[He blushes. It's a fierce little blush as Figaro continues to mercilessly prod and push and question...because he knows Figaro's right. He'd throw him before the Architects without hesitation. He'd toss him into a jail cell without a second thought if that was the only thing the both of them would have to worry about. And Figaro would, most likely, fucking deserve it.]
If you want me to throw you into prison that badly, that can most certainly be arranged, Figaro.
[A little angry emphasis there. Figaro. A fake name and they both know it, and what a terrible name it still is. Because if he blusters enough, it'll be enough to keep him from going too far on the defensive. Maybe. In theory. He understands preservation, but he can't just defend if he wants to win this...
Whatever they're having.]
And- [He points with his fork. Point.] You have committed enough crimes to deserve some time in a prison cell. We both know it. But if I end up throwing you in prison, it will be with you seen as a man and not as a monster, and I will be handling this situation personally until I can be sure others will see you in the same way I do.
[Gepard points his fork in Sampo’s direction, a sharp little jab to emphasize his points. It’s spectacularly rude, absolutely abhorrent behavior from a man of supposedly refined breeding. A bit much even for a rough guardsman, really.]
[It’s true that he’s caused the guard no end of trouble in various ways, possibly more than Gepard is currently aware of— Sampo’s got a lot of aliases. There’s more than just Ringo and Figaro— there’s Dio and Bono, too, and of course Brughel. A few others that he hasn’t used as often, he ran a few small scams as Gilmour, but it never felt quite right.]
[But the good Captain wants him locked up as a man rather than a monster, Aeons know how he’d manage to pull that one off. Sampo could single-handedly save Belobog from certain destruction and they’d still see him as a monster. He could be the chosen of Qlipoth Themself.]
If that’s what you want, you’ll be stuck with me for a long time, Captain. People around here are pretty set, once they make their minds up.
[The Preservation at work, or just naturally stubborn folk? Who knows.]
I guess you’ll just have to get used to my pretty face!
I guess so. [What's notable is how he says it - not as sheepish agreement, or something wary, or reluctant. Gepard says it like it's a fact they just agreed on, and he's glad that Figaro finally got the message. He even raises his head ever so slightly, a very stubborn clench to his jaw.] I'm just as determined as anyone else here once my mind is set, you know.
[Because he is a Landau, and the stubbornness that characterizes the people of Belobog runs very, very, very strongly through his veins. Because when a Landau wants to do something, they go for it, without hesitation, letting nothing stand in their way.
And unfortunately, he wants a man with enchanting green eyes to be seen as that - a man - which means getting to know him a little bit better.
...this is not a good thing. He knows this. Gepard gets to eating dessert- and he has to take a moment to savor the taste because it's amazingly delicious. Surprisingly so. Astonishingly so.
...okay. Figaro being stuck with him is settled, he's eating the dessert, after this he'll take off his shirt and let Figaro...feed, and that leaves-]
What are you doing tomorrow? I don't know what to do with myself and my time off. [Only for a day or two, it's only a brief amount of PTO. He'll be contacting Lady Bronya soon enough and getting this straightened out.] It'll be easier to relax if I have company.
[Sampo has to make his brain switch gears from Gepard’s quixotic quest to have him recognized as a real boy in the eyes of Belobog to… what he’s doing tomorrow. Part of his plans are going to involve Gepard by necessity, since he’s the man’s on-call personal chef now, but aside from that? It would have been getting his nose back to the grindstone, finding ways to make that cash so that he can pay the rent on his safe houses and that sort of thing.]
[A little banal, maybe. If he was lucky, Nat would send him a text and ask him to do a little smuggling for her, that would liven up his life a little. But Gepard apparently wants to hang out with him or something?]
Nothing concrete, other than making your meals.
[Well, this is as good an excuse as any to take a hard pivot from the serious discussion they’d been having. Really brings down the mood, talking about how the whole city would want to run you out of town with fire and pitchforks.]
Anybody you could ask, and you want to hang around with little ol’ Figaro? [A grin, a wink.] How could I refuse? It would be a pleasure to help you relax, Captain.
[Were the good Captain the type, he might have been persuaded to really help him relax, in ways that would certainly make Gepard blush right to the roots of his blond hair. (He’d be delicious after that— but naughty Sampo, hands off the handsome man who doesn’t swing that way.)]
[The grin makes Gepard splutter. The wink makes him blush. Figaro calling it his pleasure doesn't help and he shovels dessert into his mouth with determination because eating some sugar will keep his mouth from saying stupid things and making this spiral in uncomfortable directions.]
Please don't say it like that.
[Because Figaro offering to help him relax has his mind spiraling in directions it shouldn't go in. He has the advantage; Figaro is at his mercy. He wouldn't want to pressure Figaro into something he'd hate, something they'd both regret, probably, maybe. Figaro probably didn't even mean it like that in the first place.
And also because there's not really anyone he can ask besides Figaro. Which reminds him...]
We'll have to avoid my family. My sister will have questions if she sees you with me, Ringo.
[Gepard knows the name that he used in his short-lived stint as a bassist— but that’s absurd, there’s no way that he ever went to any of the concerts. He’s not the type to be into rock and roll music, he’s the kind of guy who thinks an exciting night is staying up an hour past bedtime with a good book.]
You… did you talk to Serval?
[Now that he thinks about it, if Serval had more of a stick up her ass or if Gepard loosened up a little, they’d look pretty similar, wouldn’t they? Like siblings, maybe.]
You’re the brother that put in a bad word for me! [He can’t believe it, he was booted out because a nosy guard captain couldn’t help but butt in to his sister’s business.]
I can’t believe it, you messed up my whole deal! I’d finally talked her into paying me a fraction of the ticket sales, and you got her to drop me!
[That money would’ve paid for months of his rent, and it all vanished just because of one overprotective little brother. Sampo sighs and props his chin on his hand, slumping a little.]
Guess l’ll have to retire the Ringo alias now, too. Hate to burn a good one, but it’s compromised.
[He’d had a good history on Ringo, all the paperwork and everything. Now he’ll have to start working on building up one of his others, forging up documents. A lot of time and effort goes into it.]
[There's a lot he could focus on. The fact he didn't mess up anything, the fact that his sister was working with a criminal and if he had known this he would've thought twice about becoming a blood donor to his sister's bassist. (Still probably would've, probably would've thought twice about it before deciding.)
Figaro slumps; Gepard straightens. He's finally got an opening. There's a question that's been itching at him since he he was given the Figaro alias, since he spoke to his sister, a question which demands an answer and Gepard's going to get it, one way or another.]
