superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

Gustave is expecting - something, when Verso finishes stroking him through. Gentle ribbing, awkward teasing, but it never arrives. He opens his eyes and locks them with Verso's quite accidentally, smiling crookedly at him.

"Okay, professor," he says, that warm huskiness still there in his voice. His hand moves to Verso's hip, but despite the boldness, he still seems to be waiting to confirm permission.

Smiling is good. It means Gustave didn't just experience a diabolical level of post-nut clarity and instantly regret coming out here with a strange, not entirely trustworthy man. Verso smiles back, a mirror of Gustave's own.

"I wanted to really give the lesson time to sink in," he says as explanation for his silence, because there's no good way to explain that he thought his existence might ruin Gustave's post-orgasm bliss. To be fair, it does ruin a lot of things. "You know. Quiet reflection."

There is, inexplicably, hesitation in Gustave's touch, so he adds, "But the best way to learn is to do it yourself."

In Gustave's defense, he has very little evidence to lead him to the conclusion that Verso's ultimate goal will lead to the nonexistence of the entire world as he knows it. If anything, the way that Verso has been remarkably gentle and patient with him has just made him a lot fonder of the guy.

"Right. That all seems sound," he says after a beat, chuckling again. There's nothing particularly funny, but he's stolen some joy from this moment, quiet and subtle and unexpectedly buoyant. He shifts in slightly to give himself better leverage, and when he begins to stroke Verso it's with that same intense study as before.

He knows it's unlikely that they'll ever be in a situation like this one again - but if they are, Gustave will is apparently aiming to have a few footnotes on how to give Verso the optimal handjob.

It's not particularly difficult to give Verso a good handjob, because the last time anyone did was— merde. A long time ago. Not that long in the context of a century-long life, but certainly long in any other context. Maybe it's obvious in the sharp intake of air, and if not it's probably obvious in how painfully eager the offending part of his body is. He doesn't really want Gustave to realize this after he just went on about how instructional his handjob was, so he quickly says, "That's— good."

Gustave strikes him as the type of person to respond positively to a few verbal gold stars, after all. He certainly has the expression of someone trying to do well, and Verso feels a little like a bug under a pane of glass under his intense scrutiny.

"Please don't write about this in your notebook," he adds, not because he imagines Gustave actually will, but because he looks as if he's mentally taking notes.

It's almost a relief when Verso's body does react as eagerly as his own had. He wasn't concerned, exactly, but maybe just still in possession of some very fleeting anxiety - that maybe Verso had brought him here out of pity at his drunken flirtation more than out of his own interest.

Gustave shifts in closer, near to bumping their foreheads together at the remark about his journal. "Maybe just my own private one," he murmurs, voice low; the motion of his hand is steady, confidence easily won by the way Verso has responded to him.

Conversely, it's a relief that Gustave doesn't call him out for his obvious bravado. You lied, he could easily say. You haven't had sex in ages. Which would be both true and warranted, but would definitely ruin the mood.

This is, again, not really appropriate behavior for a meaningless hook-up, but he's coming to believe that Gustave simply can't help himself. Their faces are very close, and Verso isn't sure where to look; his eyes dip down to Gustave's mouth, and he wonders if this is an invitation to kiss him or if he just doesn't know what he's doing. After all, it's one thing to kiss someone, but it's probably another to kiss them with their hand on your cock.

He should have a snappy comeback for that, but it's very hard to think with a hand stroking him like this, so he says eloquently, "Yeah."

Edited (lmao) 2025-07-01 21:58 (UTC)

Gustave can't help being a little pleased with himself at having rendered Verso so uncharacteristically speechless. Not that it's a surprise, really; very few people would be able to summon words in the middle of a drunken, impulse hookup, but he'll take his victories where he can get them.

He can see Verso's eyes cut down to his mouth and hesitates - considers this might, actually, be his last opportunity for even just a fascimile of affection, and he closes the gap to kiss him one final time. It's open mouthed, actually a little lewd, like he hopes it might help coax him along.

Verso will not admit it, but it does help him along. It's been a long time since he's been kissed, too, or really experienced any sort of affection besides the aggressively platonic, nearly familial kind that Esquie and Monoco were seemingly created to give. He tenses, shudders, and groans into Gustave's open mouth.

Distantly, he considers that he might have just made this a little weird. After a long moment, he pulls away, shifting onto his back and reaching to blindly tug his trousers back up.

"...Good 'guy talk'."

"Yeah," Gustave agrees a little muzzily, watching Verso just long enough to make sure there aren't any immediate expressions of revulsion or regret. He should actively try not to commit any of this to memory, he thinks; there's not enough time in the day for things like desire on the Expedition.

He turns his face away to give him a bit of privacy (and also to fumblingly re-buckle his own belt). There's the littlest bit of vertigo when he pushes himself up onto his arms, and he gives himself a moment to adjust. "Excellent wine. And company," he adds belatedly.

Verso sits up and buckles his belt, then reaches over for the jacket he'd discarded at— some point. He still feels warm all over, the pink flush of intimacy still on his skin, so he doesn't put it on, just folds it over his arm.

He wonders if perhaps he should assure Gustave that it isn't like he's going to tell anyone about this, but who would Gustave fear him telling, anyway? Monoco? He has no interest in hearing about anything two humans do together if it isn't about fighting. So, instead, he keeps it light, teasing, "I've had better wine."

"I wouldn't tell Esquie. Might hurt his feelings." Gustave reaches up to brush his hand through his own hair, just trying to gather his own bearings a bit, and startles when he finds part of a dead leaf clinging on. He's not worried about Verso spilling the beans, really, but he does make a bit of a face at the foliage he's just extracted.

