[Gepard buys himself a cactus and Vaska packs it up for him in a weather-proof container so that it'll survive the journey home through the cold Belobog weather. Congratulations, you're the proud father of a spiky desert plant while living on an iceball.]
[Surely this can't go wrong, right?]
[Vaska very cheerfully waves them off when they leave, and Sampo hooks his arm through Gepard's again and waves back at her because he's a little shit.]
I think you're going to have good luck with this one! [If 'good luck' has blue hair and calls itself Figaro. Sampo is absolutely going to have to save this poor cactus from being drowned, he can already tell.]
[He's carrying the cactus like it's important, which, it is, ever so slightly leaning into Figaro's grasp without realizing he's doing so because he's a bit preoccupied. Furthermore, even if he's not...
Interested, like that, Figaro is (unfortunately) tall and warm and nice to lean against, and so Gepard does so like he's a preoccupied cat, staring at his cactus.]
[When Figaro says Leo, Gepard gives it consideration. He makes a thoughtful noise. He examines the cactus, asking himself if it looks like a Leo.
When Figaro says Theo, Gepard stiffens, because sometimes? Sometimes you come up with a good name, and it ends in an o, and that doesn't mean anything. Coincidences happen. Two names, though? Less coincidental. He tries to not react to Figaro, fails when he's bludgeoned by Antonio and Romeo, and he just stares for a moment. Just stares.]
I'm not naming a plant after you. [Bad enough he'll think of Figaro every single time he looks at the cactus.] I'm sure you've used all of those names some time or another.
Maybe, maybe not! No hints for our game, that would be cheating.
[He’s not going to tell you what aliases he’s used, Gepard, you have to figure that out yourself! Otherwise it ruins the game, and Sampo is invested in how well Gepard does. How smart of a boy is Belobog’s favorite Captain?]
I suppose you could name it something else, though. What kind of names does the Captain like? There must be something that you think is cute.
[Cute is what’s important. If the name is cute, than Gepard might be guilted into keeping it alive longer.]
Cosmo. [He says this with all the confidence of an edict from the Supreme Guardian, gazing at the stupid cactus like he's two seconds away from ordering it to not die.]
It's a good name and you've likely used it as an alias at some point. [He also says this with all the confidence of a Supreme Guardian ordering her men into battle.] And thanks to you, I'm having problems thinking of something that doesn't end in an o.
Will you take better care of it if it's named after me?
[What a cute sentiment, Gepard. Sampo's very amused, because the good Captain could have picked literally any other name if he wanted something that wouldn't remind him of his blood-sucking acquaintance-- or, if he was feeling vindictive, he could've named it something less flattering, like Leech. Mosquito. Do they have mosquitos on Jarilo-VI?]
[Anyway, he's flattered. Pleased as a cat that stuck its paw in your milk.]
[Up the stairs they go, to Gepard's apartment, the newly christened Cosmo in hand.]
Cosmo is a good name! If I never used if before, I wouldn't be able to now, though. It would be too obvious, wouldn't it?
[Why must Figaro make this weird. Why is he making this weird. Gepard waits until they're up the stairs to respond, making some neutral non-committal noise, as if he's turning the questions in his head. "Will you take better care of it if it's named after me?" Hmm. "Cosmo is a good name!"
He waits until they get to the door to his apartment, and then looks at Figaro.]
Of course I would. If I don't take care of you, then you'll no doubt eat something [or someone] you shouldn't. It's a good name, and a good reminder.
[He's heading inside. Time to find a spot for this cactus.]
[Sampo follows him inside, closing the door behind him. It's warmer inside Gepard's apartment than out of it, and even blood-sucking creatures of the night prefer to be warm.]
Let's get Cosmo set up somewhere nice and sunny. He needs to have a lot of sunlight, or at least as much as you can get in Belobog!
[Which does leave something to be desired, admittedly. That's why most people on this planet have those UV lights that lets them produce enough vitamin D to stave off the vitamin deficiency depression. Can't let your little cactus get sad and die, Gepard.]
[Please take good care of me, then! A blush, and they're inside.]
I should get a new lamp for my plants. My current one is, well. [Figaro can see it for himself. Sad. Tragic. Old, and not in a good way. The sort of lamp that came with the apartment and would remain with the apartment, maybe die with the apartment. The cactus is, nevertheless, positioned under it, and Gepard stares at it stoically.]
