There has to be something sturdy enough to withstand a little neglect. If the Architects could get some plants to survive the Eternal Freeze, there has to be something that can survive you.
[Gepard Landau cannot possibly be a greater ecological disaster than the Eternal Freeze. It's just not possible, he might be a force of nature but he's not an apocalypse. They just haven't found the right indestructible plant yet.]
[The bell above the door jingles as they walk into Eversummer Florist. The woman behind the counter greets Gepard, obviously recognizing him, and seems politely confused about the fact that he has someone with him, but doesn't comment on it. Sampo just gives her a jaunty little wave.]
What about a succulent? They're pretty hardy, and I think some of them are okay with cold weather.
[Maybe not Belobog-cold weather, but there are varieties that should at least be able to stay alive even if they're near a cold window. And some of them even bloom if they're really well taken care of, so that would be a rewarding thing for Gepard. Finally getting a plant happy enough to give him a flower.]
[Gepard recognizes the woman. Vaska. She'd been the one who sold him some lilies before his last tour of duty. Reassured him that they were rather sturdy, no matter what he did they'd find a way of surviving. He gives her a little smile, hoping that he won't have to explain that they actually did die. It's miserable. He knew a lot of the florist staff by name, knew what some of their lives were like, and a lot of them probably assumed he had a lush apartment.
It's not lush. He knows it, his sisters knows it, and now a stranger calling himself Figaro knows it.
His attention is fixed back on Figaro as he hopes against all hope that the staff of Eversummer Florist won't ask him questions about his...
...friend.]
A succulent? [That's a new suggestion.] I never tried growing one. They always seemed so...
I think they're pretty hard to kill, for the most part! Maybe don't overwater it? They'd probably do better if you forget to water than if you give too much.
[Desert plant, and all that. Drought tolerant but much less tolerant of damp, rot-prone conditions.]
Ah, but that's also why we have lovely Miss Vaska to help us, isn't it? She's an expert!
[Probably. You'd have to at least have some knowledge if they're your main product, right? Surely she's sold plants to black thumbs in the past and managed to match them up with something that they can't kill. At the very least, she'd know which plants can survive a month-long course of neglect.]
[He flinches as Figaro acknowledges the presence of Miss Vaska. She blushes, a little, and slides a glance at Gepard, one which asks without asking who is this? He pretends like he doesn't see it.
Vaska fixes Figaro with a big smile. "Of course! Florist Vaska, happy to help." She then starts to go on an unskippable two minute cutscene, talking about her flowers, and the various products, and the colors and meanings and-]
Sorry for the trouble.
[It's no trouble at all, apparently, which is...odd because he knows that she reads while on the job, and they're keeping her from her fiction, and she also tries not to let him know what she's reading because the books are, technically, banned, but Gepard knows and also has looked into the series, and she keeps on looking at him and looking at Figaro, and looking back at him again-
This is going somewhere. He can tell she's getting ideas and so he reaches for a succulent, a plain one that looks sturdy.] How about this one?
[Sampo listens politely throughout Vaska's unskippable two minute cutscene about flowers and plants, mostly because it's an unskippable cutscene and he knows his part in it. He's there to be Gepard's mysterious new friend for Vaska to later gossip about to her friends, spreading a rumor about how the good Captain has a new "friend". Sampo can't wait to hear them through the Belobog equivalent of the grapevine.]
[Gepard starts getting a little restless, though-- maybe starting to see what Vaska's attention means-- and just picks out a succulent, apparently based only on appearance alone. A little barrel cactus, a squat little thing and kind of cute for it.]
Well, those are supposed to be easy to grow! So it's probably a good choice, right?
[Vaska seems to agree. And, anyway, the sooner she gets her sale made, the sooner she can gossip or get back to her reading, two things that are probably far more enjoyable than selling prickly plants.]
[She chirps out something agreeing, yeah, something cheerful and upbeat, and fixes Gepard with a too-bright stare, and Gepard really kind of wants to squirm and why did he think this was a good idea - heading out with some guy he doesn't even know, a criminal who assaulted countless people because of his unique dietary requirements, and-]
I probably shouldn't overthink it, you're right. [What that stare means or the cactus, Figaro can take his pick.] I'll take it.
