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When Verso was young, his nursemaid Amélie would read him many stories before he went to bed. Tales of knights and dragons, pirates, and faeries. But the one he remembers the most is the tale of the garden nymphs.
Beautiful creatures, hidden away from the manicured flowerbeds and the trimmed hedges of manor gardens. Tending and protecting them in secret, often under the cover of dawn with the morning pinks and yellows a pastel painting in the sky.
As a child, Verso had often visited the hedges at the edges of their manor, innocent voice calling out for the garden nymph and leaving candy offerings that were always gone come morning.
Later in life, the notion of a nymph existing felt like a joke. But that did not mean his interest in them waned. As he reached adolescence, he searched both the manor and the university's libraries for stories of nymphs, but it was in the bookstores of Montmartre that he found different kinds of stories. Those filled with promiscuous nymphs, sensual stories involving both men and women alike that one should certainly not read in the presence of polite company.
Verso has read many of them.
Has found himself enthralled by the fantasy creatures that have filled him with inspiration since.
Case in point being the suite he is currently composing, Ode à la nymphe du jardin. Even his mother had expressed excitement at the elegance and playfulness of the movements he's already completed, a compliment of the highest regard.
Today, he is working on the fourth out of seven movements. Here, the curiosity and playfulness of his youthful interest in nymphs takes a different form. Starts maturing, the high notes and quick plays making place for something slower, something more sensual like the stories that have enthralled him since his adolescence.
After half an hour he stands up to stretch, walking over to the open window that on this beautiful early Summer day lets in a pleasant breeze. He looks over the garden, to the hedges at the end and the forest beyond, with a smile.
He wonders what it would be like if nymphs were real, if he could meet one.
Would they be playful and innocent like the ones from his childhood, or promiscuous and sensual like those he read about during his adolescence?
A gentle breeze brushes his skin, almost like a lover's touch, carrying the softest of whispers.
Come find out
The words curve around his ear almost teasingly, creep underneath his skin with a slow burning longing that has him gasp.
His eyes find the garden's edge without hesitation and effort. The phantom warmth of beckoning fingers are like a teasing feather against his chin, making a shudder dance down his spine.
He is certain that if he were to close his eyes he could imagine a lover standing behind him, far enough to touch but close enough that he can feel their presence and body heat.
Loud barks rip him out of the softness he finds himself swaying in. Below, Monoco and Noco, their family dogs, run through the garden in a play of tag. A laugh escapes Verso, a startled and breathy thing as he reprimands himself for letting his imagination get the better of him.
He shakes his head in an attempt to clear it from the haze that has fallen over him like a gentle blanket.
Something in the back of his mind tells him that he will have pleasant dreams tonight.
Verso wakes with a choked moan falling from his lips and a sheen of sweat clinging to his skin like a jealous lover. His heart races in his chest, while his mind still feels hazy with the lingering visions of his dream that are slowly fading.
He chases after it, that place, where the moss had been as soft as his mattress and the flower petals had tickled his skin where they wound and curled around him as they gently held him in place. Where a figure shrouded by a veil of playful forget-me-nots had murmured the most obscene things to him while their nimble fingers had mapped Verso's skin as if it were the unexplored ocean. Their breathy voice akin to that whisper from the day before, and their touch intoxicating.
He chases after it as he kicks his sheets off and slips his hand into his pajama pants without patience. With burning arousal guiding his fingers as he strokes himself to completion at an almost embarrassing speed.
But he does not care when he finds oblivion with those whispers in his ears, his only regret being that he had not for a single moment touched the other in return.
The days stretch on. Verso plays, and plays, and plays his piano, his fingers creating movement after movement. Yet his ode to a fantastical garden nymph has turned into an ode to sensuality, and he is not sure he wishes to hear his mother's opinion on these pieces that feel like a secret letter to one's lover.
But at night, he dreams, and dreams, and dreams, each one more intoxicating than the next. Each morning, when he reaches his climax with the sheets kicked to the side and his eyes closed as he imagines his garden nymph's nimble fingers around his cock, the yearning in his gut grows.
Until one morning, when the world is a dream-like place of layers of fog that brightens as the sun slowly creeps above the horizon with its soft orange and yellow hues, Verso wakes filled with longing and desire in his veins and a whisper in his ear.
Verso, I am waiting…
His wide eyes fly to the window, a shuddering breath leaving his lips as he wonders, and longs, and burns.
He slips on his midnight blue robe over his light lavender pajamas, puts on his house shoes and, uncaring of even a semblance of decorum, slips into the garden, the rising sun his only witness. His feet carry him over the gravel paths to the back of the garden, while it feels as if he is pulled along by a lover's hand.
The familiar statue of a maiden holding a vase on her shoulder greets him at the edge of the garden, the vibrant green yews an almost solid wall behind her as they separate landscaped garden from wild woodland.
Separate Verso from whoever calls to him like a siren does a sailor.
"I'm here," he murmurs, holding his breath afterwards as his skin seems to itch and crawl in anticipation.
For a few moments, there is nothing but Verso in his bedroom attire, the thinning fog and the stone maiden's judging eyes in the garden.