I suppose I should water it, and then take care of you. If you need to be... [Um.] Fed.
[He's going for the watering can! He's going to drown Cosmo!]
[Since Gepard is only a paragon of the Preservation when it doesn't involve plants, Sampo clearly has to step in to save the poor cactus before it gets watered into an untimely grave.]
I'm sure it's fine! Vaska would've already watered it, so I doubt you need to so soon.
[Sampo touches Gepard's wrist, to stop him from moving any closer to the weapon of watery destruction. Step away from the watering can, Gepard, and no one will get hurt.]
Besides, I am a little peckish! [An understatement. Since he'd gotten a taste of the real deal, he'd been craving another bite. Even if Gepard isn't the tastiest juice box just yet, Sampo had gone weeks without a meal. Just one sip wasn't going to alleviate all of his hunger in one go.] Do you mind giving your pal a little snack?
[The touch on his wrist stops him and...] Oh. Yes. I promised that I'd take care of you.
[For whatever that means, and Gepard moves to take off his coat, his shirt, you know, things that might be in the way...but he hesitates, one button down. All of this is far more awkward than he had expected, going into this, but he made a promise and, by Qlipoth, he will live up to it.]
Would it... [He blushes, a dusty pink. There's really no good way of bringing up the subject.] Be more comfortable for you if I gave myself a wound you could drink from? [Cut himself, in other words.] I'd rather not, but also, I doubt you'd want to watch me act like that again.
[Writhing like a whore, all of that sort of thing.]
[Cosmo is saved, at least for another day. Gepard's dignity, however, is sacrificed, because he brings up that whole awkward boner thing from before. You know, that thing that they were both trying not to think about too much because neither of them think that the other would be interested in their boners.]
[Pink is a very attractive color on Gepard's face. It's really a shame that Sampo is under the impression that he's embarrassed purely because of the awkwardness of getting hard in polite company.]
Well. I don't want you to be uncomfortable! [Because Gepard had been very obviously uncomfortable after The Incident.] Maybe it won't be as bad if I don't bite you on the neck? Like on your arm or something. Necks are, you know. That kind of thing.
[An erogenous zone, and all. Normal people can get worked up by having their lover kiss and bite their throat without anything vampiric going on, but most people aren't getting hot and heavy over some wrist nibbling. So maybe going for the least erotic body part will keep Gepard from having such a prominent reaction.]
It's about your comfort, not mine. [And then he gets back to stubbornly stripping off his shirt, because regardless of where Figaro bites, blood stains and he only owns so many shirts. That's not even getting into how pristine white they tend to be. Getting blood out of them sucks.]
And regardless of where you bite, people will have questions if the same place is bandaged too many times.
[He's heading over to the couch, he's getting on the couch, he's going to settle in on the couch.] That won't be a problem now, but in the future- should I get a towel?
[Should he unsettle on the couch? Should he get up and grab a towel?]
Like I said, it's all water under the bridge to me. What's a boner or two between friends?
[Gepard starts removing his shirt, revealing a lot of very unfairly toned muscle. It's a shame, really. An excellent specimen of a man, going entirely unappreciated. Even if he's not the person that Gepard would want appreciating him, it's really mind-boggling that no one else has scooped him up yet. Handsome, strong, diligent, and sweet, and a captain to boot? He should have every pretty girl in Belobog jumping at the chance.]
Mm. Rotating spots is a good idea, it isn't good for you if I bite too many times in the same place. You need to heal up. [So changing spots is good practice anyway. And some spots are easier to conceal than others.]
I can eat neatly, especially from an arm or wrist. But if you'd rather have a towel anyway, be my guest! [He laughs.] I'm good at getting bloodstains out, too, trust me. I've had a lot of practice.
[Eating neatly is a learned skill, and he didn't always have it.]
[He settles back down on the couch, getting...comfortable, and Gepard belatedly wonders if he should get a blanket to hide his crotch. Just in case things go in a bad direction. But it's too late now.]
I trust you. [It's said simply, which unfortunately makes it sound deeper and more profound than just merely getting someone to chew on his wrist for a few minutes without making a mess. Gepard's oblivious to this. He just holds out an arm- not his dominant arm, no, the other one. He's also oblivious to what a shirtless man lounging on a couch holding out an arm to another person, while saying I trust you, might come across as. He's just focused on the feeding of Figaro part.]
