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Underneath the cool light of the moon, the water danced in ethereal and dazzling patterns that seemed to soothe Gustave’s nerves to their very depths. Tonight, it felt wrong to throw rocks into the water and watch them dip beneath. There was some sort of unerring calm filling the air that he knew better than to disturb. Observing would have to be good enough, he decided as he folded his legs close and set his hands on his lap. Letting his eyelids flicker closed, he took time to hear all the sounds around him; of trickling water and soft whispering leaves. There was a sense of peace and calm that filled his heart with warmth and comfort, as well as surprise that the continent could manage to be so…soothing. The fact that it wasn’t all horror stories and nevrons—even if that still made up the bulk of the experience—brought him some form of hope. Not all was lost, and not all was futile. There was still something worth fighting for.
As much as Gustave enjoyed the others’ company, this quiet privacy was rejuvenating. It felt like a rare treasure. Since his injuries, people had been constantly fussing over him and personal space had become a sometimes frustratingly rare commodity. Part of him even considered dragging his bedroll out here, where it was quiet, to get sleep without Monoco’s snores shaking his eardrums and keeping him awake, or Lune crouching by him at irregular intervals to ‘investigate how his sleeping patterns were faring after his accident.’ The good night’s sleep, uninterrupted for once, would do him well. But Maelle would fret if he wasn’t there, so it was better to just take advantage of the small bit of time he had alone now before he needed to return
Out here was…also a little bit lonely. Not just in a good way, either. A cool breeze brushed by Gustave and made him shiver, raising goosebumps on his right arm. Something empty and missing, a part of him wanting warmth. Maybe it was just the campfire. Besides, if he stayed out here for too long, he could well imagine what would end up happening. Maelle would be panicking, Sciel stomping out to drag him back before his little sister’s feelings escalated into a full on panic attack…
No, it wasn’t the fire. Or at least, not only the fire. It was something else that Gustave found himself missing.
Through the sounds of the wind, it was hard to hear the rustling and swishing sounds made by grass bending underfoot coming from behind him. His mind acknowledged it casually, and assumed that it was Maelle come to check on him.
“I’ll be back soon. Just relaxing. Making sure I don’t push myself too much.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Verso’s voice went with the rest of the world’s music in perfect harmonization in Gustave’s ears.
“I like it when you say things.” Gustave knew it was a cringey, sappy thing to say. He couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Am I interrupting a private moment?”
“No. You can stay.” Gustave’s hand moved to pat the ground next to him silently, without him even thinking of it. An instinctual reaction.
“I don’t like to intrude on people.” Verso sounded like an uncertain child who was concerned that he might have ventured too far towards being heard instead of merely seen.
“I promise you that you’re not bothering me by being here.” Gustave began unfolding his legs, testing them for stiffness before easing himself up to a standing position. The previous throbbing of his wounds had now dimmed to only a quiet collection of protesting twinges, something that he considered a marked improvement.
Verso stood with a slight uncertain hunch in his shoulders, boot toe scuffing lightly in the ground. Underneath all his layers of gruff confidence, Gustave could see a snare of insecurities shine through, and now it seemed more apparent than usual.
“Do you need the company?” He knew Verso would never speak up about it himself. Gustave took a single step towards him, hand itching to reach out and gently grasp Verso’s wrist. His eyes danced all across Verso, drinking him in: his face, his lips, the sparkle of apprehension in his white-blue eyes.
A breeze stirred up between them, making his tiny braids flutter around Verso’s head almost as if they were yearning for freedom.
“It’s a bit cold tonight,” was all Verso said, gaze moving rapidfire from Gustave’s eyes to his lips then across to a tree a foot or so to the left of his head. Somehow Verso managed to shuffle forwards while making it look like he was trying to shuffle backwards. How exactly this level of avoidant companionship seeking was possible eluded Gustave’s knowledge, and he hoped he wasn’t being too eager by assuming that it even meant that he wanted his company. But maybe he was lucky. Maybe Verso was in a mood for it.
“Yeah. It is. Makes you realize just how warm the fire really is,” Gustave chuckled, right fingertips dancing quietly through the air and reaching out for Verso, only barely stopping short, not making contact.
