Bloodless, Dehydrated, in my own lane, Happy 🦇⚰️

Tonight you had set up camp in what seemed like a safe place – a clearing in a small patch of forest just outside Old Lumière. Surrounded by sheltering trees and thick brush, you sat in a circle around the campfire, the soft mossy ground padded with your bedrolls. Nearby, a small river whispered its way toward the sea.

The peaceful atmosphere had been reason enough to open a bottle of wine. One bottle had quickly turned into two, then three. Now on your fourth, all of you were more than a little tipsy. Apparently tipsy enough for even your commander to start with strange ideas. Delphine had always been a creative spirit.

“I’m not participating in childish games,” one of the older expeditioners declared flatly. With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet, gathered his belongings, and retreated to the edge of the clearing. A few others followed, the oldest in their forties, uninterested in a game they had probably last played thirty years ago.

You, too, were skeptical. Truth or dare, seven minutes in heaven… all games for teenagers. The only reason you stayed was that, among the handful of younger expeditioners, Verso remained as well. He seemed intrigued by Delphine’s suggestion, his ice-blue eyes sliding from her to you. He shifted his weight, body language open, inviting, as he took another sip of wine.

Delphi only shrugged, a grin blooming on her flushed face. The whole circle now looked to you expectantly. Your eyes darted nervously from one friend to the next.

“Why do I have to start?” you complained.

“Because I say so,” she shot back, pulling rank.

“Come on.” Sitting beside you, Verso nudged you with his elbow, his voice deep and tinged with amusement. “Could be fun.”

“Really? You drunk, too?”

He only shrugged, just like Delphine, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You clicked your tongue, but couldn’t stop your own smile from breaking through. Maybe it could be fun – especially if it meant getting to ask Verso something.

“And if anyone refuses to do the dare or answer the question, they drink,” Delphine declared, setting the rule. The others, already hooked and grinning, nodded in agreement.

“Sooo –” Delphi raised her cup to you. “Truth or dare?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Fine. Truth.”

“We’ll start easy: what part of yourself do you find most attractive? And what part of a man?”

The firelit mood immediately spiked, eyes glittering, grins spreading wider as her question settled over the group.

“You really are drunk, Delphi.” You gave a quiet laugh. The question flushed your cheeks, and the wine in your system didn’t help.

“Answer, or drink,” she teased with a grin.

“Mhm –” you hummed, thinking for a moment. “ – I’d say, on me…” You caught the men’s stares and lifted a warning finger. “Don’t even think about it.” The accused raised their hands in mock innocence, but their wide grins gave them away – including the quiet amusement lighting up Verso’s face. “Pervs,” you said, though with a laugh. “I don’t think my eyes are so bad.”

“Standard answer. Boring.” Delphine pretended to yawn.

“And on men –” you pressed on, unfazed, “ – the nose.” You carefully avoided looking in Verso’s direction. Somehow, you were very taken with his nose. It suited his face perfectly, the little dent at the tip both charming and infuriatingly inviting, just begging for a fingertip to press against it. Thankfully you’d never given in to that intrusive thought, but tonight, with wine warming your blood, you no longer trusted yourself completely.

Delphi made a knowing sound. “I can see the appeal.” She looked, quite shamelessly, straight at Verso. Did she have a crush on him, too? Verso only lifted his cup in her direction. Maybe they’d already had something going on. Delphi was beautiful, after all. You just never got the feeling that the two of them spent much time together – not since Verso had joined you back in the Gestral Village. Even though, like all of you, she had been super interested when he spoke of Expedition Zero and the Axons.

“My turn,” you said quickly, before your thoughts could linger too long.

The game went on for several rounds, and thanks to Delphi’s initial question setting an anchor, it quickly veered into decidedly un-PG territory – questions getting seedier, dares getting bolder until some players preferred to down their drink instead. The mood loosened; voices rose, words slurred, laughter bubbled up like the wine.