[Well, at least Gepard is able to get comfortable on the couch, even when he's shirtless and offering his arm up for a guy to bite on it. And the way he says it, I trust you... he really doesn't know how much he's trusting Sampo with. As an Emanator, if he wanted to drain Gepard of every ounce of blood in his body, he could do it without much trouble. He could pin Gepard to that couch and get his teeth in his throat and take him for everything he's got, and, apparently, make him love every second of it.]
[Would he come before he lost consciousness from blood loss? Ugh, that's a weird thought. Put that on the list of things to never think about again.]
[Sampo walks over to him and takes the offered arm, and... it feels weird to join him on the couch, and he'd have to pull his arm to the side to get his teeth into it, so it seems easier to just kneel in front of him and go about it that way. With his arm angled downward, gravity will help with blood flow, too.]
I'll try to be quick.
[He bites down a few inches above the wrist, where he can see the faint blue line of a vein underneath his skin. Hot blood floods over his tongue again. He's only tasted Gepard twice before, but he thinks he's improving a little day by day-- a little less bitter, a little richer, more complex in profile. Like taking little sips of an aging wine from the cask, tasting how it improves over time. He makes a soft, unconscious noise as he swallows, relief at how each mouthful of blood soothes the aches inside of him. After spending so much time in a constant state of starvation, he'd forgotten what it felt like to have satisfaction.]
[He's too focused on eating neatly-- and the full body sensation of relief-- to think too much about the state of anything in the vicinity of Gepard's trousers.]
[It's nice, in a different way from before. Where before was an overwhelming flood, this is more like getting a handjob from someone that you liked, which isn't something that Gepard should be thinking about Figaro. He doesn't even know his name, not really, but here he is, feeling...nice. It's nice.
He bites his lip, trying to muffle his, uh, excitement, and then bites his free hand, watching as Figaro drinks from his arm. He can't see his face. Gepard doesn't know if it's better or worse that way, and he swallows down a sound that nearly escaped his lips. It's a muffled little thing.
Gepard shifts, half-rolling towards Figaro. He reaches out, runs his fingers through his hair like he's encouraging him while- don't think about that, he's not going to think about it.]
Take your time.
[His voice doesn't waver as much as it could. He's glad about that.]
[Gepard's hand is gentle when it runs through his hair, and Aeons it's been a long time since someone had touched him so kindly. Having to hide his vampiric habits really made a dent in his social life, so the only real touch that he'd gotten before Gepard were unconscious bodies that he held while he fed. That's not at all the same as this, the almost meditative stroke of Gepard's fingers. It's lovely. It's the best he's felt in what seems like ages, all because of the generosity and lack of self-preservation of one man.]
[He slows his pace, partly because Gepard told him to, partly because he wants to draw this out as long as possible. Drift a little longer in this blissful feeling, the taste of Gepard in his mouth. Was it always this good, when he had drank from people in the past? The victims of his night-time dinner runs never made him feel this way, but those had been quick, hurried affairs to gulp down what he needed to survive before anyone could find him. It's been years, not since he left the Tavern, that he'd gotten to savor anything...]
[When he finally withdraws his teeth from Gepard's wrist, it's to lick his skin clean-- don't waste a drop, Gepard's blood is more valuable to him than gold-- and then rest his head against the good Captain's knee, still holding onto his arm.]
[He might be tempted to stay there all day, if Gepard doesn't make him move first.]
[He rests for a while. Feels far longer than it had been, probably, him on the couch, Figaro with his arm, leaning against his knee. It's...nice, actually. Everything feels sweet and smooth, and he's content to lie there, just...resting. Resting together. For once, it doesn't matter what they are, it just matters that they're here, together.
All things end, of course. Gepard licks his lips. He should probably say something. He doesn't know what.]
I can make room if you want to come up here. [For some platonic cuddling, or...something, he doesn't know.]
[Sampo's body is already moving to obey before his brain really registers what Gepard has said; getting up from his kneeling position to join him on the couch, tucking in against his side. He's got good shoulders to rest Sampo's head on, and he's warm and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes is hypnotic. What's a little platonic cuddling between friends, really?]
