superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

Verso doesn't want to be worried about at all. He's caught between wanting Gustave never to think of him again (the reasonable, rational, respectable choice) and Gustave to think about him all the time (the unreasonable, irrational, unrespectable choice), but worry doesn't play into either option.

"A little rain won't kill me," he assures Gustave. Nothing will, so there's nothing for Gustave to be concerned about.

A pause, and then: "I'll patch it up myself when I get back." Sure, he's let it look like complete shit for decades, and carpentry obviously isn't his strong suit, but he could fix it up! He's not actually going to, but Gustave's free to think so. "Instead of worrying, you can think about me all sweaty and holding a hammer."

"I'm well aware of that," Gustave says, and realizes with a sense of dread that Verso's unwanted immortality is another difficult topic he's going to have to broach with Maelle when this little escape from reality is over and Verso is gone from the city. He squeezes his hand again, suddenly glad to have the distraction of the walk. "It's all for selfish reasons. I'd rather not crash with a gestral in the village when I'm in the area."

Gustave doesn't say visiting you because he can't shake the feeling it would be unwelcome. But he's certain he'll be involved when it comes to the eventual stretch to reclaim old Lumière.

In the area. He's thought about Gustave visiting, maybe once every few years. Just enough to stave off the loneliness, to give Verso something to look forward to. It's a stupid idea, though, because—

"If you do that, I'm not going to want to let you leave." Staring staunchly ahead, he tries for light and flirtatious instead of letting it sound like the miserable confession it is. Quickly moving on: "...And anyway, the gestrals aren't such bad roommates."

They are. Gustave, who can barely tolerate the gestrals in small doses, would probably go insane after prolonged exposure to them. But Gustave in his hut, sleeping there and waking up with bleary eyes and bedhead, will only make Verso weak and pathetic enough to ask him to stay.

It's naive and he knows it. They'd get sick of each other with no one but the gestrals and grandis for company, and the guilt of abandoning Lumière would probably kick in eventually, wouldn't it?

But god, if he doesn't want to just indulge in his own selfishness for once. "Okay," he says, light but earnest. "So don't let me leave." Gustave grips Verso's fingers tight before letting them go to unlock and open his front door. "Come in, the girls should both still be out."

Verso doesn't say anything to that, because if he does, he's going to ask Gustave to come with him right fucking now and it's going to be a mistake. The whole point of returning to the Continent is removing himself from the equation so that he can't do any more damage. Upending Gustave's entire life would surely count as damage.

So, he steps inside Gustave's family home, lingering by the doorway. A sidestep in subject: "I've been thinking," he says, because this is the first time in a while they've actually acknowledged that he's leaving for the Continent at all, "that maybe what makes the Painters ill is the prolonged exposure to all the chroma."

It's just one of the many hypotheses he's come up with during his ruminations. "But the chroma doesn't return to the Canvas if someone is killed by a Nevron." It stays trapped there, in their statue-like bodies. "So I figured maybe some... research on the Nevrons might help in coming up with a way to protect Maelle from exposure."

He is not a scientist. Not even close. But he has all of eternity to look into this now, and— it has to be a start, at least.

"That's... not a bad idea, actually," Gustave says, moving to his bedroom to grab a pack and to blindly throw a few changes of clothes in. He admittedly hasn't thought about it from that angle yet — as much as he hates the idea of Maelle far enough away to be fully out of reach, he's stuck on the idea of a family waiting for her. They were still grieving the loss of one child. He's not sure he could blame them for doing whatever that was in their power to keep from losing another.

"We... might need to loop Lune in on this one eventually." Gustave was the closest thing to the resident expert on the weird Lumina bullshit that Lumière had in its little scientific community, owed entirely to his research on the converter; surely that would make studying chroma easier.

God, he's going to have to set up a workshop in the gestral village, isn't he?

"We?" Verso calls from the hall, sounding a little surprised. He hadn't meant to recruit Gustave (or Lune, for that matter), just to ask if he'd even thought it would be a good idea at all. Unlike Verso, Gustave has a scientist's mind, so his opinion on whether there's even any point in investigating this further holds credence.

It's not that he doesn't want or value Gustave's potential input. It's just that he hadn't really considered involving him at all. Verso has spent the better part of a century doing everything that matters by himself for the most part, and he'd figured he'd do the same here, even if he barely knows where to start.

He doesn't want to sound ungrateful for the assistance, though, and it could be useful to get some advice on what to do before leaving for the Continent. So: "You think it's worth looking into, then?"

The notion that Verso has broached a topic like this without expecting his participation genuinely hasn't even occurred to him. "Yes, I do," he says, shutting his bedroom door bring him when he exits. "And yes, we? Unless things are still too tense with her for whatever reason. I don't mind asking her alone."

Gustave has no idea if Verso's theory has any merit, but the realization that there might be other ways to help has hit him like a speeding truck. He catches Verso by the hips, reeling him in to kiss him in a way that's deeply tender.

