking in low tones. It feels somewhat like being sent to bed while his parents were throwing a party, and hearing the muffled sound of revelry through his walls.

"I'll admit it's been awhile since I seduced anyone," he says, because he too is admittedly out of practice after years of staying uninvolved with expeditions, "but I think"—said like it's only a theory, when he's certain it's a fact—"you might be terminally incapable of taking a hint."

"It's not the first time I've heard that," Gustave says, and it's not untrue. He squints his eyes closed like he's putting a lot of effort into thinking. After a moment's deliberation, he lifts himself with his arms and rotates just enough to drop his head against Verso's knee.

It's just a better vantage point to sort of watch him. "Could also be that I'm trying to give you an out for when you sober up. It's not impossible."

Verso looks down at the head against his knee, watching Gustave watch him. "You know, I've never had to convince anyone this much before." Usually, there's not any convincing involved at all. He already molds himself to be the sort of person other people might like; that does the heavy lifting for him. Good-naturedly, he adds, "You're hurting my ego."

"Verso." He squints up at him, holding his hand up, palm outward. "Don't play pitiful. I think you know I'm already convinced."

Gustave says 'don't play pitiful' like he isn't the one who's been making Verso persuade him into doing impolite things to each other for the past five minutes. (Sorry, fraternize.) All the same, Verso laughs dryly and rolls his eyes before standing, pulling Gustave up by the hand.

"Not to criticize, but you could sound a bit more enthused." Still smiling, still good-natured.

"I am trying not to make things weird," Gustave defends, and but he clasps Verso's hand with his own, hauling himself up to his feet with it. There's enough of a headrush from going flat to upright that quickly to stagger him a step and a half into Verso; he sways, then curves his back enough to tip his forehead briefly and pathetically into Verso's shoulder.

"But I am extremely enthused," he whispers while he's got the excuse of being so close, and then straightens himself up with an unsteady smile.

Charming. Gustave has every bit the natural charm that Verso has to fake, and he tilts his head as he considers that for a moment before releasing Gustave's hand. There's nothing weird about this, but holding hands would definitely tip it over into questionable territory.

"That's more like it," he says, taking a few steps backward, hands linked innocently behind his back. He slows his steps before he gets too far, leaving a last chance for Gustave to back out. "Come on."

Gustave would laugh in his face if he were able to hear Verso's thoughts. (These thoughts, at least; others would obviously receive a more... room temperature reaction.) He does resist the urge to look over at the fire and the source of the hushed murmuring around it, because this is only going to look suspicious if he looks stressed about it.

"I'm coming," he says, mock-complaint, because what he nearly says is a surprised 'right now?', and he has enough wits about him still to feel like that would absolutely torpedo whatever agreement they've come to together. He catches up with him, only playing up his unsteadiness slightly. "Lead the way."

Contrary to Gustave, Verso's not self-conscious at all; he'll tell the others they went Nevron-hunting to blow off some steam, if they ask. Monoco will be furious that he wasn't invited. It'll be a whole thing.

He does lead the way, stepping through the brush that surrounds their camp. Gustave did look a little wobbly on his feet, so Verso turns back to make sure that he hasn't fallen over and ends up walking face-first into a branch, nearly getting poked in the eye. Merde. As he rubs his face, he says, "...Look out for the trees."

It startles a laugh out of Gustave, somehow manages to ground him a little more. It's easy to think of Verso as almost a mythical figure, a piece of living history - an immortal fragment of Expedition Zero. Little moments like that just prove how ultimately he is also just a person, and the reminder comes with a strange wash of relief.

"Here, sorry, I shouldn't laugh," Gustave murmurs. He figures there's enough distance and obstruction between them and the camp to step in, closing the distance between them and gently catching Verso's jaw in his hand, just so he can inspect his face for damage. It's unnecessary and he knows it, but he also feels like that's the kind of thing he's allowed to do in a moment like this. "Hmm. I think you'll be fine."

He absolutely shouldn't laugh. But it makes Verso smile a little, too, a wry, crooked tilt of the lips. He allows the inspection, although of course it's ridiculous, because Verso hasn't had a real lasting injury in— well, ever. Any scratches will be gone by the morning, he's sure. It's endearing, anyway. Cute, even. He can see why Lune's so fond of Gustave.

"An engineer and a doctor," he says with sarcastic amazement, before leaning in enough that their noses brush, a nonverbal announcing of intentions. They're probably, what, ten feet from the outskirts of camp? That's enough. "Any other talents I should know about?"