Then, behind the maiden, the hedge parts.
Verso steps back with a gasp, a wave of shock crashing through him.
Come. Please.
The same breezy voice curves around his ear and seems to embrace his body. He recognizes the words for what they are.
An invitation.
When he steps through the hedge, the yew wall closes behind him, while at his front a world out of a fairytale awaits.
A dirt path winds forward, dots of daisies seeming to smile at him from the grass covering the ground. Rising above, pink climbing roses and dark green vines dance around the weathered trunks of ancient beech and oak trees. Families of mushrooms grow in the shaded nooks and damp crannies of the tree roots and few rocks.
As he walks deeper into what feels very much like an enchanted forest, the fog disappears. Instead, the elegant rays of the morning sun filter through the treetops and cast the forest in an ethereal light that seems to resemble the stained glass windows at the cathedral during sermon.
When anticipation and nerves seem to almost completely have eaten away Verso's bravery, does he reach a clearing.
A grand weeping willow stands in the middle, surrounded by soft, green moss, pure and graceful lilies of the valley and charming, colorful forget-me-nots.
Underneath it stands a man.
His brown, slightly curly hair, crowned by a daisy chain, frames a friendly face. His round cheeks have a healthy glow, his beard and mustache neatly trimmed and his luscious lips an inviting cherry red.
His plump body is almost on full display. From his soft-looking belly to his thick, strong thighs. His crotch is just barely covered by a semi-sheer white fabric that is held together with a clip just above his right hip and that seems to defy gravity in the way it almost curls around his hairy legs.
And not only is he the most enchanting, breathtaking man Verso has ever laid his eyes upon, he must also be brave. For the loss of an arm cannot be an easy feat, and yet this man has endured such a painful thing.
No, Verso thinks with his heart in his throat, not a man.
A nymph.
"Surely my eyes deceive me..." he murmurs as he takes a step forward. Closer.
The man tilts his head just-so, his hazel eyes glittering in the morning sun and the upward curve of his lips begging Verso to continue.
Verso shakes his head in disbelief. "A dream, perhaps."
"I am as real as you are, I promise you that." The man's voice is like the world around them. Steady like the old trees, a hint of playfulness like the climbing roses, and a hint of earnestness intertwining with it all like the dancing vines.
"It was you..." Verso breathes, taking another step forward as if there is an invisible thread between them that is gently pulling him closer. Wonder shines in his eyes and curves around his voice as he says: "You called for me."
This beautiful nymph, standing in a place that would almost have Verso believe he is dreaming, called for him.
A flutter of hope twirls in his chest, as Verso hopes that he isn't lying to himself. That he is wanted for him, rather than the Dessendre name, the promise of status, of fortune.
Surely a nymph does not care for such things.
A smile spreads on the man's face, a somewhat relieved thing that relaxes his wide shoulders a bit. Verso's fingers itch to curl around them. "And you came."
"Because you have bewitched me. Lured me here with your pretty voice to… what?" Verso asks, remembering his dreams so vividly now. Feeling the arousal of them glowing in his gut like an ember. It emboldens him, letting his eyes swoop down the man's body. "Partake in a hedonistic ritual that would make the Gods look away in shame?"
The man raises an eyebrow. "You have read too many books."
"Have I?" Verso asks, not willing to admit he feels slightly disappointed. "Then what did you call me here for?"
"Your company," the man says with a genuine smile, taking a step forward and his naked feet are almost silent against the moss. Yet there is something in his eyes, a spark that burns away Verso’s disappointment and replaces it with curiosity.
Verso grins. "Just my company?"
The edges of the man's lips quirk up for a moment. "I do not ask for nor take what is not freely given."
Verso feels the heat of excitement flashing through his chest and, as if that invisible thread between them is pulled again, he steps forward again. "A divine being like yourself, I would give freely."
The smile that graces the man's lips is not a pretty thing with something close to insecurity pulling at the edges. "I am the first nymph you see, hold your tongue and praise until you have seen more of us," the man says, his partly-amputated left arm giving a jolt almost as if it's trying to make a point.
Verso shakes his head with a huff. No amount of missing limbs could convince him of the fact that any other nymph would be better suited for his worship—because with the longing burning in his gut, that is most certainly what he will do if given the chance. "I don't need to see more of you to know that I would be happy to kneel before you like a devout believer ready to worship."
The nymph gasps, eyes widening and a rose-colored blush dusting his cheeks.
"Although I must admit I find myself surprised that the stories are true. I spent years hoping to meet a garden nymph when I was younger."
"I know." The man chuckles and steps forward, his hazel eyes dancing with mirth. "I will admit, you were an adorable boy."
"You were watching me even then?"
Verso had always thought the candies to have been taken by Amélie.
