[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.
[He looks down as Figaro looks up and agrees, and it's uncomfortable for a different reason because part of Gepard says kiss the guy and the rest of him says wait, no, what? Where did that- what? Absolutely not what?
Anyway, he starts playing with Figaro's hair again, in a platonic sort of way, just reaching up and lacing his fingers through his hair and rubbing little circles in his scalp. As friends do.]
You're not. [It's a joke! A little bit of a joke.] You're kind of heavy, Figaro. But you- [smell nice absolutely not.] But you're not unpleasant.
[If Gepard weren't only interested in pretty Supreme Guardians-- or whatever kind of woman that guard captains aspired towards-- this might have been an opportune moment to angle for a kiss. Sure, Sampo usually didn't make a habit of getting that kind of friendly with his dinners, but Gepard's a bit of a special case in that regard, and he's handsome. Certainly wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, kissing his handsome blood donor. Considering what kind of man he is, Sampo's fairly certain that he'd be an absolutely lovely bed partner, very considerate and giving. Alas! Reserved for some lucky woman one day.]
[His fingers press against Sampo's scalp in soothing slow motions. Sampo could lay there all day, except that Gepard dares complain that he's heavy.]
Heavy! [He has a very trim figure, thank you very much. In protest, Sampo rolls more of his body weight onto Gepard, just flopping himself over onto him. He'll show you heavy.] Rude! Didn't anyone teach you not to comment on a girl's weight?
[Is he more or less not unpleasant when he's sprawled across your chest, Gepard?]
[Oof but then Figaro calls him rude and that startles a laugh out of Gepard, a little choked thing that he tries to muffle, but, no, he can't, he just has a little happy giggle.
What's also happy, but in a less good way, is Gepard's erection which shows no signs of going away because he's got a heterosexual sexy vampire sprawled across his chest, now. If anything, it's going in the opposite direction? It was hard, and now it feels a bit harder. And he should say, "Hey, Figaro, my erection is getting very distracting thanks to you, maybe we should call it a day so I can beat it out on my own."
But also, Gepard's got a sexy heterosexual vampire sprawled across his chest, and this doesn't happen so often? Is it really that bad to gaze at him and imagine a...let's just end this at a kiss. A kiss. Is it so bad to gaze at Figaro and imagine kissing him? Probably. But he's doing it anyway. Gazing at him. Imagining a kiss. Letting his fingers move from rubbing Figaro's scalp to rubbing the base of his neck.]
Heavy's heavy, Figaro. [Even if he's hugging Figaro. Even if he's got an erection he needs to do a bit more to ignore. It'll go away soon.]
[If Gepard really wanted to rid himself of the weight of a sexy vampire, he probably shouldn't have started rubbing his neck like that. Scalp scritches are a universally nice feeling, and so are neck rubs, so he's not actually doing anything to deter Sampo's behavior-- he's just rewarding it. Reinforcing the bad behavior. When this happens again, he has no one to blame but himself.]
[In further protest of being told that he's heavy, Sampo gets his arms around Gepard's waist to anchor himself in place. Just try to get rid of him now, golden boy, he's your problem.]
Endure it, then. You're a strong man. [He could probably sleep like this-- full, cuddled up with a warm man, having his neck rubbed. What a luxury.] Ah, and don't stop doing that... you have strong hands, too.
[His fingers don't stop. They keep on doing what it is they're doing, even though they shouldn't. Gepard likes the entire waist thing. It makes him shiver, a little, as he feels the grip around him. It's...nice. warm. Makes him feel needed, and not just professionally, not because he's a soldier.]
So I'm not only dinner, I'm your neck-rubber- your masseuse and pillow. I see where this is going, Figaro.
You’re a very good masseuse and pillow. I’d give you a stellar review!
[A+, excellent body pillow, would cuddle again. Would maybe spoon, if the opportunity arose, or even fork.]
[He closes his eyes. Gepard’s fingers haven’t stopped yet, and it’s really hard to resist the urge to just fall asleep on him. He’s warm and full and getting a totally platonic neck rub from a handsome man, who wouldn’t feel like taking a little nap in that situation?]
