You say it like it would be a hardship! It would’ve been a fun way for you to get my suit off.
[But here they are, on Gepard’s special balcony. The heaters warm the air up enough that it’s fairly comfortable to stand outside, even without a coat. He was right about the view— it is excellent, looking down at the city with all the twinkling lights of this planet’s last bastion laid out before them in the snowy dark. They’re far enough from the party that no one could have reasonably spotted them, but some of the staff must have opened the windows of the ballroom to let cool air in, because the sound of the band playing a waltz is still distantly audible.]
[They’re still holding hands. Sampo turns and steps into Gepard’s personal space, puts a hand on his shoulder and moves seamlessly into a waltzing stance, taking the following position. Surely a man like Gepard would be more comfortable with the lead.]
Well, if you don’t want to do that, you could get a dance. [The band has started up a new song, something pretty that Sampo’s pretty sure he’s heard before.] Just until the song ends.
[Sampo turns and steps into his personal space. The music strikes up, and without thinking about it, like it's the most natural thing in the world, like he was born for it, Gepard starts dancing. Waltzing. Sweeping Sampo up into a dance- he's not that good at dancing, it feels like he's marching like he's a toy soldier instead of dancing, this doesn't feel like he's doing a good job of sweeping Sampo off of his feet, but it's nice. Quiet. It's nice not feeling like he has to perform for anyone.]
Thank you for indulging me.
[He says this very quietly, as if they're on the dance floor and have to worry about some other couple overhearing it, like it's a secret pressed between pages and hidden in a book, like it's a soap bubble that will pop the second it rises in the air. Like if he speaks it too loud, some servants will find them, he'll have to arrest Sampo - or Sampo will throw down some smoke bombs and vanish - and he'll have to trot back down and do his duty.
[Gepard is, as expected, a very adequate dancer. A little stiff, maybe, but exactly on-beat and so predictable in his movements that he’s easy to follow. Sampo feels very confident about the safety of his toes, even if he wouldn’t be as confident in their likelihood of winning any dance competitions.]
[But that’s fine. It’s fine. Gepard’s face is quietly pleased as though this is the nicest thing that’s happened to him all week, and they’re waltzing to the distant sound of the band underneath the stars and fluctuating auroras. Those ladies down in the ballroom would have eaten their own expensive silk skirts to be in Sampo’s position right now, with Gepard’s hand in his, dancing under starlight.]
You are my favorite. And not half bad at a waltz.
[The music eventually fades, though, and the dance ends, as all good things must. But it does give Sampo an excellent opportunity to kiss Gepard, which he very much takes advantage of. If you’re presented with the opportunity to kiss your situationship on a romantic balcony in starlight, you’re a fool if you don’t take it.]
[Sampo calls him his favorite, and it sends a little thrill down Gepard's spine. It shouldn't. But it does. Because Sampo could've had the entire universe, but he picked Belobog? He picked him? It's probably a line. It's probably a lie. But he believes in it- which is terrible, but they're waltzing under the starlight and everything feels perfect.
The music fades. And it's tempting to pave the path back to something resembling normalcy - a comment about the game, about how they might as well get on with it, a comment about Sampo's criminal ways - but he's kissed and Gepard promptly melts in Sampo's arms. He leans into the kiss, a little desperately (with a whimper, muffled), hands twisting in the fabric of Sampo's jacket before one hand sides into Sampo's hair. It feels like a dream. He danced under the starlight with a man who makes him feel special, everything's absurdly romantic, if he woke up in the snow Gepard wouldn't be entirely surprised. Upset, but not surprised.
But he breaks the kiss for air. The moment holds. He's a little bit surprised and hopes Sampo can't tell.]
How do you want to... [Um.] ...conclude our wager?
[Ah, Gepard really is a good kisser. Maybe he's learned since he started having Sampo as his dirty little secret-- practice does make perfect, after all-- maybe it's how earnest and intense he is about the whole thing. Really giving it his all, every single time.]
[Sometimes, he gets this look in his eyes like he's stunned every time he pulls back and finds that Sampo is still there.]
Right, right. Well, I figured I'd make good on all my promises. [Sampo is all easy smiles to Gepard's sheepish verbal sidestepping.] I did say that I would bend you over and show you a good time. I'm prepared to deliver!
[He slips his hands down from Gepard's lovely shoulders, slides them instead down to the buttons of his impeccable uniform's jacket and starts pushing them through their buttonholes. Hard to do much delivering on any promises if Gepard's covered with so much starched fabric.]
[Sampo is calm and confident in a way Gepard never is, at least, not when it comes to all things personal. (All things Belobog is, of course, a completely different story.) He says he'll make good on his promises. He says he'll bend him over- and Gepard blushes as Sampo puts it like that. Of all the ways he could've said it, he had to say it like that: no embellishment, no softening the blow, just sex.]
Did you really have to say it like that? [Gepard keeps his hands on Sampo's waist, just...politely rubbing his thumbs back and forth, hoping Sampo can't pick up on his...not quite anxiety, not quite nervousness, not quite neither of those, whatever it is that he's feeling. Anticipation? Maybe that.] Bend me over and show me a good time. [He half-imitates Sampo's tone as he says that, half-doesn't. An attempt was made, kind of.]
[Sampo laughs at Gepard's imitation of his cadence. He's got a particular way of speaking-- it's deliberate, he adopted it to fit the person he wanted to be-- and it's funny to hear Gepard's voice try to match it.]