"Your candies were as sweet as the gesture and curiosity behind them. How could I not notice?" The nymph says, confirming Verso's newfound suspicion. It had been this beautiful creature all along. This man, whose hazel eyes now rove down and up Verso's body with nothing but appreciation in them. "But as a man..." he murmurs, catching Verso's ice blue eyes with his that shine with excitement. "You say I bewitched you, but what about you? Reading tales of debauchery that would make a siren blush, calling out for me in the depths of night—"
Verso stifles a gasp, turning his head in an ill attempt to hide his burning cheeks at having his lust spoken about so open and freely. How many times has he touched himself to the vision of this nymph? Cried out with Verso on his mind, only to find the reality even better than what he dreamed of?
"Ah,” Gustave tuts with a chuckle, taking the last step forward to close the distance between them so he can place a finger against Verso’s chin to draw blue eyes back up to meet his hazel ones that burn bright like a thousand suns. “I am not blind to your desires, Verso. You play them so openly on that piano of yours, after all."
"An ode." Verso says, head tilting up easily and willingly like a sunflower seeking the warmth of the sun. "To you."
"It was always you who called for me, ma douce fleur." The man slowly pulls back his hand, the stroke of his finger at the tip of Verso's chin making a shudder run down his smile. The nymph smiles, looking pleased. "I merely answered."
"Perhaps I have. Enchanted by the stories of the garden nymphs. And as a wonder, here you are." Verso allows his eyes to find the man's curves and follow them, wishing he could trace that skin with his fingers, taste it with his tongue. "More elegant and sensuous than I could have dreamed of by myself in the depths of night."
The man lets out a surprised laugh, placing a hand on his hip as it cants almost teasingly. "And how would you know if that were true? We have yet to do more than talk."
"Would you let me find out?" Verso breathes, his fingers itch and his soul yearns to touch. But he will not without approval. "Would you let me worship every inch of you to prove it true?"
"You are so certain…"
"Am I wrong?"
The nymph throws his head back a bit as he laughs, the sound playful like soft bells echoing through the air. When he looks at Verso again, his eyes smoulder with promise. "You both are and are not."
Verso frowns. "Meaning?"
"Meaning that you do not have to know all about me yet, Verso," the man muses in reply, a collection of unreadable emotions in his eyes.
Yet. That one word says so much more than its three letters would indicate, and Verso finds himself looking forward to what the future might hold. Although he shouldn't get distracted.
Not now.
"How about your name, mon beau? As you already know mine…"
"Gustave."
"Gustave…" Verso repeats, the name tasting like honey in his mouth. "A beautiful name for a beautiful man," he says, and can't help but teasingly add: "A very scarcely dressed one."
Gustave chuckles. "It certainly is a more alluring attire than yours."
Verso glances down at himself with a grimace. "I was in a rush."
"I'm honored. But I must say… it is a crime for such beauty to be hidden by clothing," Gustave murmurs. He slips his hand underneath Verso's robe.
Verso sucks in a breath when Gustave's soft fingers stroke his naked skin just above his pajama neckline. He sways, leaning into the touch, when he feels a tickle at his ankle. "Ah…" he jerks a little, looking down to find forget-me-nots curving around him, stroking the skin underneath his cotton pajama pants and gently holding him in place.
Gustave chuckles. "They are innocent."
Something tickles just above his knee, and another stalk winds up his pants with little tugs, pulling the fabric down just enough to reveal his hip bone. Verso raises an amused eyebrow. "You're certain about that?"
"Well, they mean you no harm. Not when it is me that commands them," Gustave explains and with a brush of his hand pushes Verso's robe off of his left shoulder and down his arms with a light touch, the right following quickly after.
Verso shudders, the warmth of Gustave's fingers lingering even over his night shirt.
"I am a garden nymph, after all," Gustave says, and almost as if trying to prove a point the forget-me-nots teasingly stroke Verso's sensitive inner-thigh. "I am old, not bound to the laws of death laid upon your mortal life."
Verso's robe falls down to the ground, vines crawling in to whisk it away. The flowers, meanwhile, tug and pull at his pants until they, too, slide down his legs. Soft flower petals follow the fabric down in teasing, playful strokes that leave Verso burning, yearning.
"I have seen much in my time," Gustave continues, his fingers finding the bottom of his night shirt and stroking the skin just below it. "Tended to many gardens, spending time with my fellow nymphs. Mortals have never interested me, your time here so fleeting and your mannerisms so crude." Gustave one-handedly unbuttons Verso's night shirt as he speaks, until it's fully loose and revealing the naked skin beneath. His hand flanks Verso's waist, a firm pressure. Gustave catches Verso's eyes with an astonished smile. "Until you."
Verso raises his hands to stroke at Gustave's arms, his eyes on his fingers against the other's skin as he bashfully shakes his head. "I am nothing special."
Forget-me-nots stroke Verso's cheek, silently pleading for him to look up at Gustave.
He can do nothing but obey.
"You are to me," Gustave murmurs earnestly.
"I—" Verso starts, but doesn't have any words to finish. Not when he feels so overwhelmed by his own feelings. For he has only just met Gustave, and yet something within him feels like a puzzle piece has just slotted into place. His soul seems to whisper you are important to me too even if it sounds ridiculous.
But has he not been fascinated by nymphs since his childhood days? Has he not found himself longing for more than his routine, mundane life filled with expectations that he never quite has wanted to live up to?
