[Gepard throws his shirt at Sampo's head and Sampo could've caught it, or moved out of the way, or anything other than what he does, which is let himself get a face full of slightly sweaty shirt. He laughs and tugs it down, tossing it over his shoulder. It's his shirt now, Gepard, thanks. So your choice in projectile does let you keep the pillow, but your clothes are forfeit.]
What would you call it, if you're getting me dinner and buying things for me?
[Sounds like a sugar daddy to him! Granted, most sugar daddies aren't literally for dinner, but hey. Semantics.]
[He catches the unsubtle glances and the quirk of his eyebrows, of course, because Sampo's an ass, not an idiot. He pushes himself away from the door frame with his shoulder and reaches for the doorknob.]
I'll let you get your rest, then. Good night, Captain, and thanks for the shirt.
[He'll close the door after, leaving Gepard to his changing. There you go, Captain-- your privacy! And Sampo can figure out how he's going to spend an uncomfortable night on the couch, without pillow or blankets. At least the geomarrow heater will keep him from getting too cold during the night, and he's got the Captain's shirt now.]
[The shirt, which hangs over his shoulder. It smells like him, and Sampo can really get the nuances of that scent when he brings the collar to his nose. He smells good, and not just in the sort of vaguely appetizing way that pretty much everyone smells good to Sampo nowadays-- there's something in it that just slots right in his brain. Something in it hits the ol' olfactory receptors in just the right way to make him particularly... pleasant?]
[Still has a little tinge of stress in it, though, and that sours it a little. Man, this guy needs to relax or something.]
[Sampo shakes his head; he's standing here sniffing at a guy's shirt like a weirdo, he needs to stop doing that. It's been an objectively poor night, and he's got his would-be dinner getting ready for bed in his bedroom, and he's going to sleep on the couch. Wow. Wow. Yeah, at this point? There's nothing more for him to do but get ready for bed as much as he can in the given circumstances, crash on the couch, and wait for it to be tomorrow.]
[He ends up using the Captain's rolled-up shirt as a pillow, out of necessity. It's all he's got out here, don't judge him for it.]
no subject
What would you call it, if you're getting me dinner and buying things for me?
[Sounds like a sugar daddy to him! Granted, most sugar daddies aren't literally for dinner, but hey. Semantics.]
[He catches the unsubtle glances and the quirk of his eyebrows, of course, because Sampo's an ass, not an idiot. He pushes himself away from the door frame with his shoulder and reaches for the doorknob.]
I'll let you get your rest, then. Good night, Captain, and thanks for the shirt.
[He'll close the door after, leaving Gepard to his changing. There you go, Captain-- your privacy! And Sampo can figure out how he's going to spend an uncomfortable night on the couch, without pillow or blankets. At least the geomarrow heater will keep him from getting too cold during the night, and he's got the Captain's shirt now.]
[The shirt, which hangs over his shoulder. It smells like him, and Sampo can really get the nuances of that scent when he brings the collar to his nose. He smells good, and not just in the sort of vaguely appetizing way that pretty much everyone smells good to Sampo nowadays-- there's something in it that just slots right in his brain. Something in it hits the ol' olfactory receptors in just the right way to make him particularly... pleasant?]
[Still has a little tinge of stress in it, though, and that sours it a little. Man, this guy needs to relax or something.]
[Sampo shakes his head; he's standing here sniffing at a guy's shirt like a weirdo, he needs to stop doing that. It's been an objectively poor night, and he's got his would-be dinner getting ready for bed in his bedroom, and he's going to sleep on the couch. Wow. Wow. Yeah, at this point? There's nothing more for him to do but get ready for bed as much as he can in the given circumstances, crash on the couch, and wait for it to be tomorrow.]
[He ends up using the Captain's rolled-up shirt as a pillow, out of necessity. It's all he's got out here, don't judge him for it.]