[It's overpriced for a cactus, not that Gepard knows it, but that's what happens when you're from a snowy iceball.]
[Gepard buys himself a cactus and Vaska packs it up for him in a weather-proof container so that it'll survive the journey home through the cold Belobog weather. Congratulations, you're the proud father of a spiky desert plant while living on an iceball.]
[Surely this can't go wrong, right?]
[Vaska very cheerfully waves them off when they leave, and Sampo hooks his arm through Gepard's again and waves back at her because he's a little shit.]
I think you're going to have good luck with this one! [If 'good luck' has blue hair and calls itself Figaro. Sampo is absolutely going to have to save this poor cactus from being drowned, he can already tell.]
[He's carrying the cactus like it's important, which, it is, ever so slightly leaning into Figaro's grasp without realizing he's doing so because he's a bit preoccupied. Furthermore, even if he's not...
Interested, like that, Figaro is (unfortunately) tall and warm and nice to lean against, and so Gepard does so like he's a preoccupied cat, staring at his cactus.]
[When Figaro says Leo, Gepard gives it consideration. He makes a thoughtful noise. He examines the cactus, asking himself if it looks like a Leo.
When Figaro says Theo, Gepard stiffens, because sometimes? Sometimes you come up with a good name, and it ends in an o, and that doesn't mean anything. Coincidences happen. Two names, though? Less coincidental. He tries to not react to Figaro, fails when he's bludgeoned by Antonio and Romeo, and he just stares for a moment. Just stares.]
I'm not naming a plant after you. [Bad enough he'll think of Figaro every single time he looks at the cactus.] I'm sure you've used all of those names some time or another.
Maybe, maybe not! No hints for our game, that would be cheating.
[He’s not going to tell you what aliases he’s used, Gepard, you have to figure that out yourself! Otherwise it ruins the game, and Sampo is invested in how well Gepard does. How smart of a boy is Belobog’s favorite Captain?]
I suppose you could name it something else, though. What kind of names does the Captain like? There must be something that you think is cute.
[Cute is what’s important. If the name is cute, than Gepard might be guilted into keeping it alive longer.]
Cosmo. [He says this with all the confidence of an edict from the Supreme Guardian, gazing at the stupid cactus like he's two seconds away from ordering it to not die.]
It's a good name and you've likely used it as an alias at some point. [He also says this with all the confidence of a Supreme Guardian ordering her men into battle.] And thanks to you, I'm having problems thinking of something that doesn't end in an o.
Will you take better care of it if it's named after me?
[What a cute sentiment, Gepard. Sampo's very amused, because the good Captain could have picked literally any other name if he wanted something that wouldn't remind him of his blood-sucking acquaintance-- or, if he was feeling vindictive, he could've named it something less flattering, like Leech. Mosquito. Do they have mosquitos on Jarilo-VI?]
[Anyway, he's flattered. Pleased as a cat that stuck its paw in your milk.]
[Up the stairs they go, to Gepard's apartment, the newly christened Cosmo in hand.]
Cosmo is a good name! If I never used if before, I wouldn't be able to now, though. It would be too obvious, wouldn't it?
[Why must Figaro make this weird. Why is he making this weird. Gepard waits until they're up the stairs to respond, making some neutral non-committal noise, as if he's turning the questions in his head. "Will you take better care of it if it's named after me?" Hmm. "Cosmo is a good name!"
He waits until they get to the door to his apartment, and then looks at Figaro.]
Of course I would. If I don't take care of you, then you'll no doubt eat something [or someone] you shouldn't. It's a good name, and a good reminder.
[He's heading inside. Time to find a spot for this cactus.]
[Sampo follows him inside, closing the door behind him. It's warmer inside Gepard's apartment than out of it, and even blood-sucking creatures of the night prefer to be warm.]
Let's get Cosmo set up somewhere nice and sunny. He needs to have a lot of sunlight, or at least as much as you can get in Belobog!
[Which does leave something to be desired, admittedly. That's why most people on this planet have those UV lights that lets them produce enough vitamin D to stave off the vitamin deficiency depression. Can't let your little cactus get sad and die, Gepard.]
