superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

"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.

That's— fair, actually. He does think, a lot. Like now: he's thinking that he's probably a bad person for trying to make out with someone he was 99.99% willing to let die very recently. If he wanted to, he could get rid of Gustave right now, run back to camp and claim a Nevron lumbered along and ate him.

He doesn't want to, though. Gustave's nonexistence is collateral damage in Verso's grand scheme, but it's different doing it himself. He's not sure he could tolerate the look of betrayal in those big, sad cow eyes. At least when they all realize Verso is a traitor to their cause, everything will be over in the next moment.

"...Do as I say, not as I do," is a playful chide as Verso wags a finger. Story of his life, actually. Rolling around in the dirt and grass is about as romantic as anything else that's happened tonight—not very—so Verso settles down on the ground near a log, tugging on Gustave's arm with just enough force that he hopes will make him wobble a bit.

Gustave doesn't stumble hard enough to fall - just to sit a bit more heavily than he would have liked to. "That is every mémère's favourite thing to say," he says, bumping his arm against Verso's as he settles.

This is - wildly irresponsible. Verso's potential betrayal isn't even on his mind; something could find them, find the group-

But he has decided to chide himself for these choices tomorrow, and just to let himself enjoy them for the evening. If one night of poor decision making signs his own death warrant, he'll just have to live with that. Figuratively.

"I am... choosing, deliberately, to be here," he says, which might make more sense if Verso could hear his inner monologue, but is also just a general affirmation that he really isn't going to change his mind.

Verso tries very hard not to look like he finds Gustave's declaration of choosing deliberately to be here funny. It's not! Except for how it is. It's just so earnest, which of course means it's shockingly different than anything Verso would ever do. Amusement tugs at his lips, and he says, "Bet you say that to everyone."

But it's approval, at least, for what they're doing, so when he leans in to press his mouth against Gustave's again it's with more purpose, weight pressing against Gustave in a way that's meant to coax him back and down. Not demanding, but not exactly beating around the bush, either.

It's another one of those brand new experiences. Verso is more angular, more solid than what he's used to, and he doesn't mind yielding to him. He catches and cradles his jaw, trying to seem more curious than outright eager.

It's - nice. The idea that he's allowed to turn off most of his racing thoughts, to just focus on the warmth of Verso's mouth, the pressure of a body leaning into his.

"I should have brought a record," he says, tracking his hand down the front of Verso's chest, idly touching just because he's allowed to touch. "Might have helped with the atmosphere."

Rude!! Verso pulls away as if offended, although it's obvious he's not in the entertained twinkle of his eye and the crooked smile across his face. He's sort of having fun, actually, which is not a common occurrence. Feels kind of weird.

All the same: "Is there a problem with my atmosphere, monsieur?"

"Oh, no problems on my end." Verso's crooked smile has Gustave grinning a little helplessly himself, even as his hand flounders a bit - like he's unsure of where he should put it. "And as long as we both avoid the stinging nettles about a half meter my left, I'm sure we'll be fine."

"Danger's sexy," is his very unconcerned reply, although stinging nettles probably don't apply. It's fine, they have a whole half-meter. Also, Gustave's at more risk than Verso is, so— again, it's fine. Lune can tenderly heal him while berating him for being stupid, as she does.

Gustave flounders, so he takes the reins. Sort of. This stupid expedition uniform has so many layers, and he has to fumble to untuck them all before he can properly slide a hand underneath Gustave's shirt. "See?" he asks, still smug regardless. "This is how you feel someone up."

Gustave isn't sure that anything about this is sexy in any sort of traditional sense. Not to say he isn't enjoying himself - he's having a great deal of fun, actually. And so many elements of it are very close to it, only to be turned on their head.

Verso pulling his clothes loose, for example, could have been arousing if it weren't for the way that he had to pick and pluck at layers like someone opening a birthday gift wrapped with entirely too much tape.

"Is that right," Gustave deadpans, tone belied by the amusement in his eyes. His build will be probably be exactly what Verso expects: he's leanly muscled, relying more on agility than brute force. His stomach does tense under his fingers, not unpleasantly. "Do you have a pen? I should probably be taking notes."

Edited 2025-06-30 17:42 (UTC)

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oh my God it's a million degrees here with no ac i shouldn't be allowed to tag