No, but I do want to be clear about what you're getting into. [Another button on that jacket down, a little more of Gepard's uniform revealed. Pristine white, as immaculate as his honor.] You've made me feel good that way plenty of times, it's about time that I returned the favor! Besides, don't you want to know what it's like on the other side?
[With all the buttons undone on the jacket, Sampo can smooth his hands up over Gepard's shoulders, pushing it off and sliding it down his arms. It means that Gepard will have to stop rubbing at his waist like his own personal worry-stone, but that's a small sacrifice for the ultimate goal of getting him out of his clothes. And, Aeons, Sampo will never get tired of seeing the strapping silhouette that he cuts. Belobog really makes its men a certain way, and Sampo's gotten a taste for it.]
[He leans in and presses a kiss to Gepard's lovely jawline, then another a little higher up, a soft trail heading towards his ear. His breath is soft and warm against his ear when he whispers into it:]
Aren't you a little curious? [He really probably doesn't have to try so hard with the seduction, with pressing himself up against Gepard's chest, touching his neck, those broad shoulders, carefully undoing the knotted silk tie at his throat. (That deep Landau blue, of course. If only it was so easy to rid Gepard of all of the trappings of that family name.)] You've made me scream so many times, don't you want to know what it feels like?
[The problem with being this close to Sampo is that it's actually quite hard to not look at him. Gepard tries, of course, he tries to focus on that wall just behind Sampo's shoulder- but then a finger grazes a button, pressing into his body, and his attention shifts right back to Sampo, his gaze slips back to him, he looks at him, he can't look anywhere else. He feels like-
Feelings aren't, never were his strong suit. They were a luxury for men who weren't born with the name Landau and a duty to chase what they want, to catch it, to bring it down and make it their own. And now here he is, torn.
Sampo removes his jacket. Gepard lets him, even if it means letting go of his waist - he does, long enough to remove that jacket. Then his hands go back to where they were, and then...further? Maybe? Because if Sampo's right there, up against his chest, kissing his chin (he gasps), and his cheek (and he arches his head back, away, the better to let Sampo have access) it's easy enough to just...hold him.]
If.
[His voice wobbles, a little. (Why is it so difficult to stay composed when Sampo's in a mood.) Gepard licks his lips, tries again.]
If I wasn't curious, I'd have put more effort into winning, you know.
[Men named Landau have always chased down what they wanted and captured it, but Sampo's always been the one thing that Gepard has never been able to catch, isn't he?]
[Well, now that he's in Gepard's arms, that's kind of like catching him. But Gepard is very sweet when he's holding Sampo, his hands warm and gentle even through the fabric of Sampo's suit, so very accepting of every kiss that he presses to his face and throat. It's a far cry from what Landau men are supposed to be, all strength and unyielding will, supposed paragons of the Preservation.]
[Sampo drops this paragon of the Preservation's silk tie to the ground, then makes short work of the buttons holding up his starched collar. When they yield, there's even more pale skin for him to kiss; he lays a soft trail over an old scar that runs down the side of Gepard's neck, where some nasty thing must have cut him years ago.]
So you didn't even try? [It's not quite as fun if you throw the match, Gepard.] If you'd won anyway, would you have asked for it?
[His hands drop down to Gepard's vest, making short work of those buttons, too. He's very good at undoing buttons without looking, almost as though he's had practice. (He has, partly because of Gepard. It's why he's so good at removing guard uniforms now, too, from getting the good Captain out of his so many times.)]
I'll give it back when we're done. [Away with the vest, to join the tie on the ground. Sampo tugs Gepard's shirt out of the waistband of his trousers, keeps plowing through those buttons. If there wouldn't be a need to get Gepard back into all of this frippery at the end of their tryst, he might have been tempted to just pull the shirt apart and damn the buttons.] It's a nice medal, I like the ribbon. What was it for?
[What great act of heroism got Gepard Landau a medal with a green ribbon?]
I hadn't- [A kiss against an old scar. That's distracting, and his hands clench. He wants nothing more than to rip Sampo's clothes off of him, but, well, Sampo needs to leave. (And, not for the first time, Gepard wonders just how it is that Sampo Koski can run around with cut-outs and shirts which are more suggestions than they are anything covering.)]
I didn't intend on not trying. [His fingers- he forces them to still. This isn't his show, it's Sampo's show, and for once he's going to let him- maybe not for once but it's like a trust fall. Putting your life into someone's hands and letting them do what they will with it. It's that. It's not just about his ass and Sampo's dick, it's about more than that. Maybe.
His eyes close, because Sampo's just too close and he's got questions to answer. His vest is coming off. That's fine.]
It's just that- I realized I didn't mind. Once you had it. [Anyway!] I saved a platoon. Nothing special, but I remembered the medal when you needed something to steal.
[He gets the last button through and opens up Gepard's shirt, revealing all of that lovely skin and muscle. Aeons, Gepard looks good in any light and in anything, and perhaps best with nothing at all. But Sampo leaves the shirt on so that he has a little something to keep him warm, and also a little because there's something kind of hot about having sex with someone half-dressed. It's the best of both worlds-- Gepard in all of his fancy clothes, and also having access to his lovely chest and stomach. Sampo runs his hands down over the good Captain's collarbones, thumbs over those pretty pink nipples until they pebble under his touch.]
Nothing special, he says! Only you would save two dozen men and think it's nothing special.
