[Well, sorry about your Figaro-haunted spank bank, Gepard. That's your life now, these are your choices. This whole situation could have been avoided if you'd never decided to do a solo mission to capture a weird not-mugger, now your penance is having fantasies about a guy named Figaro.]
[There would be absolutely no comfort for him if he knew that later, Sampo would probably have to tug it to a guy named after a wild cat known for both its land speed and its entire species' intense anxiety. So, really, nobody's winning here.]
[Gepard's hand lands on Sampo's arm, stopping him as he's taking out the bandages and antiseptic to clean up his neck. He expresses concern for him, and it's probably pretty sad that he's the first person in a long while to say something like that to him-- other than Natasha. But she only said something because she's a doctor and sometimes saw Sampo without a shirt on when he got injured.]
Are you worried for me, Captain? [He puts his other hand theatrically over his heart.] I might swoon!
If you're asking me to eat you, I usually don't do that kind of thing until after the first date. [He winks obnoxiously, then takes Gepard's hand in his own and kisses the knuckles. There-- that'll be ridiculous enough to distract him from a line of questioning that Sampo doesn't like to have prodded.]
[Besides, it sounds like a bad idea to get his teeth into the Captain again, even if he does offer. The Silvermane guard probably won't look too kindly on their beloved leader getting his blood drained, even if it was a meal freely given. Sampo doesn't need to take any more heat than he has to, it's hard enough for him to get blood as it is. If he eats any less frequently than he already is... well, then he'll really be in trouble.]
[Figaro (why) asks if he's worried for him, and Gepard grimaces, as...apparently he is? And apparently, Gepard wants to push things, and he opens his mouth to do just that, but then; Figaro (why?) puts his hand over his heart and declares that he'll swoon, which distracts Gepard just enough that he has to make an annoyed noise. And then he says he'll eat him after the first date, which makes Gepard stare - wide-eyed - and blush. Red-tipped ears, his mouth working wordlessly, because what can he say to that? What, exactly can he say?
And then-
His hand is held. A kiss is pressed to his knuckles. Gepard inhales, sharp, his fingers ever so slightly trembling, curving around Figaro's own. Because he's not meant for this sort of thing. Gepard knows this. He's not meant for...whatever this is. Fake passes, faker flirting. Which means that he has no idea what to do about the fact that this feels like he's being flirted with? Well, it's obviously flirting, but flirting as a distraction. Flirting as a misdirection.
He swallows, hand still in the unfortunately named Figaro's own. He should pull away. Gepard knows this. He doesn't, not quite yet.]
If you're satiated, then...fine, I know I taste terrible. [...which is really embarrassing?] But the Silvermane Guard is looking for you. If things had gone slightly differently, this night would have ended far worse for you.
[Apparently he is concerned, but Gepard's telling himself that Figaro's a Belobog citizen with haunting eyes and unique dietary requirements, and there's no reason why they can't meet his unique dietary requirements, this is simply a matter of public service and he's not thinking with his dick right now. (He can do both. Both's possible. But he's ignoring the dick and focusing on the public service angle.)]
I can try to come up with something more... [What's a good word for it?] ...sustainable, but it'll take time, and I don't know if time is something you'll have.
[Interesting! Though Gepard flushes a pretty red when the-man-currently-known-as-Figaro kisses his knuckles and flirts, he doesn't pull away or chastise him for it, or even turn him down. His hand remains in Sampo's grasp. He continues to be concerned about his well-being, even though he has absolutely no reason to be. Really, he has every reason to not give a single fuck about whether or not Sampo can sustain himself, and every reason to send his guardsmen to raid Sampo's safehouse the second that he's back with them.]
[What a strange guy. Sure, he's a keeper of the peace or whatever, but technically, what Sampo did to all those people was a crime, even if he didn't cause any permanent damage and didn't want to hurt them in the first place. Being desperate has very little impact in a court of law.]
[And is he satiated? Not even a little bit. What he got out of Gepard was barely a sip, hardly even enough to take the edge off. Sampo can't even really remember the last time that he was actually able to eat until he was full. It's been a scarcity diet since he left his Aeon. But, hey, it keeps his figure trim, right?]
Don't you worry about me. Ol' Figaro's been in worse spots than this before, and I've pulled through! What's one skipped meal?
[If Gepard's been keeping track, he'd know that the last person they'd found who'd been attacked by their mystery mugger had been almost two weeks ago.]
I've already tried to go the whole, [He waves a dismissive hand.] ethically-sourced people juice route. It's really not reliable. The hospital doesn't have a whole lot of blood to spare on a normal day, and definitely not if something bad happens.
[And he's not willing to take badly needed blood bags from the hospital when they've got patients who need them.]
It's okay. Really!
[It's not okay. But what else can he do but smile and try to deal with it?]
[Gepard catches himself before his voice gets too loud, because not all soundproofing is equal, and it's important to him that they don't get interrupted for...some reason. That's the power of a pair of pretty green eyes, strong arms, and a kiss to the knuckles, apparently.
...but he's not one for self-examination. Now isn't the time. Gepard pulls his hand away from fucking Figaro, scowling.]
It's not okay. [He says this in a lower, quieter, more controlled voice. Deliberate. Insistent. Poking Figaro in the chest because moving is still a bit difficult, but he's getting there.] You've been assaulting people, Figaro. And while I can justify it based upon your... [Unique dietary restrictions.] ...reasons, that doesn't change the fact you violated the law. By all rights, I should have you arrested.
Don’t have me arrested, I’m too pretty for prison.
[Really, a few days in jail would be nothing, but if he was actually convicted? It wouldn’t be a good time. He’d have to get the hell off of this planet before he got locked up, and he’d kind of gotten a little fond of this backwater iceball.]
[He should be taking Gepard seriously. The guy is the captain of the guard, he has some legitimate pull around here. But he’s cute when he’s mad and poking Sampo in the chest, calling him by a silly alias. Sampo can’t help but smile at him, amused.]
[Now that he has his hand back, Sampo kneels down by the couch and gets out the antiseptic, wetting a cotton pad with it. Gotta take care of that neck wound, Gepard, let your good pal wipe that up for you. He’s very good with his hands, has a very gentle touch.]
So what exactly do you want me to do, Captain? I can’t rely on blood bags, I can’t get it myself. It sounds like you’re suggesting that I should just go out into the snowfields and starve!
[Those green eyes look up at him, all sad and downturned. He’s gotten the sad puppy look down-pat, it’s a useful skill.]
[It's easy enough to bluff when he doesn't have to face actual difficult choices, and, really, Gepard had made his choice when he warned Figaro and told him to avoid the ambush waiting for him. He just doesn't have to acknowledge it. It can remain the Aeon in the room they're both politely ignoring.
