your { l a s t } resort

Verso reminded himself a thousand times over that he should be grateful that he had what he had with Noah. It shouldn't matter that he was painted into this canvas and that he was a mirror of the real Verso who lived with him in the real world. The love and adoration that Noah lavished upon him felt real, and that… that was good enough, right?

Noah was flushing beautifully, his dark curls stuck to his forehead with sweat, and the sweetest sounds were coming out of his mouth. Verso was buried to the hilt in his welcoming heat, as his hands swept over to shapes of Noah's body—tracing and retracing the lines of him for the millionth time.

He knew exactly how to touch him to make him gasp (a slight pinch to a nipple) and make him sigh (a slide of his fingertips against his ribcage) or keen (a hand around his cock) because he made a point of getting to know him. Verso loved this man with every droplet of chroma in his being, and he had taken to painting the man when he wasn't here.

Noah was all he could think about it.

It was, in truth, merely a reflection of the real Verso's love and adoration for Noah, but Verso tried not to think about that—tried not to think about how all of the thoughts in his head came from the man who was settled on the other side of the bed, kissing Noah and whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

"Is he treating you well, mon amour?" the real him asked, and Noah nodded, even as his eyelashes fluttered shut. Pale eyes met his own, and Verso pasted on a grin and brushed his hand against one thigh that was curled around his waist.

"You feel so good," he murmured, and his heart skipped a beat when Noah opened his eyes and gave him a beatific smile. "You're perfect. So perfect."

Mine. I wish you were mine.

"F-feel so good with you inside of me." Noah's body gently undulated in time with Verso's thrusts, as his mechanical hand reached up to grasp at the other man's neck. The real Verso hummed, soft and low, as he acquiesced to the request for another kiss; Verso did not take issue with the way that he kept his eyes on him though, instead of Noah.

There was no… challenge there, no claim to the lover that they shared. Despite that, Verso knew better than to think that Noah was his to any extent. Verso had been painted for their use and pleasure, and when they had had their fun, they would leave.

He would never fault Noah though. He would not even fault the other Verso for gifting him this opportunity.

No, not when his lover graced him with smiles and laughter; no, not when his lover gave him sweet kisses and warm hugs. Verso could not and would not find fault with him: Noah was perfect in every way.

"Please, more, mon coeur—"

Verso couldn't help the way his hips snapped forward, rougher than before, at the use of the endearment. The other Verso gave him a quick look—not quite an admonishment—but then he nodded ever so slightly, a small smile pulling at his lips.

"Anything for you." Verso would give Noah his everything: his heart, his love, his adoration, his very essence. Verso would give this man his everything for another day, another hour, another minute, another second in his presence. "Anything at all."

He bowed his head and slowly increased his pace, driving his hips into Noah over and over again. Verso did his best to angle for that one spot inside of his lover that made him cry out, and the other Verso made a pleased sound when Noah's hips bucked when he got him just right.

"Putain—" Noah whined, and Verso watched as the other man gently captured his chin and swallowed up the sounds that he made in a kiss. When they parted, Noah looked at him again, eyes glassy. "Ah, s-so good, Verso…"

A small pool of precome had gathered on Noah's belly, and Verso swiped a finger into it before bringing it to his mouth, tasting Noah on his tongue. The legs circled around his waist tightened, dragging him closer; Verso's thrusts grew rougher and harder, filling the air with the sounds of their lovemaking. His hands bit into Noah's hips, and he hoped and prayed that somehow they would leave a mark, that they would somehow translate to his lover's body outside the canvas.

It was all wishful thinking. All of it.

His real counterpart closed his hand around Gustave's cock and started to stroke him off, his movements in time with Verso's thrusts, and Noah's words dissolved into pure sound. His mechanical hand continued to clutch at the lover situated behind him, while his flesh and bone hand grasped at the sheets, white-knuckled.

Somewhere in the middle of the groans that continued to spill past Noah's lips, Verso felt like he caught the word close, and it made him redouble his efforts, even as he clung ever more desperately to the precipice himself. The broken cries from Noah increased in volume, and when he came, it was with a shout as his back arched away from the real Verso to form a perfect c.

Verso bit down hard on his lower lip as he felt Noah clench down on his cock, and he fucked his lover through his orgasm, just as the other Verso continued to stroke his erection until Noah had nothing left to give. It was only when he was pliant against the other man that Verso finally stilled.

A blissed out smile crossed his features, and Noah blinked at Verso.

Putain de merde, he was gorgeous like this—flushed and freshly fucked, sweaty and out of breath.

"Finish inside me, mon coeur," Noah murmured, and Verso whined when he felt those tired legs try and tug him closer once more.

"Anything you want—" he breathed. His hips sped once more, and Verso moaned as he took his pleasure, chased his own release. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see the other man pressing kisses to Noah's hair, whispering something in his ear, but those dark eyes were for him alone.

"Come for me, Verso."

His voice was no louder than a whisper, but oh, the command hit him like a freight train.

Verso was stunned into silence as he spilled inside of Noah, hips jerking against his lover. He wanted to get closer—impossibly closer—and he continued to grind his hips against him until he finally, eventually stilled.