[Please take good care of me, then! A blush, and they're inside.]
I should get a new lamp for my plants. My current one is, well. [Figaro can see it for himself. Sad. Tragic. Old, and not in a good way. The sort of lamp that came with the apartment and would remain with the apartment, maybe die with the apartment. The cactus is, nevertheless, positioned under it, and Gepard stares at it stoically.]
I suppose I should water it, and then take care of you. If you need to be... [Um.] Fed.
[He's going for the watering can! He's going to drown Cosmo!]
[Since Gepard is only a paragon of the Preservation when it doesn't involve plants, Sampo clearly has to step in to save the poor cactus before it gets watered into an untimely grave.]
I'm sure it's fine! Vaska would've already watered it, so I doubt you need to so soon.
[Sampo touches Gepard's wrist, to stop him from moving any closer to the weapon of watery destruction. Step away from the watering can, Gepard, and no one will get hurt.]
Besides, I am a little peckish! [An understatement. Since he'd gotten a taste of the real deal, he'd been craving another bite. Even if Gepard isn't the tastiest juice box just yet, Sampo had gone weeks without a meal. Just one sip wasn't going to alleviate all of his hunger in one go.] Do you mind giving your pal a little snack?
[The touch on his wrist stops him and...] Oh. Yes. I promised that I'd take care of you.
[For whatever that means, and Gepard moves to take off his coat, his shirt, you know, things that might be in the way...but he hesitates, one button down. All of this is far more awkward than he had expected, going into this, but he made a promise and, by Qlipoth, he will live up to it.]
Would it... [He blushes, a dusty pink. There's really no good way of bringing up the subject.] Be more comfortable for you if I gave myself a wound you could drink from? [Cut himself, in other words.] I'd rather not, but also, I doubt you'd want to watch me act like that again.
[Writhing like a whore, all of that sort of thing.]
[Cosmo is saved, at least for another day. Gepard's dignity, however, is sacrificed, because he brings up that whole awkward boner thing from before. You know, that thing that they were both trying not to think about too much because neither of them think that the other would be interested in their boners.]
[Pink is a very attractive color on Gepard's face. It's really a shame that Sampo is under the impression that he's embarrassed purely because of the awkwardness of getting hard in polite company.]
Well. I don't want you to be uncomfortable! [Because Gepard had been very obviously uncomfortable after The Incident.] Maybe it won't be as bad if I don't bite you on the neck? Like on your arm or something. Necks are, you know. That kind of thing.
[An erogenous zone, and all. Normal people can get worked up by having their lover kiss and bite their throat without anything vampiric going on, but most people aren't getting hot and heavy over some wrist nibbling. So maybe going for the least erotic body part will keep Gepard from having such a prominent reaction.]
It's about your comfort, not mine. [And then he gets back to stubbornly stripping off his shirt, because regardless of where Figaro bites, blood stains and he only owns so many shirts. That's not even getting into how pristine white they tend to be. Getting blood out of them sucks.]
And regardless of where you bite, people will have questions if the same place is bandaged too many times.
[He's heading over to the couch, he's getting on the couch, he's going to settle in on the couch.] That won't be a problem now, but in the future- should I get a towel?
[Should he unsettle on the couch? Should he get up and grab a towel?]
Like I said, it's all water under the bridge to me. What's a boner or two between friends?
[Gepard starts removing his shirt, revealing a lot of very unfairly toned muscle. It's a shame, really. An excellent specimen of a man, going entirely unappreciated. Even if he's not the person that Gepard would want appreciating him, it's really mind-boggling that no one else has scooped him up yet. Handsome, strong, diligent, and sweet, and a captain to boot? He should have every pretty girl in Belobog jumping at the chance.]
Mm. Rotating spots is a good idea, it isn't good for you if I bite too many times in the same place. You need to heal up. [So changing spots is good practice anyway. And some spots are easier to conceal than others.]
I can eat neatly, especially from an arm or wrist. But if you'd rather have a towel anyway, be my guest! [He laughs.] I'm good at getting bloodstains out, too, trust me. I've had a lot of practice.