[He licks his lips, and the taste of Gepard's blood still lingers.]
We should wrap up your arm.
[He makes no indication of wanting to move to do that, though-- he'd much rather stay where he is, soaking in the warmth from Gepard's body.]
[He should be shoving Figaro off of him, bandage his arm, take care of business instead of whatever-this-is, but it's...it's nice. It's warm. He feels-
Trusted, of all things, and not because he's a Silvermane Guard captain, if anything in defiance of that, because of something else, and that- it's a nice feeling. Strange. But nice. He wraps one arm around Figaro as best as he can, a little stubbornly.]
I'll be fine. I've dealt with far worse wounds than a bite from you, Figaro. [...] You're less...bony than you were when we first met. [A bit more flesh to him, a little less gaunt.]
[Just as Gepard ought to be shoving Sampo off of him, Sampo really shouldn't be so... chummy with his people-flavored Capri Sun. Just because Gepard is being generous now, offering sustenance in lieu of throwing him in prison, doesn't mean that his generosity is unlimited. This should be a business transaction-- Gepard's blood in exchange for Sampo no longer needing to hunt and providing him with the meals that keep him palatable. Tit for tat.]
[He's warm. When his arm wraps around his side, pulling him in a little, Sampo turns his head towards Gepard and is rewarded with a nose full of his scent. Most people smell sort of vaguely appetizing to Sampo in the same way that frying up garlic and onion smells delicious without being something that you'd want to wear as a perfume, but Gepard... well, he does also smell like a tasty morsel. But there's also something else in it that slots just right in his brain, like a puzzle piece snapping into place.]
[It would be exceptionally weird of him to just shove his face into Gepard's neck and breathe, but it's really a near miss.]
Am I? [He's only had a few blood meals from Gepard, but two in a row is far more than he's used to getting.] I suppose you've fed me pretty regularly. It's more than I'd normally get.
I've noticed a difference. [He says, resisting the urge to shove his face into Figaro's hair and take a breath, but first, that would be weird. Second, he doesn't want to move. Gepard wants nothing more than to tangle his limbs in Figaro's own and take a nap, but that would probably be uncomfortable for him. Maybe. Probably. This is a business transaction, and they shouldn't be cuddling like this.
But they are. Gepard licks his lips and clears his throat.]
Figaro. You don't have to agree, but-
[What's the best way of phrasing this.]
In the future. [This is so awkward. Maybe he shouldn't ask- but he just starte- fuck it.] If I don't end up too worked up from your feeding, just, in general- maybe we could...do this after you're done? [Because he's turned on, but not impossibly so, not like the neck where he had to throw Figaro out so he could finish what he started in peace. Now it's more like...is he turned on, yes, does he have a boner that can drill through the core of Belobog and punch a hole into the underworld, no. It's manageable. Not impolite.]
[What's a little cuddling between friends? Or a shared nap, with tangled limbs and the weight of another person on your chest, like the comfort of a weighted blanket but better. Everything that the weighted blanket is supposed to simulate.]
[There's definite awkwardness to how Gepard suggests this, undoubtedly because of how the first feeding went, but... is it a bad idea? It's been a long time since Sampo had the opportunity to just exist with another person. He's already entrusted Gepard with his secret, so it's not like he has to worry about hiding it from him any more, or explaining any of the quirks of his lifestyle that someone would notice if they got close to him. Anyone else would eventually question why his pantries are always bare, why he never eats. There's no real risk to getting closer to Gepard, except for the apparent hazard of inopportune erections.]
[Sampo tips his head up to look at Gepard from where it rests on his shoulder.]
Yeah.
[He's sort of tangentially aware of the fact that Gepard has a boner, but it's more like the annoying involuntary erections that you'd get when you're a hormonal teenager rather than the raging, demanding hard-on that he'd gotten after the throat feeding. Easier to just ignore and allow to go away on its own, not something that requires immediate tending to lest it cause a very sticky and unpleasant conclusion.]
This is kind of nice. [Existing in someone else's space. Feeling the warmth of another person that isn't just those quick moments that he's getting a hasty, illegal meal.] You're comfy.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[Surely this can't go wrong, right?]