“Is it warmer? In Lumiére?” Verso was only barely managing to hide bitterness in his voice. “I can’t remember.”
“It is. Though far from perfect. You can’t ever escape the looming feeling of death. No matter how much you might try.”
“Death is here, too.” Verso’s eyes sparkled with deep, buried and forgotten memories of painful pasts. “It’s always coldest after the last of an expedition dies.”
There was a twitch in Verso’s arm: he was almost reaching out to Gustave. Instead he shivered, the cold deeper than the temperature.
“Hopefully that cold doesn’t have to come again.” Hope was something Gustave didn’t hold much of anymore for the mission, but he still clung to it, for motivation to keep going. Now he also clung to it in hope of lifting that ever-present sorrowful expression from Verso’s face. Even when he tried to hide it, it was visible. Verso’s pain was always visible. Something inside Gustave wished that it wasn’t so.
“Optimism suits you.” A bitter voice, and a hand dancing uncertainly in the air, the no man’s land between them. There was a great deal to how Verso was feeling and what he wanted, and he didn’t dare utter a word of it.
Steeling himself to bridge the gap, Gustave reached his right hand over to Verso’s uncertain left, letting the tips of his fingers brush against its back. A look of surprise flickered through Verso’s eyes, but he didn’t pull away. His hand slackened, let Gustave begin to cradle it softly. It was cold, covered in faint ridges from likely long-forgotten wounds. Hardened and yet softer than he’d imagined, just like Verso himself.
“It must feel like such a hopeless cycle, watching from your perspective,” Gustave murmured, taking a soft step closer. His and Verso’s hands were more firmly locked now, fingers finding solace and stability in one another.
“I’m used to it by now.” Verso spoke brashly, and Gustave could tell it was a lie. In truth, he was able to tell that most of the things Verso had said to them were either lies or avoidances of the truth. It was both infuriating, yet awakened within him this burning desire to peel back at least some of the outer shell of falsehoods Verso had created.
“Every year, the gommage still hurts, you know.” Gustave let his voice fade to a whisper. “Just because you expect something, shield yourself from the loss, doesn’t mean it can’t still affect you.”
Verso opened his mouth, likely preparing a deflection, but he closed it again. His hand grew tighter around Gustave’s, though, almost as if he were absorbing the man’s body heat. Begging for more.
For the first time since he could remember, Gustave was uncertain about his left hand. Would brass not be the sort of warm assurance that Verso so craved, was silently begging for even as he tried to stand tall and unbothered here in front of him?
When was the last time…anyone had offered him any warmth at all? When he was too afraid to ask for it himself?
He tapped his metal fingers against the back of Verso’s hand, only to be blessed with it opening and inviting his whole hand inside. Verso’s mouth was slightly open in a tiny oh of surprise, but he didn’t resist. Instead he reciprocated, leaning in just slightly, breath only slightly cool on Gustave’s face.
“It’s getting dark. The lamps are going to turn on soon,” Verso said, seemingly searching anywhere for some sort of conversational buffer between them and wherever this physical contact was going. “When were you planning to head back?”
“I hadn’t thought ahead that far,” Gustave chuckled, unable to stare away from Verso’s ice eyes any longer. “I figure we’ll make up all those rules as we go along.”
“I suppose we can do that,” Verso said, hesitant, eyes flickering down to Gustave’s lips. “The others can manage without us for a little while.”
They were both moving closer, and Gustave let his metal arm leave Verso’s hand to wrap around his back, laying the palm as flat as it would go across the man’s spine, fingers tickling his shoulderblades, filled with a sudden and slightly surprising wish that there were less clothes between him and Verso.
If there had ever been a doubt that Verso was touch starved before then, it became apparent with how he melted into this embrace. It was as if all resistance melted away, leaving him limp as a boned fish in Gustave’s arms, face coming to rest against his shoulder. In just a few moments, Verso’s breath had warmed, hot against the side of Gustave’s neck.