Are you trying to— [He interrupts himself with a yawn.] —put me to sleep? Because it’s working.
[And then his fingers...stop, they stop, just resting there, because Figaro raised a good point- kind of, that as much as he likes this, he also maybe shouldn't...indulge because...
Because of some reason or another. Because. Because it's a bad idea. Because it'll lead to more useless pining.]
[The pining would be less useless if he ever stopped being quiet about it, but Gepard wouldn't be Gepard if he didn't quietly torture himself with something that he desires but refuses to allow himself to have.]
[His fingers stop combing through Sampo's thick hair, and he makes a displeased little noise about it but otherwise doesn't move. He's really enjoying that scalp massage, it seems like a shame to stop it just because the good Captain hasn't figured out that he needs to take a few steps out of the closet yet.]
Do you want me out of your hair? [He tips his head a little to get a better look up at Gepard. From this angle, he's only marginally less handsome because no one looks good when you can see up their nostrils.] I'd have to come back soon to make lunch for you, anyway. So it's not really any easier for me to leave and come back.
[Besides, he has ideas for that leftover tenderloin from last night. Some crunchy bread, a few greens, some horseradish and an au jus to dip it in... he'll make a sandwich so good that Gepard'll be glad to give him neck rubs.]
[No, no, they're two men, zero feet apart because they're not gay. Anyway, Figaro asks if he wants him out of his hair, and Gepard shakes his head.]
No, I like having you here.
[It's embarrassing, but it's true, and as Gepard says that he nudges Figaro - asking without asking for him to move up, it'll be easier to rub his spine if he's a little ways up. Plus, any boners will be less awkward that way, probably.]
It's been... [Fuck it. He can admit it.] It's been fun. Which is strange given how all of this started and the fact I don't even know your name, and that's not even getting into how you eat people, but- nobody's perfect, I suppose.
[Sampo goes along with that nudge, because it's really in his best interest to do as the good Captain wants. Neck rubs and back rubs, he should bite handsome Captains more often if it'll get him this kind of treatment. Or maybe it's just this one Captain, and Sampo really hit the jackpot that night.]
[So he scoots up and yawns into Gepard's shoulder, muffling himself with it. It's a nice shoulder.]
Don't ruin the fun, I'm sure you can figure out my name if you try. Maybe I'll give you a hint, if you ask me nice enough. [Maybe. Who knows! Gepard's not the dullest knife in the drawer, and he's got some very sharp people working with him. Surely he can do it himself.] And I don't eat people, I drink blood. There's a difference! It's an important one.
[Cannibalism and vampirism aren't the same thing, thank you very much. One is much messier and more rude than the other.]
[Oh, but Figaro's obliging, which is good, makes it easier to use him as a giant blanket and/or body pillow for cuddling- which Gepard does. He sighs, getting comfortable, just fucking making himself at home- it is his home. But he's settling in.
Gepard's a man of routine and he can feel new patterns being etched onto his bones. He really should be more worried about this- less the cuddling of some nameless man with a fixation on the letter O, and more the fact that he decided that he really wants to snuggle with him after letting him drink his blood.
One hand is at the nape of Figaro's neck. The other, trying to rub his back.]
You drink blood. Blood comes from people, so I suppose you're technically right.
[Clothes are in the way, and without thinking about it, Gepard slides a hand under what little Figaro has in the way of a shirt (he's not really a shirt guy, really) to rub patterns in his skin. It's like gentling a cat. He's got the world's worst bloodthirsty cat atop him. It doesn't matter.]
You drink people, not eat them, but is that really that different? [This is what he's focusing on.]
[Is any of this supposed to deter Sampo from a good bite and cuddle? Gepard basically wants him as his own personal body pillow, and Sampo’s gone long enough without positive human contact that he’ll gladly be Gepard’s weighted blanket. The good Captain is warm and comfortable and his hands are lovely at his nape and back.]
[It’s really a shame. What a waste of a perfectly good man, Sampo would gladly give him some special services if he was only so inclined. But Gepard would have no interest in that kind of thing from him, so there’s no use in even offering.]