For now: his eyes narrow. The sad puppy look is horribly effective. He hates that it's effective. The gentle hands against his neck? Also effective. Not a lot of people touch him, let alone gently. So now here he is, glaring at Figaro (what a terrible name) like he's an angry-yet-anxious cat trying to decide if he's going to submit to petting or claw his eyes out, letting his neck get wiped.]
You've been assaulting people, you need blood- what will happen if you don't get enough? What will you do if you get that hungry?
[He struggles to at least sit up, kind of, the better to peer at Figaro with some dignity because he feels as though he's not being taken seriously. Just a hunch. He should've slapped Figaro in the face when all of that flirting started, probably. Hindsight.]
I can maybe order my men... [He can't. Shouldn't. Wouldn't. Gepard knows this. He's stalling for time because there's really only one solution that his brain is hitting on and it's a terrible, horrible one.] You're lucky, [scowl, poke,] I was the one who found you.
[The bite on Gepard’s throat had coagulated and started to scab over quickly once Sampo’s teeth left him— people always stopped bleeding pretty quickly once he was done with them. Something in his saliva, he assumes, but he’s never tried to really test it out. Gift horses, mouths, all that.]
[Once the bite is cleaned up, Sampo applies the bandage, taping it down so that it lies flat against his neck.]
I’ve never been hungry enough to savage somebody, if that’s what you’re asking me.
[He’s been hungry before, hungry enough to… not have a whole lot of dignity about how he gets a meal. Hungry enough to beg Natasha and not ask questions about where she got it from. But he’s got limits, lines he won’t cross, and he hasn’t crossed them yet.]
[He can’t order his men to ignore the assaults, or to stop investigating them. Sampo sighs again; is this what does it? This is what forces him to leave again, to flee the planet, just after he started to get a little comfortable? One bad night and a handsome guard captain and everything is ruined.]
Am I? [He doesn’t feel lucky. He, in fact, feels spectacularly unlucky right now.] I don’t know, I think I’d rather it had been that one really big guy you have in the guard. You know, the one with the big helmet who’s like seven feet tall? I bet if I took a bite out of him, he wouldn’t have even noticed.
[Plenty of blood in that guy, he wouldn’t have missed a pint or two.]
...Dunn? [He says this in a horrified murmur. Gepard never thought he'd be thinking I wish a weird blood-drinking guy would want my blood, but now here he is, bitterly envious of the fact that Dunn is apparently tastier than he is.]
If you attacked him I'd be trying to bash in your head right now.
[And isn't it better they're talking? Isn't it? Or is it just him.
Thinking with his dick is terrible. He never wanted to know what it felt like, but here Gepard is, thinking with his dick and fully aware of it. He should set up some kind of watch/guard situation in which the Silvermane Guard donate blood and their doctors study Figaro. That's the practical, sensible choice.
But...
Gepard's eyes shift to Figaro's own and his hand - the same hand that had been kissed, and his knuckles burn - touch his neck. The sensible thing for Figaro to have done would've been kill him and hide his body. He hadn't done that. And caging the man felt...
...uncomfortable.]
What are you doing tomorrow night? [Gepard says this with confidence. Don't tell him what he sounds like. He (doesn't) know what he's doing. He has a plan, or the beginnings of one.]
[Technically, Sampo doesn’t know if Dunn is any tastier than Gepard. Maybe all the Silvermane guardsmen taste like that, just because guardsmen lead such stressful lives. Or maybe Dunn would be a real snack and Gepard does have something to worry about. Maybe one sip from such a big, sturdy man would get Sampo hooked.]
[It’s a lot of maybes! But Dunn is a brick wall of heterosexuality anyway, so Sampo would be barking up the wrong tree regardless of how delicious Dunn might be.]
[Gepard threatens violence upon him, had he the audacity to go after his biggest guardsman. Sampo hums in amusement, acknowledging his threat.]
I bet you’d sure try! I’m a hard man to catch, Captain.
[So he says, until said Captain asks him a question that very much sounds like a date. This is like… maybe the third weirdest situation that he’s been asked out in. That friendly, slightly shit-eating grin returns, and Sampo props his elbow on the couch cushion and his chin in his hand, looking up at Gepard.]
[He flushes at the wink, doing his best to shove Figaro off of the couch cushion with his foot as he does so. It doesn't matter who originally owned this couch. It's his couch now, no Figaros (or Sampos) allowed.]
I don't mean it like that, idiot. [What the heck, he's feeling even more attacked than he did when the guy actually attacked him.
It's fine. Captain of the guards, he has a public speaking voice he can use for this idiot. Something firm...yet polite.]
If you can't feed on animals, and you've attacked enough people that we're starting to notice, that only leaves me supplying you with blood...somehow.
[Somehow.] Tomorrow night will give me enough time to... [Inhale, exhale, he doesn't want to admit this.] ...go to the hospital.
[Don't fucking say it.] Our cover story can be that you found me when I was passed out and I wanted to take you out for dinner as thanks. That's not too far off from the truth.
It sounded like that! I promise, it would be a lot more fun than what we did in that alley.
[Shoved off his own couch by a handsome guard captain, this is Sampo’s life. He ends up on his ass at Gepard’s feet, and that’s not the worst place that he could end up.]
[Gepard is using his Serious Voice on Sampo as though that will have even a little bit of influence over how irreverent he is at any given time. It’s cute! He’s cute, and Sampo likes that he’s cute.]
Well, that’s an excuse for why we’re together, but what’s your plan for my supply?
[It’s good that he’s finally agreed to go to the hospital, too— Sampo almost doesn’t want to draw attention to that fact, in case Gepard gets so embarrassed about it again that he goes back on that decision. He really needs to take better care of himself! Not just for Sampo’s tastes, but also for the sake of his own health. Tasting delicious is just a happy side effect of his good lifestyle choices.]
[Now, Gepard Landau is a simple man in certain respects. Here's one: he hadn't expected that the guy would insist on it being a date, or date-shaped, or date-sounding, or remark on the benefits of a date and how they'd be much more fun than what they did in that alley. Which...sounds nice, and it's only thanks to using his Serious Voice and acting like a captain that Gepard can keep a level gaze on Figaro's face. He's not desperate, this is just work; it's not a date, it's a business meeting disguised as a date; he's acting as a Silvermane Captain, not a man. (Though Sampo can see a flicker of interest at the promise of it being a lot more fun, there and gone again.)
But no, he doesn't have the luxury of thinking about that. He's asked a very good question - what's his plan for Figaro's supply of blood?]
Well...
[He pulls his legs up on the couch as he thinks, curling up a little, and if that makes room for Figaro on the couch, then, well, these things happen. Accidentally. Because maybe a threadbare couch isn't just meant for one man. Maybe a second guy can sit on his couch.]
