In which Gustave does some reading
MY 35 - Lumière - Gustave
Healing from a major injury, Gustave quickly finds out, takes a frustratingly long time. A part of him had thought that, once he was cleared to return to work, everything would be back to normal. It is infuriating to find out that he still tires easily - so easily in fact that he often has to end his days early rather than working late into the night. He does his best to reign in his frustration with his slow progress, but sometimes his temper slips. When it does it only manages to make him feel worse, knowing he’s snapped at someone he cares about.
Thankfully, he has a regular release for his temper in his sparring sessions with Verso. Every other weekend, now, Verso returns from the Continent. Sometimes he brings things he finds for Gustave’s research, others he tells stories of the wonders of the world beyond the Dome, but always he comes back just the same as when he left. He’s still a puzzle, still just as much an enigma as the day they met in many ways. But he’s also become familiar. A constant in Gustave’s life, and he doesn’t quite know what he would do without him anymore.
Their sparring sessions are one of the few times he can fully let himself go. Release his pent-up frustration and stress without anyone treating him like he’s a poorly welded join about to fall apart if the wrong pressure is applied. Verso treats him like his slow recovery is something to be expected and eventually overcome, goading him when he doesn’t push himself enough and making him rest when he pushes himself too far.
At first, Gustave can tell he’s holding back when they spar, staying on the defensive, not using his full strength to attack. Gradually, though, as Gustave regains his strength, Verso starts to work him harder. Months pass. And then one day they’re standing on the stage, weapons in hand, and Gustave realizes Verso is breathing as hard as he is.
“Putain. That last move of yours really packed a punch.” He’s laughing as he says it, rubbing his shoulder as if that last block had hurt.
Gustave grins back, breathless and triumphant. He feels good. For the first time in so long, he feels strong. “If you don’t like it, you shouldn’t have given me my gun. Or are you just scared I’m getting better than you?”
Verso’s eyes flash at the challenge. “You’d need decades to catch up to me, mon ami. I’d like to see you take on a braseleur alone in a snowstorm and come out without a scratch.”
“Mm, if you can do it, I think I could manage it,” he boasts back, pleased when he sees Verso’s eyes narrow and he drops into a ready stance.
“Oh could you?” Verso challenges. “When you still miss every second shot?”
And, oh, Gustave can’t just let that challenge lie. He launches himself into an attack, and Verso rises to meet him. Sparks flash where their blades meet, and he hears Verso grunt at the impact. He barely has a chance to smirk before Verso jumps back and throws a spear of light.
“Not fair,” Gustave pants as he dives out of the way, tumbling back to his feet and firing directly at Verso’s laughing face.
“No such thing in battle,” Verso says, swinging out of the bullet’s path and following through with a strike at Gustave’s chest. “Whatever gets you out alive is fair game.” He dodges Gustave’s counter-strike and presses him back with a series of blows so quick Gustave can do nothing but block.
At last, he sees his chance and takes it, ducking under Verso’s attack and into his space. A single step brings them chest-to-chest and Gustave presses the barrel of his gun to the soft underside of Verso’s chin.
“I win,” he says, panting, feeling Verso’s chest heave with his own heavy breaths. He has the audacity to chuckle.
“Not so fast,” he says, and Gustave feels the sharp sting of the tip of his dagger resting at the base of his throat.
“We’re both dead,” Verso tells him, his low voice sending a shiver down Gustave’s spine. Those sharp silver-blue eyes stare into his, flickering down for only a moment, so fast he could have imagined it, before pinning him again. He stays as still as he dares, caught in silver depths. Those eyes are ancient, heavy with the weight of some secret sorrow, and so impossibly tired. Gustave’s breath stutters in his throat. The pain he sees in Verso’s eyes makes him want to weep.
And then the spell is broken. Verso blinks, and the exhaustion and pain are gone. Hidden away behind a door Gustave does not know how to open. He smiles, and Gustave notices the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he grins. This close he can smell him, the sour-salt of his sweat, the sweet scent of his cologne, and beneath it the scent of warm earth and varnish. His gaze drops to those soft lips, and he wonders what it would feel like to kiss him.
