superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

"Yeah," he admits, shrugging a little like it isn't as difficult as it is. Of course he misses her. He wants nothing more than for everything to be like it used to be before they confronted her father and she'd made it agonizingly clear that she couldn't be trusted to use the Canvas responsibly. They'd had some fun out there on the Continent, he thinks. It would be nice if things were different, if she could come with them. They could be a weird, fucked up family together.

"But she's been in good hands." Verso reaches out for Gustave's flesh hand, then pauses. "Good hand."

Ha, ha. Hand joke.

"You know her better than me," hurts a little to say, but it's true. Verso isn't actually her brother, and she isn't actually his sister. Gustave is more her family than he is. "Any tips?"

"I don't know if I do," Gustave says, and he folds Verso's hand into both of his own, like the metal and muscle are equal parts of him. It's not that he's trying to argue; it's just something he's thought about a lot. "I certainly used to. But now?"

He squeezes his hand gently, then lets it go. "She's had a whole life that I'm not sure I'm capable of even fathoming, honestly."

The question seems to eat at him, though, and he turns to sit lightly on the edge of the mattress next to Verso now. "Which I guess is to say— I have no idea. Just let her be mad at us, maybe? She'll get it someday."

Just let her be mad at us, Gustave says, like that doesn't kill him. Seeing Maelle upset is torture. He can still picture her tear-streaked cheeks that day in Lumière, hear her wobbly voice. Verso likes to think that Gustave would have taken his side if he were privy to the conversation, but he'd certainly looked like the villain from the outside.

He grimaces. "Ooh, that's a good one. You'll understand when you're older." Won't piss her off at all.

Gustave bumps his knee against Verso's. "I wasn't suggesting that you use those words, you know. Do you remember how angry she was at me after the cliffs?" When Verso had rescued all of them, but especially Gustave. When Maelle had screamed at him to run, and he'd shook his head no. "She's never going to be okay with it, but she understands better now than she did before, I think."

He hesitates, not sure if the next thing he wants to say is the right thing or not. He ventures on anyway. "Nothing you do or say— it's never going to make her love you less. If you're afraid of that." Or maybe that's just his own fear.

"I know," he says, although he doesn't sound very happy about it. She's never going to love him less because it's not really him she loves at all. It's not the portrait of someone that you really love, it's the subject of it. The fact that it's a recreation of someone you care for. He doesn't want to ruin the day with that, though, and he definitely isn't going to broach anything about the Stone Wave Cliffs after it nearly spoiled their whole morning.

So: "You're quite good at this emotional support thing," he says glibly, knocking their elbows together. "Are you just saying all of this so I'll think you're sensitive?"

Gustave chuckles softly, the sound somehow almost more weary than amused. He's staring down at his own hands in his lap, just for wont of anything else to focus on at the exact moment.

"I'm saying it because I also love you," he says finally, "and because I hate not being able to do these painful things for you. Trite advice is really the best I can do here."

Aw. Verso's heart grows three sizes upon seeing this despondent little Gustave. That's his pookie!! His chouchou, his mec mignon, his insert embarrassing French endearment here. He tilts his head and leans into Gustave's space in a bid to draw his attention away from those hands of his.

"What a coincidence. I love trite advice."

It is nice to receive it, if it's from Gustave. Even his trite advice sounds sincere and special, although it's hard to tell if that's by virtue of Gustave's particular brand of earnestness or if it's just because Verso has an embarrassing crush.

"It must be hard," he says, trying to reciprocate the emotional support thing. "Not being able to stick a turnscrew in something and fix it."

Wow but they're not testicle buds anymore? Rude, and also hurtful. Gustave laughs again, more sincerely this time, and shoves tokenly at Verso as if he minds his personal space being encroached upon.

"It is pretty difficult," he agrees, smiling slightly over at him. "But good company makes most things easier to bear. When were you thinking about—? Would it be easier if I told her I'll be going first?" He pauses, then awkwardly adds: "What if I told her first, I mean, I wasn't saying I'll be leaving before you."