[Typical Gepard Landau. He's ridiculous and Sampo is going to eat him out about it. To that end, he unbuckles Gepard's belt and tugs his trousers open, and, well, now that he's getting those down, maybe he'll suck him off about it first. It really depends on how hard that cock is when he gets it out. Spoiled for choice either way, really. Either he's getting his mouth on a glorious cock or a glorious ass, it's glorious no matter which one he goes with.]
I bet you have a dozen medals like that sitting in your drawers, gathering dust.
[He blushes, because he wants to protest. Gepard wants to say that, well, any Silvermane Guard would be honored to save someone else's life, and he's far from the only man who's saved the lives of others. He also knows that maybe those others don't exactly rescue two dozen men at a time, but there's some heroes who have done similar. He also does know that he does have a drawer with a lot of medals, gathering dust.
He's got mixed feelings about them.]
It's hardly a dozen...
[He shifts, in part because, well. Look at what he just admitted, and the second Gepard says it is the second that he knows he said something dumb. And in part because Sampo's undoing his trousers and pulling them down and is he hard? Somewhat. Hard not to be...enthusiastic about things when he let himself be cornered by Sampo like some small prey animal offering up his throat to the predator, and said predator (Sampo) was nibbling at it. So to speak. Being flaccid would be an insult.
Could he be harder? Probably. In part because it's cold. In part because, well- his hand brushes Sampo's hair and he can feel his cock twitch at the thought of giving up control and seeing where Sampo took things.]
[Hardly a dozen. Which means it is, probably, very close to a dozen pretty little medals for heroism and bravery that Gepard Landau has just tossed into a drawer like a few loose batteries. The man has done so many acts of valor that he doesn't have enough real estate on his quite sizeable chest to display all of it. Ridiculous!]
[If Sampo weren't already going to fuck him about it, he'd fuck him about it again. But he has something more important to pay attention to right now than Gepard Landau's modesty. His cock isn't raging hard at the moment, just sort of attractively plumped, and that's just fine for this stage of the game. He'd have had something else to tease Gepard about if he'd been hard enough to pound nails just from a little over-the-clothes action.]
It is! Ah, I should be honored to eat out such a valiant man. I'd call it doing my civic duty, but I'm going to enjoy it too much.
[He pushes Gepard back towards the railing of the balcony, until his back is up against it. Stay right there, valiant Captain, so that you have a nice spot of railing to lean over once he decides to bend you.]
Now... [He tugs Gepard's open trousers and undergarments the rest of the way down, kneeling as he goes. Isn't that a nice view, too? Almost as nice as the one they have of the city-- Sampo on his knees, looking appreciatively at Gepard's half-hard prick.] You just lean back and relax, yeah?
[Gepard's not hard yet, but he will be pretty quickly after Sampo takes him in his mouth, hands on the good Captain's hips to brace himself. It's lovely every time-- he is so very fond of Gepard's cock. His favorite prick on all of Jarilo-VI, attached to his favorite prick. And while he could certainly kneel here and suck Gepard off all night long-- or at least until his knees got too sore for it-- this is a slightly businesslike blowjob. A blowjob with purpose, and that purpose is to take Gepard from pleasantly plump to pounding-nails hard. A little fluffing, to get the old engine going.]
[He could say noble and upstanding things about medals, but he's with Sampo Koski, and all of those noble and upstanding things would be wasted on him. Instead, this is what Gepard says.]
Um. [With a nice little blush. A little shy blush as he's told that Sampo's mouth on his...ass? Cock? As it's described as civic duty, but Gepard's pushed towards the railing. He goes, with a pliant willingness that most people would be surprised to see coming from the rigid Captain Landau. He doesn't quite understand what he's getting himself into (well, he understands quite a bit by now, enough to know that there's much more he has yet to experience) but he's just strangely happy to put trust into Sampo's hands, beyond whatever it is they're doing right now.
(He knows what they're doing and it's sex. He shouldn't read too much into it.)]
I'm not very good at-
[There's a mouth to his cock and it's going at it with ruthless efficiency and Gepard immediately staggers, one hand over his mouth to muffle any noises he might make, knees weak at the assault- he's got Sampo propping him up, he's got his fingers in Sampo's hair but here he had been, expecting a blowjob, and there Sampo is, giving him a blowjob with a purpose.]
You're in a mood. [He chokes that out. What the heck. He hadn't been prepared and his cock appreciates it.]
[There's a cock in his mouth and Gepard's hand in his hair and, really, what else does Sampo need in life? As always, the good Captain rises quickly to the occasion, going from half-chub to full hardness fast enough that it's impressive he didn't get lightheaded. What a cock-- it's one that he'd gladly suck, gladly warm, gladly have come all over his face. Right now, though, while Gepard chokes out his words, Sampo draws back a little and opens his mouth wide, giving the good Captain a view of his prick nestled against Sampo's tongue.]
[Then draws back further, letting it slip out completely. It stands at attention as firmly as any Silvermane guard. Practically saluting.]
Can't get that big thing out and not do anything with it. [He presses a kiss to the slick, reddened head, and when he leans back again, there's thin, sticky thread that briefly connects his lips and Gepard's cock.] Now be a good boy and turn around for me.