Verso, from the start one of the most stoic players, only decided on dares, taking them without flinching – and then, ironically, balked at doing them. The circle complained until he was forced to promise not to skip any choice for two rounds.

“All right, all right,” he laughed, raising a hand in apology. “Give me the next dare. No skipping this time.”

Delphi, who was on again, grinned and took a sip. “Whisper compliments to him until he blushes –” she shot a wicked look straight at you, clearing all suspicions that she had her eye on Verso, “ – and for every compliment that doesn’t make Verso grin from ear to ear, you take a drink.”

“That’s two dares at once!” you protested, already wildly thinking what to whisper. Could the man even be embarrassed? He seemed so comically self-assured – at least his easy smirk suggested as much.

“Maximum five, so I don’t get alcohol poisoning,” you bargained, drawing a soft laugh from Verso.

“Fair. But –” Delphi’s grin went mischievous, “ – I know you. You’ll do it in three.”

“High praise,” you answered, turning to Verso, steady with a boost of reckless confidence courtesy of your friend and your wine.

The usual flutter of nerves that his presence brought you felt strangely muted tonight, thanks in part to the wine, thankfully. He looked incredible in the warm reds and ambers of the firelight. His pale eyes caught the flames and the embers danced inside them like fiery waves of the sea between here and home. His raven hair, only broken by those few white strands, fell delicately over his brow, softly framing perfect contours. And that nose. The mouth. Everything about him was a perfect, imperfect symphony.

God, you had such a crush on him. From the moment you’d met him back in the Gestral Village to now. You’d imagined, more times than you could count, what it would be like to touch him, to be touched – gentle at first, then braver: lips meeting, his hot, wet breath in your mouth. You’d sat across from him at dinners and wondered what he looked like beneath his clothes, how large his cock might be. On those nights you’d slipped away in secret, gave yourself release imagining him.

Maybe you should just be honest. If he didn’t feel the same, you could blame it on the wine tomorrow.

Leaning closer, a nervous giggle caught in your throat, Verso exhaled a laugh himself and offered you the side of his head. Carefully, deliberately gentle, you traced the length of his temple with your fingers, parting his hair enough to expose his ear.

“He looks about to faint,” someone joked from the circle. “I don’t think you need to continue.”

Verso trembled under your touch – barely perceptible, but there – yet his voice stayed steady. “Haven't heard anything yet.”

“Shhh, let her continue!” Delphi hissed at the group.

Encouraged, you pressed your lips to his earlobe, covering the words you spoke to him with your hand, and breathed before you began to whisper: “When I said I liked noses on men earlier, I meant yours.”

You pulled back to watch his reaction. He offered a smile, perhaps a touch more nervous this time, but otherwise kept an admirably straight face, even shrugging as if dismissing the moment.

“That’s one drink,” Delphi declared, and you complied. Verso took a sip, unnecessarily, and you stretched your arms theatrically. Time to up the stakes. You leaned in again, breathed the woody scent of his skin, a perfume more intoxicating than the wine.

As sultry and turned on as you could manage, you whispered: “I fantasize about you. A lot. You might be the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I touch myself thinking about you. You’ve already made me come, without ever touching me.”

That was laying it on thick, but it worked. Verso reacted before you’d even pulled back. He drew in a sharp breath.

“Fuck,” slipped from him, and he shot to his feet.

You stayed on the ground, though you felt like bolting too. Your words, his extreme reaction – both had wound you up tight. A pleasant ache pulled low through your belly, between your thighs, enough that you pressed them together.

You covered your own embarrassment by laughing along with your companions.

“I stand corrected.” Delphine wiped a tear of mirth from her eye. “You did it in two.”

“What can I say, I’m just that talented.” You giggled.

“What did she say to you?” came the question now burning on everyone’s tongue, directed at Verso.