[Eating neatly is a learned skill, and he didn't always have it.]
[He settles back down on the couch, getting...comfortable, and Gepard belatedly wonders if he should get a blanket to hide his crotch. Just in case things go in a bad direction. But it's too late now.]
I trust you. [It's said simply, which unfortunately makes it sound deeper and more profound than just merely getting someone to chew on his wrist for a few minutes without making a mess. Gepard's oblivious to this. He just holds out an arm- not his dominant arm, no, the other one. He's also oblivious to what a shirtless man lounging on a couch holding out an arm to another person, while saying I trust you, might come across as. He's just focused on the feeding of Figaro part.]
[Well, at least Gepard is able to get comfortable on the couch, even when he's shirtless and offering his arm up for a guy to bite on it. And the way he says it, I trust you... he really doesn't know how much he's trusting Sampo with. As an Emanator, if he wanted to drain Gepard of every ounce of blood in his body, he could do it without much trouble. He could pin Gepard to that couch and get his teeth in his throat and take him for everything he's got, and, apparently, make him love every second of it.]
[Would he come before he lost consciousness from blood loss? Ugh, that's a weird thought. Put that on the list of things to never think about again.]
[Sampo walks over to him and takes the offered arm, and... it feels weird to join him on the couch, and he'd have to pull his arm to the side to get his teeth into it, so it seems easier to just kneel in front of him and go about it that way. With his arm angled downward, gravity will help with blood flow, too.]
I'll try to be quick.
[He bites down a few inches above the wrist, where he can see the faint blue line of a vein underneath his skin. Hot blood floods over his tongue again. He's only tasted Gepard twice before, but he thinks he's improving a little day by day-- a little less bitter, a little richer, more complex in profile. Like taking little sips of an aging wine from the cask, tasting how it improves over time. He makes a soft, unconscious noise as he swallows, relief at how each mouthful of blood soothes the aches inside of him. After spending so much time in a constant state of starvation, he'd forgotten what it felt like to have satisfaction.]
[He's too focused on eating neatly-- and the full body sensation of relief-- to think too much about the state of anything in the vicinity of Gepard's trousers.]
[It's nice, in a different way from before. Where before was an overwhelming flood, this is more like getting a handjob from someone that you liked, which isn't something that Gepard should be thinking about Figaro. He doesn't even know his name, not really, but here he is, feeling...nice. It's nice.
He bites his lip, trying to muffle his, uh, excitement, and then bites his free hand, watching as Figaro drinks from his arm. He can't see his face. Gepard doesn't know if it's better or worse that way, and he swallows down a sound that nearly escaped his lips. It's a muffled little thing.
Gepard shifts, half-rolling towards Figaro. He reaches out, runs his fingers through his hair like he's encouraging him while- don't think about that, he's not going to think about it.]
Take your time.
[His voice doesn't waver as much as it could. He's glad about that.]
[Gepard's hand is gentle when it runs through his hair, and Aeons it's been a long time since someone had touched him so kindly. Having to hide his vampiric habits really made a dent in his social life, so the only real touch that he'd gotten before Gepard were unconscious bodies that he held while he fed. That's not at all the same as this, the almost meditative stroke of Gepard's fingers. It's lovely. It's the best he's felt in what seems like ages, all because of the generosity and lack of self-preservation of one man.]
[He slows his pace, partly because Gepard told him to, partly because he wants to draw this out as long as possible. Drift a little longer in this blissful feeling, the taste of Gepard in his mouth. Was it always this good, when he had drank from people in the past? The victims of his night-time dinner runs never made him feel this way, but those had been quick, hurried affairs to gulp down what he needed to survive before anyone could find him. It's been years, not since he left the Tavern, that he'd gotten to savor anything...]
[When he finally withdraws his teeth from Gepard's wrist, it's to lick his skin clean-- don't waste a drop, Gepard's blood is more valuable to him than gold-- and then rest his head against the good Captain's knee, still holding onto his arm.]
[He might be tempted to stay there all day, if Gepard doesn't make him move first.]
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[Gepard Landau cannot possibly be a greater ecological disaster than the Eternal Freeze. It's just not possible, he might be a force of nature but he's not an apocalypse. They just haven't found the right indestructible plant yet.]
