the thing with the place and the guy in the side

"I'm immortal," Verso snaps, the indignation bursting from him before he can clamp down on it. "And in case I need to remind you: you're not."

He's trying not to think about Stone Wave Cliffs and the decision he nearly made up there; he's trying not to think about how close that particular brush with death had been. It's still something that Verso can't sleep without seeing behind his closed eyes - and he hates, he hates, that it doesn't seem to have slowed Gustave down at all.

"Oh, believe me, I know I'm not," Gustave laughs, devoid of any humour. He stalks closer to Verso, so close that Verso can see the scattering of freckles on his face, and the faint scar hidden by his beard.

He's so close that Verso can't help his eyes from falling down to Gustave's mouth and back, and that is not a distraction that he needs right now.

"We have a mission, Verso," Gustave insists. "Me and the others, we've got one year - one shot at this, just one. Not all of us get an endless cycle of redos. So, yeah, I'm not immortal. And that's why I have to do this."

Verso's eyes narrow: he thinks about shaking Gustave, or shoving him, or maybe throwing a punch and adding to Gustave's existing collection of cuts and bruises.

Why does Maelle's guardian have to be the most frustrating man in existence?

"Why is it so impossible for you to fall back for once?" Verso snaps.

"Oh, right," Gustave says, dripping with so much sarcasm that his words might as well be made from acid. "I forgot. We're supposed to fall in-line for our new leader, aren't we?"

"I'm not trying to be a 'leader'." Verso knows better than that: it's better to nudge from the back ranks than put a target on his back. "I'm trying to stop you all from getting yourselves killed."

"Great. And when I need your help, I'll ask for it."

"Fuck. Gustave, would you listen for once?" Verso snaps.

But he's not ready for it when Gustave actually stops. He's not ready for the expectant tilt of Gustave's head, like a challenge; he's not ready for the quirk of Gustave's eyebrows like a warning that Verso's next words better be something actually worth listening to.

Something like frustration bubbles up inside him.

Something like need.

And Verso might mean to shove at Gustave, or he might mean to throw a punch, or he might mean to storm away - but what he does instead is grab for him, frantically, desperately, needily.

He reaches for Gustave, hands planted on either side of Gustave's face as he closes the space between them aggressively, smashing them together in a kiss that might be as welcome as his fist.

Gustave braces himself at first, tense and ready for a fight; Verso can feel the way that Gustave stumbles against him as he flinches at the first brutal contact of Verso's lips - and then, worse than the flinch, he freezes up entirely. There's not a twitch of movement, only the heated feeling of Gustave's motionless lips against his own, and the bristle of Gustave's stubble beneath his hands.

Verso's heart is hammering in a way that it hasn't for decades. The adrenaline rush is stronger than anything a nevron fight has ever sent his way.

But then, stronger than that, sweeter than that, better than that - Gustave melts.

Gustave jolts out of his frozen shock with a quiet moan, the sound almost lost against Verso's mouth. One hand snaps up to the back of Verso's head, fingers tangling messily in his black hair, while the metal hand entangles itself in the front of Verso's shirt to hold him close.

Their lips part, the kiss deepens, and Verso forgets how it all started - but, in that blurry space between one kiss and the next, Gustave breaks away just enough to try and speak.

"Just for the record," Gustave pants against Verso's mouth, "I'm still right."