This felt nice, and wanted, different in a way Gustave hadn’t expected. His body was almost moving of its own accord, peeling away the expeditioner’s coat Verso wore, letting it fall to the ground limply and soundless. Gustave’s fingers danced on the brass buttons of Verso’s waistcoat, uncertain whether or not he should take the plunge, heart hammering in his throat.
From his position safely against the tree, Verso reached out and set both of his arms around Gustave, eyes full of a pleading to let him in. Begging for permission to do so.
Daring to let himself want this, Gustave abandoned the vest. That could wait for another time. This was all so new, so fresh, he didn’t want to rush things. Not now that he saw Verso vulnerable, strangely delicate now that the hard worn façade of resilience had been cracked. Gustave found himself liking what he saw, liking it so much that he wanted to drown through those ice sheets Verso called eyes, wrap himself tightly in his embrace, find there some strange sense of safety in this uncertain world.
Gustave’s arms were wrapped fully around Verso, pressing him up against the trunk of the tree, a few errant yellow leaves shaking loose and falling onto the other man’s black hair. A part of Gustave wanted to reach and pluck them away, but that would mean breaking his grip, his oh so important grip on this man, and he couldn’t have that.
Verso leaned his head in just a bit, so close their eyelashes were touching. Oh. Oh no. He’s…Gustave was stricken down by the realization that he’d never kissed a man before. Didn’t know how it would feel. He’d not done a great deal of kissing of any sort, really, and not been particularly great at it when he’d tried, according to Sophie’s polite wincing. His only hope was that Verso was worse and more out of practise than he was—
The panicked stream of thoughts in Gustave’s head was interrupted by his lips making contact with Verso’s. The whole world seemed to temporarily dissolve into a series of fireworks, the broken and blood-tasting surface of Verso’s chapped yet shockingly soft lips up against Gustave’s. He drew deep, at least how he thought he could best manage; Verso seemed more uncertain as to how to proceed than he was. Strangely comforting, even if that meant the kiss was rapidly devolving into them smashing their faces together awkwardly. Eventually Verso seemed to realize it was a bit futile, and pulled back just enough that their lips were no longer touching, but still close so that Gustave could see every pore in his skin, every pucker at the edges of his scar.
“That was…” Gustave didn’t want to be ungrateful. Besides, some of the problem had also been his own. A bad kisser out of practise.
There was a sparkle in Verso’s eye contrasting with a slight flush of embarrassment that seemed to be hovering in the air.
“I got ahead of myself. Sorry.” Verso’s tone was dismissive, but not with much success.
“I think I need to apologize, actually.” Gustave’s metal hand was now on Verso’s cheek. When this had happened exactly eluded him—when they’d broken the kiss, it hadn’t been there. He didn’t remember making the conscious decision to put it there, but he was cradling Verso’s cheek now, running thin metal fingers through the scruff there, feeling something warm and unfamiliar inside his chest. “I’m not very—practised. Not recently. Or good, for that matter. At. You know.”
“Kissing?” Verso whispered the word, biting back a chuckle. “That might just make the two of us.”
“You’ve been around for a hundred years and not gotten good at kissing? No one in any of the expeditions that ever caught your eye?”
Verso’s eyes flicked down. A familiar look of him avoiding answering the question, and Gustave knew he’d not get any more out of him. Instead, he opted for the next best thing. Or maybe even, depending on how you looked at it, the better option.
Saying the second kiss was a severe improvement in skills for either of them would have been a lie even Verso couldn’t tell. It was about the same awkward mashing of lips and teeth, feeling like two teenagers who didn’t know what they were doing. By the end of it their lips both tasted of blood from bitten skin, but Gustave couldn’t care. Verso didn’t seem to either.
“I cannot believe,” Gustave whispered, “that I’m kissing someone from Expedition Zero. It’s like…something out of a dream. You guys are legends back in Lumière.”
“That’s a lot of pressure,” Verso murmured, hands brushing against the small of Gustave’s back. Hungry claws, desperate for more. “I’m just a man, Gustave. Not some folk hero. People die around me, and I can’t save them. I don’t even know how to kiss a human.”
“Are you meaning to tell me you’ve kissed nevrons before?” Gustave laughed softly, tracing the line of Verso’s cheekbone under his finger. “I can imagine their etiquette leaves a lot to be desired.”
