WHO: Expedition 33 (Gustave, Maelle, Sciel, and Verso) WHEN: post-mingle, pre-mission WHERE: the apartments WHAT: the remaining members of Expedition 33 NOTES\WARNINGS: spoilers for Acts 1&2 of Clair Obscur: Expedition 33
Front row seats to watch his beautiful eyes flit around and his fingertips playing with the hem of her shorts? She’ll have to think of more uncomfortable questions.
“Popular, then? I had no idea. I thought I was your first.”
His eyebrow lifts as he jokes back with her. He reaches out to take his beer once more for a small drink. It's a little sad to have to pull away just enough to do that, though.
A slow swallow as he sets it back down. "But it's like I said... he's just an old man with his delusions." His shoulder, the one resting easily against her, gives a little bounce to indicate a shrug.
Verso slides his finger around the hem with a slight smile. "Does that ease any of your concerns?" He doesn't think so, but he thought it'd be a good try.
"Not really," she hums, noncommittally, with a pretend disaffect to her tone.
Verso never volunteers much in the way of information, and the reassurance that he does not care about what Renoir thinks feels shallow at best. Unsurprising, though. She smiles, a little bit goading.
"It's not like you had many people to have flings with, out on the Continent, so it just seems like there's more to the story than him being disappointed. Tell me what you were like in Lumière."
"I thought we were worried about you." He inclines his head in her direction. "Your thoughts and what you've been thinking about." Lifting up his free hand, gentle wiggling of his fingers, he realizes he's dodging out of the request but feels there's some similar evasiveness going on.
"I don't think we need to be worried about me," she says, a little more neutrally, but it's fine. She's blown him off for stories before, too, and the more animal parts of her mind don't exactly care when he's teasing her with his hand. If he doesn't want to talk, she isn't going to change his mind.
So she pivots.
"But alright, then. I've been wondering if immortal people make immortal babies."
"Well, I'd like to be. You can't always take care of everyone else without someone trying to take care of you, too." Verso would've made a joke that is his job. Although, it seems like he's been failing at that recently. He just needs to get back at it properly -- and he gently slides the hem of the shorts a little higher to touch skin he hasn't yet.
But his teasing fingers stop.
"Not that I'm aware of." Is about all he can say in reply.
She glances down at where his stilled arm disappears under the table, then back to his eyes with a wicked little smile blossoms on her face. Her teeth run over her lower lip. Oh, she doesn't think he liked that one, but it's cute that he doesn't pull away, either.
"So it's best to be at least a little cautious, then, now that an untimely gommage is off the table."
His eyes almost involuntarily glance towards her mouth. He notes how his gaze almost tracks how her teeth run over her lip before he looks away.
"Is this what I get for worrying about you?" Ah, well. He does lean in close, lowering his voice to try to whisper in her ear. "But all right -- I'll make sure my hands and mouth will be more than enough to keep you satisfied. So you won't want or worry about anything else."
No matter how many times he ducks and dodges away from normal conversation, he's kind. Generous. Willing to sacrifice his own pleasures. He's also wrong. Oh, Verso.
She laughs, reeling back a little bit, mock offended, before leaning right back in.
"No, silly, I still want you inside me," she says. And, with a little purr to her voice: "You just can't come inside."
His eyebrows do lift at her laughter, mildly surprised. It's almost funny how that thought hadn't occurred to him at all.
The rush of excitement does burn through him when she corrects him. "Well, that's quite the correction, but I think I can manage something like that for you."
He narrows his eyes playfully; they're already so close so he can kiss the corner of her mouth. "But do I have to make what might really be troubling you pillow talk?"
That little brush of his lips, that look, the hand still resting on her upper thigh; Sciel has half a mind to just crawl into his lap and see how much he wants to talk then.
“You’re relentless today,” she teases, but she doesn’t have it in her to bristle. “What do you like for pillow talk, then? Something lighter?”
"And you're more evasive than me, but I get it." He tips his chin down, and decides to stop asking. She'll tell him or, hopefully, find someone to tell.
"What do I like?" His tone shifts to a teasing, cheery one. "Lighter is good." Or something safe, comforting. "Sometimes, I just like getting to know the person a little more. An odd way to do it, I will say, but people do feel a little more open to chit-chatting about themselves. One has to wonder why."
Verso flashes a quick smile as he does finally pick up the piece of pizza that is only half-eaten. Be a shame not to at least finish.