Gustave is yet again spinning the hamster wheel of his mind. Verso wasn't really thinking about bringing their departure up with her at all. Sure, Gustave had gentle parented him into accepting that he has to tell her eventually, but he'd sort of been hoping he'd just... feel when the moment was right and blurt it out. No planning required.

Dry: "It definitely wouldn't be easier if you left first and I had to deal with her being deprived of you."

Sure, she'll still be deprived of Gustave, but at least Verso won't have to be there to bear the brunt of her distress. Poor Emma, though.

"But— maybe?" It isn't fair, though, to make Gustave have the hard conversation and then swoop in at the last moment to benefit from it. Besides, he imagines Maelle will be upset if he isn't the one to bring it up first. She'll know it was his idea. "No," is a little more decisive. "She'll want to hear it from me."

Which does not mean it will be easier, but it'll have to happen regardless. He pinches the bridge of his nose, warding off the headache that's quickly forming. "She might just Paint a dungeon to throw us both into."

"Merde," Gustave whispers, then sighs a bit melodramatically. He's not certain there's any more conversation to be had about the topic, at last until it comes to pass. Verso will, eventually, spill the beans with Maelle. It's going to be a disaster, but one they're both just going to have to weather. "Normal teenagers are already terrifying enough. Adding the power to bend reality as we know it really makes it feel unfair, you know?"

And then, in what is probably a stark sign that Gustave really is spending too much time with Verso, he tries to flirt with him to lift the mood. "Hey, c'mon. I think I'd enjoy being trapped in a dungeon with you." He pats Verso's upper thigh, like he's being consoling here. "Sounds— uh. Racy."

It does lift the mood. Verso is delighted, in fact. Gustave remains adorable despite his protestations of being a grown man in his thirties; the way he says 'racy' makes Verso sort of want to bite him and shake him around like a dog with a chew toy. One corner of his mouth lifts, the pleasure on his face faint but very sincere.

"I can imagine some licentious fraternization under those circumstances, yes," he teases. Then: "I wouldn't mind being trapped in a dungeon with you, either."

Life sort of feels like a dungeon right now—and not the licentious kind—but Gustave's presence does make it better. He inspires a lot of jealousy and shame, yes, but he's also really cute, so it evens out. "Was that a come-on, or did you have things to do today?" Just trying to suss out the right reaction here.

Gustave would much prefer a dungeon to the Canvas. There was always the chance of rescue, of escape from a dungeon, no matter how unlikely it might be. Once the scales had fallen from his eyes about the reality of Lumière's situation it had become difficult to reconcile the devotion he'd had to it before. He owed the existence of everything he knew and loved to the whims of a stranger's grief.

If nothing else — at least that made it easier to leave it behind a second time.

Of course, there's no room for depressing rumination like that while he's focused instead on Verso's teasing, and the question makes him laugh. "Do I really have to pick one? They can't both be true?" Okay, so he hadn't quite meant for it to be an outright proposition, but it's not like he's displeased by the notion.

"Well, I've been burned before," he says reasonably. "You can't imagine the embarrassment of climbing on top of someone just for him to tell you that he's too tired."

Out of all of the horrendous things he's experienced, that has to at least fall in the top five. He's learning to be more careful with his indecent proposals, though, learning that Gustave is not raring to go at literally all times like he is. Crazy how all of this he's still horny, the human spirit is unbreakable.

"Besides," he continues, "per your request, you'd be put temporarily out of commission." Teasing Gustave for the admission of liking it quote-unquote 'rough'. But also sort of narcissistically convinced that he could dick Gustave down to such a degree?? "And I'd hate to interfere with your plans for the day. Although I've heard great things about delayed gratification."

"Hey, that's slander. You're the one who decided I was too tired, thank you. And I'd already dozed off once when you were reading me that bedtime story, if you recall."

But he's amused, not actually defensive, as he reaches over to take Verso's hand just so he can pull it to his mouth and kiss the back of it. Yes, planning is important, but somehow making Verso feel wanted has also become an actual priority for him. So when he drops Verso's hand, he twists in his seat, scooting back to rest against the headboard. "But let me have a do-over anyway."