You'll have to retire more than just that if the rest of your aliases follow the same naming scheme. [He's counting on his fingers. He's making a show of it.] Ringo. Figaro. All I would have to do is tell my intelligence offer to look for names that end in O to find the rest of your disguises. If we find a...
[What's a good name, a name- Gepard hums for a second, thinking about it- oh, he's got one.] ...an Otto with a criminal record? I'll know it's probably you. Or an Orlando. Or an Orlo, or maybe you'll give up one day, forego the formalities, and just call yourself Ooo.
[Oh, so Captain Landau thinks that he’s clever! Sussing out the naming scheme that Sampo really wasn’t doing anything to hide, his multitude of o’s. So sue a man for liking the way his name sounds! But that’s all right, if Gepard’s going to give him a heads-up about it, Sampo can pivot to other aliases. That’s why he had so many!]
[He grins at Gepard. He’s fun when he’s all riled up.]
Maybe that is my name! You caught me, it’s just Ooo. Don’t you think it suits me?
[How’s that for your spank bank, Gepard? The possibility that the man with the pretty green eyes and handsome face is named Ooo. Is he serious? Is he just fucking with you? Who knows! This is a man who willingly tells people to call him Figaro and Bono.]
You know, you shouldn’t be so happy about spoiling Ringo for me, though. The keyboardist in that band was a big hunk of a man, I was planning on making an arrangement with him. I mean, it might have been a little difficult because he was so hung up on your sister, but I could’ve pulled off blond. And then you wouldn’t have been stuck with me!
[Figaro/Ringo/Ooo now, apparently, smiles at him and he makes a face right back.
Just Ooo says Figaro/Ringo/Ooo, and Gepard mouths it, slow and deliberate. Ooo. Just Ooo.
Ooo.
Of course, all of this pales in comparison to Ooo suggesting he might have taken a bite out of Dunn, and Gepard can't help himself. He can't. He immediately aims a kick for Ooo's (he's going back to Figaro, he can't handle Ooo) shin from under the table. Does he hit? Who knows. Does it matter? Depends on what Figaro does next.]
Don't even joke about that!
[Tasty, tasty Dunn.] I just got through talking about what Belobog might do if they knew you were here, and here you are, making jokes about not only feeding from someone else, but another Silvermane Guard? You're impossible, [Fuck it,] Ooo. [Terrible. Horrible. He hates it. He's going to use it.] It's almost as if you want to get caught.
[His foot definitely connects with a shin, and, boy, Gepard has a kick like a mule. Sampo Ooo jolts up from his slump when he's kicked, then reaches underneath the table to rub at his poor, abused leg.]
C'mon, what was that for? This is police brutality.
[Don't rough him up until you've got him in an interrogation room, Gepard! That's got to be against Silvermane policy. Probably. Sampo Ooo's like 90% sure that there's something in the rules about not beating up your suspects, anyway.]
Well, I didn't know that he's a Silvermane guard at the time! [Dunn wears that massive helmet all the time when he's on-duty, Sampo Ooo couldn't recognize him when he was in armor.] I could've made it work, anyway. If I was a hot enough blond, I bet he wouldn't have turned me in! You can get guys to do almost anything if you're hot enough.
[Look, Gepard. A lot of men think with their dicks, present company apparently included, and Sampo Ooo knows this. Sometimes appealing to a man's dick is the best way to solve a problem, and your good pal isn't above resorting to that when necessary.]
[There's more he could say to that. There's more he wants to add to that, like how Silvermane policy would definitely carve out exceptions for mysterious men with haunting green eyes and an annoying fixation on the letter O, and he could tell the Architects the circumstances which drove him to aim a kick at Ooo's shin (why did he do this to himself, Figaro was better as names go) and they would say yes, yes, all of this is justified.
But then, Ooo (why) says that part about the hot blond, and Gepard gets as far as,]
If-
[And then his mouth shuts. And then it resolutely stays shut as Gepard chews his lip and reminds himself of a few things: he was just fed an amazing meal, dinner was great, Figaro (no more Ooo, not now, not for his sanity) is in a tough spot, dealing with a tough situation. Because that's sounding rather pointed. That's sounding like Figaro knows his...
...effect on him, but admitting he's a sucker for a hot man with green eyes would be giving way too much away, and, besides, would probably go straight to Figaro's ego. They've only known each other for a day or two at this point, and he already knows he doesn't want that to happen. Figaro is bad enough as is.]
Shall we get around to feeding you now? Given how many times you've brought up getting away from me, I'm assuming you're getting tired of my company. [Already! It's been how long? And already, Ooo (dammit, he meant Figaro) is eyeing the door. Already!]
[Gepard drops that line of conversation hard when Sampo starts talking about hot blonds and the things that men would do for them; isn't that interesting? He wouldn't have thought that the good Captain would be so squeamish about someone taking an interest in another guardsman-- is it because they're both men? He'd be very disappointed if that's the case.]
[But he does mention getting Sampo his dinner, and that's more important than poking at Gepard's insecurities. He perks up a little at the mention of it, injury to his shin forgotten.]
I am pretty peckish. But tired of your company? Never! You're a joy.
[Y'know, an absolute delight who kicks him in the shin whenever he talks about tasty Dunn. A joy to have in class.]
You'll want to be comfortable when we do it. And preferably laying down, in case you get lightheaded. [Wouldn't want the good Captain to fall over and hurt himself, after all. Sure, Sampo would be there to catch him, but it's better not to risk it.] How about your couch?
[He'd have suggested the bed, but he doesn't want to make Gepard skittish. Asking him to lay down in bed and let another man on top of him to get his teeth into him is... a little intimate? Probably a lot for a blushing virgin like Gepard.]
[Now. Now, here's the thing. Here is the thing. Gepard knows that it's most likely a line, that Figaro(oo) is likely trying to stay on his good side so he'd continue to help him - joke's on him, he's in this for the long haul - and that he shouldn't buy into it. The smart thing to do would be to remain a steel wall, stoic and impenetrable, as well as vaguely boring.
But Figaro(oo) calls him a joy, and Gepard blushes, quickly looking away, getting up from the table, because Figaro(oo) says that he should be on a couch and he's absolutely right, he's just going to get to doing that. Couch. Lying down on a couch. He can do that. For a brief moment, Gepard's tempted to point out a bed would be easier and more convenient, but then he considers the logistics behind that and that's a bit much, especially since he's trying to keep this as professional as humanly possible and Figaro(oo) is making this incredibly difficult.]
Where do you plan on biting me?
[He's lying down on his couch. This feels weird. Should he keep his eyes open or close? What's the etiquette for blood donation?] There shouldn't be a problem if I'm off duty for the next few days, so wherever you want is fine. I won't have to explain your...mark to people- oh, I'll do the dishes.