He paced, a few steps left, right, in a half-circle, before stopping, still visibly flustered, arms folding, weight shifting. He tried in vain to gather back his usual cool, easy charm.

“I – I,” he started, then faltered. “She, erm –” Words dissolved into a mumble, no full sentence forming, and the sight filled you with pride. To have such an effect on him – either he was easier to unsettle than everyone believed, or maybe, just maybe, you had a shot.

“Now we really want to know.” Delphi arched her brows, that grin of hers hungry for scandal.

“It’s a secret,” you teased, pressing a finger to your lips. “Right, Verso?”

But Verso was no longer in the mood for jokes or playful banter. His gaze locked on yours as if searching for something in your eyes. The contact lingered – too long, just shy of uncomfortable. You didn’t dare blink, didn’t dare breathe. His pale blue eyes cut into yours, not stern, not scandalized, but soft. Longing, maybe.

“Err, do you two need a room? Or…a cave?” one of your companions cut in, conspiratorial.

The remark snapped you both back to the present. Verso’s head jerked toward the circle, and finally his usual evasive, casual mask slipped back in place.

“She really caught me off guard with that one,” he said, gesturing in your direction without looking at you. “I – uh, I think this is a good time to turn in. Before none of us are in our right minds tomorrow.” He was already moving, steps toward the shadows, one hand raised in parting. “Have a good night… we can head out later in the morning, no rush.”

“Oh, come on, Verso!” Delphi called after him. “It was all in good fun, don't be embarrassed.” 

But Verso only lifted his hand again, a clear signal he wasn’t returning. He slipped between the trees, into the night, out of sight.

“What did you say to him?” one of your companions tried again, the drunken curiosity in the group impossible to miss.

You kept your eyes fixed on the spot where he had vanished a moment longer before forcing yourself to look back at the others.

“Let’s keep playing, maybe you’ll find out,” you deflected.

But with Verso gone, the mood had soured. You played a few half-hearted rounds more before everyone agreed to sleep off the wine.

At least you wished you could, but the few working synapses in your wine-fogged brain spun endlessly around Verso – how surprise, then embarrassment had flared in his eyes, how his ever-present poker face had cracked wide open. The longer you thought about it, the heavier the guilt pressed. You’d exposed your last shred of privacy to him, and simultaneously dragged a skilled ally out of his guarded shell. Would he even want to help your group anymore?

The thought, and the grim possibility of Delphine’s wrath if Verso abandoned the expedition, made you too restless to lie still. You decided to check on him. Just one quick glance at the beautiful man asleep, to reassure yourself he was still there.

You peeled yourself out of the bedroll you’d been tossing and turning in who-knew-how-long. Your fogged senses had cleared just enough to let you breathe in the cool, mild air of the little forest clearing, grounding you. It smelled of moss, and the silence, broken only by the faint rustle of tiny creatures in the underbrush, sounded like peace.

As quietly as you could, careful not to wake anyone, you slipped through the narrow paths between bedrolls, heading toward the spot where Verso had vanished into the woods a few hours earlier.

You checked the edge of the clearing, then stepped a little deeper into the dark, and there you found his bedroll – empty. Despite the wine and the ill-timed, distracting thoughts that had plagued you all evening, you knew he hadn’t abandoned the group. His things were still there.

You took a few more steps toward the trees, knowing the small river wasn’t far. In the pale wash of moonlight, you surprised yourself by spotting footprints heading in that direction.

The river ran quiet, serene. Its banks offered plenty of space to spread out; you’d washed your clothes and yourselves there before, leaving damp garments to dry on makeshift racks. Where the trees thinned, the moonlight poured more freely – and in that glow, beside your scattered belongings, you finally saw him.

“Verso,” you whispered from the treeline, announcing yourself.

The still air carried your voice easily over the trickle of water. He remained calm, gaze drifting from the star-salted sky only slowly before he turned smoothly toward you, catching your form as you stepped closer.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, a quiet, easy smile on his face as he gestured for you to join him.