Long term, I can use my sway with the Supreme Guardian and the Silvermane Guard to arrange for a regular blood drive? The hospital gets more of a regular blood supply, and you can skim off of the top: everyone wins.
[That part's easy enough.]
Short term, however... [This part is far less so. Gepard makes a face: displeased, sour, faintly annoyed.] I suppose you have to put up with my bad taste, and I'll try to figure out a way to improve my flavor so it's not so much of a struggle for you.
[When Gepard curls his legs up, it frees some space up on the couch-- it's big enough for two, but probably not for much more than that-- and the man currently known as Figaro gets up off of the floor to occupy that newly vacated location. There was a little something that flashed in Gepard's eyes, and that's... interesting. Something that might be worth pursuing. He'd been flirting mostly just for the fun of it, but Gepard isn't a bad looking guy.]
[Gepard offers to use his influence as the guard captain to organize blood drives; it's beneficial for the hospital as a whole, of course, and letting Sampo have a little off the top is incredibly generous. So is offering up his own neck to him, regardless of whether or not Sampo thinks that he doesn't taste good. Even without the promise to improve.]
That's... very generous of you. [Too generous, really. No one does anything for free, so there has to be a pretty hefty price tag attached to this little favor. There had been that hint of interest in Gepard's eyes; Sampo will have to find out what exactly that means.] How would I repay you?
[Paying with his body isn't the first way he'd choose to do it, but, well. Beggars can't be choosers, and if it comes down to it, what choice does he have? Either he does what the Captain wants, or he'll end up having to flee the planet or get arrested. Kind of got him by the throat there, Gepard. But he seems like the decent sort, so it can't be too bad, right? There are worse guys that he could be indebted to.]
[The smile is still there, but the shit-eating part is gone.] Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the offer! I just want to know what the cost is up front.
[He's asked what the cost is, and it's a reasonable question given that Figaro had been assaulting people. Gepard understood this; he wished he didn't. Gepard liked to think that Belobog would be kind to someone who genuinely couldn't help it. He wasn't so naive to think that they'd overlook a man who ate other people in the same way that he was prepared to, in the same way Gepard knew he shouldn't.
He definitely shouldn't. Figaro hadn't even given him his real name. (And, on top of that, gave him a decisively unattractive name.) He should turn him in. But he doesn't want to, and Gepard shakes his head at the question of cost - reflexive.]
I hadn't thought about that...
[Letting Figaro completely off the hook also felt wrong. The man had assaulted people, after all, but if he went overboard then that would bring them back, full circle, to the entire leashing and chaining thing that he'd been trying to avoid in the first place. Not only that, but Gepard realized that he had a problem: he had no idea what the guy was good at. (Besides luring out strange people and biting them, but asking him to fight was a terrible idea for a number of reasons.)
What to do...Gepard pillows his cheek against his knee as he peers at Figaro, trying to inch back a little because the couch suddenly feels a bit too small for two men who aren't all that small.
Oh, wait-]
Ah. [Gepard brightens, if but a little.] I have an idea. Community service? [Oh, but-] The museum can always use volunteer guides, and that's maybe a weekly commitment. [See? See? Not that much time, high profile, it's hard to take someone aside and eat them in the museum, and, if people discover his unique dietary needs, the high profile wholesomeness might help public opinion and keep people from wanting to chop Figaro's head off.] You have assaulted people, so it's not as if I can completely overlook things, but...it's not something you can exactly help, either, is it? As a resident of Belobog you have rights, which includes not starving.
...I actually don't know what you're good at, besides- biting people, so it's not as if I've got a better idea.
[To be fair, Sampo doesn't eat people-- he drinks blood, which can be taken without causing permanent bodily harm at all! If anyone asked him, which they clearly aren't, Sampo would think that counts for something. He can't help the fact that he has to eat blood, but he can help the way that he gets that blood, and he's gone for the non-lethal route every time.]
[When Gepard perks up, Sampo braces himself for the cost-- it'll probably be steep.]
[Gepard wants him to do community service. The confusion on his face shows clear as day before he can hide it.]
That's... that's it? Just some community service?
[Sampo has all sorts of talents that Gepard doesn't know about-- smuggling, theft, conning, sleight-of-hand, fighting, too, if the circumstances call for it. But maybe Gepard doesn't need to know about the illegal stuff?]
[Funny, though, that Gepard thinks that it's a right in Belobog to not starve. In his experience? No one really cares all that much, if you aren't the right kind of person. That's why he has to smuggle medical supplies down to Natasha-- if people cared, she wouldn't have to rely on a guy like him. But it's best not to mention that kind of thing to Gepard.]
If that's what you want, Figaro is at your service! I'm a man of many talents, but if a tour guide is what you need, than S-- Figaro will provide.
[Sampo lays an arm across the back of the couch, spreading out a little. He's used to taking up space.] If you want, I could maybe help you a little with your tastiness problem, too?
[Look at how helpful he is! Offering something up all on his own.]
[Figaro's confused and Gepard's confused right back at him; they're two confused men on a couch, staring at each other, confusedly. Figaro says that's it? and Gepard tilts his head ever so slightly, because it sounds like he'd expected something else? Something worse? Which Gepard supposed made sense - Belobog had endless problems, and they could always use more hands to find solutions to those endless problems - but it was wrong to exploit a desperate man for those solutions. Or something.
He hadn't gotten that far. But that's what happens when a guy gets assaulted, drugged, swept into some stranger's arms, called cute, and presented with a very strange problem: it's difficult to come up with ideas on the fly. They're both lucky he came up with something as solid as he had, what with the blood drive.
But, Figaro spreads out, and Gepard inches back. He nearly says something with an s-, which doesn't escape Gepard's notice...things to consider for later.
He'd ask, but Figaro's sprawling out a little, and Gepard inches back a little. Not that there's much space to inch back to, but an effort is made. He tries. It's nice having a distraction, anyway, because- because. Because there's a lot of things to think about, later, at leisure. He doesn't want to think about them now, when the subject of those thoughts - Figaro - is sprawled right there.
Gepard scowls at the question.]
Isn't it more your problem than it is mine? [It's not as if he licks himself all the time.] I wasn't even aware I tasted that foul until you brought it up. I would've thought I'd taste...well. Normal.
[And instead, he tastes so foul that Figaro's making eyes at Dunn...terrible.]
[If Gepard is weird about Sampo taking up more space on the couch, Sampo doesn't seem to notice. What's wrong with him taking up some space, anyway? It's his couch, he should be able to sit on it how he wants.]
[He tips his head towards Gepard, a considering gesture.]
Well, most people don't taste so bad if they're healthy.
[Most people taste pretty good, actually, if they're eating decently and get a fair amount of sleep. So to taste foul? That means that Gepard must really be burning the candle at both ends. Some serious self-abuse going on, and not the kind that a priest would scold you about.]