[As if that's important, but it deserves to be said.] You've done so much for me. Cleaning up is the least I can do.
[Eyes closed. He's closing his eyes. It's easier this way. Less likely to get flustered.]
[Ah, getting Gepard to blush-- it's quickly becoming one of Sampo(oo)'s favorite hobbies. And he hadn't even said anything particularly scandalous this time! Nothing about being a sexy blond or biting tasty guard captains. Which, speaking of the tastiness of guard captains...]
[Gepard goes to the couch with little resistance, and Sampo follows. It's a rather practical sort of couch, perfectly serviceable but a little in the vein of a bachelor's first set of furniture. Comfortable enough, probably. The good Captain at least doesn't look uncomfortable while he's laying there, at least not physically.]
[He's also going to clean up the dishes. That's nice, but a bit of a non-sequitur.]
I can bite anywhere there's decent blood supply and soft tissue. [Fairly obvious. It's a bad idea to bite over bony parts or somewhere that doesn't bleed well.] Neck's easy, but it's not like I have to bite there. The forearm's can work, too. Or the thigh.
[He sits on the couch next to Gepard, leans over him.] If you don't care, I'd rather do the neck. It's the faster option, aside from maybe the thigh. But I figure we don't know each other well enough for you to start taking off your pants. [Wink!]
[His hands are gentle when he tips Gepard's head a little to the side, giving him good access. Still gentle when he leans in, mouth brushing the warm skin of his throat. Gepard smells delicious-- fragrant and complex like a good wine.]
I don't usually eat from people who are still awake. This might be kind of uncomfortable? I'll try to take it easy on you.
[His teeth sink in, a smooth, sharp puncture. Blood wells over his tongue again, and while he can't say that Gepard exactly tastes good-- a day or two of good food and moderate sleep can't fix his problems-- he's not as horribly bitter as before. A tolerable meal rather than a vile one.]
[There had been a part of him that hoped that Figaro(oo) would just...get with it. Just grab a limb and chomp on down. Impersonal. To the point.
But no, Gepard feels weight against the couch. His eyes open again. Gepard stares up at Figaro. His blue eyes blink - blink blink - as he hears Figaro talk, neck, forearms, Gepard immediately decides he's going to pretend like he didn't hear about the third region, Figaro repeats the part about his thighs and winks and Gepard can't pretend like he hadn't heard that part. It takes an effort to keep from looking away from Figaro, to stare at the ceiling, the couch, to close his eyes again, it takes an effort and he has to fight the instinctual urge to shove Figaro to the ground.
Figaro's hands are gentle. (Damn him.) He can't help it. Gepard nuzzles into that hand as it tilts his head to the side. The lips make him shiver. He's prepared to blame it on the fact that he's prey in the hands of a predator. Don't read too much into it. He feels breath against his skin. Then-
Pain. An agonizing moment of pain, one which sears through his skin as teeth sink in and his spine goes taut and his mind screams at him to fight, to run, to throw Figaro off of him-
-but then, euphoria, joy running through his veins, alien but...welcoming. He welcomes it. It's- it's-
His hand runs through Figaro's hair and he marvels at how silky-smooth it feels, at least in that moment. Gepard hears a moan. It's his own. He hasn't realized it yet. He's too busy trying to pull Figaro, to urge him closer to, have him drink all that he might want to, to use up everything that he is to care about things like the fact he made a very embarrassing moan and the second the bite wears off he's going to fucking die of embarrassment. Bites should be painful. He should hate this.
[The thing about even only an okay-tasting meal is that after weeks of having nothing, it doesn't really matter much that it isn't the most spectacular thing that he's ever tasted. Gepard might as well be a gourmet class meal, because the first gulp of blood down his throat is like balm on a burn, soothing the gnawing ache of his hunger. As intoxicating as the golden liquor they serve at the Tavern, a distillate of Elation. There's a moment where Gepard's body goes stiff against him and he can feel that sudden tension, but it just... drains out of him, leaves him pliant and warm and yielding. Perfect prey, unresistant even with a predator's teeth in him.]
[Hands pull him closer, urging him on rather than away. Sampo can feel the resonance of Gepard's moan through his teeth, the sound vibrating in that lovely throat.]
[He gets his arms around Gepard and pulls him into them, drawing him close; Gepard is cradled in his embrace not entirely unlike the cover of some terrible half-Shield romance novel, but with the Captain as the damsel, the blond beauty trapped in the arms of a dark and handsome villain. And there's a not insignificant part of Sampo that wants to fulfill that role and drain Gepard of every last drop, until all of his warmth has been lost down his ravenous gullet.]
[One of Gepard's hands is tangled in his hair, and for a moment, it catches-- that brief sting is a sorely-needed reminder of what he's doing, of the fact that he's still drinking from Gepard even though he probably should have stopped by now. Sampo pulls back from him with a gasp like a man who's just surfaced from underwater. When he looks down at him, his eyes fall almost immediately back to his neck and the puncture marks there, the slowing slip of deep red from the wound.]
[He leans in again. Not to bite, but to drag his tongue over the blood that drips down his neck before it has the chance to ruin his collar.]
[The moment seems to slow. Everything's perfect. He's warm and safe in the arms of a mysterious man - someone whose name he doesn't even know, how funny - and he feels perfect. Warm and full of bliss. Hot and like all of his nerve endings are sparking eagerly. Gepard feels alive...
...and then Figaro pulls out. Gepard whimpers. It's a small, soft, desperate noise, the beginnings of begging, choked out by the tongue against his neck. Gepard arches his neck- Figaro wants to taste him, sure, he can taste every last bit of him, a breathless little a-ah coming out of his lips as his leg tries to tangle with Figaro's own, pull him down-
And then that's the point in which Gepard really sort of realizes what just happened. He freezes. He's suddenly aware of a few things:
1. Figaro's bite is more...it's nicer than he expected, a moment's pain and then pleasure, pure bliss. This might be a problem?
2. He also currently has an erection hard enough he could likely break through Qlipoth Fort if he tried. This is definitely a problem.
3. Figaro heard all of that, saw all of that, and if he hadn't come to when he did, would've felt all of that.
The joy is replaced with pure embarrassment and also, they're still kind of entangled, aren't they? He's still in Figaro's arms, his hand is still in Figaro's hair. If he knew Figaro's actual name, he might have moaned it by accident, and- Gepard breathes in, out, slower, in again, out again, trying to force himself to relax, and also hoping that maybe his erection isn't something noticeable...? Perhaps? Perhaps this happens all the time. Yes. Figaro's likely used to this.]
...sorry. [Please say it's normal. He looked like such a mess, probably, sounded like a mess, probably, definitely. Please say all the victims end up being ridiculous.