Has he not hoped, in the darkest moments of the night when not even the moonlight could shine its silver brightness upon his lonely and despondent thoughts, for something more?
Almost as if he senses Verso's turmoil, his confusion and desires overlapping, Gustave brings up his hand to brush some of his hair away from his face. His smile is fond and hopeful as he asks: "May I kiss you?"
"Yes," Verso breathes without a moment of hesitation. For no matter how shockingly quick these feelings have risen within him, by God, does Verso want that—does he want to taste those cherry-red lips and be devoured by them.
Gustave makes a soft, pleased noise, brushing the back of his fingers over Verso's cheek. "Merci," he murmurs as he leans in and touches his lips to Verso. They are pillow-soft, slotting against Verso's slightly chapped ones like they were made to kiss them.
Something inside Verso both relaxes and catches fire at the same time—like, somehow, this is what his body, his soul, has been waiting for. He kisses back, revelling in the way it makes his heart sing. He brings a hand up to softly stroke his fingertips along Gustave's naked shoulder as his tongue laps at the other's lips with the intent to make their kiss far less innocent.
But Gustave's kiss remains soft and slow, even as their lips part and their tongues find one another. He cards his fingers through Verso's hair, dragging it back while the meat of his thumb gently strokes the skin at Verso's hairline. At the same time, the tickling yet gentle forget-me-nots are back, teasing the skin of Verso's cheek, the sensitive hollow of his neck, and slipping under the arms of his unbuttoned night shirt.
Verso feels like molten lava is slowly creeping through his veins, leaving a trail of yearning and arousal behind. He slides his free hand around Gustave's waist, the other's supple skin soft beneath his fingertips.
But before he can pull the other closer, to transfer the fire in his body into the maddeningly tantalizing kiss that moves as slow as sweet, thick molasses—
Gustave slowly draws away.
He leaves Verso just slightly breathless, and very much dazed. "And here I thought I was going to worship you," he murmurs, his heart hammering in his chest.
Gustave laughs, weaving his fingers out of Verso's hair. "Oh, there will be plenty of time for that, ma douce fleur. I promise I won't take long. I just want to… admire you."
Verso grins, drawing a light, teasing circle against Gustave's waist with his fingertips. "What if I want to admire you too?"
Gustave leans his head to the side with an amused frown. "Am I not, what did you say, scarcely clad enough for your liking?"
Verso lets his eyes roam down Gustave's body, hunger coiling in his gut like he is a starving man on the brink of death. "Something tells me that even seeing you naked will not be enough to satiate the longing I feel for you," he whispers, afraid that if he speaks any louder it might make him conscious of the surreality of the situation.
Acting upon that longing, Verso strokes his fingers down from Gustave's side and down to the top of his chubby hips where the clip holds his singular piece of clothing together.
"Romantic. Ah," Gustave tuts and a few stalks of forget-me-nots circle around Verso's hand, urging it away and up to rest against his waist again. "Not yet."
"But—"
"You first," Gustave breathes before he presses a chaste kiss against Verso's lips. He reaches up and curls his hand around Verso's shoulder, resting for a moment before he brushes Verso's night shirt off of his left shoulder. Then his right, until the lavender fabric pools on the ground leaving Verso in nothing but his underwear.
But the sky-blue flowers make quick work of that too, snaking up his leg and tugging the piece of clothing off with almost sensual strokes that leave heat behind as they go. Verso looks at Gustave, catches hazel eyes with his own that burn with that same warmth. "They do as you command, hm?"
Gustave's lips quirk up with mirth dancing in his eyes. But when the last of Verso's clothing lands on the ground, excitement quickly takes over. "There, much better," he murmurs, his eyes slow and avid as they rake over Verso's naked body, his one hand raised and following along without touching.
Verso shudders nonetheless as he easily imagines what that touch could feel like.
"Exquisite," Gustave breathes, something akin to awe in his voice. "Like my beloved flowers."
Verso sucks in a breath. "Does that mean you'll tend to me as well?"
Gustave's eyes snap up to him instantly, burning like the midday sun and filled with promise and determination. He brings up his hand and reverently strokes Verso's cheek. "For the rest of eternity, if you will allow."
Verso can't breathe, can't think, the words etching themselves into his heart. All he can do is reach up, bury his hands in Gustave's hair and press their lips together in a kiss that tastes like salvation.
When they break apart, Gustave takes his hand and turns towards the weeping willow.
"Come."
He leads Verso towards the tree, which welcomes them as they near with a sway of its hanging branches. The moss beneath it rises until it is high enough to resemble a bed.
Gustave sits down, their fingers still linked, and he looks up at Verso through his lashes. "Finally I have you here."
"Finally indeed." Verso agrees easily. He squeezes Gustave's hand and slowly lowers himself down onto his knees before the nymph. Anticipation burns in his veins as he slides his hands down chubby thighs, watching the skin beneath his hands with hooded eyes. "Would you… for years I have dreamed— no, fantasized," he breathes and looks up at an awe-struck Gustave, "about you. The idea of you. I did not lie." Verso cups Gustave's knees in the palms of his hands. "I would worship you."