You must really be overworking yourself if you've gotten so bad. It takes a toll on you if you treat yourself badly! I can even kind of taste it when somebody's stressed and anxious.
[That's also one of the reasons for the anesthetic. Unconscious people don't get panicky, and panic makes the blood taste sour. Fear really isn't a good flavor. Good moods make for tasty blood.]
If you take better care of yourself, I'd get a better meal out of it and you'd be in better shape. It's win-win, right?
[This is the problem with letting Figaros up on couches. They start to sprawl and act like it's their couch, when it's not their couch, at least not while they have company over. Encouraging strange men who call themselves Figaro is a mistake, and that's something Gepard firmly reminds himself of as he peers at Figaro suspiciously, trying and failing to conceal the flinch of recognition as Figaro says overworking. He also tries to smother the frown that comes with takes a toll, turn it from something deeply uncomfortable (because he's not overworking, he's merely covering the slack, but sometimes slack-covering translates into overwork and he wants to sleep very badly) into something sternly annoyed (he's a guard captain, guard captains aren't known for their pleasant moods.)]
Well...
[The problem is that Gepard Landau isn't so far up his own ass he's not capable of self awareness: when a mirror is held up he can (usually) see himself in it, he thinks. (Maybe.) Figaro says takes a toll and Gepard shifts, deliberately putting himself slightly into Figaro's space. Slightly. Ever so slightly, because he's not stressed or anxious, he's not feeling...
...seen, by someone who's no doubt scheming things...
...he's fine. Perfectly fine. Totally comfortable. This is a conversation they both can have.]
We're short staffed. There's only so much I can do about that...but, I'll admit, you're not...
[Why is this so painful to admit, actually, he's not totally comfortable but he'll barrel through this conversation with the same conviction he used to punch Fragmentum monsters and stroll around Belobog at an hour too late, waiting for a thief who might never come.]
...entirely wrong. [Feels like he's given up way too much ground right then and there.]
[Sampo's gotten pretty good at reading body language over the years, since his continued existence depends on being able to get close to people. He can tell that what he's mentioned lands a few hits-- that little flinch when he mentions overworking, the tug at the corners of Gepard's mouth when he talks about the price of that overwork. He tries covering it up with annoyance, but Gepard already showed his hand. Sampo already knew that he was right just from that brief taste, but now he knows for sure.]
[It probably shouldn't be surprising that the captain of the guard is a workaholic who doesn't know when to take a break. He can practically picture it-- someone gets injured, and now there's a gap on patrol with no one to fill it, and who do they go to? The Captain, because he's reliable and competent and wants to take care of his men. So he'll take the double shift rather than double up one of the other guardsmen. Rinse and repeat, taking doubles or triples, going out again and again to spare the guardsmen under his command from having to take the same burden. And no one even thinks to question whether he should be taking it, because he's the captain.]
[It's at the kind of levels that even Gepard can't deny it, even if he's uncomfortable with the admission.]
Okay. [Because what else do you say to it? That's how things are. Sampo has neither the means nor the insight to make anything better for him with the guards.] So it's a time issue? You're too busy to eat, or to get something? And to sleep, apparently.
[That definitely needs to change. A guy can't live off of coffee and fried olm from food carts, eventually you've got to get, like. A vegetable or something in there. Something that hasn't been fried. Maybe even sit down to eat instead of shoving it in your mouth on the way to a meeting or another patrol.]
[Okay. Alright. Well. He has two choices. He can either acknowledge that he's uncomfortable and squirm, or pretend like he's not. Fake it until he makes it, and as acknowledging that he's uncomfortable because Figaro's seeing right through him would give Figaro (a horrible name) too much power, Gepard decides to act like he's fine. He's fine, fine, perfectly fine. They're two big guys on a small couch, in a room barren of distractions, and Figaro seems like he's getting to a point.
And he's not sure how he feels about the point they seem to be heading to!
Here's another problem: Gepard doesn't hate what the point might be. He's not sure if he likes it, but he also doesn't necessarily hate it. The point that Figaro seems to be working towards is one that intrigues him as much as he's immensely suspicious of it. But also drawn to it? Mixed feelings, in other words.
So, Gepard...sprawls, a little. If his leg brushes Sampo's own, it's in a very comfortable, two guys being bros, sprawling on a couch sort of way. He's comfortable. He's in control, if not of the situation than of himself. He knows what he's doing. He's not half-hoping he's got an excuse to run out the door. (He does. If Figaro didn't have difficult dietary needs he'd be gone already.)]
I eat when I can and I sleep when I can.
[This is such a bad answer and he knows it.]
Are you saying you'll deliver meals to me? [Is that where this is going?]
[Just two bros, chilling on a couch, zero feet apart because they're totally secure in their sexuality.]
[Gepard sprawls a little and Sampo doesn't move an inch; any encroachment on his space is met with zero reaction, like it's totally normal for their legs to touch, for his knee to idly brush against Gepard's when he bounces his heel a little. Normal bro behavior! Nothing to get worked up about at all.]
[Gepard gives him a terrible answer to an otherwise simple question, and if he thinks that brevity will conceal it, he's not fooling anybody.]
So you don't do either of them reliably. Got it. [You're transparent as glass to him right now, Gepard.]
Well, that's an idea! [See, you're the one who suggested it, Gepard, not him.] If I brought all your meals to you, would you eat them? I'd have to have special permission when you're at the front lines, or to get back to your office...
[He regrets sprawling, what the heck. It's not like he can un-sprawl, it's not as if he can take his sprawling and put it back where it came from with no one the wiser. He sprawled like he's totally confident, and then Figaro went and said that, and Gepard feels...seen. He's been feeling seen, but he's feeling incredibly seen at the moment. The fact he said a very terrible answer to a terrible question, and the fact that Figaro didn't even try to pretend like he maybe believed him.
Gepard grumps, shifting again as he gets comfortable, because he's totally comfortable and this is a conversation he's comfortable with having, and he doesn't feel too seen, shut up. He's settling in, frowning gently at Figaro as he does so. Thoughtful. Not approving. Not...disapproving, not just yet, just a frown. A completely and totally neutral frown. A captain-y frown, as he's a captain who's used to this. Shut up.]
Wouldn't that cause more problems than solve them? Someone might recognize you, or ask questions, or people might make assumptions about...well. [Well.] Our relationship. That's not to mention that I'm not always in the most accessible of places - do you really want to go to the front lines just to watch me eat?
[This also means he can nudge Figaro's knee with his own. Nudge.] I know you're a capable man and you can handle yourself, but still, that seems like a lot of work for you.
[Which brings up the question of why, because it seems like a lot of work for Figaro, for so very little reward. He wants to ask: why. But- it also feels like they did just that not that long ago.]
[Oh, yes, Gepard, you look very captain-y right now, very scary. The conman currently known as Figaro is just shaking in his boots about it. You're a very big and intimidating man.]