His hand, at a loss, starts stroking Figaro's hair which isn't silky-soft perfection, but the fact it's on the coarse and possibly split-ended side of things is, at least, a reassurance, that he won't start- that the bite only effects him so much.] I don't know what came over me.
[If Sampo had even had the first thought that Gepard might be interested in being tasted in more than just the very literal sense, he would have already been on top of him and getting him out of his clothes. He'd have shown Gepard a few other ways that his mouth could bring him pure bliss, and maybe his hands and some other parts of him, too, if the good Captain was feeling particularly lenient. He would've made up for that pint or so of blood that he just got, with interest.]
[What happens is that he pulls back, looks down at Gepard, and sees an immensely embarrassed guard captain with a red face entangled in his arms. He's flushed and his hair is a little messy and Sampo's not a hundred percent sure if that's an erection against his thigh or if Gepard's just got something in his pocket. (Something kind of big. No, bad Sampo, don't think about the hypothetical large penises of straight men who agreed to be your juice box.)]
[Gepard is apologizing for the whole... situation, for whatever came over him that made him make pretty noises and clutch onto Sampo like a lover. The only reason that Sampo isn't in the same embarrassing boat with him is because his downstairs doesn't really do much without a recent blood meal, and he's been so infrequent about his feedings that he wouldn't be able to stand and salute even if he wanted to.]
Hey, nothing to apologize for! It's no biggie. [He keeps his voice light. This is fine, right? They're just two guys, chilling on a couch, zero feet apart because they're not gay.] I guess it wasn't too uncomfortable for you!
[Which is like. That's a thing, probably, that's a thing that's kind of fucked up if he thinks about it for too long. Sure, he's an Elation Emanator, so maybe it makes sense that his bite brings pleasure, but it's also pretty fucked up to make a guy feel good while you're draining him dry. Killing him and making him love it.]
[But! That's an existential crisis for another day. Right now, he's got Gepard stroking his hair, and that's... probably a little weird. He might still be a bit loopy from the bite and the blood loss.]
How are you feeling? Okay? [He doesn't look bad. Looks pretty healthy, aside from the embarrassment.] I should probably take care of your neck pretty soon. You aren't bleeding, but it's still a bite.
[Focus on that rather than Gepard's schrodinger's boner.]
[If he had any delusions about Figaro being maybe, kind of, sort of interested in him, they're firmly squashed by the complete and total lack of reaction that he can see, or feel. Not that he's trying to see. Or feel. But he's got an erection that could puncture the Fragmentum; Figaro has absolutely nothing. His voice is light. Pitying? Hard to say. Definitely unmoved.
Gepard stops stroking Figaro's hair. He's grounded enough. The bite happened, and the bite's gone. Gepard breathes in, and then slowly breathes out, forcing himself to move past the embarrassment. He's trying to focus on what next, instead of what just happened. It's not working. It's just making him think about it more, and he wants to-
Figaro offers to dress his bite.]
N-no. [No. He has to say that more firmly.] No. [Better. Gepard touches his neck, missing the sensation of Figaro's hair almost immediately (coarse hair or imaginary silky-smooth perfection, either's fine) and he ignores that.
His neck feels sore. Sensitive. He doesn't like it.]
That won't be necessary. I've dressed worse wounds than this.
[This would be more convincing if he wasn't lying down, feeling vaguely ravished, in the arms of a stranger...Gepard tries to sit up, and feels woozy. Dizzy. Sudden vertigo.
[That first no is a little shaky; the second one is firmer, like he needed that second or two to get a hold of himself. And, really, Sampo has no reason not to believe him when he refuses help. The guy's a Silvermane guard captain, he's definitely had worse injuries than just a bite to the neck, and any good soldier knows at least a little bit of first aid. He could take care of himself.]
[But when he tries to sit up, he's unsteady, and Sampo gets an arm around his back to help stabilize him and get him upright. Don't worry, you can put your weight on him-- he's stronger than he looks.]
Hey, careful! You shouldn't try to get up so fast. [Blood loss, buddy.]
[Trying to get out of the strong arms of your vampiric acquaintance has really just kept you right in them. Now he's going to keep those arms around you, to make sure that you don't topple over.]
[His eyes fall again on the mark, on the tempting column of Gepard's throat. It's... he had enough to sustain himself, but there is a part of him that wants to bite down on him again. Maybe he'll be sweeter the second time. Maybe he'll make sweeter noises the second time. He licks his lips; there's still the faint taste of his last meal.]
At least let me get your first aid kit or something.
[And give him an excuse to not be tempted over a pale, lovely throat.]
[And he's exactly where he doesn't want to be, and Figaro's presence doesn't help with his...
Problem, and Gepard's learning new things about himself each moment that passes. New, unfortunate things. Here's one, Figaro smells amazing, and Gepard doesn't know if that's because of the bite (the same residual thing that had his little Earthwork in his pants wake up) or if Figaro always smells amazing. And it's not like he can sniff the guy on a normal basis.
For another, he's in his arms, and Gepard finds that he doesn't want to leave. Isn't that funny? Isn't it great how these things work? And he feels just enough vertigo that he can't find him, stand up, walk about on his own.
With a frustrated grunt, Gepard buries his face into whatever-of-Figaro is there; a neck, a shoulder, a chest. He closes his eyes. That doesn't help with the (amazing) scent, but it helps with the vertigo. A little.]
Help me to my bathroom.
[Then he can dress his wound and then pass out on the tiled floor, or something.
It takes an effort to not mumble it, from shame, from- something else, but Gepard puts in that effort. It comes out quietly, but at least it's not a mumble?]
[When Gepard's face presses against the crook of his neck, he'd be able to smell the particular combination of Sampo's cologne-- cedarwood and labdanum-- and red rose, still faintly clinging to his skin after a day's wear. He's not quite pretentious enough to say that he has a signature scent, but if he did, it would be that.]
[Gepard wants him to get him to the bathroom. It's an easy enough ask.]
Yeah, sure. Just bear with me for a second. [While he gets Gepard into his arms. When he lifts him off of the couch, it's with the same effortlessness that he'd lifted him when they'd met, as though Gepard's considerable weight was about as significant as a sack of flour.] Gotcha.
[Secure in his arms, in a princess carry. No walking for you, you get the special treatment for pretty men.]
[He'd familiarized himself with the layout of Gepard's apartment a bit when he'd arrived, so he at least knows where the bathroom is. When he brings Gepard in and flicks on the light, he deposits his lightheaded cargo onto the closed toilet, so that he can sit and hopefully not feel too dizzy.]