[Vaska very cheerfully waves them off when they leave, and Sampo hooks his arm through Gepard's again and waves back at her because he's a little shit.]
I think you're going to have good luck with this one! [If 'good luck' has blue hair and calls itself Figaro. Sampo is absolutely going to have to save this poor cactus from being drowned, he can already tell.]
You should give it a name.
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Interested, like that, Figaro is (unfortunately) tall and warm and nice to lean against, and so Gepard does so like he's a preoccupied cat, staring at his cactus.]
What sort of name? [Would it end in an -o...]
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[Suggestion time. What names would make Gepard roll his eyes the hardest? It’s like a game, and the prize is exasperation.]
Leo? Theo? Antonio? Maybe Romeo?
[More ooo’s. You can never escape the Ooo, not while Sampo is around.]
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When Figaro says Theo, Gepard stiffens, because sometimes? Sometimes you come up with a good name, and it ends in an o, and that doesn't mean anything. Coincidences happen. Two names, though? Less coincidental. He tries to not react to Figaro, fails when he's bludgeoned by Antonio and Romeo, and he just stares for a moment. Just stares.]
I'm not naming a plant after you. [Bad enough he'll think of Figaro every single time he looks at the cactus.] I'm sure you've used all of those names some time or another.
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[He’s not going to tell you what aliases he’s used, Gepard, you have to figure that out yourself! Otherwise it ruins the game, and Sampo is invested in how well Gepard does. How smart of a boy is Belobog’s favorite Captain?]
I suppose you could name it something else, though. What kind of names does the Captain like? There must be something that you think is cute.
[Cute is what’s important. If the name is cute, than Gepard might be guilted into keeping it alive longer.]
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It's a good name and you've likely used it as an alias at some point. [He also says this with all the confidence of a Supreme Guardian ordering her men into battle.] And thanks to you, I'm having problems thinking of something that doesn't end in an o.
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[What a cute sentiment, Gepard. Sampo's very amused, because the good Captain could have picked literally any other name if he wanted something that wouldn't remind him of his blood-sucking acquaintance-- or, if he was feeling vindictive, he could've named it something less flattering, like Leech. Mosquito. Do they have mosquitos on Jarilo-VI?]
[Anyway, he's flattered. Pleased as a cat that stuck its paw in your milk.]
[Up the stairs they go, to Gepard's apartment, the newly christened Cosmo in hand.]
Cosmo is a good name! If I never used if before, I wouldn't be able to now, though. It would be too obvious, wouldn't it?
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He waits until they get to the door to his apartment, and then looks at Figaro.]
Of course I would. If I don't take care of you, then you'll no doubt eat something [or someone] you shouldn't. It's a good name, and a good reminder.
[He's heading inside. Time to find a spot for this cactus.]
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[Sampo follows him inside, closing the door behind him. It's warmer inside Gepard's apartment than out of it, and even blood-sucking creatures of the night prefer to be warm.]
Let's get Cosmo set up somewhere nice and sunny. He needs to have a lot of sunlight, or at least as much as you can get in Belobog!
[Which does leave something to be desired, admittedly. That's why most people on this planet have those UV lights that lets them produce enough vitamin D to stave off the vitamin deficiency depression. Can't let your little cactus get sad and die, Gepard.]
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I should get a new lamp for my plants. My current one is, well. [Figaro can see it for himself. Sad. Tragic. Old, and not in a good way. The sort of lamp that came with the apartment and would remain with the apartment, maybe die with the apartment. The cactus is, nevertheless, positioned under it, and Gepard stares at it stoically.]
I suppose I should water it, and then take care of you. If you need to be... [Um.] Fed.
[He's going for the watering can! He's going to drown Cosmo!]
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[Since Gepard is only a paragon of the Preservation when it doesn't involve plants, Sampo clearly has to step in to save the poor cactus before it gets watered into an untimely grave.]
I'm sure it's fine! Vaska would've already watered it, so I doubt you need to so soon.
[Sampo touches Gepard's wrist, to stop him from moving any closer to the weapon of watery destruction. Step away from the watering can, Gepard, and no one will get hurt.]
Besides, I am a little peckish! [An understatement. Since he'd gotten a taste of the real deal, he'd been craving another bite. Even if Gepard isn't the tastiest juice box just yet, Sampo had gone weeks without a meal. Just one sip wasn't going to alleviate all of his hunger in one go.] Do you mind giving your pal a little snack?