You shook your head. “You?”

“Nope.”

You sank down beside him on the broad flat stone at the water’s edge. He tossed a pebble forward; it plopped, vanished, the current tugging it swiftly away.

Silence settled between you. You listened together to the water. Drawing your knees to your chest, you rested your chin atop them. In his presence, your thoughts slowed, their endless circling easing into gentle ripples like those across the river. For the first time since the campfire, you could breathe and think in steps again. You wondered whether you should apologize.

“Still drunk?” Verso broke the silence.

You turned your head, catching those cool eyes inspecting you. There was curiosity there, not anger, thank god.

“A little,” you admitted with a small smile tugging at your lips. “You?”

“Oh, I was never drunk.” That crooked grin spread across his face, the one you’d glimpsed a handful of times on the road. Adorably dorky, yet so very him. He rarely showed his teeth when he smiled, only when he felt at ease, when genuinely enjoying himself.

“Really,” you answered, amused. “Funny, I remember you drinking more than the rest of us, because you skipped half your dares.”

“What can I say, I can hold my liquor.”

“I see.” You nudged him with your elbow. “Then I must’ve imagined you staggering a little on your way out earlier, huh?”

He laughed softly, lifting a finger as if to concede you’d caught him again.

“Care for another round, then?” His calm steadiness was dangerous – it pulled at you, nudged you into reckless thoughts. There were questions you’d wanted to ask but didn’t get the chance.

Verso shifted his weight on the shared stone. Before he could respond, you continued softly: “I want a truth from you.”

He hesitated, stooped to pick up another pebble, and sent it chasing its brother into the river.

“A truth for a truth?” he asked. “I’ll answer yours if you answer mine.”

“You’ve got questions for me?” You could hardly hide your surprise.

He nodded. “Plenty. But one at a time.” That smile of his returned, coaxing, daring. “You get to start.”

“How noble, monsieur,” you teased, though the question you’d been holding back for weeks leapt straight to your lips: “How old are you really?”

He had stopped aging after the fracture, for reasons no one could explain. But how old had he been when it happened? He had been part of Expedition 0. That made him at least forty-two.

“That’s a pretty personal question.”

Verso leaned in, close enough that your shoulders touched, and he stayed there. You could only hope he didn’t notice the faint shiver running through you, or the way one uneven breath slipped from your lips. The alcohol still in your veins pushed you toward him, urged you in a commanding tone to straddle him right then and there.

“You were the ones who caught me dyeing my hair in the Gestral Village. And now you want to know how old I am?” You could tell his objection was only half serious from a stolen glance at the sparkle in his eyes. It took you two attempts to hold his gaze, and once you did, he pressed on: “It's not easy looking young and being far older, you know.”

You rolled your eyes and nudged him with your shoulder, earning a quiet sound of amusement. “Just answer the question.”

“I should be sixty-six. Might have to ask Monoco if he kept count.”

“Monoco? Who’s that? And do you even celebrate your birthday anymore?” The number itself didn’t surprise you – you had guessed as much – but the questions tumbled out anyway.

“Hey, my turn,” he cut in.

“You’re right, my bad. Fair’s fair. Ask away.” You honestly couldn’t imagine what kind of question a man like Verso could have for an open book like you, but you waited, pulse quickening.

He hesitated, clearly turning the words over, but the question was already on his tongue. “…Did you mean it?” he asked at last. His voice was careful, but his eyes burned into yours. “What you said during my last dare?”

Your stomach knotted. A silent chill swept down your spine. You really had left a mark on him with that raw truth. In an instant, all your questions vanished, your mind wholly consumed with finding the right answer to his.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you with that,” you finally said. “That wasn’t my intention.”

The tension thickened, but you held his gaze, and he held yours. You caught the subtle shift of his eyes down to your lips, his own parting slightly.