You sure you're okay? [He kneels in front of him, to get a good look at his face in the light.] You look kind of pale. I didn't think I took that much from you?
[Now, he'd expected that he'd be helped to the bathroom, sure. He figured Figaro would be by his side, and he could just lean against him as he stumbles towards to the bathroom. He assumed that it would be embarrassing, because there's only so much dignity he could have in this situation. He got drained, he got hard, Gepard is now having his It's Complicated help him to the bathroom.
Somehow, Gepard hadn't expected that he'd be carried. If he didn't know better, he'd think that Figaro enjoys it. Cedarwood and tabdanum and red rose. He doesn't know these scents, all of them. They're more secrets. He wants to know more. He also wants Figaro to have his way with him, which is a bad thing.
So, for now, Gepard clings and buries his nose against Figaro's neck, and breathes.
He's deposited on a toilet. No, not a toilet. His toilet. Gepard blinks. Figaro's fucking kneeling. Which is fine, except Figaro's awkwardly crotch-high. Gepard blanches, which doesn't help with the entire pale thing.] You didn't take too much. It's more than I expected, but...not too much.
[He's trying to project confidence as much as he can, a confident captain, which only works so well, probably.]
[Maybe he does enjoy it, just a little bit. Don't call him out on it. But how can he not like it, when Gepard clings to him like that and presses his face into his neck?]
[Gepard keeps getting paler, blanching in front of him. Sampo frowns, because that's really not what healthy people are supposed to do. Healthy people have more pink in their cheeks.]
Maybe I should hang around for a while, in case you need anything. [Or in case he passes out and falls over, because he looks like he might do that at any moment.]
[Sampo stands and briefly goes through Gepard's cabinets until he finds the first aid kit, then brings it over to Gepard. The good Captain said that he could handle it himself, but it's fine if Sampo hangs around to be his helper, right? He can help clean out the wound and bandage it up, even if Gepard doesn't need him for anything more than handing over the antiseptic and gauze.]
You look really... peaky? [That's a nice way of saying it, right?]
...peaky. [He repeats this slower, and his hand clenches into a fist and his leg twitches in a way which implies that he really would love nothing more than to kick Figaro, but, instead, is foreshadowing the fact that, perhaps, there's a part of him that wants to grab Figaro by the hair, drag him over, and tell him to lick and take care of the problem he caused.
Clenching his own thigh is easier. Gepard does that and tries to pretend like he really doesn't want to grope himself.]
...I've been hoping you'd go so I could take care of...this. [He's making an effort to breathe in and out and in and out again, calm and slow and not at all worked up, no, not at all. But Figaro has no sign of...peakiness. He has to focus on that. How one-sided whatever-this-is really is.] I can hardly pull down my pants and go at it with you here, now can I? [Annoyed, annoyed, very annoyed, and stern. Completely in control, just lightly drained and unfortunately turned on by it, nothing to see here.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
If you want me to throw you into prison that badly, that can most certainly be arranged, Figaro.
[A little angry emphasis there. Figaro. A fake name and they both know it, and what a terrible name it still is. Because if he blusters enough, it'll be enough to keep him from going too far on the defensive. Maybe. In theory. He understands preservation, but he can't just defend if he wants to win this...
Whatever they're having.]
And- [He points with his fork. Point.] You have committed enough crimes to deserve some time in a prison cell. We both know it. But if I end up throwing you in prison, it will be with you seen as a man and not as a monster, and I will be handling this situation personally until I can be sure others will see you in the same way I do.
no subject
[It’s true that he’s caused the guard no end of trouble in various ways, possibly more than Gepard is currently aware of— Sampo’s got a lot of aliases. There’s more than just Ringo and Figaro— there’s Dio and Bono, too, and of course Brughel. A few others that he hasn’t used as often, he ran a few small scams as Gilmour, but it never felt quite right.]
[But the good Captain wants him locked up as a man rather than a monster, Aeons know how he’d manage to pull that one off. Sampo could single-handedly save Belobog from certain destruction and they’d still see him as a monster. He could be the chosen of Qlipoth Themself.]
If that’s what you want, you’ll be stuck with me for a long time, Captain. People around here are pretty set, once they make their minds up.
[The Preservation at work, or just naturally stubborn folk? Who knows.]
I guess you’ll just have to get used to my pretty face!
no subject
[Because he is a Landau, and the stubbornness that characterizes the people of Belobog runs very, very, very strongly through his veins. Because when a Landau wants to do something, they go for it, without hesitation, letting nothing stand in their way.
And unfortunately, he wants a man with enchanting green eyes to be seen as that - a man - which means getting to know him a little bit better.
...this is not a good thing. He knows this. Gepard gets to eating dessert- and he has to take a moment to savor the taste because it's amazingly delicious. Surprisingly so. Astonishingly so.
...okay. Figaro being stuck with him is settled, he's eating the dessert, after this he'll take off his shirt and let Figaro...feed, and that leaves-]
What are you doing tomorrow? I don't know what to do with myself and my time off. [Only for a day or two, it's only a brief amount of PTO. He'll be contacting Lady Bronya soon enough and getting this straightened out.] It'll be easier to relax if I have company.
no subject
[Sampo has to make his brain switch gears from Gepard’s quixotic quest to have him recognized as a real boy in the eyes of Belobog to… what he’s doing tomorrow. Part of his plans are going to involve Gepard by necessity, since he’s the man’s on-call personal chef now, but aside from that? It would have been getting his nose back to the grindstone, finding ways to make that cash so that he can pay the rent on his safe houses and that sort of thing.]
[A little banal, maybe. If he was lucky, Nat would send him a text and ask him to do a little smuggling for her, that would liven up his life a little. But Gepard apparently wants to hang out with him or something?]
Nothing concrete, other than making your meals.
[Well, this is as good an excuse as any to take a hard pivot from the serious discussion they’d been having. Really brings down the mood, talking about how the whole city would want to run you out of town with fire and pitchforks.]
Anybody you could ask, and you want to hang around with little ol’ Figaro? [A grin, a wink.] How could I refuse? It would be a pleasure to help you relax, Captain.
[Were the good Captain the type, he might have been persuaded to really help him relax, in ways that would certainly make Gepard blush right to the roots of his blond hair. (He’d be delicious after that— but naughty Sampo, hands off the handsome man who doesn’t swing that way.)]
no subject
Please don't say it like that.
[Because Figaro offering to help him relax has his mind spiraling in directions it shouldn't go in. He has the advantage; Figaro is at his mercy. He wouldn't want to pressure Figaro into something he'd hate, something they'd both regret, probably, maybe. Figaro probably didn't even mean it like that in the first place.
And also because there's not really anyone he can ask besides Figaro. Which reminds him...]