[And instead of focusing on touching him, Gepard is fixated on the people eating thing.]
It is! Eating somebody makes it sound like I’m tearing chunks off or something. What I’m doing is barely worse than a blood donation.
[He tips his head a little to give the good Captain some serious side-eye.]
Hey. Just let me take the win where I can get it, okay?
[He’s an obligate bloodsucker and it’s objectively awful, at least let him have his little semantic arguments.]
[Figaro's turning his head- Gepard grunts because that makes him less comfortable, what is this, what's going on, two heterosexual men zero feet apart because they're not gay, and one of them is wiggling a bit.
And now Gepard's moving to give Figaro a little bit of side-eye.]
I liked you better when you didn't move as much, Figaro.
[And here Gepard is, rubbing little circles onto Figaro's back. It'll be a bit of a shame to lose his weighted blanket, and Gepard makes a face at the thought - it's nice having someone to cuddle, even if that someone happens to have weird dietary requirements and is an amazing cook.
Maybe this is a sign he needs to get a pet? Like a dog, if Belobog was a normal planet that had room for pets. But they probably have something.]
I've really enjoyed all of your food. I have no doubt I'll love whatever it is you come up with next, Figaro.
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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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Anyway, he starts playing with Figaro's hair again, in a platonic sort of way, just reaching up and lacing his fingers through his hair and rubbing little circles in his scalp. As friends do.]
You're not. [It's a joke! A little bit of a joke.] You're kind of heavy, Figaro. But you- [smell nice absolutely not.] But you're not unpleasant.
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[His fingers press against Sampo's scalp in soothing slow motions. Sampo could lay there all day, except that Gepard dares complain that he's heavy.]
Heavy! [He has a very trim figure, thank you very much. In protest, Sampo rolls more of his body weight onto Gepard, just flopping himself over onto him. He'll show you heavy.] Rude! Didn't anyone teach you not to comment on a girl's weight?
[Is he more or less not unpleasant when he's sprawled across your chest, Gepard?]
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What's also happy, but in a less good way, is Gepard's erection which shows no signs of going away because he's got a heterosexual sexy vampire sprawled across his chest, now. If anything, it's going in the opposite direction? It was hard, and now it feels a bit harder. And he should say, "Hey, Figaro, my erection is getting very distracting thanks to you, maybe we should call it a day so I can beat it out on my own."
But also, Gepard's got a sexy heterosexual vampire sprawled across his chest, and this doesn't happen so often? Is it really that bad to gaze at him and imagine a...let's just end this at a kiss. A kiss. Is it so bad to gaze at Figaro and imagine kissing him? Probably. But he's doing it anyway. Gazing at him. Imagining a kiss. Letting his fingers move from rubbing Figaro's scalp to rubbing the base of his neck.]
Heavy's heavy, Figaro. [Even if he's hugging Figaro. Even if he's got an erection he needs to do a bit more to ignore. It'll go away soon.]
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[In further protest of being told that he's heavy, Sampo gets his arms around Gepard's waist to anchor himself in place. Just try to get rid of him now, golden boy, he's your problem.]
Endure it, then. You're a strong man. [He could probably sleep like this-- full, cuddled up with a warm man, having his neck rubbed. What a luxury.] Ah, and don't stop doing that... you have strong hands, too.
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So I'm not only dinner, I'm your neck-rubber- your masseuse and pillow. I see where this is going, Figaro.
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[A+, excellent body pillow, would cuddle again. Would maybe spoon, if the opportunity arose, or even fork.]
[He closes his eyes. Gepard’s fingers haven’t stopped yet, and it’s really hard to resist the urge to just fall asleep on him. He’s warm and full and getting a totally platonic neck rub from a handsome man, who wouldn’t feel like taking a little nap in that situation?]
Are you trying to— [He interrupts himself with a yawn.] —put me to sleep? Because it’s working.
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Because of some reason or another. Because. Because it's a bad idea. Because it'll lead to more useless pining.]
Should I be sending you on your way?