Gustave silently watches him for a moment. "Like a God?" He sounds disappointed.
"No." Verso shakes his head, because any God would turn their eyes away at the things he wants to do to Gustave. "Like a divine being that deserves to be worshiped by my fingers." He squeezes his fingers against the other's skin before slowly stroking a teasing, gentle circle.
"By my lips." He turns his head and presses a feather-light kiss against Gustave's knee.
"By my mouth," he murmurs against the other's skin, sultry eyes meeting Gustave's hazel ones as he licks the other's skin.
He leans back with a smirk, hands sliding to the inside of Gustave's knees and slowly, gently nudging them apart. "Would that be… to your liking?"
"Please," Gustave breathes, a sultry sound that shakes at the edges as his eyes look at Verso, at where his hands curve around his skin like they were meant to touch it.
Verso's arousal has slowly been awakening as Gustave had undressed him. But upon hearing the other's breathy plea, it's like something has been released.
He takes a breath, and with warm anticipation in his gut he presses a kiss against the inside of Gustave's knee. He strokes his hands down, from Gustave's knees over his shins until he can curl a finger around his ankle. "I want to know all of you," he says, stroking his hand up Gustave's calf.
Gustave shivers in anticipation at the light, almost teasing touches. He leans back until he is back against the moss bed, watching Verso leaning onto his elbow.
When Verso touches his knees again, Gustave parts his legs even wider, making space.
Verso slots between them, fitting perfectly.
Like he belongs.
His heart stutters in his chest at the thought, a nervous swirl in his gut. But when he leans his head against Gustave's knee and trails his hands from knees to inner-thighs, warming desire chases that sensation away.
"All soft—"
He leans up so he can curve his hand to Gustave's hip.
"—and perfect—"
He pushes himself up further, feather-light fingertips stroking Gustave's sides before they dance to his chubby stomach. Verso revels in how soft the skin feels, and how Gustave's body quivers.
"—parts of you."
Gustave huffs, shaking his head and averting his eyes. "I am far from perfect."
Verso puts a knee onto the edge of their bed, leaning over Gustave and he leans down to kiss the other.
First his neck, then his cheek, his forehead and, lastly, his mouth.
He kisses Gustave slowly, reverently, his hands a tender prayer against the other's skin as his fingers snake up his sides and over his collarbone. And while his left hand teases the tender hollow of Gustave's neck, his right dances down Gustave's left arm, to where the bottom half of it is missing.
He breaks the kiss and catches hazel eyes with his. "Then I'll know your imperfections too."
"Verso…" Gustave looks up at him, surprise in his eyes.
"Hush," Verso breathes, kissing the edge of Gustave's mouth.
He trails his mouth down, tasting the other's skin thinking he could become addicted to the taste. Could get lost in the way the other reacts so beautifully to his touches.
When his mouth finds one of Gustave's nipples, the man's breath shudders and his back arches just the slightest of bits.
Verso glances up through his lashes, pleased and excited that he is able to elicit such reactions from the beautiful man below him. Heat pools in his gut in response, and he can feel himself hardening even more.
Verso brushes a hand down to the top of the fabric covering Gustave with anticipation burning in his gut and Gustave's body leans into his touch like a sunflower seeking the sun. Verso smiles, a bit of wonder in his eyes as he pushes himself up and away from Gustave's body so he can look over it. He teases a finger along the other's hipbone. "You are so responsive. So sensitive."
Gustave moans a soft, breathy thing as his body shivers. "It— it has been a long time since someone found me… worthy."
Verso shakes his head. "Fools, the lot of them." He looks down and almost groans when he sees the obvious outline of Gustave's desire under his clothing.
He looks thick, and absolutely delicious. Verso strokes a single finger down the bulge, his own cock almost jumping in reply.
"Hah," Gustave gasps, "so says you."
Verso smirks. "Indeed."
He slides off of the bed again, knees on the soft moss at the bottom of it. He reaches up a hand to toy at the clip holding the last bit of fabric separating them together. "Let me take the edge off."
Gustave nods, the blush on his cheeks spreading down to his chest in the most beautiful pink.
Verso does not waste any time in undoing the clip and unwrapping the cloth with more excitement and anticipation than he has ever felt uncovering a gift.
Because that is what this feels like.
He wants to be slow, to tease and make Gustave writhe, but his fingers are too impatient.
He moves the soft fabric aside, and almost moans. Gustave is thick, the tip flushed a beautiful red and leaking white pearls of precome.
A sight to behold, and Verso swipes a single finger along the sensitive head, swiping up the liquid. He brings his finger to his mouth and, holding Gustave's eyes captive with his own, laps it up like the most delicious of creams.
"P-putain," Gustave moans, and the sound sends a shiver down Verso's spine.
"All that for me," Verso muses and leans his head against Gustave's inner-thigh. He presses a tender kiss against the soft skin there before he slides closer, his hands guiding the way over Gustave's thighs.
"Ready?" he breathes when he is almost close enough to touch Gustave's cock, making sure his warm breath ghosts the other's hard member.
Gustave gasps. "Y-you did that on purpose."