“I mean. Not exactly nevrons. But I have kissed Monoco a few times.” Verso’s colour descended into shades of beet red. “He doesn’t. Exactly. Have lips. You know.”
“As much as I’m dying to know how exactly you managed to kiss a gestral, and as much as I know Lune will want a detailed account later—”
“I’d rather not,” Verso interrupted, leaning in to kiss Gustave again to quiet him. The taste, it seemed, was not going to get old in a hurry. Underneath all the layers of blood and regret Gustave could find something sweet, mysterious and even a bit love-starved. This time Gustave had just enough courage to lick a little bit, trying to lap up whatever shreds of that beautiful taste he could find.
Why is Verso so intoxicating? A question Gustave was beginning to think might just be one of the greatest unanswered mysteries of the universe. Maybe for once answers didn’t matter. Maybe he should let himself sink deeper into the moment. Verso’s kissing hadn’t gotten much better—unsurprising, considering he’d practised on Monoco’s face which Gustave was fairly certain was just a wooden board—but he seemed to be less embarrassed, less reserved; a little more free and passionate with his oft poorly placed teeth.
Verso’s lack of inhibition, so out of character, made Gustave let go even more, losing himself in the rhythm of kisses and grinding and hot grasping hands yearning for touch. Somewhere along the line Gustave felt the cold air against his skin, but he didn’t remember when exactly Verso had pulled off his coat. Maybe it didn’t matter.
In the heat of touch, pull, yearn, kiss, rub, it was easy to forget things. The world was less dangerous, the Paintress less threatening. Irresponsible? It could have been, but Gustave was happy lost in the bliss. Just letting himself be dragged down, into the embrace of peace and happiness.
Thank you, Verso. They were both down to their undershirts, now, laying on the ground, Verso hot and full of life beneath him. You’re freeing me. One night of bliss and pleasure before the end of the world.
At some point, the haze of pleasure finally gave way to sleep, but Gustave welcomed it, let himself sink into its open waiting arms.
“What are you doing all the way out here?” Lune’s irritated voice broke through and woke Gustave’s mind up from his sleep. Startled awake, he scrambled to prop himself up more only to find his metal hand going down hard against something soft and squishy. An agonized groan came out from under him.
“Is that…Verso?” Maelle’s voice joined the racket, sounding cautiously curious. “Why are you guys lying on top of each other? You’re not…” She broke off into a fit of giggles.
“Gustave, I thought your bedroll was perfectly fine. Why are you now using a—this man as a stand-in? Is there something that needs to be fixed with your sleeping arrangement?”
Pushing himself further away, aware of how there was only a thin cotton shirt and briefs between him and the chilly outside air, Gustave gave Lune an awkward smile. “Nothing wrong with it. We just. Took a walk and got tired.”
Lune arched an accusing eyebrow; behind her Maelle burst out into laughter behind her hand that was covering her mouth. Looming behind them was the rest of the expedition, Sciel with her hands placed firmly on her hips and mouth set into a knowing smile and Monoco simply lurking. As usual his expression was completely unreadable due to the wooden nature of his face, but Gustave assumed that whatever he was thinking, it was naughty.
“We are on a mission, Gustave,” Lune continued, tapping her toes onto the grass. “We don’t have time for such foolishness.”
“So when you stared at Sirène with drool coming from the corner of your mouth, that was nothing, was it?” Sciel kept her voice light, but the accusation landed perfectly. Lune opened and closed her mouth a few times before shaking her head.
“Just—be careful! And with Maelle around? I don’t know WHAT you two were doing last night, but she was worried sick—”
“You exaggerate,” Maelle interjected.
“—and this is setting a decidedly awful example for her. Just because you’re the ‘oldest man in Lumière’ does not give you permission to wander off at night and use this man,” she gestured her hand wildly in the direction of Verso, “as a pillow!”
“Just as a pillow, huh?” Sciel laughed, her hand making its way onto Lune’s shoulder. “Whatever you say, sweetie.”
Her words suitably disarmed Lune, making her flush a little bit. “I mean, if they were doing something more than that, I’m hardly going to say it in front of a child,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I’m not that young!” Maelle protested. “And besides. I can guess as well as anyone what they were doing.”
