...peaky. [He repeats this slower, and his hand clenches into a fist and his leg twitches in a way which implies that he really would love nothing more than to kick Figaro, but, instead, is foreshadowing the fact that, perhaps, there's a part of him that wants to grab Figaro by the hair, drag him over, and tell him to lick and take care of the problem he caused.

Clenching his own thigh is easier. Gepard does that and tries to pretend like he really doesn't want to grope himself.]

...I've been hoping you'd go so I could take care of...this. [He's making an effort to breathe in and out and in and out again, calm and slow and not at all worked up, no, not at all. But Figaro has no sign of...peakiness. He has to focus on that. How one-sided whatever-this-is really is.] I can hardly pull down my pants and go at it with you here, now can I? [Annoyed, annoyed, very annoyed, and stern. Completely in control, just lightly drained and unfortunately turned on by it, nothing to see here.]