'For whatever reason'. Gustave has been exceedingly forgiving about the whole 'trying to end the world not once but twice' thing—and Verso has to wonder if he's unintentionally tricked him into that forgiveness, somehow—but Lune isn't quite so easygoing. They haven't really spoken since the return to Lumière; he's been afraid of what she might say, so he hasn't had the courage to face her at all.

It's only fair that he talks to her before leaving. Maybe if he comes to her with this idea, she'll be more inclined to— not forgiveness, exactly, but at least tolerance.

He's a little bit distracted by the anxiety of seeing her again when Gustave kisses him, and it admittedly takes him a moment to properly switch gears. Let it never be said that he doesn't respond enthusiastically to Gustave's affection, though, because he kisses back after a moment of mental calibration, hand on Gustave's neck.

When he pulls away, he says, "Obviously, I was just saying all of that because I know science is such a turn-on for you."

For whatever reason. Because despite all of his conviction, his stubborn optimism about the Expedition, he'd been the first one ready to abandon it and take Maelle home to safety. Because he didn't care what happened to himself, to the future of Lumière, if it meant keeping that one person safe a little longer. He doesn't feel particularly forgiving; he just feels like he understands.

The idea of something to do that isn't just coercing Maelle into leaving seems to have put him in an abruptly cheerful mood. He thinks for a moment that he definitely shouldn't be doing this in the hallway of his home, and then decides he doesn't care. He urges Verso's hips in against his own, ignoring his words to kiss him again in a way that's intentionally licentious like he very rarely is when he's not actively having sex with Verso.

"Je t'aime, ami," he says, voice low and grinning when he leans back slightly. "You got me there."

Thirty-two years is apparently young enough still to latch eagerly onto whatever hope is offered to him.

Edited 2025-10-05 15:21 (UTC)

Okay, maybe it really is a turn-on!! Verso hadn't quite expected his idle thoughts to improve Gustave's mood this much; honestly, he'd been half-afraid that Gustave would be able to poke holes in his idea instantly, tell him that it would never work. He's a pessimist by nature, and this particular topic only makes him more cynical.

The fact that it has brightened Gustave's mood brightens his own mood, too, though—not to that tentative hopefulness he'd felt before they confronted Renoir, but maybe something a step below that—and the corner of his mouth quirks up involuntarily.

"Ami," he echoes, exasperated as he presses Gustave back against the wall, right next to some cozy little painting of flowers that Gustave's sister must have hung up. Licentiousness comes easily to him in a way that chaste affection doesn't. "Is this how you treat all of your amis? Très scandaleux."

Gustave laughs out loud when he's nudged back, rolling his head to rest against the wall — he's pleased that his needling seems to have worked as intended. Okay, they definitely shouldn't be doing this either, but the front door wouldn't have been locked so early in the evening if anyone else had been home.

"Only the ones I'm sleeping with," he informs him primly, reaching up to grab a fistful of Verso's shirt. "You looked good tonight. Nice to see you in something—" He laughs again. "Modern." Instead of vintage, he means, clearly just trying to rile him up.

What a dick.

"Tais-toi," Verso says without any real frustration behind it, proven by the way he presses his mouth against Gustave's to, in fact, shut him up. It's more playful than forceful, fingers reaching up to thumb at the silly little flower tucked behind Gustave's ear. He's reminded vaguely of the first time they'd ever done anything, when he'd pushed Gustave up against that tree and been instantly worried that he'd crossed some invisible line. It's an embarrassing memory, and he laughs a little against Gustave's mouth before pulling back for air.

"I thought you liked older men." Considering Verso is the only older man around, he'd sure hope so. "If you aren't into silver-haired foxes, I'm going to have to pay the barber a visit."

Gustave remembers that with more fondness than embarrassment, back when they'd been awkward and uncertain around each other. Which - alright, sure, they're frequently awkward and uncertain around each other still, but for much different reasons than those had been.

His shoulders tremble again with laughter, and he smooths his hand against Verso's stomach. "Mmm," he says, shaking his head. "Pretty sure I just like you, actually."

"Hey," Verso scolds. "I thought I was the one doing the obnoxious charming here."

Although it's not obnoxious at all when Gustave does it—it's earnest and sweet and impossibly endearing. Where Verso tries too hard, Gustave doesn't try at all and still manages to hit the mark accidentally. It's the sort of thing that usually fills him with a vague sense of jealousy, but it's hard to feel negatively when pressed up against Gustave, his hand flattened against Verso's abdomen.

"You look good, too," he murmurs, absentmindedly arranging Gustave's collar as an excuse to touch him. Then, as payback: "It's nice to see you with brushed hair."

"I always brush it," Gustave protests, and he actually groans as he tilts his head back against the wall again. "I put some sort of— mousse or gel or something—" He is genuinely not certain. "—in it to make it lay like this. I still don't really see the point, but it's nice to know my efforts are appreciated, I guess," he complains, and he gently pinches Verso's side.

