superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

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."

"You know this isn't a concert, right?" Gustave says, grinning very slightly as he leans back to shed his own shirt. It's embarrassing to admit, but the enthusiastic sounds and the press of Verso's warm hand on the skin of his neck in tandem are almost as arousing as actually having him there in his lap. "And you make fun of me for planning ahead. Let me just have you like this for a few minutes."

He pulls his arm around Verso's waist to try to draw him back in, grinding up against him like a horny teenager. "Weren't you just praising delayed gratification?" Gustave asks, kissing at his pulse point. Yeah, he's decided he's gonna edge the absolute shit out of him.

"Ah—" Fuck, why did he say that. He lets his eyes shut for a moment, trying to come up with a persuasive argument while simultaneously distracted by the softness of Gustave's mouth, the very exciting heat between his legs. The soft baby hairs at Gustave's neck tickle his fingers.

"I was just saying that so you wouldn't think I was desperate," he admits when he can find words. Also, he was talking about Gustave's delayed gratification, which is a much more enticing prospect.

He plucks at Gustave's waistband again. "Besides, you have all of those important things to do today, remember?" He wouldn't want to be late for all of his important things!!

"Oh, so you want me to think I'm the only one who's desperate," Gustave says, doing an extremely poor job of pretending that his feelings are hurt by the idea. "Besides," he goes on, speaking now in a tone of voice that suggests both that he knows how cheesy he's being and also that he's quite dorkily pleased by it, "pretty sure you're the only important thing I've got to do today."

Maybe he understands the cute thing now, because Verso is being increasingly cute. Gently he bats the hand at his trousers away again, then slips his own into Verso's instead, the drag of his fingers light and slow.

"Mon beau," he murmurs then, a little more earnestly. "I never get tired of the sight."

Should he be worried that the dorkier Gustave is, the sexier he is? It seems like it might get very embarrassing one day in the future if Gustave makes a dad joke and he experiences the most intense arousal known to man.

Oh, well. That's a problem for future Verso; his present self is currently enjoying his ridiculous levels of arousal. Gustave has nice fingers, gentle and slightly cool against him, and he can't help but imagine those same fingers fiddling with some piece of machinery or wrapped around a screwdriver, and he finds that's embarrassingly arousing, too. He'll never recover from having been given an engineer kink.

It's not really doing much in the way of moving him along, though; he presses against that hand, his own flattened firmly against Gustave's abdomen since he's been so cruelly denied below-the-waist action. A few messy kisses up the column of his neck, and he says, deliberately plaintive, "Mon amour." It is very cruel to make someone who loves you experience delayed gratification.

The plaintive note in Verso's tone causes Gustave's hand to stutter just slightly; even if he won't verbally admit how devastatingly sexy he finds that, his fingers will wrap around him now instead of just brushing lightly against him. It's still not nearly enough to be much more than teasing him still, and he uses his mechanical hand to gently catch Verso's jaw so he can kiss him soundly.

Fuck, he is very aware of how rapidly his willpower is going to shatter if Verso actually gets a hand on him.

"I was wondering," he murmurs against his mouth, hand and words both deliberately slow, "do you want me to make lunch here, or go pick something else up? Later, obviously, I'm busy right now."

There is not a ton of blood supply to his brain at the moment, so he's only half-listening, just assuming that Gustave is whispering sweet nothings like a sane person would. But then he hears the word 'lunch', and— god, he's sexy-murmuring lunch plans against Verso's mouth. He wonders if Gustave is into choking, because he could strangle him right about now.

Admittedly, it should be a way bigger turn-off than it is. He still rocks against Gustave's hand, blunted fingernails scratching gently at the flat plane of his stomach. He still kisses Gustave, several times in quick succession. He still says, affectionate and exasperated, "You're a menace."

So, no, he doesn't have any thoughts on lunch right now.

Gustave grins into that exasperation, eyes bright and full of adoration. "And you love me anyway," he says, something slightly smug about the way he says it. Verso is impossibly appealing this way, squirmy and impatient and turned on; Gustave is probably enjoying it more than he should.

"Here, lift your hips," he prompts finally, removing his hand just so he can push the waistband of Verso's trousers down enough to free him entirely. The way he resumes is firmer, has a noticeably faster tempo. "You know, I was wondering last night— I was thinking about what we'd done to make a real mess of your sheets."

Of course he's going to keep very purposefully talking.

Gustave is a wonderful conversationalist and all, but he's not really interested in carrying on a discussion beyond sweet-nothing-dirty-talk and terms of endearment right now. He especially does not care about the fucking sheets, considering that he can look down and watch Gustave's deft hand at work. There's very little he is interested in thinking about right now aside from Gustave's hand, save for maybe other parts of his body.

"That was fun," is the only dumb comment he can think of to make, because it was. More than fun. Pretty magical for him, honestly, although admitting that aloud would probably be the thing to cure his immortality and make him die from embarrassment.