[Sampo taps a finger against his chin, thinking.] Not a whole lot of people have seen me up in the Overworld! And if anyone starts asking questions, well... maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let them draw their own conclusions and just not correct them.
[So what if someone thinks things about their relationship? That might make it easier, be a convenient excuse for why he's around Gepard all the time. Even if the assumption is just that it's one-sided, that Sampo is the one harboring feelings for the stoic Captain... the worst that happens is the rest of the guard feels sorry for him for all the effort he's putting in. He can handle a little misguided pity if it gets him a stable food source.]
It wouldn't be without its benefits for me! [Nudge right back.] If you're going to be a big part of my diet, than I have a vested interest in making sure that you're healthy. Investing in you is investing in me.
[Besides, Gepard's offer is useless for him if he isn't healthy enough to handle getting blood taken from him regularly, regardless of how it tastes. And his body might not be able to take too many additional stresses before he really does start getting sick, iron willpower be damned. It's kind of in everyone's interest to take care of it before it becomes a real problem.]
[Okay, now he's comfortable. There's something about getting nudged right back, on his couch, in...okay, it's not his couch, but it's also his couch. At this point, it's a couch Figaro's being tentatively allowed on, and he's on thin ice. But there's something about all of this - the nudge, the couch, the situation - that just somehow shoves Gepard back into his comfort zone. It's like he went on a full circle journey, back into his comfort zone.]
Can you please say it in a different way?
[Is it too late to throw Figaro off of the couch? Seems like it. And speaking of too late: he's spent too much time in Figaro's hideaway. He should be going soon. (Will he? Probably not, but the responsible part of Gepard notes helpfully that he should probably say something like, "Let's discuss this tomorrow night." Run out the door. Track down his men. Reassure them. Go home. Scream into a pillow because he's thinking with his dick and he doesn't like this, he's not used to his dick having a say, and now it's having a say it's being very insistent with its feelings.)
But, first things first, and Gepard crosses his arms, nudging Figaro with his knee again because he has a point to make, and it's a very good point.]
Saying it like that makes me feel like I'm an olm that you're fattening for the slaughter. [See? Amazing point.] And I'll only be a part of your diet until we can come up with something more sustainable. I've no doubt you'll get tired just feeding from me.
[That's actually an interesting thought. Would he get tired of feeding off of just one person over and over? People got tired of eating the same meals again and again, and Sampo only really has one food option anymore-- just blood. Aeons, he wishes that he could eat real food again. Pasta! Oh, how he misses pasta. Bread. Carbs in general. A good steak paired with a full-bodied red.]
[Would Gepard taste a little different if he fed him different things? Would he be sweeter after the dessert course, more savory after an entree of red meat and potatoes? Would he be able to taste spices, the pungency of garlic and onion? He'll make himself hungry (hungrier) just thinking about it.]
I've never tried just feeding off of one person before. [He's always had to find new prey with every feeding. It's hard to find people that he can trust with his secret.] Who knows, maybe you'll be so tasty that I won't want anyone else!
[Maybe, once he's on a regular diet and getting good sleep, Gepard will be the tastiest man in Belobog. He's already a dish on the outside, might as well be one on the inside, too.]
Y'know, aside from just not liking how it sounds, you didn't actually give me a good reason not to bring your meals? [That's just semantics, not a real argument.] If you don't like it, I can always stop after we get everything sorted out.
Then you can go back to-- [He waves a dismissive hand.] Slugging back day-old coffee instead of having breakfast and getting bouts of lightheadedness every time you stand up too quick from a chair.
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[There would be absolutely no comfort for him if he knew that later, Sampo would probably have to tug it to a guy named after a wild cat known for both its land speed and its entire species' intense anxiety. So, really, nobody's winning here.]
[Gepard's hand lands on Sampo's arm, stopping him as he's taking out the bandages and antiseptic to clean up his neck. He expresses concern for him, and it's probably pretty sad that he's the first person in a long while to say something like that to him-- other than Natasha. But she only said something because she's a doctor and sometimes saw Sampo without a shirt on when he got injured.]
Are you worried for me, Captain? [He puts his other hand theatrically over his heart.] I might swoon!
If you're asking me to eat you, I usually don't do that kind of thing until after the first date. [He winks obnoxiously, then takes Gepard's hand in his own and kisses the knuckles. There-- that'll be ridiculous enough to distract him from a line of questioning that Sampo doesn't like to have prodded.]
[Besides, it sounds like a bad idea to get his teeth into the Captain again, even if he does offer. The Silvermane guard probably won't look too kindly on their beloved leader getting his blood drained, even if it was a meal freely given. Sampo doesn't need to take any more heat than he has to, it's hard enough for him to get blood as it is. If he eats any less frequently than he already is... well, then he'll really be in trouble.]
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And then-
His hand is held. A kiss is pressed to his knuckles. Gepard inhales, sharp, his fingers ever so slightly trembling, curving around Figaro's own. Because he's not meant for this sort of thing. Gepard knows this. He's not meant for...whatever this is. Fake passes, faker flirting. Which means that he has no idea what to do about the fact that this feels like he's being flirted with? Well, it's obviously flirting, but flirting as a distraction. Flirting as a misdirection.
He swallows, hand still in the unfortunately named Figaro's own. He should pull away. Gepard knows this. He doesn't, not quite yet.]
If you're satiated, then...fine, I know I taste terrible. [...which is really embarrassing?] But the Silvermane Guard is looking for you. If things had gone slightly differently, this night would have ended far worse for you.
[Apparently he is concerned, but Gepard's telling himself that Figaro's a Belobog citizen with haunting eyes and unique dietary requirements, and there's no reason why they can't meet his unique dietary requirements, this is simply a matter of public service and he's not thinking with his dick right now. (He can do both. Both's possible. But he's ignoring the dick and focusing on the public service angle.)]
I can try to come up with something more... [What's a good word for it?] ...sustainable, but it'll take time, and I don't know if time is something you'll have.
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[What a strange guy. Sure, he's a keeper of the peace or whatever, but technically, what Sampo did to all those people was a crime, even if he didn't cause any permanent damage and didn't want to hurt them in the first place. Being desperate has very little impact in a court of law.]
[And is he satiated? Not even a little bit. What he got out of Gepard was barely a sip, hardly even enough to take the edge off. Sampo can't even really remember the last time that he was actually able to eat until he was full. It's been a scarcity diet since he left his Aeon. But, hey, it keeps his figure trim, right?]
Don't you worry about me. Ol' Figaro's been in worse spots than this before, and I've pulled through! What's one skipped meal?
[If Gepard's been keeping track, he'd know that the last person they'd found who'd been attacked by their mystery mugger had been almost two weeks ago.]