[The bell above the door jingles as they walk into Eversummer Florist. The woman behind the counter greets Gepard, obviously recognizing him, and seems politely confused about the fact that he has someone with him, but doesn't comment on it. Sampo just gives her a jaunty little wave.]
What about a succulent? They're pretty hardy, and I think some of them are okay with cold weather.
[Maybe not Belobog-cold weather, but there are varieties that should at least be able to stay alive even if they're near a cold window. And some of them even bloom if they're really well taken care of, so that would be a rewarding thing for Gepard. Finally getting a plant happy enough to give him a flower.]
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It's not lush. He knows it, his sisters knows it, and now a stranger calling himself Figaro knows it.
His attention is fixed back on Figaro as he hopes against all hope that the staff of Eversummer Florist won't ask him questions about his...
...friend.]
A succulent? [That's a new suggestion.] I never tried growing one. They always seemed so...
[What's a good word for it.] Delicate.
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[Desert plant, and all that. Drought tolerant but much less tolerant of damp, rot-prone conditions.]
Ah, but that's also why we have lovely Miss Vaska to help us, isn't it? She's an expert!
[Probably. You'd have to at least have some knowledge if they're your main product, right? Surely she's sold plants to black thumbs in the past and managed to match them up with something that they can't kill. At the very least, she'd know which plants can survive a month-long course of neglect.]
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Vaska fixes Figaro with a big smile. "Of course! Florist Vaska, happy to help." She then starts to go on an unskippable two minute cutscene, talking about her flowers, and the various products, and the colors and meanings and-]
Sorry for the trouble.
[It's no trouble at all, apparently, which is...odd because he knows that she reads while on the job, and they're keeping her from her fiction, and she also tries not to let him know what she's reading because the books are, technically, banned, but Gepard knows and also has looked into the series, and she keeps on looking at him and looking at Figaro, and looking back at him again-
This is going somewhere. He can tell she's getting ideas and so he reaches for a succulent, a plain one that looks sturdy.] How about this one?
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[Gepard starts getting a little restless, though-- maybe starting to see what Vaska's attention means-- and just picks out a succulent, apparently based only on appearance alone. A little barrel cactus, a squat little thing and kind of cute for it.]
Well, those are supposed to be easy to grow! So it's probably a good choice, right?
[Vaska seems to agree. And, anyway, the sooner she gets her sale made, the sooner she can gossip or get back to her reading, two things that are probably far more enjoyable than selling prickly plants.]
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I probably shouldn't overthink it, you're right. [What that stare means or the cactus, Figaro can take his pick.] I'll take it.
[It's overpriced for a cactus, not that Gepard knows it, but that's what happens when you're from a snowy iceball.]
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[Surely this can't go wrong, right?]
[Vaska very cheerfully waves them off when they leave, and Sampo hooks his arm through Gepard's again and waves back at her because he's a little shit.]
I think you're going to have good luck with this one! [If 'good luck' has blue hair and calls itself Figaro. Sampo is absolutely going to have to save this poor cactus from being drowned, he can already tell.]
You should give it a name.
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Interested, like that, Figaro is (unfortunately) tall and warm and nice to lean against, and so Gepard does so like he's a preoccupied cat, staring at his cactus.]
What sort of name? [Would it end in an -o...]
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[Suggestion time. What names would make Gepard roll his eyes the hardest? It’s like a game, and the prize is exasperation.]
Leo? Theo? Antonio? Maybe Romeo?
[More ooo’s. You can never escape the Ooo, not while Sampo is around.]
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When Figaro says Theo, Gepard stiffens, because sometimes? Sometimes you come up with a good name, and it ends in an o, and that doesn't mean anything. Coincidences happen. Two names, though? Less coincidental. He tries to not react to Figaro, fails when he's bludgeoned by Antonio and Romeo, and he just stares for a moment. Just stares.]
I'm not naming a plant after you. [Bad enough he'll think of Figaro every single time he looks at the cactus.] I'm sure you've used all of those names some time or another.