We'll have to avoid my family. My sister will have questions if she sees you with me, Ringo.
no subject
You… did you talk to Serval?
[Now that he thinks about it, if Serval had more of a stick up her ass or if Gepard loosened up a little, they’d look pretty similar, wouldn’t they? Like siblings, maybe.]
You’re the brother that put in a bad word for me! [He can’t believe it, he was booted out because a nosy guard captain couldn’t help but butt in to his sister’s business.]
I can’t believe it, you messed up my whole deal! I’d finally talked her into paying me a fraction of the ticket sales, and you got her to drop me!
[That money would’ve paid for months of his rent, and it all vanished just because of one overprotective little brother. Sampo sighs and props his chin on his hand, slumping a little.]
Guess l’ll have to retire the Ringo alias now, too. Hate to burn a good one, but it’s compromised.
[He’d had a good history on Ringo, all the paperwork and everything. Now he’ll have to start working on building up one of his others, forging up documents. A lot of time and effort goes into it.]
no subject
Figaro slumps; Gepard straightens. He's finally got an opening. There's a question that's been itching at him since he he was given the Figaro alias, since he spoke to his sister, a question which demands an answer and Gepard's going to get it, one way or another.]
You'll have to retire more than just that if the rest of your aliases follow the same naming scheme. [He's counting on his fingers. He's making a show of it.] Ringo. Figaro. All I would have to do is tell my intelligence offer to look for names that end in O to find the rest of your disguises. If we find a...
[What's a good name, a name- Gepard hums for a second, thinking about it- oh, he's got one.] ...an Otto with a criminal record? I'll know it's probably you. Or an Orlando. Or an Orlo, or maybe you'll give up one day, forego the formalities, and just call yourself Ooo.
no subject
[He grins at Gepard. He’s fun when he’s all riled up.]
Maybe that is my name! You caught me, it’s just Ooo. Don’t you think it suits me?
[How’s that for your spank bank, Gepard? The possibility that the man with the pretty green eyes and handsome face is named Ooo. Is he serious? Is he just fucking with you? Who knows! This is a man who willingly tells people to call him Figaro and Bono.]
You know, you shouldn’t be so happy about spoiling Ringo for me, though. The keyboardist in that band was a big hunk of a man, I was planning on making an arrangement with him. I mean, it might have been a little difficult because he was so hung up on your sister, but I could’ve pulled off blond. And then you wouldn’t have been stuck with me!
[Tasty, tasty Dunn.]
no subject
Just Ooo says Figaro/Ringo/Ooo, and Gepard mouths it, slow and deliberate. Ooo. Just Ooo.
Ooo.
Of course, all of this pales in comparison to Ooo suggesting he might have taken a bite out of Dunn, and Gepard can't help himself. He can't. He immediately aims a kick for Ooo's (he's going back to Figaro, he can't handle Ooo) shin from under the table. Does he hit? Who knows. Does it matter? Depends on what Figaro does next.]
Don't even joke about that!
[Tasty, tasty Dunn.] I just got through talking about what Belobog might do if they knew you were here, and here you are, making jokes about not only feeding from someone else, but another Silvermane Guard? You're impossible, [Fuck it,] Ooo. [Terrible. Horrible. He hates it. He's going to use it.] It's almost as if you want to get caught.
no subject
[His foot definitely connects with a shin, and, boy, Gepard has a kick like a mule.
SampoOoo jolts up from his slump when he's kicked, then reaches underneath the table to rub at his poor, abused leg.]C'mon, what was that for? This is police brutality.
[Don't rough him up until you've got him in an interrogation room, Gepard! That's got to be against Silvermane policy. Probably.
SampoOoo's like 90% sure that there's something in the rules about not beating up your suspects, anyway.]Well, I didn't know that he's a Silvermane guard at the time! [Dunn wears that massive helmet all the time when he's on-duty,
SampoOoo couldn't recognize him when he was in armor.] I could've made it work, anyway. If I was a hot enough blond, I bet he wouldn't have turned me in! You can get guys to do almost anything if you're hot enough.[Look, Gepard. A lot of men think with their dicks, present company apparently included, and
SampoOoo knows this. Sometimes appealing to a man's dick is the best way to solve a problem, and your good pal isn't above resorting to that when necessary.]no subject
[There's more he could say to that. There's more he wants to add to that, like how Silvermane policy would definitely carve out exceptions for mysterious men with haunting green eyes and an annoying fixation on the letter O, and he could tell the Architects the circumstances which drove him to aim a kick at Ooo's shin (why did he do this to himself, Figaro was better as names go) and they would say yes, yes, all of this is justified.
But then, Ooo (why) says that part about the hot blond, and Gepard gets as far as,]
If-
[And then his mouth shuts. And then it resolutely stays shut as Gepard chews his lip and reminds himself of a few things: he was just fed an amazing meal, dinner was great, Figaro (no more Ooo, not now, not for his sanity) is in a tough spot, dealing with a tough situation. Because that's sounding rather pointed. That's sounding like Figaro knows his...
...effect on him, but admitting he's a sucker for a hot man with green eyes would be giving way too much away, and, besides, would probably go straight to Figaro's ego. They've only known each other for a day or two at this point, and he already knows he doesn't want that to happen. Figaro is bad enough as is.]
Shall we get around to feeding you now? Given how many times you've brought up getting away from me, I'm assuming you're getting tired of my company. [Already! It's been how long? And already, Ooo (dammit, he meant Figaro) is eyeing the door. Already!]
no subject
[But he does mention getting Sampo his dinner, and that's more important than poking at Gepard's insecurities. He perks up a little at the mention of it, injury to his shin forgotten.]
I am pretty peckish. But tired of your company? Never! You're a joy.
[Y'know, an absolute delight who kicks him in the shin whenever he talks about tasty Dunn. A joy to have in class.]
You'll want to be comfortable when we do it. And preferably laying down, in case you get lightheaded. [Wouldn't want the good Captain to fall over and hurt himself, after all. Sure, Sampo would be there to catch him, but it's better not to risk it.] How about your couch?
[He'd have suggested the bed, but he doesn't want to make Gepard skittish. Asking him to lay down in bed and let another man on top of him to get his teeth into him is... a little intimate? Probably a lot for a blushing virgin like Gepard.]
no subject
But Figaro(oo) calls him a joy, and Gepard blushes, quickly looking away, getting up from the table, because Figaro(oo) says that he should be on a couch and he's absolutely right, he's just going to get to doing that. Couch. Lying down on a couch. He can do that. For a brief moment, Gepard's tempted to point out a bed would be easier and more convenient, but then he considers the logistics behind that and that's a bit much, especially since he's trying to keep this as professional as humanly possible and Figaro(oo) is making this incredibly difficult.]