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[For whatever that means, and Gepard moves to take off his coat, his shirt, you know, things that might be in the way...but he hesitates, one button down. All of this is far more awkward than he had expected, going into this, but he made a promise and, by Qlipoth, he will live up to it.]
Would it... [He blushes, a dusty pink. There's really no good way of bringing up the subject.] Be more comfortable for you if I gave myself a wound you could drink from? [Cut himself, in other words.] I'd rather not, but also, I doubt you'd want to watch me act like that again.
[Writhing like a whore, all of that sort of thing.]
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[Pink is a very attractive color on Gepard's face. It's really a shame that Sampo is under the impression that he's embarrassed purely because of the awkwardness of getting hard in polite company.]
Well. I don't want you to be uncomfortable! [Because Gepard had been very obviously uncomfortable after The Incident.] Maybe it won't be as bad if I don't bite you on the neck? Like on your arm or something. Necks are, you know. That kind of thing.
[An erogenous zone, and all. Normal people can get worked up by having their lover kiss and bite their throat without anything vampiric going on, but most people aren't getting hot and heavy over some wrist nibbling. So maybe going for the least erotic body part will keep Gepard from having such a prominent reaction.]
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It's about your comfort, not mine. [And then he gets back to stubbornly stripping off his shirt, because regardless of where Figaro bites, blood stains and he only owns so many shirts. That's not even getting into how pristine white they tend to be. Getting blood out of them sucks.]
And regardless of where you bite, people will have questions if the same place is bandaged too many times.
[He's heading over to the couch, he's getting on the couch, he's going to settle in on the couch.] That won't be a problem now, but in the future- should I get a towel?
[Should he unsettle on the couch? Should he get up and grab a towel?]
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[Gepard starts removing his shirt, revealing a lot of very unfairly toned muscle. It's a shame, really. An excellent specimen of a man, going entirely unappreciated. Even if he's not the person that Gepard would want appreciating him, it's really mind-boggling that no one else has scooped him up yet. Handsome, strong, diligent, and sweet, and a captain to boot? He should have every pretty girl in Belobog jumping at the chance.]
Mm. Rotating spots is a good idea, it isn't good for you if I bite too many times in the same place. You need to heal up. [So changing spots is good practice anyway. And some spots are easier to conceal than others.]
I can eat neatly, especially from an arm or wrist. But if you'd rather have a towel anyway, be my guest! [He laughs.] I'm good at getting bloodstains out, too, trust me. I've had a lot of practice.
[Eating neatly is a learned skill, and he didn't always have it.]
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I trust you. [It's said simply, which unfortunately makes it sound deeper and more profound than just merely getting someone to chew on his wrist for a few minutes without making a mess. Gepard's oblivious to this. He just holds out an arm- not his dominant arm, no, the other one. He's also oblivious to what a shirtless man lounging on a couch holding out an arm to another person, while saying I trust you, might come across as. He's just focused on the feeding of Figaro part.]
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[Would he come before he lost consciousness from blood loss? Ugh, that's a weird thought. Put that on the list of things to never think about again.]
[Sampo walks over to him and takes the offered arm, and... it feels weird to join him on the couch, and he'd have to pull his arm to the side to get his teeth into it, so it seems easier to just kneel in front of him and go about it that way. With his arm angled downward, gravity will help with blood flow, too.]
I'll try to be quick.
[He bites down a few inches above the wrist, where he can see the faint blue line of a vein underneath his skin. Hot blood floods over his tongue again. He's only tasted Gepard twice before, but he thinks he's improving a little day by day-- a little less bitter, a little richer, more complex in profile. Like taking little sips of an aging wine from the cask, tasting how it improves over time. He makes a soft, unconscious noise as he swallows, relief at how each mouthful of blood soothes the aches inside of him. After spending so much time in a constant state of starvation, he'd forgotten what it felt like to have satisfaction.]
[He's too focused on eating neatly-- and the full body sensation of relief-- to think too much about the state of anything in the vicinity of Gepard's trousers.]
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He bites his lip, trying to muffle his, uh, excitement, and then bites his free hand, watching as Figaro drinks from his arm. He can't see his face. Gepard doesn't know if it's better or worse that way, and he swallows down a sound that nearly escaped his lips. It's a muffled little thing.