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[His fingers stop combing through Sampo's thick hair, and he makes a displeased little noise about it but otherwise doesn't move. He's really enjoying that scalp massage, it seems like a shame to stop it just because the good Captain hasn't figured out that he needs to take a few steps out of the closet yet.]
Do you want me out of your hair? [He tips his head a little to get a better look up at Gepard. From this angle, he's only marginally less handsome because no one looks good when you can see up their nostrils.] I'd have to come back soon to make lunch for you, anyway. So it's not really any easier for me to leave and come back.
[Besides, he has ideas for that leftover tenderloin from last night. Some crunchy bread, a few greens, some horseradish and an au jus to dip it in... he'll make a sandwich so good that Gepard'll be glad to give him neck rubs.]
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No, I like having you here.
[It's embarrassing, but it's true, and as Gepard says that he nudges Figaro - asking without asking for him to move up, it'll be easier to rub his spine if he's a little ways up. Plus, any boners will be less awkward that way, probably.]
It's been... [Fuck it. He can admit it.] It's been fun. Which is strange given how all of this started and the fact I don't even know your name, and that's not even getting into how you eat people, but- nobody's perfect, I suppose.
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[So he scoots up and yawns into Gepard's shoulder, muffling himself with it. It's a nice shoulder.]
Don't ruin the fun, I'm sure you can figure out my name if you try. Maybe I'll give you a hint, if you ask me nice enough. [Maybe. Who knows! Gepard's not the dullest knife in the drawer, and he's got some very sharp people working with him. Surely he can do it himself.] And I don't eat people, I drink blood. There's a difference! It's an important one.
[Cannibalism and vampirism aren't the same thing, thank you very much. One is much messier and more rude than the other.]
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[Oh, but Figaro's obliging, which is good, makes it easier to use him as a giant blanket and/or body pillow for cuddling- which Gepard does. He sighs, getting comfortable, just fucking making himself at home- it is his home. But he's settling in.
Gepard's a man of routine and he can feel new patterns being etched onto his bones. He really should be more worried about this- less the cuddling of some nameless man with a fixation on the letter O, and more the fact that he decided that he really wants to snuggle with him after letting him drink his blood.
One hand is at the nape of Figaro's neck. The other, trying to rub his back.]
You drink blood. Blood comes from people, so I suppose you're technically right.
[Clothes are in the way, and without thinking about it, Gepard slides a hand under what little Figaro has in the way of a shirt (he's not really a shirt guy, really) to rub patterns in his skin. It's like gentling a cat. He's got the world's worst bloodthirsty cat atop him. It doesn't matter.]
You drink people, not eat them, but is that really that different? [This is what he's focusing on.]
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[It’s really a shame. What a waste of a perfectly good man, Sampo would gladly give him some special services if he was only so inclined. But Gepard would have no interest in that kind of thing from him, so there’s no use in even offering.]
[And instead of focusing on touching him, Gepard is fixated on the people eating thing.]
It is! Eating somebody makes it sound like I’m tearing chunks off or something. What I’m doing is barely worse than a blood donation.
[He tips his head a little to give the good Captain some serious side-eye.]
Hey. Just let me take the win where I can get it, okay?
[He’s an obligate bloodsucker and it’s objectively awful, at least let him have his little semantic arguments.]
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And now Gepard's moving to give Figaro a little bit of side-eye.]
I liked you better when you didn't move as much, Figaro.
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[A little bro massage, as bros do. There’s nothing weird about rubbing another man’s back in a totally platonic and heterosexual way.]
Just a few more minutes, before I make lunch? It’s going to be a really good lunch, you’ll want to thank me for it.
[He’s going to make a sandwich so good that Gepard continues to question his sexuality.]
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[And here Gepard is, rubbing little circles onto Figaro's back. It'll be a bit of a shame to lose his weighted blanket, and Gepard makes a face at the thought - it's nice having someone to cuddle, even if that someone happens to have weird dietary requirements and is an amazing cook.
Maybe this is a sign he needs to get a pet? Like a dog, if Belobog was a normal planet that had room for pets. But they probably have something.]
I've really enjoyed all of your food. I have no doubt I'll love whatever it is you come up with next, Figaro.
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