She looks at him, smiling, even as he goes back to his pizza. There’s something innocent about the way he talks about people, sometimes, like they’re rare creatures. Who did he learn that from, she wonders. Did it come as a surprise, after so many years? Nostalgic?
“Why do people feel chatty after doing something so intimate?” she says, teasing. She sits up straighter, off him, just so she can twist in her seat to face him properly. “Do you want to break in your new bed and see if we can figure it out?”
"It'll forever be a mystery." He shifts slightly when she pulls away so that she can face him. His own voice teasing back at her. "Feeling quite used, but you know how much like that--so, let's."
Which means, that he is going to toss what is left of the pizza back down. He wipes his hand with the hand towel as he rises up from his seat.
Verso will wait for Sciel to get up, wait a beat, before he'd try to pick her up so he could carry her to the aforementioned bed. Although, rather than simulating crossing any threshold, he would intend to toss her playfully onto the mattress.
She gives him an entertained little roll of her eyes as she gets up with him. Used! When he moves to scoop her up, there's the briefest surprise on her face as she wonders if he's really going to do what it seems like he is, but she moves with him. She still has to stifle a squeal as her feet leave the floor, throwing an arm around his neck and laughing as he tosses her down.
She very, very, very much likes spending time with Verso.
After, when they're both tired and sweaty, she uses him as her personal daybed, lounging out on top of him. Her arms folded against his chest, her chin rested on her arms. Skin to skin. She watches him, sly.
"You know, I am feeling chattier now. You're just very distracting to look at, sometimes."
Idly, he runs his fingers through her hair; his other hand rests lightly on her shoulder, fingertips tracing little circles on the skin. His smile is as easy and soft as always, but he does enjoy this quiet peace that they have together.
"I was hoping you'd feel that way." His eyebrows lift as they often do when giving her his full attention. "And it's a cross I have to bear, unfortunately. Being so handsome is just so difficult for me."
Verso tilts his head away as he pretends to sniffle, burying half of his face against the pillow, before opening his eye to Sciel. It shines with amusement; he turns his head back so he's looking at her properly. "But what are you feeling chatty about?"
He draws another circle on her shoulder with his index finger. Reaching out, he lightly runs his fingers along the curve of her jaw.
"Which is whatever you're feeling like chatting about." Another smile appears. "I know sometimes it's easier to wait for the question to be asked." Even if realistically he knows no one would ask the question that he's waiting for.
"But I also like hearing whatever you feel like sharing with me."
The drag of his fingertips against her skin feels hypnotizing, and she leans into that touch, eyes half-lidded, with a long exhale. Everything else going on can melt away, at least for a little bit, and she can sink into the moment without another thought.
“Let’s see,” she ponders. She doesn’t need to think on it long, and her smile grows sly as she runs her fingertips over the ridge of his collarbone. “Do you want to know about the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me? I think it inoculated me against most kinds of shame.”
He pauses, of course, to lightly flick his index finger side-to-side. "This isn't a story for a story, is it? Do you intend to ask my most embarrassing moment in return?" His index finger points lightly at her face, teasingly accusatory.
“I think fair is fair, I get an embarrassing story in return,” she replies, but there’s a glimmer in her eye when she teases: “Unless you’re a coward. Only you can decide that part.”
"I'm sure I did." Is the easy response that he gives back. "It's been few years since I've thought of my school years, but I'm fairly certain I engaged in such nefarious actions."
“You’d admit to being heinously disrespectful to your education, to a teacher, of all people?” she says, mock-serious. It doesn’t last. “No, I did too. Specifically, when I was eight or so, I wrote a very long and detailed love confession to a classmate instead of practicing my times tables.”
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“Popular, then? I had no idea. I thought I was your first.”
She’s kidding.
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His eyebrow lifts as he jokes back with her. He reaches out to take his beer once more for a small drink. It's a little sad to have to pull away just enough to do that, though.
A slow swallow as he sets it back down. "But it's like I said... he's just an old man with his delusions." His shoulder, the one resting easily against her, gives a little bounce to indicate a shrug.
Verso slides his finger around the hem with a slight smile. "Does that ease any of your concerns?" He doesn't think so, but he thought it'd be a good try.
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Verso never volunteers much in the way of information, and the reassurance that he does not care about what Renoir thinks feels shallow at best. Unsurprising, though. She smiles, a little bit goading.