“That’s not what I asked,” he countered. His voice was soft yet rough, sending a shiver racing along your back.

You exhaled and leaned in, giving in to the pull. Your hand found his thigh, testing its way forward with care, always wary he might pull away. But he didn’t – he only drew a deeper breath as your fingers traced the fabric, back and forth, inching closer.

Your eyes followed the path of your hand, lingering long enough that Verso began to shift beneath your touch. The closeness, the reaction, it intoxicated you more than the wine ever had. Or maybe it was still the wine, but the quiet smile slipping past your lips came unbidden.

“Why do you want to know if I meant it?” you murmured, pausing your hand. When your gaze climbed back up to his face, you found a new expression there: his brows drawn faintly together, his eyes aching with longing.

His breathing was heavier now, his hand twitching as though desperate to reach for warmth. He held back – but barely. His restraint faltered against the pressure in his trousers, all because of your hand on his thigh. It had been too long.

“Answer the question,” he whispered, inviting you closer still. The space between you vibrated with anticipation, both of you acutely aware of what was coming.

For once, you were almost grateful for all the wine. It made you reckless. Raw. Heat was already pooling between your legs when his hand finally found your lower back, guiding you forward with steady pressure.

You bit your lip, just briefly, before answering in a breath that mingled with his own: “I meant it.”

His lips crashed onto yours before the last syllable had even faded into the night. Hungry from the first second, it didn’t take long before his free hand caught the back of your neck, holding you in place as his tongue traced demanding over your lips. You let him in, and he tilted your head so he could kiss you deeper, harder – messier now, desperate for more.

He pressed into you, pulling you so firmly against him that you finally let go of all restraint. With one swift motion, guided by his hands, you straddled him.

A soft sound escaped both of you when your centers collided. His cock strained painfully against his pants, and the friction of your weight grinding down on him, your body only thin layers of fabric away, nearly drove him insane.

“Merde,” he groaned into your mouth as your hips began to roll on instinct, chasing friction, the ache pooling hotter and hotter between your legs. Every uneven movement against him left you sighing into his lips.

“Is this what you pictured?” he breathed against your mouth. His hands clamped down on your hips, urging you tighter against him, spurring you to grind harder – earning a low, needy sound from his own throat. “When you touched yourself?”

“Mhm.” Your eyes slipped closed as you savored the delicious pressure of his hardness between your thighs. “It usually involved less clothes –” The words dissolved as your lips claimed his again, your fingers slipping into his silken black hair while your center pulsed wildly against his lap.

Heat flooded you, and Verso responded to that little hint on your fantasy. Nimble fingers made quick work of your expedition jacket, shoving it from your shoulders, unfastening the buttons of your shirt, stripping away each layer until the cool night air kissed your bare skin.

As eager as he was to touch you, his calloused fingertips moved with surprising gentleness, brushing feather-light over your exposed curves. Starting at your waist, he explored deliberately, as though memorizing every inch, noticing every shiver his touch stirred. His fingers reached the swell of your breasts, and you arched into him, silently pleading for more.

His eyes glazed, locked wholly on your skin. His breath came heavy as he leaned forward to taste you.

“Verso –” you breathed, his lips closing over the soft fullness of one breast, planting tender kisses while his hand teased the other. A low growl rumbled in his chest when his tongue flicked over your nipple, and when his mouth sealed around it, working the hardened peak, a moan slipped from you.

Hot, wet, soft, hard, his tongue licked, and teased until the ever-blazing pull in your belly threatened to explode into fire. The need tore through you, and you poured it into your hips, grinding against him with a sharper, more demanding rhythm. You knew you were drenched, your underwear and probably even your pants soaked – but it didn’t stop you from pressing harder, chasing more.

Bold now, you tugged his head back. He obeyed instantly, dazed eyes and parted lips greeting you, his breath ragged. He was drunk on you, your warmth, your scent, your sheer sensuality.