Gustave thinks it's weirdly cute, somehow, that Verso assumes that Gustave would be the one put out of commission, but he won't remark on that. Instead, he just pats the side of his own leg. "C'mere."

Okay!! He should maybe be a little offended that Gustave is beckoning him the way one does a dog, but at this point, when Gustave says jump he asks how high. Besides, he'd have to be an idiot to turn him down. It's quite fun, actually, being physically intimate with someone in a way that isn't a casual quickie in the woods. Much less awkward and halting. Not entirely un-awkward, admittedly, but he'll blame that on Gustave instead.

Regardless— his mouth twists, and he crawls on top of Gustave as requested, although... he makes a face like a photographer trying to find the perfect shot, squinting as he places his hands on Gustave's shoulders and manhandles him further down. "You were more like this," he says by way of explanation. "Much less up-and-at-'em."

Offensively tired, some might say. He's not saying it. Just that some people might. A kiss to Gustave's bearded jaw before, "If you fall asleep now, I might willingly choose the dungeon." There is no coming back from that.

Gustave slouches down just enough to accommodate Verso's guidance, his own hands moving to hold him—the metal one at his waist, the flesh one slipped gently around the back of his neck. "I don't think me falling asleep is something you need to worry about right now," he says, his voice low and fond and pleased. "Do I need to worry about how bossy you've gotten? Is this a new development, or have I just been too besotted to notice?"

He's teasing, of course, because they're the two saddest men that he knows, but somehow they're always teasing each other.

It's also true that Gustave seems to have chased away any trace of fatigue. He's bright eyed, receptive, and he turns his head to catch Verso in a proper kiss. There's no soft, gentle leadup this morning; Gustave is immediately coaxing Verso's mouth open with his own, his arm squeezing him closer.

So maybe this is going to be a casual quickie after all— but it's a casual quickie in an actual room with an actual locking door, which is most certainly a step up. Très romantique. Besides, they can't all be big moments. He's planning on doing a lot of this, after all. Gustave's got a great personality and all, but he's also a megahottie.

He laughs against Gustave's mouth, then pulls back— "Oh, so you're saying you're no longer besotted." That's what he just said! How quickly he grew tired of Verso. But it's light, amused rather than offended; he is, in fact, emboldened by the feeling of being wanted. Maybe emboldened to be annoying, though.

"I get it. You're just going through the motions." But he's already scooting back to tug Gustave's cute little early 20th century pajama pants down his thighs, so the motions can't be that bad.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I meant. So sick of you I can't stand it." Gustave has been an obstinate, stubborn asshole at points throughout his entire life. Right now, it's being inspired in him by Verso's casual and extremely annoying confidence that he'd be the one — and the only one — too wiped out from a little early morning romp to get anything else done for the day.

It's never really the sex that Gustave has found awkward; it was the emotional stumbling that had tripped him up. But that's sorted now, he thinks, or hopes, at least, and it's so much easier when he's not second guessing himself with every touch.

He catches Verso's hand, pressing it flat against his own stomach. "We're not in a hurry, you know."

Well!! Maybe not quite that quick after all. It's not that he'd been hurrying, exactly, it's just that— he likes Gustave. A lot. It's out of eagerness this time around, rather than the feeling that they're on a time clock—they've got literally all the time in the world now—or that this is a transactional interaction best served by getting each other off as soon as possible.

But he takes the correction easily, aware that he's still learning this, learning the things that Gustave likes—a little bit of foreplay, clearly. Noted.

Playfully, he slides his hand up Gustave's torso, pushing up his shirt as he goes, leisurely and tongue-in-cheek sexy. "Is this slow and sensual enough for you, monsieur?"

"Just about, I think, yeah," Gustave says, and he's clearly amused by Verso's playful turn. His stomach tenses out of reflex beneath the touch, content for a moment to just admire the elegant splay of Verso's fingers against him.