"Perhaps," Verso murmurs with a pleased smirk before leaning in to lap at Gustave's tip.
A soft, surprised whine escapes Gustave.
Verso strokes his thigh. "I've got you," he promises, and slowly takes Gustave's tip into his mouth.
His own cock jumps at the thick and heavy weight in his mouth, the warmth of it almost matching the fire in his own body.
He presses his tongue against the bottom of it, giving little licks as he takes Gustave deeper and deeper into his mouth.
When he swirls his tongue with a suck, Gustave cries out and tangles a shaky hand in Verso's hair.
Verso shudders at the sensation of Gustave slightly pulling his hair, and he can't hold back a wet, breathy moan that makes Gustave whimper. He pulls back, just far enough that he can tease Gustave's tip with his tongue before taking him deeper again.
He's not sure how long he sits there, on his knees, with Gustave in his mouth as he plays with his delicious cock with as much dedication as his beloved piano.
He can lose himself like this, he thinks. In this world, in Gustave.
Here, in this beautiful place that surely the Gods would have blessed, if it weren't for the sacrilege currently taking place.
Because Gods are meant to be worshipped on your knees, yes, but not like this. Not with lust, nor with sensual touches, and absolution should be given after confession, not taken with greedy fingers and a hungry mouth.
But who needs a church, when Verso can worship right here between Gustave’s legs? Who needs a God, when soft, supple skin feels like Heaven under his touch? Who needs faith at all, when the press of those thick thighs against his head makes the world disappear?
"Hah!" Gustave moans, his hand tugging at Verso's hair. "I'm c-close."
Verso speeds up his ministrations, sucking and bobbing his head. One of his hands kneads Gustave's inner-though while he wraps the other around the base of Gustave's cock to stroke the parts of him that he can't reach with his mouth.
Gustave only needs a few more seconds before he cries out, body going taut and his head thrown back as he comes.
Verso slows his touches, his fingers stroking softly and his mouth caressing gently as Gustave's cum fills his mouth.
He swallows every drop.
When Gustave's body relaxes and his hold on Verso's hair lightens, Verso pulls away. He leans his head against Gustave's thigh and looks up at the man.
Gustave's hair is a disarray of curls, his dazed hazel eyes swirl with moss-green and sun-gold and a red flush seems to cover most of his body.
Verso can't hold back a smile. "You are gorgeous."
Gustave laughs breathlessly. He sits up and cups Verso's cheek in his palm. "You say that without having seen what I have seen. How you looked with your luscious lips around me, flushed." He pauses and smiles. "Aroused. Divine."
Verso feels a blush creep up his cheeks at the compliment. Divine. He's never been called that before. Especially not by someone who looks absolutely divine himself.
Someone that deserves every bit of pleasure that Verso can give him.
Verso smirks. "If you loved that sight, imagine what I'd look like riding it."
Gustave gasps, eyes wide and pupils dilated. "You would desire that?"
Precome drips from Verso's hard cock as he eagerly nods. "Very much so."
Gustave beckons Verso. "Come here."
Verso crawls up the moss-bed, over Gustave, and kisses the man when he is close enough. It's a deep, needy thing and his hard cock rubs against Gustave's body with delicious friction. Verso moans into the kiss and bucks his hip.
Gustave's fingers dance down his spine, before caressing the curve of his ass.
Verso breaks the kiss with a gasp, pressing his head against Gustave's neck.
Gustave hums, fingers slipping even further down until they find Verso's entrance. Until he can circle the tip of his finger over the puckered skin as he whispers: "Allow me to prepare you."
"Hah!" Verso bucks his hips, trying to feel more of Gustave's soft, nimble fingers. "Y-you don't have to. I can do it myself."
The world tilts and Verso gasps as he is flipped around, landing on his back with Gustave above him. Those hazel eyes boring into his with a fire behind them. "You would take away my chance to pleasure you?" Gustave asks, his voice close to a purr.
Forget-me-nots circle around his arms, dragging them up. There is little strength behind them, but Verso follows so very willingly, until the flowers are curled around his wrists that are now pulled above his head.
Gustave strokes a hand down his face with a grin on his lips and a glimmer of promise in his eyes. "I think not."
All Verso can do is look up at the man with awe in his eyes at the other's sudden show of strength and dominance. It's incredibly hot.
Gustave leans down to kiss him, lewd but short. When he leans back, he catches Verso's eyes with a slight hesitation on his own. "You tell me when it's too much, right?"
Verso turns his head and kisses Gustave's hand that's still hovering next to his face. "I will," he promises, even though he doubts there is anything Gustave will do that'll make him ask for him to stop.
"Good." Gustave reaches out his hand and a vine answers his unspoken call, dropping a vial into his waiting hand.
Verso raises an amused eyebrow as he watches what seems to be some sort of lube be given to the other by his flora.
"What?" Gustave asks, using his mouth to pull off the cap and dipping his fingers into the oily liquid inside.
Verso shakes his head with a chuckle. "Nothing, noth— ah!" He gasps when Gustave presses an oily finger against his entrance, circling for a moment before slipping inside.
