[Sampo makes bad decisions in pursuit of a good time; Gepard makes poor decisions in pursuit of a responsible time. It's like they're dark mirrors of each other, except this time Gepard's not skipping breakfast or going short of sleep, he's fucking Sampo. He's fucking Sampo! Is this a better choice or not? On one hand, his cock's very happy. However long of pent up frustration, released. On the other hand, he's having sex with a criminal in his office, against his desk, and if anyone caught them the resulting scandal would ruin them both.
He's not really thinking about that at the moment, but later...later, he might. Later. That's for later, if he does. For now, what matters is railing Sampo, and he thrusts into him like Sampo's the only thing that matters (he is), and he fucks him, and he fucks him, and then Sampo makes a broken, punched out noise and Gepard trembles against him. His eyes snap wide as he stares at him, already regretting the fact that he had to keep Sampo quiet. Because he couldn't see. Gepard can feel his heart hammering. (Whose heart? Does it matter?) He wraps one hand around Sampo's back, rubs it up his spine, cups the back of Sampo's neck and lets him remember how to breathe.
He needs a little bit more, just a little bit more, and it's tempting to just pin Sampo to the desk and finish inside of him regardless of what he wants, how he wants it. But, with the hard earned restraint of years upon years, Gepard forces himself to match Sampo's breathing, to rub patterns into Sampo's skin. Breathe out and back in again. Slow.]
I can- [He doesn't want to pull out.] If you want. [It's hard being selfish. Feeling Sampo come - the way his ass tightened, the breath he made - made him want nothing more than to fuck him and hear Sampo being loud, and damn whomever ran in to check up on the both of them. He wants a lot of things. He wants to take, for once to take, and he also wants to be considerate. He wants to preserve everything that he worked for, and to tear it all down in one stupid action. He doesn't know what he wants? He also doesn't know if it matters.]
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He's not really thinking about that at the moment, but later...later, he might. Later. That's for later, if he does. For now, what matters is railing Sampo, and he thrusts into him like Sampo's the only thing that matters (he is), and he fucks him, and he fucks him, and then Sampo makes a broken, punched out noise and Gepard trembles against him. His eyes snap wide as he stares at him, already regretting the fact that he had to keep Sampo quiet. Because he couldn't see. Gepard can feel his heart hammering. (Whose heart? Does it matter?) He wraps one hand around Sampo's back, rubs it up his spine, cups the back of Sampo's neck and lets him remember how to breathe.
He needs a little bit more, just a little bit more, and it's tempting to just pin Sampo to the desk and finish inside of him regardless of what he wants, how he wants it. But, with the hard earned restraint of years upon years, Gepard forces himself to match Sampo's breathing, to rub patterns into Sampo's skin. Breathe out and back in again. Slow.]
I can- [He doesn't want to pull out.] If you want. [It's hard being selfish. Feeling Sampo come - the way his ass tightened, the breath he made - made him want nothing more than to fuck him and hear Sampo being loud, and damn whomever ran in to check up on the both of them. He wants a lot of things. He wants to take, for once to take, and he also wants to be considerate. He wants to preserve everything that he worked for, and to tear it all down in one stupid action. He doesn't know what he wants? He also doesn't know if it matters.]