Where do you plan on biting me?
[He's lying down on his couch. This feels weird. Should he keep his eyes open or close? What's the etiquette for blood donation?] There shouldn't be a problem if I'm off duty for the next few days, so wherever you want is fine. I won't have to explain your...mark to people- oh, I'll do the dishes.
[As if that's important, but it deserves to be said.] You've done so much for me. Cleaning up is the least I can do.
[Eyes closed. He's closing his eyes. It's easier this way. Less likely to get flustered.]
no subject
[Gepard goes to the couch with little resistance, and Sampo follows. It's a rather practical sort of couch, perfectly serviceable but a little in the vein of a bachelor's first set of furniture. Comfortable enough, probably. The good Captain at least doesn't look uncomfortable while he's laying there, at least not physically.]
[He's also going to clean up the dishes. That's nice, but a bit of a non-sequitur.]
I can bite anywhere there's decent blood supply and soft tissue. [Fairly obvious. It's a bad idea to bite over bony parts or somewhere that doesn't bleed well.] Neck's easy, but it's not like I have to bite there. The forearm's can work, too. Or the thigh.
[He sits on the couch next to Gepard, leans over him.] If you don't care, I'd rather do the neck. It's the faster option, aside from maybe the thigh. But I figure we don't know each other well enough for you to start taking off your pants. [Wink!]
[His hands are gentle when he tips Gepard's head a little to the side, giving him good access. Still gentle when he leans in, mouth brushing the warm skin of his throat. Gepard smells delicious-- fragrant and complex like a good wine.]
I don't usually eat from people who are still awake. This might be kind of uncomfortable? I'll try to take it easy on you.
[His teeth sink in, a smooth, sharp puncture. Blood wells over his tongue again, and while he can't say that Gepard exactly tastes good-- a day or two of good food and moderate sleep can't fix his problems-- he's not as horribly bitter as before. A tolerable meal rather than a vile one.]
no subject
But no, Gepard feels weight against the couch. His eyes open again. Gepard stares up at Figaro. His blue eyes blink - blink blink - as he hears Figaro talk, neck, forearms, Gepard immediately decides he's going to pretend like he didn't hear about the third region, Figaro repeats the part about his thighs and winks and Gepard can't pretend like he hadn't heard that part. It takes an effort to keep from looking away from Figaro, to stare at the ceiling, the couch, to close his eyes again, it takes an effort and he has to fight the instinctual urge to shove Figaro to the ground.
Figaro's hands are gentle. (Damn him.) He can't help it. Gepard nuzzles into that hand as it tilts his head to the side. The lips make him shiver. He's prepared to blame it on the fact that he's prey in the hands of a predator. Don't read too much into it. He feels breath against his skin. Then-
Pain. An agonizing moment of pain, one which sears through his skin as teeth sink in and his spine goes taut and his mind screams at him to fight, to run, to throw Figaro off of him-
-but then, euphoria, joy running through his veins, alien but...welcoming. He welcomes it. It's- it's-
His hand runs through Figaro's hair and he marvels at how silky-smooth it feels, at least in that moment. Gepard hears a moan. It's his own. He hasn't realized it yet. He's too busy trying to pull Figaro, to urge him closer to, have him drink all that he might want to, to use up everything that he is to care about things like the fact he made a very embarrassing moan and the second the bite wears off he's going to fucking die of embarrassment. Bites should be painful. He should hate this.
But he doesn't.]
no subject
[Hands pull him closer, urging him on rather than away. Sampo can feel the resonance of Gepard's moan through his teeth, the sound vibrating in that lovely throat.]
[He gets his arms around Gepard and pulls him into them, drawing him close; Gepard is cradled in his embrace not entirely unlike the cover of some terrible half-Shield romance novel, but with the Captain as the damsel, the blond beauty trapped in the arms of a dark and handsome villain. And there's a not insignificant part of Sampo that wants to fulfill that role and drain Gepard of every last drop, until all of his warmth has been lost down his ravenous gullet.]
[One of Gepard's hands is tangled in his hair, and for a moment, it catches-- that brief sting is a sorely-needed reminder of what he's doing, of the fact that he's still drinking from Gepard even though he probably should have stopped by now. Sampo pulls back from him with a gasp like a man who's just surfaced from underwater. When he looks down at him, his eyes fall almost immediately back to his neck and the puncture marks there, the slowing slip of deep red from the wound.]
[He leans in again. Not to bite, but to drag his tongue over the blood that drips down his neck before it has the chance to ruin his collar.]
no subject
...and then Figaro pulls out. Gepard whimpers. It's a small, soft, desperate noise, the beginnings of begging, choked out by the tongue against his neck. Gepard arches his neck- Figaro wants to taste him, sure, he can taste every last bit of him, a breathless little a-ah coming out of his lips as his leg tries to tangle with Figaro's own, pull him down-
And then that's the point in which Gepard really sort of realizes what just happened. He freezes. He's suddenly aware of a few things:
1. Figaro's bite is more...it's nicer than he expected, a moment's pain and then pleasure, pure bliss. This might be a problem?
2. He also currently has an erection hard enough he could likely break through Qlipoth Fort if he tried. This is definitely a problem.
3. Figaro heard all of that, saw all of that, and if he hadn't come to when he did, would've felt all of that.
The joy is replaced with pure embarrassment and also, they're still kind of entangled, aren't they? He's still in Figaro's arms, his hand is still in Figaro's hair. If he knew Figaro's actual name, he might have moaned it by accident, and- Gepard breathes in, out, slower, in again, out again, trying to force himself to relax, and also hoping that maybe his erection isn't something noticeable...? Perhaps? Perhaps this happens all the time. Yes. Figaro's likely used to this.]
...sorry. [Please say it's normal. He looked like such a mess, probably, sounded like a mess, probably, definitely. Please say all the victims end up being ridiculous.
His hand, at a loss, starts stroking Figaro's hair which isn't silky-soft perfection, but the fact it's on the coarse and possibly split-ended side of things is, at least, a reassurance, that he won't start- that the bite only effects him so much.] I don't know what came over me.
no subject
[What happens is that he pulls back, looks down at Gepard, and sees an immensely embarrassed guard captain with a red face entangled in his arms. He's flushed and his hair is a little messy and Sampo's not a hundred percent sure if that's an erection against his thigh or if Gepard's just got something in his pocket. (Something kind of big. No, bad Sampo, don't think about the hypothetical large penises of straight men who agreed to be your juice box.)]