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[He’s not going to tell you what aliases he’s used, Gepard, you have to figure that out yourself! Otherwise it ruins the game, and Sampo is invested in how well Gepard does. How smart of a boy is Belobog’s favorite Captain?]
I suppose you could name it something else, though. What kind of names does the Captain like? There must be something that you think is cute.
[Cute is what’s important. If the name is cute, than Gepard might be guilted into keeping it alive longer.]
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It's a good name and you've likely used it as an alias at some point. [He also says this with all the confidence of a Supreme Guardian ordering her men into battle.] And thanks to you, I'm having problems thinking of something that doesn't end in an o.
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[What a cute sentiment, Gepard. Sampo's very amused, because the good Captain could have picked literally any other name if he wanted something that wouldn't remind him of his blood-sucking acquaintance-- or, if he was feeling vindictive, he could've named it something less flattering, like Leech. Mosquito. Do they have mosquitos on Jarilo-VI?]
[Anyway, he's flattered. Pleased as a cat that stuck its paw in your milk.]
[Up the stairs they go, to Gepard's apartment, the newly christened Cosmo in hand.]
Cosmo is a good name! If I never used if before, I wouldn't be able to now, though. It would be too obvious, wouldn't it?
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He waits until they get to the door to his apartment, and then looks at Figaro.]
Of course I would. If I don't take care of you, then you'll no doubt eat something [or someone] you shouldn't. It's a good name, and a good reminder.
[He's heading inside. Time to find a spot for this cactus.]
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[Sampo follows him inside, closing the door behind him. It's warmer inside Gepard's apartment than out of it, and even blood-sucking creatures of the night prefer to be warm.]
Let's get Cosmo set up somewhere nice and sunny. He needs to have a lot of sunlight, or at least as much as you can get in Belobog!
[Which does leave something to be desired, admittedly. That's why most people on this planet have those UV lights that lets them produce enough vitamin D to stave off the vitamin deficiency depression. Can't let your little cactus get sad and die, Gepard.]
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I should get a new lamp for my plants. My current one is, well. [Figaro can see it for himself. Sad. Tragic. Old, and not in a good way. The sort of lamp that came with the apartment and would remain with the apartment, maybe die with the apartment. The cactus is, nevertheless, positioned under it, and Gepard stares at it stoically.]
I suppose I should water it, and then take care of you. If you need to be... [Um.] Fed.
[He's going for the watering can! He's going to drown Cosmo!]
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[Since Gepard is only a paragon of the Preservation when it doesn't involve plants, Sampo clearly has to step in to save the poor cactus before it gets watered into an untimely grave.]
I'm sure it's fine! Vaska would've already watered it, so I doubt you need to so soon.
[Sampo touches Gepard's wrist, to stop him from moving any closer to the weapon of watery destruction. Step away from the watering can, Gepard, and no one will get hurt.]
Besides, I am a little peckish! [An understatement. Since he'd gotten a taste of the real deal, he'd been craving another bite. Even if Gepard isn't the tastiest juice box just yet, Sampo had gone weeks without a meal. Just one sip wasn't going to alleviate all of his hunger in one go.] Do you mind giving your pal a little snack?
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[For whatever that means, and Gepard moves to take off his coat, his shirt, you know, things that might be in the way...but he hesitates, one button down. All of this is far more awkward than he had expected, going into this, but he made a promise and, by Qlipoth, he will live up to it.]
Would it... [He blushes, a dusty pink. There's really no good way of bringing up the subject.] Be more comfortable for you if I gave myself a wound you could drink from? [Cut himself, in other words.] I'd rather not, but also, I doubt you'd want to watch me act like that again.
[Writhing like a whore, all of that sort of thing.]
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[Pink is a very attractive color on Gepard's face. It's really a shame that Sampo is under the impression that he's embarrassed purely because of the awkwardness of getting hard in polite company.]
Well. I don't want you to be uncomfortable! [Because Gepard had been very obviously uncomfortable after The Incident.] Maybe it won't be as bad if I don't bite you on the neck? Like on your arm or something. Necks are, you know. That kind of thing.
[An erogenous zone, and all. Normal people can get worked up by having their lover kiss and bite their throat without anything vampiric going on, but most people aren't getting hot and heavy over some wrist nibbling. So maybe going for the least erotic body part will keep Gepard from having such a prominent reaction.]