[Now that he's got Gepard good and hard, he's got an ass to bury his face in. And once Gepard does as he's told-- he'll get a good boy as praise when he does-- Sampo frames out that lovely ass with his hands, running his palms up Gepard's thighs until they catch on the swell of his cheeks. A soft, appreciative little noise slips out of his throat, entirely uncontrolled. Couldn't help himself.]
I don't know who plans your workouts, but I should send them a thank-you card. [He should give praise to Qlipoth for making a universe that could bring forth such a glorious ass. An ass worthy of the Preservation.]
[In hindsight, he perhaps should've fought Sampo harder for control of the night, but at the time Gepard had been...
Intrigued by what the night might promise. Curious about where things might go. Tantalizingly aware that he actually might trust Sampo enough to give him the reins without any qualifiers or any conditions, which should scare him more than it did. He wouldn't trust Sampo with the keys to Belobog's museum. He'd trust him with his ass.
...but now Gepard's aware that there's a possibility that he hadn't considered, which is that Sampo might not betray him, nor hurt him, nor hurt others, but might absolutely turn him into a needy fucking mess, and as Sampo pulls off he whines. He fucking whines as Sampo kisses his head.]
Sampo.
[Good boy also is apparently doing things for him. What a terrible discovery, but, he doesn't like it and also simultaneously really liked it. Things Gepard never wanted to know about himself. But, he turns around and wishes there was a counter so he can bury his face in his hands.]
Please. [Thank you cards? He can't relax.] An ass is an ass.
This ass? This ass right here? [You know, the one Sampo has in his hands, the one that’s firm and well-muscled and shapely? The one that can only be called the platonic ideal of an ass in the philosophical sense, because nothing Sampo wants to do with it could ever be called platonic?] This, my dear, my friend, is not just an ass.
[He presses a kiss to one of those lovely, porcelain-pale cheeks, then pries them apart to have a look at the most hidden parts of him. Sampo is a man of many tastes, and sometimes those tastes are nasty. But they both know what they’re here for, and it’s not a gentlemanly affair.]
Somebody should carve a likeness of this ass and put it in the Museum for all posterity. [Put it up for show, like all good art. Sampo laughs, his stupid little giggle.] Not that it’d be on exhibit for very long before I’d take it.
[He’s got an eye for expensive things, what can he say. And if you carved a nude of Gepard out of marble and put it up in a museum, no one would doubt that he’d fit in amongst all the ancient art of heroes and demigods. It almost makes Sampo wish he could draw.]
[Sampo gets a better view of what’s between Gepard’s cheeks when he leans in and blows a soft stream of air over his hole. Wink for him, Geppie.]
But I’m getting off track, aren’t I?
[Focus up, Koski. Get your head in the game! Or at least get your face in that ass.]
[Which is exactly what he does— buries his face between those pretty pale cheeks and goes right for it, tongue to hole. Messy, because there’s no real way to eat ass daintily, and heedless of his own eventual need to come up for air.]
[Yes, that ass. That ass right there. And Gepard whines as Sampo rhapsodizes about the merits of his ass, glad that he's staring out at Belobog and not at him. He's sure his face is burning up. He could probably be thrown into a snowbank and turn it into water. His face feels so hot and if there's any mercy at all, Qlipoth would dump a snowbank onto his head right here and now.
There is no such mercy. Sampo says someone should carve a replica out of marble and he moans, half turned on, half wishing Qlipoth would dump a snowbank on Sampo instead. He had thought that Sampo would just get on with it. And apparently no. No.
There is, once again, no such mercy. Sampo follows up by saying he'd steal it and Gepard aims a half-hearted kick (more of a nudge of his leg than an actual kick, really, the implication of resistance more than actual resistance) at Sampo because the last thing he wants to imagine is Sampo Koski with a marble statue of his ass. The resistance is quickly lost when Sampo blows a stream of air at him? He slumps, the only things keeping him upright his grip on the railing and a certain stubbornness, that he's not going to be wrecked by Sampo apparently wanting to thoroughly tease him. A death of a thousand cuts, except those thousand cuts are Sampo being Sampo.
And then Sampo starts eating his ass, and Gepard goes boneless, in full surrender, all tension- bad tension gone, because there's really no way of holding back when it comes to eating ass, is there? And Gepard can hear himself moan out some choked-back noise which suspiciously sounds like Sampo's name, one hand clutching the railing like it's a lifeline, the other one reaching back blindly, fishing for Sampo, what he can touch of him, which turns out to just be hair? But his hand grabs a hold of it, tugs it, fisting in it. If he was in his right mind, he'd probably feel bad. But right now, he's got a tongue in his ass, so thinking is far from Gepard's concerns at the moment. All he's trying to do is to keep his legs steady enough.]
[Gepard, really, is a natural. It's almost a shame that he's gone this long without being touched, without ever knowing how beautifully he takes to pleasure. But Sampo can't be too upset about it, because he's the first person here and, like he said before, it's kind of an honor. Geppie's given him so many of his firsts-- let Sampo deflower him in all these different ways. Of all the people that he could have picked...]
[Well, he really shouldn't get too sentimental while he's in the middle of such an important task. This is Gepard's inaugural ass eating, he can't get distracted. If he doesn't do a good job, it could color Gepard's opinion of getting eaten out for the rest of his life, and that's a lot of pressure to put on a guy. If his skills are subpar, the good Captain might decide that he's just not that into getting eaten out like a stuffed cream puff, and the whole universe would be the worse for it.]