I've already tried to go the whole, [He waves a dismissive hand.] ethically-sourced people juice route. It's really not reliable. The hospital doesn't have a whole lot of blood to spare on a normal day, and definitely not if something bad happens.
[And he's not willing to take badly needed blood bags from the hospital when they've got patients who need them.]
It's okay. Really!
[It's not okay. But what else can he do but smile and try to deal with it?]
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[Gepard catches himself before his voice gets too loud, because not all soundproofing is equal, and it's important to him that they don't get interrupted for...some reason. That's the power of a pair of pretty green eyes, strong arms, and a kiss to the knuckles, apparently.
...but he's not one for self-examination. Now isn't the time. Gepard pulls his hand away from fucking Figaro, scowling.]
It's not okay. [He says this in a lower, quieter, more controlled voice. Deliberate. Insistent. Poking Figaro in the chest because moving is still a bit difficult, but he's getting there.] You've been assaulting people, Figaro. And while I can justify it based upon your... [Unique dietary restrictions.] ...reasons, that doesn't change the fact you violated the law. By all rights, I should have you arrested.
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[Really, a few days in jail would be nothing, but if he was actually convicted? It wouldn’t be a good time. He’d have to get the hell off of this planet before he got locked up, and he’d kind of gotten a little fond of this backwater iceball.]
[He should be taking Gepard seriously. The guy is the captain of the guard, he has some legitimate pull around here. But he’s cute when he’s mad and poking Sampo in the chest, calling him by a silly alias. Sampo can’t help but smile at him, amused.]
[Now that he has his hand back, Sampo kneels down by the couch and gets out the antiseptic, wetting a cotton pad with it. Gotta take care of that neck wound, Gepard, let your good pal wipe that up for you. He’s very good with his hands, has a very gentle touch.]
So what exactly do you want me to do, Captain? I can’t rely on blood bags, I can’t get it myself. It sounds like you’re suggesting that I should just go out into the snowfields and starve!
[Those green eyes look up at him, all sad and downturned. He’s gotten the sad puppy look down-pat, it’s a useful skill.]
You wouldn’t be so callous, would you? To me?
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[It's easy enough to bluff when he doesn't have to face actual difficult choices, and, really, Gepard had made his choice when he warned Figaro and told him to avoid the ambush waiting for him. He just doesn't have to acknowledge it. It can remain the Aeon in the room they're both politely ignoring.
For now: his eyes narrow. The sad puppy look is horribly effective. He hates that it's effective. The gentle hands against his neck? Also effective. Not a lot of people touch him, let alone gently. So now here he is, glaring at Figaro (what a terrible name) like he's an angry-yet-anxious cat trying to decide if he's going to submit to petting or claw his eyes out, letting his neck get wiped.]
You've been assaulting people, you need blood- what will happen if you don't get enough? What will you do if you get that hungry?
[He struggles to at least sit up, kind of, the better to peer at Figaro with some dignity because he feels as though he's not being taken seriously. Just a hunch. He should've slapped Figaro in the face when all of that flirting started, probably. Hindsight.]
I can maybe order my men... [He can't. Shouldn't. Wouldn't. Gepard knows this. He's stalling for time because there's really only one solution that his brain is hitting on and it's a terrible, horrible one.] You're lucky, [scowl, poke,] I was the one who found you.
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[Once the bite is cleaned up, Sampo applies the bandage, taping it down so that it lies flat against his neck.]
I’ve never been hungry enough to savage somebody, if that’s what you’re asking me.
[He’s been hungry before, hungry enough to… not have a whole lot of dignity about how he gets a meal. Hungry enough to beg Natasha and not ask questions about where she got it from. But he’s got limits, lines he won’t cross, and he hasn’t crossed them yet.]
[He can’t order his men to ignore the assaults, or to stop investigating them. Sampo sighs again; is this what does it? This is what forces him to leave again, to flee the planet, just after he started to get a little comfortable? One bad night and a handsome guard captain and everything is ruined.]
Am I? [He doesn’t feel lucky. He, in fact, feels spectacularly unlucky right now.] I don’t know, I think I’d rather it had been that one really big guy you have in the guard. You know, the one with the big helmet who’s like seven feet tall? I bet if I took a bite out of him, he wouldn’t have even noticed.
[Plenty of blood in that guy, he wouldn’t have missed a pint or two.]
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If you attacked him I'd be trying to bash in your head right now.
[And isn't it better they're talking? Isn't it? Or is it just him.
Thinking with his dick is terrible. He never wanted to know what it felt like, but here Gepard is, thinking with his dick and fully aware of it. He should set up some kind of watch/guard situation in which the Silvermane Guard donate blood and their doctors study Figaro. That's the practical, sensible choice.
But...
Gepard's eyes shift to Figaro's own and his hand - the same hand that had been kissed, and his knuckles burn - touch his neck. The sensible thing for Figaro to have done would've been kill him and hide his body. He hadn't done that. And caging the man felt...
...uncomfortable.]
What are you doing tomorrow night? [Gepard says this with confidence. Don't tell him what he sounds like. He (doesn't) know what he's doing. He has a plan, or the beginnings of one.]
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[It’s a lot of maybes! But Dunn is a brick wall of heterosexuality anyway, so Sampo would be barking up the wrong tree regardless of how delicious Dunn might be.]
[Gepard threatens violence upon him, had he the audacity to go after his biggest guardsman. Sampo hums in amusement, acknowledging his threat.]
I bet you’d sure try! I’m a hard man to catch, Captain.
[So he says, until said Captain asks him a question that very much sounds like a date. This is like… maybe the third weirdest situation that he’s been asked out in. That friendly, slightly shit-eating grin returns, and Sampo props his elbow on the couch cushion and his chin in his hand, looking up at Gepard.]
That eager to get eaten? How bold.[Wink.]
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I don't mean it like that, idiot. [What the heck, he's feeling even more attacked than he did when the guy actually attacked him.
It's fine. Captain of the guards, he has a public speaking voice he can use for this idiot. Something firm...yet polite.]
If you can't feed on animals, and you've attacked enough people that we're starting to notice, that only leaves me supplying you with blood...somehow.
[Somehow.] Tomorrow night will give me enough time to... [Inhale, exhale, he doesn't want to admit this.] ...go to the hospital.
[Don't fucking say it.] Our cover story can be that you found me when I was passed out and I wanted to take you out for dinner as thanks. That's not too far off from the truth.
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[Shoved off his own couch by a handsome guard captain, this is Sampo’s life. He ends up on his ass at Gepard’s feet, and that’s not the worst place that he could end up.]
[Gepard is using his Serious Voice on Sampo as though that will have even a little bit of influence over how irreverent he is at any given time. It’s cute! He’s cute, and Sampo likes that he’s cute.]
Well, that’s an excuse for why we’re together, but what’s your plan for my supply?
