[ Despite everything Verso's somehow still nervous as to what Gustave might say or what he might do the moment those words leave his lips. That even if moments before Gustave was telling him he loved him, he might still take his offered still-beating heart and knock it from his hands. He expects to hear that it doesn't matter, that it's good to get this out of the way so they both know without a doubt exactly what they've lost, that this isn't enough to bridge the rift that had started growing between them and is now so wide they can barely reach across it to still hold hands. He expects to hear some apology, mumbled and low.
Instead, Gustave hurtles into him so fast it takes his breath away. That aching distance between them is suddenly nothing at all and is still too much, Gustave's hands are on him, his mouth is on his own, and all he can do is let himself be pushed back and swept away, his hands instinctively reaching back, twisting through his hair to hold him close, anchoring their bodies together so nothing can ever pull them apart again. Verso has wanted him so badly that being inundated by his warmth and his presence and Gustave all around him so suddenly means he can barely think, kissing him back desperately, bruising and harsh.
And then he's actually hearing what he's saying. Gustave says mon amour, and it's enough that he feels his entire world shift, stolen away from him even as he's quite literally swept off his feet by Gustave pushing him back, and back. He tries his best to move with it, his footsteps stumbling on the floor, unwilling to let his hands leave Gustave's body for long enough to brace or balance himself on any of the walls or furniture, but he feels the back of his legs hit something and they're already tumbling over.
Its the couch, apparently, and it's messy and overwhelming as he spills over the arm of it and collapses across, but he's holding onto Gustave so tightly that he pulls him down with him, on top of him, and he doesn't care about anything except that Gustave is still close, and as Gustave keeps talking he finds himself answering, in the same breathless, barely coherent babble, everything he's ever though the should say or couldn't say rising up into his throat and spilling out. ]
I -- I'm sorry, I never said it before. I love you. [ Apologizing seems the wrong thing to do, right now. But it's also all he can think to do when the gaping wound that's been torn between them hurts so much, when he knows it's his fault, when he knows that he just isn't enough to make it work. It never hurt so much before, but he never cared that much before, and it's been so many long years since herthat he felt like he needed someone so badly, that he would simply fall away and crumble into dust if they left him here. ] You can have me. All of me. Just you, please, I love you, I'm sorry --
[ He arches up against him, just trying to feel as much of him as he can, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He thinks he's happy. But it's messy, just crashing into each other over a mess of everything they've turned into. Gustave deserved to hear a confession somewhere beautiful, in a garden where the flowers were all in bloom, laying on their backs across a lonely rooftop with only the stars overhead, hand in hand in a quiet corner of a the restaurant where Verso had taken him on their first real date after weeks of not-quite-dates and hanging out, spelled out in rose petals or fireworks or the stars themselves for all he thinks would be good enough. But it's just this, messy words over tears, pulled on him on what feels like the verge of them falling apart. He doesn't know if it's enough. He wants to be enough. ]
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Instead, Gustave hurtles into him so fast it takes his breath away. That aching distance between them is suddenly nothing at all and is still too much, Gustave's hands are on him, his mouth is on his own, and all he can do is let himself be pushed back and swept away, his hands instinctively reaching back, twisting through his hair to hold him close, anchoring their bodies together so nothing can ever pull them apart again. Verso has wanted him so badly that being inundated by his warmth and his presence and Gustave all around him so suddenly means he can barely think, kissing him back desperately, bruising and harsh.
And then he's actually hearing what he's saying. Gustave says mon amour, and it's enough that he feels his entire world shift, stolen away from him even as he's quite literally swept off his feet by Gustave pushing him back, and back. He tries his best to move with it, his footsteps stumbling on the floor, unwilling to let his hands leave Gustave's body for long enough to brace or balance himself on any of the walls or furniture, but he feels the back of his legs hit something and they're already tumbling over.
Its the couch, apparently, and it's messy and overwhelming as he spills over the arm of it and collapses across, but he's holding onto Gustave so tightly that he pulls him down with him, on top of him, and he doesn't care about anything except that Gustave is still close, and as Gustave keeps talking he finds himself answering, in the same breathless, barely coherent babble, everything he's ever though the should say or couldn't say rising up into his throat and spilling out. ]
I -- I'm sorry, I never said it before. I love you. [ Apologizing seems the wrong thing to do, right now. But it's also all he can think to do when the gaping wound that's been torn between them hurts so much, when he knows it's his fault, when he knows that he just isn't enough to make it work. It never hurt so much before, but he never cared that much before, and it's been so many long years since herthat he felt like he needed someone so badly, that he would simply fall away and crumble into dust if they left him here. ] You can have me. All of me. Just you, please, I love you, I'm sorry --
[ He arches up against him, just trying to feel as much of him as he can, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He thinks he's happy. But it's messy, just crashing into each other over a mess of everything they've turned into. Gustave deserved to hear a confession somewhere beautiful, in a garden where the flowers were all in bloom, laying on their backs across a lonely rooftop with only the stars overhead, hand in hand in a quiet corner of a the restaurant where Verso had taken him on their first real date after weeks of not-quite-dates and hanging out, spelled out in rose petals or fireworks or the stars themselves for all he thinks would be good enough. But it's just this, messy words over tears, pulled on him on what feels like the verge of them falling apart. He doesn't know if it's enough. He wants to be enough. ]