[Based off of the hand that blindly reaches back and tangles in Sampo's hair, though, he's doing something right. Gepard's legs have these fine tremors in them that Sampo can feel all the way up in his thighs, like he isn't very steady; there might have been a few noises, but considering his position, it's not exactly easy to hear. Sampo can imagine, though. Maybe another time, he can convince Gepard to sit on his face and then he'll have an easier time listening to him-- or he'll die, and, honestly, that's how he'd want to go. Crushed beneath the glorious ass of Gepard Landau.]
[He delves greedily and deep; Sampo's just as good at eating ass as he is at sucking cock. There's a skill to it, because a tongue doesn't have the reach of fingers or a cock, but you can make up for that deficiency with flexibility and enthusiasm. And there's a certain appeal to how filthy it is, especially when he's doing filthy things to a man like Gepard. Curling his tongue in him, feeling the way his body shudders and clenches. Reaching a hand around his hip to loosely cup his cock, giving him something to rut against and relieve a little pressure.]
[Lovely. An absolute joy, a pastime that Sampo could really get used to-- even how it makes him ache, since his hands are too busy to reach down and give himself a little self-service.]
[He feels hot, and not in a sexy way - Gepard feels like he's blushing so red that people can see him from halfway across the snowfield, like a red beacon in the cold. It's terrible. It's embarrassing. He feels like an idiot for assuming that Sampo wouldn't take the opportunity to wreck him in every single way which matters. (And, for that matter, in quite a few ways which don't, but Gepard privately assumes that Sampo is going out of his way to do just because he finds it funny. Because that's the punchline of a lot of things - Sampo Koski finds it funny.)
He still can't help himself, though, not the noises (quiet, getting louder, Gepard tries to bite his hand- the one that's gripping the railing? he tries that, and then immediately staggers, and his hand slams down again) nor how much he likes it. He can't help rutting against the hand so helpfully provided for him, oblivious to the faces he's making- he's making faces, and Gepard would probably start kicking Sampo if he can see them and react to them. Sampo can't, and Gepard's oblivious. Everyone wins here.
His hand, the one tangled in Sampo's hair, loosens, and then grips again.]
Sampo, please.
[Don't ask him what he's asking Sampo to do, Gepard doesn't know, he's getting his ass devoured by a master and it's driving him mad.]
[Sampo does a lot of things for shits and giggles, it's true. And he's slept with plenty of people for no deeper reason than being bored or because it was necessary or, a few times, for leverage. But with Gepard, dear, stalwart Geppie? He's doing it because he wants to, wrecking him for the sheer pleasure of wrecking. He's doing it for every little noise, for the way his hips twitch, for the hand that grips his hair. For that voice, throaty and desperate, begging him for something even if he doesn't know what he wants.]
[But that's okay, because he doesn't have to know. Sampo will give him everything anyway.]
[Everything, in this case, is a finger slipping into him alongside Sampo's tongue, pressing smoothly against his slick insides. A three-way assault on Gepard, everything that he could do to him short of sitting the good Captain on his own cock-- and hopefully that'll come later, if he's done a very good job. A gift for them both for a job well done.]
[One of the only times that Gepard will get to see Sampo putting in an honest effort, and it's all to eat him out.]
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[But here they are, on Gepard’s special balcony. The heaters warm the air up enough that it’s fairly comfortable to stand outside, even without a coat. He was right about the view— it is excellent, looking down at the city with all the twinkling lights of this planet’s last bastion laid out before them in the snowy dark. They’re far enough from the party that no one could have reasonably spotted them, but some of the staff must have opened the windows of the ballroom to let cool air in, because the sound of the band playing a waltz is still distantly audible.]
[They’re still holding hands. Sampo turns and steps into Gepard’s personal space, puts a hand on his shoulder and moves seamlessly into a waltzing stance, taking the following position. Surely a man like Gepard would be more comfortable with the lead.]
Well, if you don’t want to do that, you could get a dance. [The band has started up a new song, something pretty that Sampo’s pretty sure he’s heard before.] Just until the song ends.
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Thank you for indulging me.
[He says this very quietly, as if they're on the dance floor and have to worry about some other couple overhearing it, like it's a secret pressed between pages and hidden in a book, like it's a soap bubble that will pop the second it rises in the air. Like if he speaks it too loud, some servants will find them, he'll have to arrest Sampo - or Sampo will throw down some smoke bombs and vanish - and he'll have to trot back down and do his duty.
But it's a nice night. It feels soft. Quiet.]
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[But that’s fine. It’s fine. Gepard’s face is quietly pleased as though this is the nicest thing that’s happened to him all week, and they’re waltzing to the distant sound of the band underneath the stars and fluctuating auroras. Those ladies down in the ballroom would have eaten their own expensive silk skirts to be in Sampo’s position right now, with Gepard’s hand in his, dancing under starlight.]
You are my favorite. And not half bad at a waltz.
[The music eventually fades, though, and the dance ends, as all good things must. But it does give Sampo an excellent opportunity to kiss Gepard, which he very much takes advantage of. If you’re presented with the opportunity to kiss your situationship on a romantic balcony in starlight, you’re a fool if you don’t take it.]
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The music fades. And it's tempting to pave the path back to something resembling normalcy - a comment about the game, about how they might as well get on with it, a comment about Sampo's criminal ways - but he's kissed and Gepard promptly melts in Sampo's arms. He leans into the kiss, a little desperately (with a whimper, muffled), hands twisting in the fabric of Sampo's jacket before one hand sides into Sampo's hair. It feels like a dream. He danced under the starlight with a man who makes him feel special, everything's absurdly romantic, if he woke up in the snow Gepard wouldn't be entirely surprised. Upset, but not surprised.