Proving that decades in the wilderness cannot make you less of a spoiled brat once the damage has already been done, he curls his fingers into Gustave's waistband again. "But we can't do that again if you don't let me undress you," he says, then adds for good measure, "mon cher."

"You keep rushing me," Gustave says in mock-complaint, and he leans in to bite Verso's shoulder again as if in reprimand. He's flying on impulse here, both full of playful affection and also just pleased to see Verso distracted by his own arousal, to know he's the cause of it.

"I was wondering," he continues, lifting his head to kiss at his first his cheek, then his ear. His hand stills for a moment, though he continues to thumb gently against the sensitive tip of him. "If you would be amenable to me— returning the favor sometime." Okay, so maybe he doesn't know how to ask it in a sexy way, maybe he paused a little awkwardly a few times in those sentences, but he's a little distracted, too.

He pulls back just enough to squirm his sleep pants down his hips, achingly hard just from teasing him like this.

Gustave can't ask a question and then immediately take his pants off, that's definitely a party foul. But Verso helps him pull them down regardless, down far enough that he can see Gustave's erection and his thighs. He's too impatient to put in the effort to get them down all the way, so he can still feel the awkward texture of them half-down beneath him—just like old times, when they wouldn't get fully naked for their transactional exchanged handjobs. Was it ever really transactional? Gustave certainly consumed his thoughts even before, although in a decidedly different way.

His lizard-brain has him reaching out to wrap a hand around Gustave before his higher-order brain functions have even kicked in to consider answering his question; when he thinks it over, it's while spreading precome down the length of him. He's imagined them doing a lot of things to each other, honestly, but he'd never once considered that Gustave might be anything but the receptive partner in their escapades. Maybe that was a little presumptuous of him.

This is all probably a conversation that should be had while not fully erect, but, well, they're here now. "Is that something that you want?"

"I, uh—" Gustave's own concentration shatters the second Verso's hand is on him, his own patience evaporating with each stroke. It's an answer too difficult to articulate while this abruptly compromised; he's never really craved specific acts or methods of sex. He'd enjoy it, probably quite a lot, he thinks—but it's a curiosity more than a raging desire.

He gives Verso's hips the slightest tug, aiming to pull him close enough to take both of them in hand at once. "I just want you," he says, voice low and a little rough with his own spiking arousal. Gustave will be mortified as his own mid-coitus babbling later, but it all comes spilling out abruptly: "I don't really care what shape it takes. I want you to feel good— I want to know it's because of me."

He wants to take him apart, piece by piece, to learn what makes him tick. But that would make him sound like a serial killer, so he bites his tongue there.

He'd like to continue contributing here, so Verso places his palm over Gustave's hand, fingers covering his. It's the sort of act that feels a little embarrassingly intimate, jerking each other off hand-over-hand like this, and the feeling is only amplified by the sweet, dorky, very romantic things Gustave is saying. His mouth twitches with fondness, and he has to resist the urge to laugh—as if it weren't obvious enough that his feeling good has everything to do with Gustave, given his near-instant and aching erection.

His thumb brushes against the back of Gustave's hand. "I don't think," he says slowly, not because he's trying to sexy-murmur back but because it's very difficult to form coherent sentences with Gustave's cock sliding against his, "there's anything you could do that I wouldn't be amenable to."

"Had some complaints about delayed gratification earlier," Gustave says, his own breath slightly halting. He's trying to keep things slow and measured, but Verso's hand wrapping around his own is, unfortunately, fucking hot. "Ah— shit, I was meant to be wearing you out."

He'd genuinely had grand designs on dragging this on for a while; teasing, primarily, but he'd severely overestimated his own willpower, it seems. His speed increases and his grip tightens just very slightly with each passing second. "Tying your hands back next time," he blurts after a moment, not because it's a specific kink of his — it's, practically, obviously, Verso is too much of a temptation when he's able to touch him as he pleases.

He raises his metal hand to lightly rest near Verso's shoulder, his own artificial thumb flitting across the darkening marks there in distracted admiration.

Verso smiles, of course delighted that Gustave has said something even slightly approaching kinky; how far his vanilla beau has come. It's not that he particularly cares what they're doing, or that he doesn't enjoy being with Gustave in even the most milquetoast of ways—but a long life is a boring one, day after day the same experiences, and it's exciting to think that there might be someone to explore new and different experiences with. Even more exciting to think that person is Gustave.

I'll hold you to that, he'd like to say, but somehow he just manages, full of teasing affection, "Hot." He kisses over the red spot he made on Gustave's neck, then down his throat, encouraging little kisses-with-teeth that become more teeth than kiss with each inch.

His thighs are starting to feel a little sore in this position, but he's too close to care, biting down hard at the junction between neck and shoulder as he ruts into Gustave's hand, against his own erection. There's a lot of friction, teetering on too much, but he doesn't care about that either; as he'd said, when Gustave is involved, there's nothing he isn't amenable to.

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