Gepard shifts, half-rolling towards Figaro. He reaches out, runs his fingers through his hair like he's encouraging him while- don't think about that, he's not going to think about it.]
Take your time.
[His voice doesn't waver as much as it could. He's glad about that.]
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[He slows his pace, partly because Gepard told him to, partly because he wants to draw this out as long as possible. Drift a little longer in this blissful feeling, the taste of Gepard in his mouth. Was it always this good, when he had drank from people in the past? The victims of his night-time dinner runs never made him feel this way, but those had been quick, hurried affairs to gulp down what he needed to survive before anyone could find him. It's been years, not since he left the Tavern, that he'd gotten to savor anything...]
[When he finally withdraws his teeth from Gepard's wrist, it's to lick his skin clean-- don't waste a drop, Gepard's blood is more valuable to him than gold-- and then rest his head against the good Captain's knee, still holding onto his arm.]
[He might be tempted to stay there all day, if Gepard doesn't make him move first.]
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All things end, of course. Gepard licks his lips. He should probably say something. He doesn't know what.]
I can make room if you want to come up here. [For some platonic cuddling, or...something, he doesn't know.]
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[He licks his lips, and the taste of Gepard's blood still lingers.]
We should wrap up your arm.
[He makes no indication of wanting to move to do that, though-- he'd much rather stay where he is, soaking in the warmth from Gepard's body.]
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Trusted, of all things, and not because he's a Silvermane Guard captain, if anything in defiance of that, because of something else, and that- it's a nice feeling. Strange. But nice. He wraps one arm around Figaro as best as he can, a little stubbornly.]
I'll be fine. I've dealt with far worse wounds than a bite from you, Figaro. [...] You're less...bony than you were when we first met. [A bit more flesh to him, a little less gaunt.]
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[He's warm. When his arm wraps around his side, pulling him in a little, Sampo turns his head towards Gepard and is rewarded with a nose full of his scent. Most people smell sort of vaguely appetizing to Sampo in the same way that frying up garlic and onion smells delicious without being something that you'd want to wear as a perfume, but Gepard... well, he does also smell like a tasty morsel. But there's also something else in it that slots just right in his brain, like a puzzle piece snapping into place.]
[It would be exceptionally weird of him to just shove his face into Gepard's neck and breathe, but it's really a near miss.]
Am I? [He's only had a few blood meals from Gepard, but two in a row is far more than he's used to getting.] I suppose you've fed me pretty regularly. It's more than I'd normally get.
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But they are. Gepard licks his lips and clears his throat.]
Figaro. You don't have to agree, but-
[What's the best way of phrasing this.]
In the future. [This is so awkward. Maybe he shouldn't ask- but he just starte- fuck it.] If I don't end up too worked up from your feeding, just, in general- maybe we could...do this after you're done? [Because he's turned on, but not impossibly so, not like the neck where he had to throw Figaro out so he could finish what he started in peace. Now it's more like...is he turned on, yes, does he have a boner that can drill through the core of Belobog and punch a hole into the underworld, no. It's manageable. Not impolite.]
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[There's definite awkwardness to how Gepard suggests this, undoubtedly because of how the first feeding went, but... is it a bad idea? It's been a long time since Sampo had the opportunity to just exist with another person. He's already entrusted Gepard with his secret, so it's not like he has to worry about hiding it from him any more, or explaining any of the quirks of his lifestyle that someone would notice if they got close to him. Anyone else would eventually question why his pantries are always bare, why he never eats. There's no real risk to getting closer to Gepard, except for the apparent hazard of inopportune erections.]
[Sampo tips his head up to look at Gepard from where it rests on his shoulder.]
Yeah.
[He's sort of tangentially aware of the fact that Gepard has a boner, but it's more like the annoying involuntary erections that you'd get when you're a hormonal teenager rather than the raging, demanding hard-on that he'd gotten after the throat feeding. Easier to just ignore and allow to go away on its own, not something that requires immediate tending to lest it cause a very sticky and unpleasant conclusion.]
This is kind of nice. [Existing in someone else's space. Feeling the warmth of another person that isn't just those quick moments that he's getting a hasty, illegal meal.] You're comfy.
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