"It's not like you had many people to have flings with, out on the Continent, so it just seems like there's more to the story than him being disappointed. Tell me what you were like in Lumière."
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"I thought we were worried about you." He inclines his head in her direction. "Your thoughts and what you've been thinking about." Lifting up his free hand, gentle wiggling of his fingers, he realizes he's dodging out of the request but feels there's some similar evasiveness going on.
"I can share that story with you another time."
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So she pivots.
"But alright, then. I've been wondering if immortal people make immortal babies."
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But his teasing fingers stop.
"Not that I'm aware of." Is about all he can say in reply.
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"So it's best to be at least a little cautious, then, now that an untimely gommage is off the table."
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"Is this what I get for worrying about you?" Ah, well. He does lean in close, lowering his voice to try to whisper in her ear. "But all right -- I'll make sure my hands and mouth will be more than enough to keep you satisfied. So you won't want or worry about anything else."
And other things, he supposes, but details.
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She laughs, reeling back a little bit, mock offended, before leaning right back in.
"No, silly, I still want you inside me," she says. And, with a little purr to her voice: "You just can't come inside."
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The rush of excitement does burn through him when she corrects him. "Well, that's quite the correction, but I think I can manage something like that for you."
He narrows his eyes playfully; they're already so close so he can kiss the corner of her mouth. "But do I have to make what might really be troubling you pillow talk?"
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“You’re relentless today,” she teases, but she doesn’t have it in her to bristle. “What do you like for pillow talk, then? Something lighter?”
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"What do I like?" His tone shifts to a teasing, cheery one. "Lighter is good." Or something safe, comforting. "Sometimes, I just like getting to know the person a little more. An odd way to do it, I will say, but people do feel a little more open to chit-chatting about themselves. One has to wonder why."
Verso flashes a quick smile as he does finally pick up the piece of pizza that is only half-eaten. Be a shame not to at least finish.
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“Why do people feel chatty after doing something so intimate?” she says, teasing. She sits up straighter, off him, just so she can twist in her seat to face him properly. “Do you want to break in your new bed and see if we can figure it out?”
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Which means, that he is going to toss what is left of the pizza back down. He wipes his hand with the hand towel as he rises up from his seat.
Verso will wait for Sciel to get up, wait a beat, before he'd try to pick her up so he could carry her to the aforementioned bed. Although, rather than simulating crossing any threshold, he would intend to toss her playfully onto the mattress.
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She very, very, very much likes spending time with Verso.
After, when they're both tired and sweaty, she uses him as her personal daybed, lounging out on top of him. Her arms folded against his chest, her chin rested on her arms. Skin to skin. She watches him, sly.
"You know, I am feeling chattier now. You're just very distracting to look at, sometimes."
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"I was hoping you'd feel that way." His eyebrows lift as they often do when giving her his full attention. "And it's a cross I have to bear, unfortunately. Being so handsome is just so difficult for me."
Verso tilts his head away as he pretends to sniffle, burying half of his face against the pillow, before opening his eye to Sciel. It shines with amusement; he turns his head back so he's looking at her properly. "But what are you feeling chatty about?"
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Should she feel guilty about that?
She isn’t sure.
“Are we doing light and personal, now?” she asks. “Or do you surprise me with a question?”
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He draws another circle on her shoulder with his index finger. Reaching out, he lightly runs his fingers along the curve of her jaw.
"Which is whatever you're feeling like chatting about." Another smile appears. "I know sometimes it's easier to wait for the question to be asked." Even if realistically he knows no one would ask the question that he's waiting for.
"But I also like hearing whatever you feel like sharing with me."
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“Let’s see,” she ponders. She doesn’t need to think on it long, and her smile grows sly as she runs her fingertips over the ridge of his collarbone. “Do you want to know about the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me? I think it inoculated me against most kinds of shame.”
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He pauses, of course, to lightly flick his index finger side-to-side. "This isn't a story for a story, is it? Do you intend to ask my most embarrassing moment in return?" His index finger points lightly at her face, teasingly accusatory.
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But before that -- he waves his hand to indicate the floor is hers.
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She shifts her weight on him, comfortably, and she reaches up to brush the kiss curl of his hair out of his forehead.
“Did you ever pass notes in school? Ones where you asked your school mates stupid questions mid-lecture, that sort of thing?”
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"I'm sure I did." Is the easy response that he gives back. "It's been few years since I've thought of my school years, but I'm fairly certain I engaged in such nefarious actions."
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