Not the 13-in-1 gel-mousse, Gustave!!! Please!!!

Unfortunately, this griping is also endearing. Verso presses his mouth to Gustave's jaw, then says—half-teasing and half-sincere—"It's very sexy." It is; Gustave looks very put together (at least, for him!), and it turns out that's just as charming as when he looks like he rolled out of bed after spending the entire night tinkering with something. "Très beau."

Gustave swears under his breath at the warmth of Verso's mouth on his jaw, at the strangely appealing way it feels like he's been cornered. "I am in my thirties," he says after a moment, and it's a whiny sort of whisper meaning: I can't believe I'm thinking about dragging you to bed twice in twelve hours.

His hand glides around Verso's side to rest on the small of his back. "T’es trop charmant. Infuriating."

"Oh—"

The most annoying person alive, Verso steps back, giving Gustave enough room to escape his affections. It's all obviously for show: the performatively slow way he withdraws, the mock-contrition in his voice, the way he lets his fingers linger just slightly against Gustave's hip.

"Well, if it's infuriating..."

Gustave flusters openly at that, because he knows what reason Verso is hoping to get from that. He's tempted to be obstinate, to call his pretend little bluff and sidestep him to finish grabbing his things, but—

Well. Even if he weren't very much enjoying himself here, he'd have to be somehow even denser than he is already to have missed the fact that Verso likes to feel wanted.

So Gustave reaches to catch him when Verso pulls away, doing his best to land on 'sulking disappointment.' "No, sorry, it's probably best if you stay where I can keep an eye on you. Make sure you're not getting into trouble. Come back here."

He had never, ever actually intended to deny Gustave for a second, especially because it's rare for him to initiate like this; Verso is literally always raring to go at a moment's notice, but Gustave is rather more reserved. Not a bad thing, but it does mean Verso's eager to take advantage of the opportunity he's been given.

So, he readily sandwiches Gustave between the wall and his body again, saying, "Your wish is my command," before pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. Pathetically true. If Gustave told him to jump right now, he'd ask how high.

"—Although," he adds, very gently dragging his teeth against Gustave's skin, because he's also going to take full advantage of the only vaguely kinky thing Gustave has ever expressed interest in, "I was hoping to get into a little trouble."

Tonight's plans have deviated abruptly from their earlier track. He'd meant to grab some clothes, maybe a bottle of wine to share with Verso while he listened to him compose. Getting pinned against the wall in the front hallway of his home hadn't even been a consideration for his bingo card.

They should retreat to his room, or at the very least lock the front door if they don't want to get caught like horny teenagers unable to keep their hands off each other, but that can wait another minute or two at least.

The light scrape of teeth gets a little catch of Gustave's breath. He reaches behind Verso then, gently tugging at his shirt, aiming to untuck it just enough to slip his hand up the bare skin of his back. "I thought you were going to play music for me," he says, tone affectionate.

Verso still fully intends to play piano for Gustave; all the better if it's during the afterglow, considering that being intimate with Gustave this morning had put him in a rather musical mood. He can't remember the last time he'd hummed a little tune while getting ready in the morning. Pre-Fracture, probably.

He hums again now, more thoughtful than melodic. Then, incurably smug: "Well, the sounds you make are music to my ears."

Gustave genuinely has no idea if Verso's theory will hold water, or if they'll be able to action anything for it in time even if it does. That matters less than the fact that the idea at all had blown away some of the clouds in front of his eyes. He approached every other problem from a dozen different angles, and it had startled him somewhat to realise he'd been so narrowly focused on this one.

(And, well, to a lesser but not insignificant degree — having a baked in excuse to keep Verso in his life a little while longer made it easier to feel like he was drawing a full breath when he thought about the future.)

There's a break of tension in the way he carries himself — it feels not unlike one of Lune's healing spells with all the really good healing buff pictos equipped — and the exaggerated way he rolls his eyes is softened by the way he's grinning. ('You roll your eyes a lot,' Lune had pointed out once, amused, to which Gustave had reminded her he lived with a teenage girl.)

"You're the worst," Gustave says, voice low and rich. "Why do I want you all the time?"

Verso is the worst. Like, objectively. Completely undeserving of being here right now, trapping Gustave against the wall, face pressed against the warmth of his neck. But Gustave had encouraged him not to preemptively ruin things, so he bats away any feelings of guilt or shame, tries not to think about all of the things that Gustave still doesn't know about him.

"It's okay," he says, blindly unbuttoning Gustave's pants. Softly, like it's a romantic confession and not a statement of how quickly Gustave can give him an erection, "I want you all the time, too."

There is some level of romance to it, he thinks. It's a very different sort of wanting when there's feelings involved, an intention beyond distracting himself from how awful everything is. Casual sex in the woods had felt like trying to quiet the pesky buzz of desire for human contact. This is more like a full-body ache to be close to someone for the sake of being close.

Embarrassing. He laughs. "Je suis fou."

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i don't like that while i wrote this you dmed me "speaking of gay incest"