“I wasn’t finished,” he rasped, already ready to return to his work, but you didn’t let go of his hair. You wanted to take the lead. A pained hunger flickered across his face. “Please, you’re perfect. Let me worship you, ma chérie.”

“I want to do something I’ve dreamed of forever,” you whispered. Your lips brushed his, a soft promise, before you began to descend, your face, your whole body trailing down.

Over his stubbled jaw, lower to his throat, where you felt his Adam’s apple leap beneath your delicate kisses.

His chest rose and fell heavily, knowing but hardly believing what was about to happen – he hadn’t felt warmth like this in so long, the touch of a beautiful woman’s affection. And certainly not soft, willing lips brushing against the straining bulge in his pants, his cock twitching already, on the verge of bursting just from the thought.

His eyes followed your descent down his body, the edges of his vision blurring. Only you mattered, this brave expeditioner, so beautiful, so clever, so gentle, so impossibly good to be around. He had dreamed of you, but never dared to dream you might want him too.

His belt came undone quickly, and he hardly noticed the cool air brushing his hips with how much heat he was giving off. His cock sprang free, bouncing into view – desperate for you, the same body that had been grinding so needily against him.

Perfect. That was the only word for it. A long, thick shaft, gently curved, crowned by a flushed pink head that already leaked for you. Your finger traced the vein running along its underside, drawing out a reaction that was immediate.

Verso whimpered – helpless, unintentional, but necessary to relieve the tension building in him. You had no desire to torture him, so you leaned down, laying one, two, three soft kisses over his length, each one answered with a sound from his lips, before your mouth opened over the salty tip to invite him in.

The sight of himself disappearing into the warm, wet heat of your throat, inch by inch, and the sensation – oh, the sensation – of your spit glossing him as you took him deeper, nearly shattered him. His head fell back, a last breath escaping before his lungs were emptied as his icy eyes fluttered closed. His legs spread wider, offering you every angle, and you, without hesitation, practiced, took all of him into your mouth.

He barely had time to savor it: the intimacy, the undeniable affection of someone who wanted him, who craved to make him feel good. Already, you pulled back, only to swirl your tongue over his sensitive head before sinking him back into you with firmer suction.

“Oh, fuck –” It tore from him, half-whimper, half-broken breath.

Your lips hummed around him, sending vibrations through his cock, already pulsing inside you, dragging him deeper into the spiraling whirlpool of lust he was losing himself to far too quickly.

“Please –” he gasped, “ – please, I need this to last.” It was all he could manage.

Gently, you let him slip free, tilting your gaze up toward him. The sight that met you was almost heartbreaking: his breath ragged, his eyes wide with need, watching you as if one more touch might undo him completely. He looked like he needed this more than you had ever guessed.

“It’s alright,” you whispered with a soft smile. “Take all the time you need. Tell me when I should be more careful, okay?”

Verso swallowed hard, then nodded.

His fingers slipped into your hair, tangling in your soft locks, not pushing, not to fuck your face, but to ground himself, to feel you close while you worked him with exquisite patience..

Whenever the pleasure swelled too sharply, his grip would twitch, and he’d murmur under his breath for you to slow down, to pause, giving him space to come back from the edge. In those moments, you relaxed your jaw, let him breathe, before diving in again.

And when he wasn’t fighting for control, you heard him singing your praises.

“Fuck, you’re amazing.”

“Mon dieu, never let this end.”

“This feels unreal.”

It was impossible to tell how long you lingered there, but eventually, instinct betrayed Verso – his body began to move, shallow thrusts into your mouth, his hands pressing just a little firmer against you. You answered with a moan, the vibrations dragging a ragged groan from his throat.

As much as he wanted to make it last forever, the words broke from him in a rush: “I need to come in your mouth, ma chérie. Need to let it go. Please… please…”

Lost in the haze, he rocked forward again, deeper into your throat, and you gagged softly around him. He couldn’t stop, the last threads of his control fraying, only the faintest shred of restraint kept him from gripping your head and taking what his body was demanding.