[It’s good that he’s finally agreed to go to the hospital, too— Sampo almost doesn’t want to draw attention to that fact, in case Gepard gets so embarrassed about it again that he goes back on that decision. He really needs to take better care of himself! Not just for Sampo’s tastes, but also for the sake of his own health. Tasting delicious is just a happy side effect of his good lifestyle choices.]
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But no, he doesn't have the luxury of thinking about that. He's asked a very good question - what's his plan for Figaro's supply of blood?]
Well...
[He pulls his legs up on the couch as he thinks, curling up a little, and if that makes room for Figaro on the couch, then, well, these things happen. Accidentally. Because maybe a threadbare couch isn't just meant for one man. Maybe a second guy can sit on his couch.]
Long term, I can use my sway with the Supreme Guardian and the Silvermane Guard to arrange for a regular blood drive? The hospital gets more of a regular blood supply, and you can skim off of the top: everyone wins.
[That part's easy enough.]
Short term, however... [This part is far less so. Gepard makes a face: displeased, sour, faintly annoyed.] I suppose you have to put up with my bad taste, and I'll try to figure out a way to improve my flavor so it's not so much of a struggle for you.
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[Gepard offers to use his influence as the guard captain to organize blood drives; it's beneficial for the hospital as a whole, of course, and letting Sampo have a little off the top is incredibly generous. So is offering up his own neck to him, regardless of whether or not Sampo thinks that he doesn't taste good. Even without the promise to improve.]
That's... very generous of you. [Too generous, really. No one does anything for free, so there has to be a pretty hefty price tag attached to this little favor. There had been that hint of interest in Gepard's eyes; Sampo will have to find out what exactly that means.] How would I repay you?
[Paying with his body isn't the first way he'd choose to do it, but, well. Beggars can't be choosers, and if it comes down to it, what choice does he have? Either he does what the Captain wants, or he'll end up having to flee the planet or get arrested. Kind of got him by the throat there, Gepard. But he seems like the decent sort, so it can't be too bad, right? There are worse guys that he could be indebted to.]
[The smile is still there, but the shit-eating part is gone.] Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the offer! I just want to know what the cost is up front.
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He definitely shouldn't. Figaro hadn't even given him his real name. (And, on top of that, gave him a decisively unattractive name.) He should turn him in. But he doesn't want to, and Gepard shakes his head at the question of cost - reflexive.]
I hadn't thought about that...
[Letting Figaro completely off the hook also felt wrong. The man had assaulted people, after all, but if he went overboard then that would bring them back, full circle, to the entire leashing and chaining thing that he'd been trying to avoid in the first place. Not only that, but Gepard realized that he had a problem: he had no idea what the guy was good at. (Besides luring out strange people and biting them, but asking him to fight was a terrible idea for a number of reasons.)
What to do...Gepard pillows his cheek against his knee as he peers at Figaro, trying to inch back a little because the couch suddenly feels a bit too small for two men who aren't all that small.
Oh, wait-]
Ah. [Gepard brightens, if but a little.] I have an idea. Community service? [Oh, but-] The museum can always use volunteer guides, and that's maybe a weekly commitment. [See? See? Not that much time, high profile, it's hard to take someone aside and eat them in the museum, and, if people discover his unique dietary needs, the high profile wholesomeness might help public opinion and keep people from wanting to chop Figaro's head off.] You have assaulted people, so it's not as if I can completely overlook things, but...it's not something you can exactly help, either, is it? As a resident of Belobog you have rights, which includes not starving.
...I actually don't know what you're good at, besides- biting people, so it's not as if I've got a better idea.
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[When Gepard perks up, Sampo braces himself for the cost-- it'll probably be steep.]
[Gepard wants him to do community service. The confusion on his face shows clear as day before he can hide it.]
That's... that's it? Just some community service?
[Sampo has all sorts of talents that Gepard doesn't know about-- smuggling, theft, conning, sleight-of-hand, fighting, too, if the circumstances call for it. But maybe Gepard doesn't need to know about the illegal stuff?]
[Funny, though, that Gepard thinks that it's a right in Belobog to not starve. In his experience? No one really cares all that much, if you aren't the right kind of person. That's why he has to smuggle medical supplies down to Natasha-- if people cared, she wouldn't have to rely on a guy like him. But it's best not to mention that kind of thing to Gepard.]
If that's what you want, Figaro is at your service! I'm a man of many talents, but if a tour guide is what you need, than S-- Figaro will provide.
[Sampo lays an arm across the back of the couch, spreading out a little. He's used to taking up space.] If you want, I could maybe help you a little with your tastiness problem, too?
[Look at how helpful he is! Offering something up all on his own.]
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He hadn't gotten that far. But that's what happens when a guy gets assaulted, drugged, swept into some stranger's arms, called cute, and presented with a very strange problem: it's difficult to come up with ideas on the fly. They're both lucky he came up with something as solid as he had, what with the blood drive.
But, Figaro spreads out, and Gepard inches back. He nearly says something with an s-, which doesn't escape Gepard's notice...things to consider for later.
He'd ask, but Figaro's sprawling out a little, and Gepard inches back a little. Not that there's much space to inch back to, but an effort is made. He tries. It's nice having a distraction, anyway, because- because. Because there's a lot of things to think about, later, at leisure. He doesn't want to think about them now, when the subject of those thoughts - Figaro - is sprawled right there.
Gepard scowls at the question.]
Isn't it more your problem than it is mine? [It's not as if he licks himself all the time.] I wasn't even aware I tasted that foul until you brought it up. I would've thought I'd taste...well. Normal.
[And instead, he tastes so foul that Figaro's making eyes at Dunn...terrible.]
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[He tips his head towards Gepard, a considering gesture.]
Well, most people don't taste so bad if they're healthy.
[Most people taste pretty good, actually, if they're eating decently and get a fair amount of sleep. So to taste foul? That means that Gepard must really be burning the candle at both ends. Some serious self-abuse going on, and not the kind that a priest would scold you about.]
You must really be overworking yourself if you've gotten so bad. It takes a toll on you if you treat yourself badly! I can even kind of taste it when somebody's stressed and anxious.
[That's also one of the reasons for the anesthetic. Unconscious people don't get panicky, and panic makes the blood taste sour. Fear really isn't a good flavor. Good moods make for tasty blood.]
If you take better care of yourself, I'd get a better meal out of it and you'd be in better shape. It's win-win, right?
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Well...
[The problem is that Gepard Landau isn't so far up his own ass he's not capable of self awareness: when a mirror is held up he can (usually) see himself in it, he thinks. (Maybe.) Figaro says takes a toll and Gepard shifts, deliberately putting himself slightly into Figaro's space. Slightly. Ever so slightly, because he's not stressed or anxious, he's not feeling...
...seen, by someone who's no doubt scheming things...