"Yes?" Gustave asks innocently, pressing a kiss against Verso's neck as he presses his finger deeper.
Verso doesn't reply. He can't, not when Gustave moves his finger at an agonizingly slow pace. When Gustave finds his prostate, he moans. His back arches off the bed and his eyes flutter shut as heat spreads through his veins like a forest fire.
"Beautiful flower," Gustave murmurs against the hollow of his neck, his breath ghosting Verso's sensitive skin making him shudder.
A second finger joins, stretching, scissoring, and Verso bucks against each and every touch. He is reduced to soft whimpers and breathless gasps as his fingers clench and grapple at the moss as arousal and desperation climb.
"Please," he begs, needy and trembling. "Please Gustave. I'm ready."
Gustave presses his fingers against Verso's prostate, kissing his way up his neck and to his mouth and Verso can taste his grin in the kiss against his lips. "Yes you are," Gustave breathes, the forget-me-nots retreating as he thrusts his hips forward, his hard cock rubbing against Verso's making both men moan.
Verso reaches up and winds a hand through Gustave's curls, a smirk on his lips. "Then it's time we reverse our positions, so I can give you your promised view."
Gustave eases his fingers from Verso's hole and they switch positions. Quick, inelegant, both men too impatient and burning with arousal for anything else. When Gustave is on his back on the moss, Verso strokes his plump stomach, drawing his fingers down until he can curl them around the other's hard cock.
"T-teasing me?"
"Perhaps a little," Verso chuckles, stroking his hand up and down Gustave before swiping his thumb over the sensitive top.
Gustave huffs shakily and when he sweeps his hand in the air the vine with the oil vial returns. It pushes it against Verso's unoccupied hand.
Verso raises an eyebrow, but takes the vial anyway with a curl of heat in his gut. "Impatient," he chides playfully, even as he is far from patient himself as he drips some of the oil onto Gustave's cock.
"Says the one who was just begging for me," Gustave shoots back, bucking his hips up and his hard member against Verso's hand.
"I was," Verso allows and spreads the oil over Gustave. When he's satisfied, he puts the vial to the side and moves so he can straddle Gustave. He relishes in the feeling for a moment, just sitting there as Gustave's hard cock presses against his ass. Basks in the anticipation.
Gustave watches him, hunger burning in his eyes, as if it is Verso that is the otherworldly creature.
When Verso positions himself and slowly lowers himself down onto Gustave, both men moan. A beautiful symphony.
"Finally," Gustave breathes, his hand trailing up Verso's leg, past his leaking cock and up his chest until he can slip it into Verso's black hair. He gives a gentle tug, silently begging Verso to lean down.
When he does, Gustave kisses him, slow and sweet and filled with yearning. When their kiss breaks, he murmurs against Verso's lips: "I have yearned for you for so long."
Verso's heart skips a beat at the admission, something soft in this otherwise heated moment that tries to worm its way into his heart. He rocks his hips as he says: "And now I'm yours."
Gustave kisses him again, hungrier this time, his tongue ravishing Verso and stealing his breath away. "And I yours," he rasps, promise in his eyes, "if you wish to have me."
Forever, Verso thinks. Because whether he is enchanted or not, Gustave has taken a hold of him. Has, perhaps, been on his mind in a way for far longer than he knows.
But now is not the time.
Now there is nothing but burning arousal coursing through his veins.
He places his hands on Gustave's chest and presses a quick kiss to his lips before pushing himself upright. He grins down at the other as he lifts himself up. "Gladly so," he purrs and moves back down until Gustave is buried all the way inside of him.
Gods does it feel good to have Gustave's cock stretching him, his body accepting him easily, readily. As if it was made for this. For Gustave.
Verso rolls his hips before he starts moving. He starts with a slow pace, to show Gustave how good he can be for him, to worship him properly and fully. He grips Gustave's sides as he moves, his fingers digging into supple skin that molds around him perfectly.
Gustave reaches out to put his strong hand on Verso's thigh, stroking the skin with his thumb. He thrusts up his hips once, twice, and on the third time finds Verso's prostate.
Verso cries his pleasure up to the sky, his nails digging into Gustave's skin and his hips stutter.
Slow will have to wait for another time, he thinks almost feverishly as his erection pulses impatiently, ready for release. He speeds up with a moan.
Gustave follows the pace with his thrusts, sliding his hand up, squeezing Verso's ass almost teasingly before his fingertips dance up his spine.
Verso shudders with a breathless laugh.
"Ticklish?" Gustave asks with an amused smile.
Verso blushes. "N-not at all."
Gustave hums, his fingers continuing upwards and Verso is certain he keeps his touch light and teasing on purpose. But all tickling jitters disappear the moment those fingers slide into his hair. When fingernails gently scrape his scalp before they pull.
A flash of arousal shoots through Verso, from his head all the way down to his very toes that curl from pleasure. He moans, his thighs quivering and the heat rising. "Close, I'm—"
"Not yet," Gustave says, a hint of command in his voice.
Suddenly, forget-me-nots spring up. They wind themselves around his thighs, around the base of his leaking cock, pinning him in place.