Instead, he trusted you, trusted your instinct, and let you take the lead again. You picked up the pace, gagging a little here and there as his hard length throbbed in your mouth, pressing against your lips until they went numb, your jaw aching with the strain, yet determined to bring him to climax. Even as tears streaked down your cheeks and spit dripped from your chin.

“Fuck, yes, I need to – shit – I’m gonna –” A jumble of broken words slipped from his lips. His body arched, nails scratching lightly across your scalp. With eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in him tightened, a shuddering rush of heat and cold crashing through his bones, his release spilling out in a guttural moan. The climax hit him like a tidal wave, overwhelming, a surge of sensation he’d thought himself incapable of feeling again, so much so that tears burned at the corners of his eyes as he poured every last drop into your throat. Thick, heavy on your tongue, his cock still buried deep, forcing you to focus with everything you had not to choke on him.

You could hardly believe it yourself, but you managed to swallow everything he offered you, and it was a lot, unexpectedly so. But then again, somehow understandable. How often did Verso meet other people?

You came up for air, breaking the fevered atmosphere between you only with shared, ragged breaths. Nothing else existed, no sound but the harsh rhythm of lungs, no sight but each other’s faces.

For a few suspended moments you simply looked at one another, the high slowly fading, senses returning. Verso’s gaze burned into you, molten, a wild fire of emotion impossible to untangle, and you knew he felt everything you did, all at once.

His fingers, still tangled in your soft hair, slid down gently, smoothing it back from your face, freeing it from the strands matted with spit and spend. Rough fingertips tenderly brushed away the tears of effort.

He leaned down, closing the distance to kiss you. This time slow, deliberate – not hungry, but reverent, worshipping your lips as if they were something holy.

Your hand found his, your body shifting up, settling back onto his lap without breaking the kiss. You framed his face with your palms, deepening the connection just enough for him to taste himself on your tongue.

“Are you alright?” he whispered against your lips.

You smiled softly. “Yes… you?”

A smirk. “I’m on cloud nine.” He bumped his nose against yours, pressed a fleeting kiss to your mouth. “If I could die, this would have been the moment… thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me – I wanted this.” You brushed a thumb lovingly over the rough stubble on his cheek.

You stayed like that for a while, just savoring the other’s presence, eyes locked, until a spark lit up in Verso’s.

“Are you still drunk?” he asked, the crooked grin tugging back at his lips.

“Drunk on you, definitely,” you teased. “Why?”

“Care for another round? I’m up for any dare.”

(Previous part) / (Next part)

(Previous part) / (Next part)

Okaaaaayyy my everything hurts after working until around 2am to finish colouring but lets talk about these bozos

immediately after the last page the two are interrogating getting to know each other while verso is taking them to the manor (i'm wanting to make a small comic about them at the manor and the curator's reaction) but neither of them trusts the other.

verso is still trying to understand how gustave even exists and who made him and most importantly, to what end? did aline paint him because she already revived her dead son, why not her favourite dead apprentice right? did renoir paint him to be spiteful and petty while trapped under the monolith? neither of those make sense to be true, so what is he? does gustave know what he is, what the original knew about his original?

meanwhile, gustave had been working under the suspicion that verso is lying about not working with renoir anymore, especially so since he was basically kidnapping maelle (he thinks verso was going to "forcefully expel" her from the canvas). considering one of the core tenets he was literally made with was "protect alicia" this man was ready to throw down even though he would lose. i don't think that clea entirely believes that painted verso stepped away from painted renoirs mission cuz of her general disdain of the painted people of the canvas and I wouldn't be surprised if that sentiment bled into gustave when she made him, so he also has that going against him.

these two idiots are about to try and do 5d chess because they don't trust the other's true intentions, not realizing they are in fact wanting the same end goal lmao