...he's fine. Perfectly fine. Totally comfortable. This is a conversation they both can have.]
We're short staffed. There's only so much I can do about that...but, I'll admit, you're not...
[Why is this so painful to admit, actually, he's not totally comfortable but he'll barrel through this conversation with the same conviction he used to punch Fragmentum monsters and stroll around Belobog at an hour too late, waiting for a thief who might never come.]
...entirely wrong. [Feels like he's given up way too much ground right then and there.]
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[It probably shouldn't be surprising that the captain of the guard is a workaholic who doesn't know when to take a break. He can practically picture it-- someone gets injured, and now there's a gap on patrol with no one to fill it, and who do they go to? The Captain, because he's reliable and competent and wants to take care of his men. So he'll take the double shift rather than double up one of the other guardsmen. Rinse and repeat, taking doubles or triples, going out again and again to spare the guardsmen under his command from having to take the same burden. And no one even thinks to question whether he should be taking it, because he's the captain.]
[It's at the kind of levels that even Gepard can't deny it, even if he's uncomfortable with the admission.]
Okay. [Because what else do you say to it? That's how things are. Sampo has neither the means nor the insight to make anything better for him with the guards.] So it's a time issue? You're too busy to eat, or to get something? And to sleep, apparently.
[That definitely needs to change. A guy can't live off of coffee and fried olm from food carts, eventually you've got to get, like. A vegetable or something in there. Something that hasn't been fried. Maybe even sit down to eat instead of shoving it in your mouth on the way to a meeting or another patrol.]
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And he's not sure how he feels about the point they seem to be heading to!
Here's another problem: Gepard doesn't hate what the point might be. He's not sure if he likes it, but he also doesn't necessarily hate it. The point that Figaro seems to be working towards is one that intrigues him as much as he's immensely suspicious of it. But also drawn to it? Mixed feelings, in other words.
So, Gepard...sprawls, a little. If his leg brushes Sampo's own, it's in a very comfortable, two guys being bros, sprawling on a couch sort of way. He's comfortable. He's in control, if not of the situation than of himself. He knows what he's doing. He's not half-hoping he's got an excuse to run out the door. (He does. If Figaro didn't have difficult dietary needs he'd be gone already.)]
I eat when I can and I sleep when I can.
[This is such a bad answer and he knows it.]
Are you saying you'll deliver meals to me? [Is that where this is going?]
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[Gepard sprawls a little and Sampo doesn't move an inch; any encroachment on his space is met with zero reaction, like it's totally normal for their legs to touch, for his knee to idly brush against Gepard's when he bounces his heel a little. Normal bro behavior! Nothing to get worked up about at all.]
[Gepard gives him a terrible answer to an otherwise simple question, and if he thinks that brevity will conceal it, he's not fooling anybody.]
So you don't do either of them reliably. Got it. [You're transparent as glass to him right now, Gepard.]
Well, that's an idea! [See, you're the one who suggested it, Gepard, not him.] If I brought all your meals to you, would you eat them? I'd have to have special permission when you're at the front lines, or to get back to your office...
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Gepard grumps, shifting again as he gets comfortable, because he's totally comfortable and this is a conversation he's comfortable with having, and he doesn't feel too seen, shut up. He's settling in, frowning gently at Figaro as he does so. Thoughtful. Not approving. Not...disapproving, not just yet, just a frown. A completely and totally neutral frown. A captain-y frown, as he's a captain who's used to this. Shut up.]
Wouldn't that cause more problems than solve them? Someone might recognize you, or ask questions, or people might make assumptions about...well. [Well.] Our relationship. That's not to mention that I'm not always in the most accessible of places - do you really want to go to the front lines just to watch me eat?
[This also means he can nudge Figaro's knee with his own. Nudge.] I know you're a capable man and you can handle yourself, but still, that seems like a lot of work for you.
[Which brings up the question of why, because it seems like a lot of work for Figaro, for so very little reward. He wants to ask: why. But- it also feels like they did just that not that long ago.]
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[Sampo taps a finger against his chin, thinking.] Not a whole lot of people have seen me up in the Overworld! And if anyone starts asking questions, well... maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let them draw their own conclusions and just not correct them.
[So what if someone thinks things about their relationship? That might make it easier, be a convenient excuse for why he's around Gepard all the time. Even if the assumption is just that it's one-sided, that Sampo is the one harboring feelings for the stoic Captain... the worst that happens is the rest of the guard feels sorry for him for all the effort he's putting in. He can handle a little misguided pity if it gets him a stable food source.]
It wouldn't be without its benefits for me! [Nudge right back.] If you're going to be a big part of my diet, than I have a vested interest in making sure that you're healthy. Investing in you is investing in me.
[Besides, Gepard's offer is useless for him if he isn't healthy enough to handle getting blood taken from him regularly, regardless of how it tastes. And his body might not be able to take too many additional stresses before he really does start getting sick, iron willpower be damned. It's kind of in everyone's interest to take care of it before it becomes a real problem.]
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Can you please say it in a different way?
[Is it too late to throw Figaro off of the couch? Seems like it. And speaking of too late: he's spent too much time in Figaro's hideaway. He should be going soon. (Will he? Probably not, but the responsible part of Gepard notes helpfully that he should probably say something like, "Let's discuss this tomorrow night." Run out the door. Track down his men. Reassure them. Go home. Scream into a pillow because he's thinking with his dick and he doesn't like this, he's not used to his dick having a say, and now it's having a say it's being very insistent with its feelings.)
But, first things first, and Gepard crosses his arms, nudging Figaro with his knee again because he has a point to make, and it's a very good point.]
Saying it like that makes me feel like I'm an olm that you're fattening for the slaughter. [See? Amazing point.] And I'll only be a part of your diet until we can come up with something more sustainable. I've no doubt you'll get tired just feeding from me.
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[Would Gepard taste a little different if he fed him different things? Would he be sweeter after the dessert course, more savory after an entree of red meat and potatoes? Would he be able to taste spices, the pungency of garlic and onion? He'll make himself hungry (hungrier) just thinking about it.]
I've never tried just feeding off of one person before. [He's always had to find new prey with every feeding. It's hard to find people that he can trust with his secret.] Who knows, maybe you'll be so tasty that I won't want anyone else!
[Maybe, once he's on a regular diet and getting good sleep, Gepard will be the tastiest man in Belobog. He's already a dish on the outside, might as well be one on the inside, too.]
Y'know, aside from just not liking how it sounds, you didn't actually give me a good reason not to bring your meals? [That's just semantics, not a real argument.] If you don't like it, I can always stop after we get everything sorted out.
Then you can go back to-- [He waves a dismissive hand.] Slugging back day-old coffee instead of having breakfast and getting bouts of lightheadedness every time you stand up too quick from a chair.
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