"I must not have been paying attention before," he remarks almost offhandedly, letting his own hand slide around Verso's hip and slipping his fingers into his waistband to unashamedly grab his ass. Cheesy and trite on purpose, but also utterly sincere: "Had no idea men could be this beautiful."

—He could scoff. Clearly, Gustave hasn't looked in a single mirror in his entire life. Then again, he'd found him good-looking but not necessarily attractive or desirable until the moment that Gustave started 'excessively kissing' him, so maybe he is a little stealth-hot.

"Yeah—all this, and I can scramble eggs," he jokes, although he's grinning with pleasure at being the recipient of Gustave's flattery. Objectively, he's probably the least sexy he's ever been in these stupid pajamas, but at least Gustave's sincerity makes him feel otherwise. He leans in to kiss the side of Gustave's neck, above his collar, with tongue and teeth. A few moments of testing and easing into things, and then he sucks at the skin there, a terribly inopportune place to have an embarrassing hickey like a sixteen-year-old. Oh, well. Gustave can't prove that it's on purpose.

"But," he says, kissing the reddening spot to punctuate his sentence, "you are the most handsome man in Lumière."

Gustave is fairly certain this is a side of Verso very few other people will be allowed to see, and it makes him extremely fond of the rumpled pajamas. He has never been by nature an excessively possessive man, but even still—there's something extremely pleasant about knowing even just one small part of Verso belongs to him and him alone.

He's going to complain later when he looks in a mirror and sees an actual mark sticking around; for now, he's just humming in a throaty sort of approval. "Pretty sure that's a subjective assessment," Gustave says, because accepting the compliment seems vain but disagreeing feels silly.

He leans in to catch Verso's mouth lightly in his own, hand moving to stroke Verso's dick lightly—almost incidentally—through the material of his ridiculous pajamas. "I think that shirt makes you look overdressed, by the way. Just in case you were wondering."

He's hard already. It's that easy.

There's always been a little bit of self-consciousness around sex, not because of anything particular about it but because he's vaguely self-conscious about everything, too aware of being perceived to really let go and be authentic. But he's experienced a level of emotional vulnerability with Gustave heretofore reserved for pre-Fracture life, so Verso tries to respond without thinking about it overmuch, making an encouraging noise as he feels the featherlight touch through cotton.

"I was wondering," he says, like it's such a coincidence that Gustave thought to bring it up. "You should definitely rip it off of me, then." It's only polite.

So is Gustave, from pretty much the moment Verso actually climbed into his lap; they are apparently both contenders for the title of the Canvas's Horniest Sad White Man. He deftly tugs Verso's sleepshirt off over his head, immediately taking the opportunity to lean in and latch on to a spot near his clavicle.

This hickey is openly intentional, purposeful—and maybe Gustave bites just a little harder than he means too, he figures Verso can just allow it to heal if it causes any actual discomfort.

"We should have another date by the Sacred River," he muses, and then promptly attempts to suck a second mark in right next to the first.

Edited 2025-12-05 01:52 (UTC)

As big a fan as he is of sweet, docile Gustave, Verso is an even bigger fan when he's bold; he hasn't really experienced anything resembling passion in decades, and it's exciting to feel the enthusiasm go both ways. To feel like he's not the only one here who's ridiculously horny at the drop of a hat.

He makes another sound of approval, hand pressing encouragingly at the nape of Gustave's neck. No way he's going to heal the physical proof of Gustave getting racy. The description of what they did at the Sacred River as a 'date' seems like it's looking back with rose-colored glasses—it was more giving Gustave an orgasm so he wouldn't feel sad anymore—but he doesn't argue about it, instead saying, "I'm always up for more sacrilege."

Just assuming there's going to be sacrilege.

He waits patiently for Gustave to finish with his little love bite before he starts his impatient and insistent tug to get his shirt off, too. It's only fair. "Is that how you want it?" The way it was at the Sacred River, he means, sans (some of) the weird sadness and existentialism. "I take requests."

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