But he breaks the kiss for air. The moment holds. He's a little bit surprised and hopes Sampo can't tell.]
How do you want to... [Um.] ...conclude our wager?
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[Sometimes, he gets this look in his eyes like he's stunned every time he pulls back and finds that Sampo is still there.]
Right, right. Well, I figured I'd make good on all my promises. [Sampo is all easy smiles to Gepard's sheepish verbal sidestepping.] I did say that I would bend you over and show you a good time. I'm prepared to deliver!
[He slips his hands down from Gepard's lovely shoulders, slides them instead down to the buttons of his impeccable uniform's jacket and starts pushing them through their buttonholes. Hard to do much delivering on any promises if Gepard's covered with so much starched fabric.]
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Did you really have to say it like that? [Gepard keeps his hands on Sampo's waist, just...politely rubbing his thumbs back and forth, hoping Sampo can't pick up on his...not quite anxiety, not quite nervousness, not quite neither of those, whatever it is that he's feeling. Anticipation? Maybe that.] Bend me over and show me a good time. [He half-imitates Sampo's tone as he says that, half-doesn't. An attempt was made, kind of.]
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No, but I do want to be clear about what you're getting into. [Another button on that jacket down, a little more of Gepard's uniform revealed. Pristine white, as immaculate as his honor.] You've made me feel good that way plenty of times, it's about time that I returned the favor! Besides, don't you want to know what it's like on the other side?
[With all the buttons undone on the jacket, Sampo can smooth his hands up over Gepard's shoulders, pushing it off and sliding it down his arms. It means that Gepard will have to stop rubbing at his waist like his own personal worry-stone, but that's a small sacrifice for the ultimate goal of getting him out of his clothes. And, Aeons, Sampo will never get tired of seeing the strapping silhouette that he cuts. Belobog really makes its men a certain way, and Sampo's gotten a taste for it.]
[He leans in and presses a kiss to Gepard's lovely jawline, then another a little higher up, a soft trail heading towards his ear. His breath is soft and warm against his ear when he whispers into it:]
Aren't you a little curious? [He really probably doesn't have to try so hard with the seduction, with pressing himself up against Gepard's chest, touching his neck, those broad shoulders, carefully undoing the knotted silk tie at his throat. (That deep Landau blue, of course. If only it was so easy to rid Gepard of all of the trappings of that family name.)] You've made me scream so many times, don't you want to know what it feels like?
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Feelings aren't, never were his strong suit. They were a luxury for men who weren't born with the name Landau and a duty to chase what they want, to catch it, to bring it down and make it their own. And now here he is, torn.
Sampo removes his jacket. Gepard lets him, even if it means letting go of his waist - he does, long enough to remove that jacket. Then his hands go back to where they were, and then...further? Maybe? Because if Sampo's right there, up against his chest, kissing his chin (he gasps), and his cheek (and he arches his head back, away, the better to let Sampo have access) it's easy enough to just...hold him.]
If.
[His voice wobbles, a little. (Why is it so difficult to stay composed when Sampo's in a mood.) Gepard licks his lips, tries again.]
If I wasn't curious, I'd have put more effort into winning, you know.
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[Well, now that he's in Gepard's arms, that's kind of like catching him. But Gepard is very sweet when he's holding Sampo, his hands warm and gentle even through the fabric of Sampo's suit, so very accepting of every kiss that he presses to his face and throat. It's a far cry from what Landau men are supposed to be, all strength and unyielding will, supposed paragons of the Preservation.]
[Sampo drops this paragon of the Preservation's silk tie to the ground, then makes short work of the buttons holding up his starched collar. When they yield, there's even more pale skin for him to kiss; he lays a soft trail over an old scar that runs down the side of Gepard's neck, where some nasty thing must have cut him years ago.]
So you didn't even try? [It's not quite as fun if you throw the match, Gepard.] If you'd won anyway, would you have asked for it?
[His hands drop down to Gepard's vest, making short work of those buttons, too. He's very good at undoing buttons without looking, almost as though he's had practice. (He has, partly because of Gepard. It's why he's so good at removing guard uniforms now, too, from getting the good Captain out of his so many times.)]
I'll give it back when we're done. [Away with the vest, to join the tie on the ground. Sampo tugs Gepard's shirt out of the waistband of his trousers, keeps plowing through those buttons. If there wouldn't be a need to get Gepard back into all of this frippery at the end of their tryst, he might have been tempted to just pull the shirt apart and damn the buttons.] It's a nice medal, I like the ribbon. What was it for?
[What great act of heroism got Gepard Landau a medal with a green ribbon?]
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I didn't intend on not trying. [His fingers- he forces them to still. This isn't his show, it's Sampo's show, and for once he's going to let him- maybe not for once but it's like a trust fall. Putting your life into someone's hands and letting them do what they will with it. It's that. It's not just about his ass and Sampo's dick, it's about more than that. Maybe.
His eyes close, because Sampo's just too close and he's got questions to answer. His vest is coming off. That's fine.]
It's just that- I realized I didn't mind. Once you had it. [Anyway!] I saved a platoon. Nothing special, but I remembered the medal when you needed something to steal.