This made Gustave feel suitably chastized, and he gave Lune a guilty shrug. Next to him Verso still lay, groaning at the abuse his ribcage had received from Gustave’s hurried movement.
“I’m sure they were doing nothing, Maelle,” Sciel teased, giving Gustave a knowing wink. “We better get back to camp and prepare breakfast while these two sleepyheads shake themselves awake.”
Maelle responded well to Sciel’s chivvying back in the direction of camp proper, leaving Gustave free to exhale a quick sigh of relief. That had been a closer call than he’d thought. Finally Verso was beginning to rouse himself, letting out a long string of pained groans as he moved upright. His face was pulling and contorting at odd angles, and when he shot a glance in Monoco’s direction it also became bright red.
“Don’t—say—anything,” Verso grunted, wagging his finger at Monoco.
Lune rolled her eyes and retreated back to camp with the others, seemingly tired of this conversation, leaving Gustave as the sole witness between what was promising to be a very awkward conversation between exes.
“What made you think I was going to say something?”
“Because you came lurking over to ogle at me getting up.”
“I swear I’m not up to anything,” Monoco argued, his face unreadable as always. How exactly Gustave was supposed to interpret any of the gestral’s expressions was beyond him. “Just nice to see you getting yourself out there.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Verso’s mouth twisted in irritation.
Monoco shrugged, or at least as well as a gestral could manage to do so. “It’s been a while.”
“Since what?” Gustave asked, though he already had a feeling he knew what the answer was.
“I’m gonna go check up on my feet. Make sure they’ve not dulled any. And by the way, I wouldn’t let that Lune woman wait too long if I were you. I get the feeling she doesn’t like dawdling.”
“Duly noted,” Verso mumbled low enough that Gustave only barely caught it. Monoco was heading back now too, leaving only two left in the clearing. Without the moonlight and the hushed breathing and the bright undertone of longing desire from the night before, all that was left was awkwardness.
Not that Gustave didn’t still desire Verso. That gnawing longing was still in his heart, in his chest; the closeness of last night something almost magical in his mind. But now caution was watering down lust. And Verso in particular looked humiliated.
“I liked it, you know.” Gustave felt that if he didn’t say anything, Verso would remain silent indefinitely. “Kissing you.”
Verso didn’t say anything, just turned to look at Gustave with an expression of unmitigated disbelief, blinking slowly.
How exactly did people go about this? Especially with someone as avoidant as Verso?
“I don’t know how long it’s really been since anyone—”
“Hugged me?” Verso’s usual sleek demeanour was broken, worn away to a tired expression. “Not long enough. But I appreciate it. Though we have better things to be getting on with.”
“Isn’t the whole point of stopping this cycle so that we have more time to spend on important things, like emotions and the people we care about?”
Verso had started to get up, but paused mid movement with his brow creased, face barely contained from crumbling into an expression of unmitigated sadness. He had started to chew his bottom lip, a bit of blood trickling into the stubble on his chin.
“You’re a man with a big heart, Gustave,” he said, eyes cracking and looking as if he were on the verge of breaking down completely. “I don’t know what drove you to do what we did last night but…I appreciate it. I liked it.”
They stayed there for a while, only their hair and clothing moving in the breeze, the silence thick and ponderous in the air.
“I did too. Try not to die again, Gustave.” Verso didn’t speak the other part of his sentiment aloud, but Gustave for once could tell what it was that he meant behind it all. I like you too much for you to die. And I don’t want to lose someone else. Even if he didn’t know the precise reasons, Gustave knew what it felt like, and that inside was the same feeling. Being with Verso had been for more than lust. There had been this…combination of warmth and desperation between them, flickering on and off like a faulty lightbulb, something that had made Gustave feel strangely…safe, for reasons he couldn’t quite understand.
“I don’t like promising, but…” He looked up, and could swear Verso’s pale eyes were more watery than usual. “I’ll try my hardest.”
“Good.” Verso nodded before turning around and walking away, leaving behind the sense of warmth and vulnerability from the night before.