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It's about your comfort, not mine. [And then he gets back to stubbornly stripping off his shirt, because regardless of where Figaro bites, blood stains and he only owns so many shirts. That's not even getting into how pristine white they tend to be. Getting blood out of them sucks.]
And regardless of where you bite, people will have questions if the same place is bandaged too many times.
[He's heading over to the couch, he's getting on the couch, he's going to settle in on the couch.] That won't be a problem now, but in the future- should I get a towel?
[Should he unsettle on the couch? Should he get up and grab a towel?]
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[Gepard starts removing his shirt, revealing a lot of very unfairly toned muscle. It's a shame, really. An excellent specimen of a man, going entirely unappreciated. Even if he's not the person that Gepard would want appreciating him, it's really mind-boggling that no one else has scooped him up yet. Handsome, strong, diligent, and sweet, and a captain to boot? He should have every pretty girl in Belobog jumping at the chance.]
Mm. Rotating spots is a good idea, it isn't good for you if I bite too many times in the same place. You need to heal up. [So changing spots is good practice anyway. And some spots are easier to conceal than others.]
I can eat neatly, especially from an arm or wrist. But if you'd rather have a towel anyway, be my guest! [He laughs.] I'm good at getting bloodstains out, too, trust me. I've had a lot of practice.
[Eating neatly is a learned skill, and he didn't always have it.]
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I trust you. [It's said simply, which unfortunately makes it sound deeper and more profound than just merely getting someone to chew on his wrist for a few minutes without making a mess. Gepard's oblivious to this. He just holds out an arm- not his dominant arm, no, the other one. He's also oblivious to what a shirtless man lounging on a couch holding out an arm to another person, while saying I trust you, might come across as. He's just focused on the feeding of Figaro part.]
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[Would he come before he lost consciousness from blood loss? Ugh, that's a weird thought. Put that on the list of things to never think about again.]
[Sampo walks over to him and takes the offered arm, and... it feels weird to join him on the couch, and he'd have to pull his arm to the side to get his teeth into it, so it seems easier to just kneel in front of him and go about it that way. With his arm angled downward, gravity will help with blood flow, too.]
I'll try to be quick.
[He bites down a few inches above the wrist, where he can see the faint blue line of a vein underneath his skin. Hot blood floods over his tongue again. He's only tasted Gepard twice before, but he thinks he's improving a little day by day-- a little less bitter, a little richer, more complex in profile. Like taking little sips of an aging wine from the cask, tasting how it improves over time. He makes a soft, unconscious noise as he swallows, relief at how each mouthful of blood soothes the aches inside of him. After spending so much time in a constant state of starvation, he'd forgotten what it felt like to have satisfaction.]
[He's too focused on eating neatly-- and the full body sensation of relief-- to think too much about the state of anything in the vicinity of Gepard's trousers.]
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He bites his lip, trying to muffle his, uh, excitement, and then bites his free hand, watching as Figaro drinks from his arm. He can't see his face. Gepard doesn't know if it's better or worse that way, and he swallows down a sound that nearly escaped his lips. It's a muffled little thing.
Gepard shifts, half-rolling towards Figaro. He reaches out, runs his fingers through his hair like he's encouraging him while- don't think about that, he's not going to think about it.]
Take your time.
[His voice doesn't waver as much as it could. He's glad about that.]
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[He slows his pace, partly because Gepard told him to, partly because he wants to draw this out as long as possible. Drift a little longer in this blissful feeling, the taste of Gepard in his mouth. Was it always this good, when he had drank from people in the past? The victims of his night-time dinner runs never made him feel this way, but those had been quick, hurried affairs to gulp down what he needed to survive before anyone could find him. It's been years, not since he left the Tavern, that he'd gotten to savor anything...]
[When he finally withdraws his teeth from Gepard's wrist, it's to lick his skin clean-- don't waste a drop, Gepard's blood is more valuable to him than gold-- and then rest his head against the good Captain's knee, still holding onto his arm.]
[He might be tempted to stay there all day, if Gepard doesn't make him move first.]
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