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Nothing special, he says! Only you would save two dozen men and think it's nothing special.
[Typical Gepard Landau. He's ridiculous and Sampo is going to eat him out about it. To that end, he unbuckles Gepard's belt and tugs his trousers open, and, well, now that he's getting those down, maybe he'll suck him off about it first. It really depends on how hard that cock is when he gets it out. Spoiled for choice either way, really. Either he's getting his mouth on a glorious cock or a glorious ass, it's glorious no matter which one he goes with.]
I bet you have a dozen medals like that sitting in your drawers, gathering dust.
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He's got mixed feelings about them.]
It's hardly a dozen...
[He shifts, in part because, well. Look at what he just admitted, and the second Gepard says it is the second that he knows he said something dumb. And in part because Sampo's undoing his trousers and pulling them down and is he hard? Somewhat. Hard not to be...enthusiastic about things when he let himself be cornered by Sampo like some small prey animal offering up his throat to the predator, and said predator (Sampo) was nibbling at it. So to speak. Being flaccid would be an insult.
Could he be harder? Probably. In part because it's cold. In part because, well- his hand brushes Sampo's hair and he can feel his cock twitch at the thought of giving up control and seeing where Sampo took things.]
I know that's besides the point.
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[If Sampo weren't already going to fuck him about it, he'd fuck him about it again. But he has something more important to pay attention to right now than Gepard Landau's modesty. His cock isn't raging hard at the moment, just sort of attractively plumped, and that's just fine for this stage of the game. He'd have had something else to tease Gepard about if he'd been hard enough to pound nails just from a little over-the-clothes action.]
It is! Ah, I should be honored to eat out such a valiant man. I'd call it doing my civic duty, but I'm going to enjoy it too much.
[He pushes Gepard back towards the railing of the balcony, until his back is up against it. Stay right there, valiant Captain, so that you have a nice spot of railing to lean over once he decides to bend you.]
Now... [He tugs Gepard's open trousers and undergarments the rest of the way down, kneeling as he goes. Isn't that a nice view, too? Almost as nice as the one they have of the city-- Sampo on his knees, looking appreciatively at Gepard's half-hard prick.] You just lean back and relax, yeah?
[Gepard's not hard yet, but he will be pretty quickly after Sampo takes him in his mouth, hands on the good Captain's hips to brace himself. It's lovely every time-- he is so very fond of Gepard's cock. His favorite prick on all of Jarilo-VI, attached to his favorite prick. And while he could certainly kneel here and suck Gepard off all night long-- or at least until his knees got too sore for it-- this is a slightly businesslike blowjob. A blowjob with purpose, and that purpose is to take Gepard from pleasantly plump to pounding-nails hard. A little fluffing, to get the old engine going.]
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Um. [With a nice little blush. A little shy blush as he's told that Sampo's mouth on his...ass? Cock? As it's described as civic duty, but Gepard's pushed towards the railing. He goes, with a pliant willingness that most people would be surprised to see coming from the rigid Captain Landau. He doesn't quite understand what he's getting himself into (well, he understands quite a bit by now, enough to know that there's much more he has yet to experience) but he's just strangely happy to put trust into Sampo's hands, beyond whatever it is they're doing right now.
(He knows what they're doing and it's sex. He shouldn't read too much into it.)]
I'm not very good at-
[There's a mouth to his cock and it's going at it with ruthless efficiency and Gepard immediately staggers, one hand over his mouth to muffle any noises he might make, knees weak at the assault- he's got Sampo propping him up, he's got his fingers in Sampo's hair but here he had been, expecting a blowjob, and there Sampo is, giving him a blowjob with a purpose.]
You're in a mood. [He chokes that out. What the heck. He hadn't been prepared and his cock appreciates it.]
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[Then draws back further, letting it slip out completely. It stands at attention as firmly as any Silvermane guard. Practically saluting.]
Can't get that big thing out and not do anything with it. [He presses a kiss to the slick, reddened head, and when he leans back again, there's thin, sticky thread that briefly connects his lips and Gepard's cock.] Now be a good boy and turn around for me.
[Now that he's got Gepard good and hard, he's got an ass to bury his face in. And once Gepard does as he's told-- he'll get a good boy as praise when he does-- Sampo frames out that lovely ass with his hands, running his palms up Gepard's thighs until they catch on the swell of his cheeks. A soft, appreciative little noise slips out of his throat, entirely uncontrolled. Couldn't help himself.]
I don't know who plans your workouts, but I should send them a thank-you card. [He should give praise to Qlipoth for making a universe that could bring forth such a glorious ass. An ass worthy of the Preservation.]
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Intrigued by what the night might promise. Curious about where things might go. Tantalizingly aware that he actually might trust Sampo enough to give him the reins without any qualifiers or any conditions, which should scare him more than it did. He wouldn't trust Sampo with the keys to Belobog's museum. He'd trust him with his ass.
...but now Gepard's aware that there's a possibility that he hadn't considered, which is that Sampo might not betray him, nor hurt him, nor hurt others, but might absolutely turn him into a needy fucking mess, and as Sampo pulls off he whines. He fucking whines as Sampo kisses his head.]
Sampo.
[Good boy also is apparently doing things for him. What a terrible discovery, but, he doesn't like it and also simultaneously really liked it. Things Gepard never wanted to know about himself. But, he turns around and wishes there was a counter so he can bury his face in his hands.]