[Gepard is apologizing for the whole... situation, for whatever came over him that made him make pretty noises and clutch onto Sampo like a lover. The only reason that Sampo isn't in the same embarrassing boat with him is because his downstairs doesn't really do much without a recent blood meal, and he's been so infrequent about his feedings that he wouldn't be able to stand and salute even if he wanted to.]
Hey, nothing to apologize for! It's no biggie. [He keeps his voice light. This is fine, right? They're just two guys, chilling on a couch, zero feet apart because they're not gay.] I guess it wasn't too uncomfortable for you!
[Which is like. That's a thing, probably, that's a thing that's kind of fucked up if he thinks about it for too long. Sure, he's an Elation Emanator, so maybe it makes sense that his bite brings pleasure, but it's also pretty fucked up to make a guy feel good while you're draining him dry. Killing him and making him love it.]
[But! That's an existential crisis for another day. Right now, he's got Gepard stroking his hair, and that's... probably a little weird. He might still be a bit loopy from the bite and the blood loss.]
How are you feeling? Okay? [He doesn't look bad. Looks pretty healthy, aside from the embarrassment.] I should probably take care of your neck pretty soon. You aren't bleeding, but it's still a bite.
[Focus on that rather than Gepard's schrodinger's boner.]
no subject
Gepard stops stroking Figaro's hair. He's grounded enough. The bite happened, and the bite's gone. Gepard breathes in, and then slowly breathes out, forcing himself to move past the embarrassment. He's trying to focus on what next, instead of what just happened. It's not working. It's just making him think about it more, and he wants to-
Figaro offers to dress his bite.]
N-no. [No. He has to say that more firmly.] No. [Better. Gepard touches his neck, missing the sensation of Figaro's hair almost immediately (coarse hair or imaginary silky-smooth perfection, either's fine) and he ignores that.
His neck feels sore. Sensitive. He doesn't like it.]
That won't be necessary. I've dressed worse wounds than this.
[This would be more convincing if he wasn't lying down, feeling vaguely ravished, in the arms of a stranger...Gepard tries to sit up, and feels woozy. Dizzy. Sudden vertigo.
He's dealt with worse.]
no subject
[But when he tries to sit up, he's unsteady, and Sampo gets an arm around his back to help stabilize him and get him upright. Don't worry, you can put your weight on him-- he's stronger than he looks.]
Hey, careful! You shouldn't try to get up so fast. [Blood loss, buddy.]
[Trying to get out of the strong arms of your vampiric acquaintance has really just kept you right in them. Now he's going to keep those arms around you, to make sure that you don't topple over.]
[His eyes fall again on the mark, on the tempting column of Gepard's throat. It's... he had enough to sustain himself, but there is a part of him that wants to bite down on him again. Maybe he'll be sweeter the second time. Maybe he'll make sweeter noises the second time. He licks his lips; there's still the faint taste of his last meal.]
At least let me get your first aid kit or something.
[And give him an excuse to not be tempted over a pale, lovely throat.]
no subject
Problem, and Gepard's learning new things about himself each moment that passes. New, unfortunate things. Here's one, Figaro smells amazing, and Gepard doesn't know if that's because of the bite (the same residual thing that had his little Earthwork in his pants wake up) or if Figaro always smells amazing. And it's not like he can sniff the guy on a normal basis.
For another, he's in his arms, and Gepard finds that he doesn't want to leave. Isn't that funny? Isn't it great how these things work? And he feels just enough vertigo that he can't find him, stand up, walk about on his own.
With a frustrated grunt, Gepard buries his face into whatever-of-Figaro is there; a neck, a shoulder, a chest. He closes his eyes. That doesn't help with the (amazing) scent, but it helps with the vertigo. A little.]
Help me to my bathroom.
[Then he can dress his wound and then pass out on the tiled floor, or something.
It takes an effort to not mumble it, from shame, from- something else, but Gepard puts in that effort. It comes out quietly, but at least it's not a mumble?]
That's all you need to do.
no subject
[Gepard wants him to get him to the bathroom. It's an easy enough ask.]
Yeah, sure. Just bear with me for a second. [While he gets Gepard into his arms. When he lifts him off of the couch, it's with the same effortlessness that he'd lifted him when they'd met, as though Gepard's considerable weight was about as significant as a sack of flour.] Gotcha.
[Secure in his arms, in a princess carry. No walking for you, you get the special treatment for pretty men.]
[He'd familiarized himself with the layout of Gepard's apartment a bit when he'd arrived, so he at least knows where the bathroom is. When he brings Gepard in and flicks on the light, he deposits his lightheaded cargo onto the closed toilet, so that he can sit and hopefully not feel too dizzy.]
You sure you're okay? [He kneels in front of him, to get a good look at his face in the light.] You look kind of pale. I didn't think I took that much from you?
no subject
Somehow, Gepard hadn't expected that he'd be carried. If he didn't know better, he'd think that Figaro enjoys it. Cedarwood and tabdanum and red rose. He doesn't know these scents, all of them. They're more secrets. He wants to know more. He also wants Figaro to have his way with him, which is a bad thing.
So, for now, Gepard clings and buries his nose against Figaro's neck, and breathes.
He's deposited on a toilet. No, not a toilet. His toilet. Gepard blinks. Figaro's fucking kneeling. Which is fine, except Figaro's awkwardly crotch-high. Gepard blanches, which doesn't help with the entire pale thing.] You didn't take too much. It's more than I expected, but...not too much.
[He's trying to project confidence as much as he can, a confident captain, which only works so well, probably.]
no subject
[Gepard keeps getting paler, blanching in front of him. Sampo frowns, because that's really not what healthy people are supposed to do. Healthy people have more pink in their cheeks.]
Maybe I should hang around for a while, in case you need anything. [Or in case he passes out and falls over, because he looks like he might do that at any moment.]
[Sampo stands and briefly goes through Gepard's cabinets until he finds the first aid kit, then brings it over to Gepard. The good Captain said that he could handle it himself, but it's fine if Sampo hangs around to be his helper, right? He can help clean out the wound and bandage it up, even if Gepard doesn't need him for anything more than handing over the antiseptic and gauze.]
You look really... peaky? [That's a nice way of saying it, right?]
no subject
Clenching his own thigh is easier. Gepard does that and tries to pretend like he really doesn't want to grope himself.]
...I've been hoping you'd go so I could take care of...this. [He's making an effort to breathe in and out and in and out again, calm and slow and not at all worked up, no, not at all. But Figaro has no sign of...peakiness. He has to focus on that. How one-sided whatever-this-is really is.] I can hardly pull down my pants and go at it with you here, now can I? [Annoyed, annoyed, very annoyed, and stern. Completely in control, just lightly drained and unfortunately turned on by it, nothing to see here.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)