Preventing him from the release his body is begging for.
Something that is both a sob and a moan escapes Verso, his eyes shooting open as his high calms, gets just out of reach. He is left trembling and wanting. "Gustave!" he whines, trying to move but the flowers' hold is strong, keeping him right where he is.
Gustave sweetly smiles up at him, his fingers gently combing through his hair. "You can wait for me, can't you?"
"Y-you already came!" Verso cries, bucking his hips.
Gustave slips his hand from Verso's hair so he can pull at the other's bottom lip with his thumb, watching with eyes as dark as the moss below them. "And whose fault is that?" he wonders.
Verso allows himself a small smile, but the memory of Gustave warm and heavy in his mouth does nothing to curb his arousal. He squeezes himself around Gustave’s cock and rocks his hips the little bit he can at the same time. “You feel ready,” he murmurs. He leans forward so he can kiss Gustave, deep, hungry, and desperate.
It is messy, wet, and when they part both men are panting.
Verso trails wet kisses to Gustave’s ear and breathily begs: “Please, ma nymphe.”
Gustave’s breath shudders, and his hand is almost possessive as it digs into Verso’s thigh. The forget-me-nots around Verso’s cock retreat, and the ones around his thighs tug and pull as together with Gustave’s hand they urge him up, higher, until it's just Gustave’s tip inside Verso.
Verso impatiently pushes back down at the same time as Gustave sharply thrusts up, and he throws his head back with a broken moan as stars dance in his vision.
"P-putain, Gustave~"
Gustave squeezes his hand, moving Verso on his cock again and hitting his prostate when he thrusts up with a groan. "Shouldn't be so impatient,"
Verso meets Gustave’s thrusts with needy moans. "It wasn't a complaint."
Words aren’t needed after that, as they find a rhythm. As they are reduced to their desires, moving with and against each other with feverish movements. The sensual sound of skin meeting skin fills the air, accompanied by gasping breathes and high-pitched moans.
Verso feels himself burn in a way he has never felt before, raptured, almost, with how high his arousal climbs.
He reaches for his impossibly hard, aching, and dripping cock. Curls his trembling fingers around it with a groan.
“Gods,” Gustave moans, looking at Verso with hazy, lust filled eyes. “You are absolutely divine.” His hand joins Verso’s, caressing, stroking, and it only takes a few seconds before Verso tips over the edge.
His orgasm is no surprise, but it still hits him hard. He arches his back, a cracked moan passing his lips that quickly turns into a silent scream. Tears prickle at his eyes as he finds his release, and if he didn’t know any better he’d think he’s transcending.
Beneath him, Gustave thrusts up. Hard and unrelentless, desperately chasing his own release. He doesn’t need much before his legs quiver. A cry escapes him as his final thrust stutters and he comes, filling Verso.
It’s the most beautiful thing Verso has ever seen.
He reaches for Gustave’s face with trembling hands, cupping it in his palms and kissing him as they ride out their orgasms.
They stay close after, even when they both lay down onto the moss on their sides, facing each other. Fingers constantly touching any skin, lingering, caressing, as they trade soft kisses.
“That was…” Verso trails off. He looks into Gustave’s hazel eyes, unable to find the right words.
Because it feels like it was everything.
Gustave nods wordlessly, a dazed smile on his lips and it seems that Verso is not the only one enchanted.
“I meant it,” Gustave murmurs carefully, a finger trailing the curve of Verso’s neck. “I’m yours if you would have me.”
Verso looks at him, at the man, the nymph, and can’t deny that everything about this feels right. Meant to be.
“I would be a fool not to,” he whispers, and gives Gustave a sweet kiss that’s filled with promise.
Early one morning, the Dessendre household's kitchen staff finds the garden door standing wide open and the family's only son missing.
After a widespread initial panic, many searches and investigations are conducted, and even more whispers do the rounds among the upper class theorizing what might have happened to the Dessendre heir.
But no answers are ever found, and Verso Dessendre is never seen again.
Not in the world of mortal beings, at least.
For past the garden hedge, along a curving path surrounded by pink climbing roses, has Verso Dessendre found himself a piece of heaven in the arms of a nymph. Has found himself a man to worship in body and soul, that cherishes and cares for him like the most beautiful flower in return.
It is there, underneath an elegant willow tree, that the men share in the pleasures of the flesh and the gentleness of the heart, barely aware of the changing world around them.
For time keeps moving, and life outside the reaches of the willow tree is bound to its mortality. Lives are lived and lost, the grand manor standing desolate and forgotten as the garden is overtaken by wilderness that both man and nymph tend to under the cover of dawn, for a garden is a garden no matter the state it is in.
Yet as time passes, the manor is inhabited again and the wild gardens are restored to their former glory.
Stories are shared.
Fairy-tales of a nymph and the man they love.
It is said that if one ventures out into the manor gardens, trails along the hedges and keeps out a careful ear, that laughter and whispers of love can be heard on the gentle breeze. That at dawn, one can hear the playful yet sensual notes of a famous piano piece, the last by the talented Verso Dessendre.
Ode à la nymphe du jardin.