Please. [Thank you cards? He can't relax.] An ass is an ass.
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[He presses a kiss to one of those lovely, porcelain-pale cheeks, then pries them apart to have a look at the most hidden parts of him. Sampo is a man of many tastes, and sometimes those tastes are nasty. But they both know what they’re here for, and it’s not a gentlemanly affair.]
Somebody should carve a likeness of this ass and put it in the Museum for all posterity. [Put it up for show, like all good art. Sampo laughs, his stupid little giggle.] Not that it’d be on exhibit for very long before I’d take it.
[He’s got an eye for expensive things, what can he say. And if you carved a nude of Gepard out of marble and put it up in a museum, no one would doubt that he’d fit in amongst all the ancient art of heroes and demigods. It almost makes Sampo wish he could draw.]
[Sampo gets a better view of what’s between Gepard’s cheeks when he leans in and blows a soft stream of air over his hole. Wink for him, Geppie.]
But I’m getting off track, aren’t I?
[Focus up, Koski. Get your head in the game! Or at least get your face in that ass.]
[Which is exactly what he does— buries his face between those pretty pale cheeks and goes right for it, tongue to hole. Messy, because there’s no real way to eat ass daintily, and heedless of his own eventual need to come up for air.]
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There is no such mercy. Sampo says someone should carve a replica out of marble and he moans, half turned on, half wishing Qlipoth would dump a snowbank on Sampo instead. He had thought that Sampo would just get on with it. And apparently no. No.
There is, once again, no such mercy. Sampo follows up by saying he'd steal it and Gepard aims a half-hearted kick (more of a nudge of his leg than an actual kick, really, the implication of resistance more than actual resistance) at Sampo because the last thing he wants to imagine is Sampo Koski with a marble statue of his ass. The resistance is quickly lost when Sampo blows a stream of air at him? He slumps, the only things keeping him upright his grip on the railing and a certain stubbornness, that he's not going to be wrecked by Sampo apparently wanting to thoroughly tease him. A death of a thousand cuts, except those thousand cuts are Sampo being Sampo.
And then Sampo starts eating his ass, and Gepard goes boneless, in full surrender, all tension- bad tension gone, because there's really no way of holding back when it comes to eating ass, is there? And Gepard can hear himself moan out some choked-back noise which suspiciously sounds like Sampo's name, one hand clutching the railing like it's a lifeline, the other one reaching back blindly, fishing for Sampo, what he can touch of him, which turns out to just be hair? But his hand grabs a hold of it, tugs it, fisting in it. If he was in his right mind, he'd probably feel bad. But right now, he's got a tongue in his ass, so thinking is far from Gepard's concerns at the moment. All he's trying to do is to keep his legs steady enough.]
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[Well, he really shouldn't get too sentimental while he's in the middle of such an important task. This is Gepard's inaugural ass eating, he can't get distracted. If he doesn't do a good job, it could color Gepard's opinion of getting eaten out for the rest of his life, and that's a lot of pressure to put on a guy. If his skills are subpar, the good Captain might decide that he's just not that into getting eaten out like a stuffed cream puff, and the whole universe would be the worse for it.]
[Based off of the hand that blindly reaches back and tangles in Sampo's hair, though, he's doing something right. Gepard's legs have these fine tremors in them that Sampo can feel all the way up in his thighs, like he isn't very steady; there might have been a few noises, but considering his position, it's not exactly easy to hear. Sampo can imagine, though. Maybe another time, he can convince Gepard to sit on his face and then he'll have an easier time listening to him-- or he'll die, and, honestly, that's how he'd want to go. Crushed beneath the glorious ass of Gepard Landau.]
[He delves greedily and deep; Sampo's just as good at eating ass as he is at sucking cock. There's a skill to it, because a tongue doesn't have the reach of fingers or a cock, but you can make up for that deficiency with flexibility and enthusiasm. And there's a certain appeal to how filthy it is, especially when he's doing filthy things to a man like Gepard. Curling his tongue in him, feeling the way his body shudders and clenches. Reaching a hand around his hip to loosely cup his cock, giving him something to rut against and relieve a little pressure.]
[Lovely. An absolute joy, a pastime that Sampo could really get used to-- even how it makes him ache, since his hands are too busy to reach down and give himself a little self-service.]
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He still can't help himself, though, not the noises (quiet, getting louder, Gepard tries to bite his hand- the one that's gripping the railing? he tries that, and then immediately staggers, and his hand slams down again) nor how much he likes it. He can't help rutting against the hand so helpfully provided for him, oblivious to the faces he's making- he's making faces, and Gepard would probably start kicking Sampo if he can see them and react to them. Sampo can't, and Gepard's oblivious. Everyone wins here.
His hand, the one tangled in Sampo's hair, loosens, and then grips again.]
Sampo, please.
[Don't ask him what he's asking Sampo to do, Gepard doesn't know, he's getting his ass devoured by a master and it's driving him mad.]
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[But that's okay, because he doesn't have to know. Sampo will give him everything anyway.]
[Everything, in this case, is a finger slipping into him alongside Sampo's tongue, pressing smoothly against his slick insides. A three-way assault on Gepard, everything that he could do to him short of sitting the good Captain on his own cock-- and hopefully that'll come later, if he's done a very good job. A gift for them both for a job well done.]
[One of the only times that Gepard will get to see Sampo putting in an honest effort, and it's all to eat him out.]