"Everyone is gonna know, huh."

Verso reaches up to pick some greenery from his own hair and frown at it before pushing himself back up to a standing position. He blinks a couple times, a bit drunkenly disoriented.

They might suspect. He would, if he saw Lune and Sciel walk off together before returning covered in foliage and in comparatively higher spirits. But he takes this as a sign that he should, in fact, reassure Gustave: "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone." He reaches out a hand, then, for Gustave to pull himself up. Business as usual.

"You can go back first," he offers, if Gustave is embarrassed about it.

Gustave clasps Verso's wrist with his hand and pulls himself to his feet. The way he clings to it for just a moment has nothing to do with the strange affection from earlier and everything to do with the fact that he's also quite drunk and the dump of adrenaline in his blood is fading.

He releases him after a moment, giving him a slightly baffled look. "I don't care if you tell them," he says, and it's only because of the wine and the sex that his exasperation is so obviously sulky. "They're just going to make fun of me. Oh, well."

"Oh," is his only answer to that for a moment. "Yeah, probably."

They make fun of most things Gustave does. This would just be another. He considers warning that this won't help Gustave when he finally gets his head out of his ass and realizes they make fun of him because they adore him, but— he'll find that out for himself. And, besides, Verso still doesn't plan on saying anything about it.

He stands there for a protracted moment, before gesturing behind him the way they came. "We should get back."

"You go. I'm gonna take - just a quick lap around the perimeter." Never go alone, sure, but they're still within shouting distance of help if something goes sideways. "Just need a minute to myself, I think."

Which might make it sound like he needs to process, or decompress, but that's not true. His mind is pleasant static for once, and he'd like a just a little time to savor that. "You can tell them - whatever you want."

"It's a lot to take in, I know," he jokes as he finally slips his jacket back on, because it does sort of sound like Gustave plans to process. It doesn't feel particularly right turning his back on Gustave on the outskirts of camp like this, but it wouldn't feel right forcing his company on him, either, so he gives Gustave a very congenial, very platonic clap on the shoulder before saying, "Don't get eaten by a Nevron. Takes forever to wash the gunk out of your hair."

When he gets back to camp, Monoco asks him where he was. (Offended, because "I showed off my prowess with Sciel's scythe, and you were nowhere to be seen.") Hunting Nevrons is his answer, to which Monoco replies, terribly predictably, "Without me?"

Okay, sure; there's a little processing that happens, but Gustave is in no condition to navel-gaze too deeply. Mostly he just wants to take a minute to let himself feel things - the cooler night air, the yield of dirt beneath his boots. He's grateful to be alive; he's gone from suicidal to feeling like not appreciating it enough is a slap in the metaphorical face to Lucien and the rest of the team.

He'll return just fine after a short while, but not before Sciel takes the first opportunity she has to sidle up to Verso when he's alone to say "Can't help but noticed you came back alone. Did we miss a quarrel?"

"Oh, yeah," is Verso's answer to that. "Got pretty physical, actually." His eyes flick over to Gustave appearing through the brush, and he adds, with a slight push, "You should go comfort him."

"Hey," Sciel complains, not because she doesn't want to comfort Gustave but because she disapproves of the manhandling. She does, however, take a couple steps in his direction.

"I've got to watch Monoco's scythe demonstration," he says like a parent attending a child's recital, jerking a thumb back towards Monoco before slipping away.

Sciel shakes her head, then calls, "Gustave!"

Gustave has known Sciel long enough that he's certain she's going to clock his slightly heightened level of inebriation pretty much instantly, and he flinches like a teenager caught coming past curfew when she calls his name.

"I was just taking a walk," he says quickly, a little defensively, but he's going for his pack to grab a water skin. "All good?"

"I thought you were supposed to be cheering Verso up, not tussling with him," is a joking chide.

Then she sniffs. Gustave does smell very strongly of wine. So did Verso, actually. That would explain some things.

"Are you—" She pokes him with some force, checking his steadiness. "How much did you have to drink?"

And, to his own horror, Gustave actually stumbles slightly. He catches himself but shoots her a dirty look (fully lacking any real heat or scorn, of course.)

"I may have gotten - a little carried away," he admits, and he's doing his best to play it cool here. "You looked like you lot were having fun, too."

Water. He's going to focus on getting water. Why did Verso sic Sciel on him???

"I'd say. Esquie taught us to dance."

From across the camp, Verso glances over at Gustave and smiles smugly. Monoco, of course, complains, "You aren't watching," which leads to the back-and-forth:

"I am watching. You swung it left, you swung it right—" "And I would take a Nevron's head off." "And you'd take a Nevron's head off." "So I should be allowed to wield it in battle." "—Well..."

"So," Sciel continues, "what happened?"

Gustave takes a careful seat near his pack, pulling a long drink of lukewarm water that's somehow the best tasting water he's ever had, and shrugs at her question. He's never been great at being evasive.

"Nothing happened," he says, then tilts his head at Monoco. "You going to start fighting with Nevron feet, then? Or is he just showing off the dance he learned."

"Okay, okay," Sciel says, lifting her hands in a gesture of surrender. Fine, if she isn't going to get the tea!!

Then, with a glance toward Monoco: "I... may have been less sober when I lent it to him." She cringes a little. "But I should probably go confiscate it, yeah?"

"Probably, yeah." Gustave pauses, and - he should keep his mouth shut. He's made it through this, if he can just keep his mouth shut-

"- he said we scuffled?" What?

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