Gustave wasn't really expecting a stray branch to take someone out who'd been living in his nevron-infested place for multiple decades, of course, but it made for a convenient excuse to reach out.

The question does seem to give him pause, though, even as he takes the proximity as tacit permission to lean in and brush a kiss against Verso's mouth. Some part of him realizes he may very well be horrified at his own actions in the sober light of day; he swallows that down. "I make very adequate crepes?" he says like it's a question.

That is not even close to the sexy sort of talent he was angling for, but whatever. He's adaptable. He can work with it.

"Ooh, adequate," he echoes, hands on Gustave's shoulders to press his back against the trunk of the tree that just accosted Verso. It's been a while, yes, but he remembers how this goes well enough. Teasing: "You sure know how to talk dirty."

Oh.

Gustave's face blanks and he blinks twice, slow enough to be comical. He'd had an almost-relationship in his late teen years with another boy his age, fueled mostly by hormones and general grief at the state of the world, but past that-

He wasn't exactly a musclehead, but Sophie was dainty enough that she'd certainly never would have had the leverage to lean his back into the bark of a tree like that. Quite abruptly he's realizing how much different the rest of the evening might be from what he's used to.

"Should we go out a little further?" It's not stalling this time, just a genuine concern.

Verso watches that slow blink. Oh, maybe he'd miscalculated. He'd thought perhaps Gustave might like being manhandled a little; it would be something new, probably, and he'd assumed this whole thing was born out of a desire to experience everything possible before his impending death. Another thing to make notes about, albeit presumably not for his apprentices.

He lifts his hands up, away from Gustave's shoulders, and takes a few steps further away from camp. "Guess I got carried away."

Gustave certainly didn't hate it; it had just taken him by surprise. His eyes are bright as they track Verso, and he follows him quickly after a beat.

"Don't take that the wrong way," he says quietly, "I wasn't- that wasn't a complaint." He swears under his breath, just at his inability to find the specific words for what he's trying to convey. "I'd like to see you get carried away."

Verso recovers quickly, to the point where one might question if he ever felt doubt at all. There's a smile on his face as he turns back to look at Gustave, although he doesn't say anything until they've made the trek a little further out into a clearing. Not so far that someone wouldn't notice if a giant Nevron came to attack them, hopefully, but far enough that he expects they won't get company.

"I could get carried away here, I think."

"The usual reaction to hearing about my mediocre crepes," Gustave says wryly, his self-effacement at least playful this time. He steps in close again, hand settling at Verso's waist.

It's his first time kissing someone with a mustache, he thinks, amused, and then pauses - he's so very, very good at overcomplicating things at times, and finds himself abruptly unsure that kissing is even on the agenda for the evening. They'd sort of talked circles around any actual details, hadn't they.

Gustave falters again, and Verso wonders if he might be nervous. He doesn't strike Verso as the type to engage in much casual fraternization, and probably not much guy talk, either, if they're going the euphemistic route. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle," he jokes, although there's a questioning lilt to it, a check-in.

Gustave makes a slightly affronted face at that, tilting his head in mild exasperation. He understands why Verso might think he was getting cold feet, but... "I was trying to figure out if I can kiss you."

"I thought we'd just stand here and stare at each other, actually."

He gets it, although he pretends not to. Gustave is probably worried that kissing is too intimate for what is, by all accounts, a drunken tryst in the woods. They could restrict this to purely below-the-waist activities if they really wanted to, but he doesn't want to. The whole point, Verso thinks, is for two lonely people to lie to each other's faces so that they feel a little less lonely for a while.

So he pulls Gustave in by the collar of his expedition uniform, kissing him in a way that's a little clumsy despite his best efforts. It's been a while since he properly kissed anyone, and longer than that since he's had to navigate facial hair, a generally scarce occurrence. The contact is light and brief, pulling away out of hesitance to get carried away and scare Gustave off.

"You think too much."

"Hope you realise how rich that is coming from you," Gustave counters, a little baffled by the accusation. The clumsiness is sweet, makes him feel better about his own. He scans Verso's face for signs of regret or uncertainty after the unexpected lightness of the kiss; when he doesn't find any, he just chases another one, admittedly gentle but still coaxing all the same.

He tastes like the wine, he thinks, and also they should sit down. When Gustave pulls away, it's just to scan for a suitable place to settle in for them both.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject