[Gepard has no way of knowing if tonight is a night that Sampo Koski decides that it's worthwhile to crash a Landau soiree. Sure, he'd said that the prize for their little game is so valuable that he couldn't afford to miss, but was he telling the truth? Was there really no other engagement that he might have that would take precedent over another fling with a guard captain?]
[Who knows? That's part of the game. Just like how Sampo wouldn't know if Gepard managed to excuse himself out of attending.]
[The party goes as expected. The ballroom is sumptuous. The canapes are tiny and intricate and the liquor costs more than an Underworlder's yearly salary. The band plays something sweet and pastoral, Gepard Landau enters the ballroom-- finely dressed, only slightly late, and almost immediately accosted by a potential wife candidate. Hand selected by his father, of course, some pretty thing of acceptable social stock. A fitting broodmare for Landau studding. It must be galling, for one's own father to pick out a bride with the same compassion and consideration that one would pick a horse to breed.]
[Gepard is speaking to one of those lucky little broodmares. Not the first, maybe, and certainly not the last. She's probably a lovely girl, really, with a sweet and gentle disposition, and might not have even made a bad wife, if all one cared about was pedigree and whether she'd be an inconvenient roommate. One of the waitstaff appears next to the good Captain, seemingly from thin air-- as good waitstaff do-- bearing a tray full of champagne flutes. The waiter is unremarkable in terms of his appearance, brown haired and forgettable as far as facial features go, and he offers flutes of champagne to both Gepard and his companion.]
[Because of how they are standing, when the waiter hands the glass to Gepard's potential suitress, his hand passes briefly in front of the good Captain's chest.]
[His duty fulfilled, the waiter unobtrusively slips away, leaving the two of them to their conversation. (His eyes are green, if Gepard happened to look closely enough.) A little later, Gepard might notice a missing weight on his chest-- a missing medal, one with a green ribbon.]
[Sampo might notice the precise moment Gepard realizes something's missing.
Gepard freezes in his tracks for a second too long, his gaze a little too distant. His mouth parts ever so slightly and he feels a fluttering in his chest - anticipation - and then Gepard gathers himself because the captain knows what happens next: he'll scour the crowds trying to find someone who doesn't quite fit in, or, someone who fits in a little too well, but-
Gepard Landau made a mistake.
And that mistake was that he froze in his tracks for a little too long and his gaze because a little too distant, and his mouth parted ever so slightly, and he did so while facing some women/potential additions to the Landau family/future mothers of his children.
Fuck fuck fuck. And now he's obligated to make some polite small talk. And if music starts playing, he'll probably have to ask a couple to dance.
Still, outwardly: he's the polite son of the Landau family.]
And how are you enjoying the party, miss...?
[The woman titters out some response. Gepard changes his tactics to scouring the crowd and trying to see someone who's fucking amused at his expense, because he sure feels like a fool right now.]
[An amateur mistake, Gepard— these women are looking for a chance to be the next Landau bride, and you’re their only shot at it. Only one Landau bachelor to go around! They can practically smell weakness and are ready to pounce at any opportunity. And the moment that Gepard stops to scan the crowd is when they see their opening.]
[The good Captain is forced to deal with the woman’s tittering— the eldest daughter of a middling family, getting to the age where she must be paired off and hoping to make a social leap— and off somewhere in the crowd, a pair of green eyes watches him with amusement from near the band. Gepard could fight his way through Fragmentum monsters, could weather the worst of Jarilo-VI’s eternal winter, but he can’t escape the perfumed clutches of would-be brides.]
[Catch Sampo’s eye, Gepard, and he’ll give you a cheeky little wink.]
[And then he turns to say a few words to the band’s conductor. There might be a little money exchanged, maybe not, but right after he does, the band strikes up into dancing music, just a little early for this time of the evening. But who doesn’t love a little dancing? Certainly not Gepard, who would appear terribly rude if he didn’t take a lady or two for a spin around the dance floor.]
[He catches the eye of someone nondescript, except for his eyes, and the stranger flashes him a cheeky little wink and Gepard's eyes widen ever so slightly, and if circumstances were different he'd politely excuse himself from the woman (what was her name again?) but if he moved too quickly he might tip off to people that a stranger, interloper, thief, complication was here, and he doesn't want Sampo to be driven off.
But then-
Music starts. It's a nice waltz! Gepard contemplates the merits of throwing Sampo out of his father's house, but he's got a woman in front of her and he knows what he's supposed to do.
So he charmingly smiles at her in the same way all retail employees smile at their customers, extends a hand, and asks-]
May I have this dance?
[She, of course, is delighted to have this dance, and off they go, waltzing. Gepard can feel the approving eyes of his mother, probably, glad that one of her children is finally showing signs of giving her grandchildren. His father is pleased, probably. Assuming he's paying attention.
He hopes Sampo is amused, but Gepard has no time to look for him, he has to look like he's reasonably, politely enjoying this dance and he does his best, because he is a man of duty. It's pleasant. He enjoys dancing, generally speaking; it's something that relates to music, but it's physical. Tactile. The woman enjoys it, maybe? At least it hadn't been a bad dance.
The music ends. He thanks her, and then makes his excuses- okay, no, she asked him out (in a polite, high society sort of way, but still) before he could ditch.]
My apologies, miss, but I'll be back on the frontlines by then.
[Help.
...but it's fine, one thing leads to another, and he ends up dancing with another woman (if he doesn't, he might return to discover that he's expected to go on dates with Woman #1) while making more polite small talk, gently fantasizing about running out into the snow and back into the arms of the military. It's very charming. People think him and Woman #2 are a handsome couple.
It's fine. It's just another extension of duty.
One more dance and then he'll just leave, feign having to pee (or something) and gather himself in a quiet corner, and until then he just will dance and long for the cold and the snow. At least that's simple.]
[Look at Gepard, taking ladies around the dance floor like a good little boy. His parents must be so pleased! Good little Gepard, finally talking to someone that they could arrange a marriage with. By the end of the night, his mother will undoubtedly be trying to arrange further little get-togethers with the more promising ladies of the evening, in the hopes that one of them will stick. Hell, if Gepard dances twice with one of them, she'll probably start arranging the wedding.]
[Gepard isn't even a terrible dancer, at least from Sampo's estimation. He's very regimented about it, dances on-beat like he's marching in formation, but he's certainly been taught what to do. Probably had it drilled into him when he was a child, exactly for situations like this. No stepping on delicate ladies' toes for Gepard.]
[Well! It's all fine and dandy to watch Gepard suffer through all the forced attention, but Sampo also wants to make sure that the good Captain's attention doesn't stray from the real prize here. All these little ladies might want to one day be the new Lady Landau, but they aren't invited to the real game-- Sampo's the one in the running for that, to be the only person who gets to bend the good Captain over a balcony railing. Or to get bent over himself, they'll see how the evening goes!]
[Sampo wanders his way closer to the dancers, slipping in between the other patrons without attracting their notice; he's good at keeping a low profile when he wants to, at being practically invisible. These kind of high-society people always just ignore anyone who looks like they'd just be a servant, below their notice. Their arrogance works out to his favor! And he wants to be able to get close enough to the dance floor for Gepard to notice him on one of his turns, so that he can give him another cheeky wink. Enjoy those dances, Captain, and all those pretty ladies who so desperately want to keep your attention.]
[The dancing is fine - tolerable, functional - until it isn't. Gepard step, step turns, and his eyes meet Sampo's, and Gepard's filled with sharp, pure-
Sure, let's call it anger. He's filled with a lot of anger and he angrily wants to take it out on Sampo or have Sampo take it out on him. (Shut up.) Lots of white-hot anger. Anger which he wants Sampo to beat out of him, or he takes it out on Sampo. (Shut up.) He wants to run after Sampo, tackle him to the ground, but only if Sampo's into that, and-
He can't do any of that. What he does instead is draw upon his polite captain facade (which isn't a facade, but also is - these things are complicated) and dance the dance to the end, and he smiles and says something polite (don't ask Gepard what he said, he just has a set of a dozen stock phrases he uses for occasions like this) and leaves.
He, more specifically, leaves through the side entrance to the hall, the most obvious entrance a Landau would take, and encounters some hired help who asks and Gepard says that he's going to get a breath of fresh air, and then he slips around the side - a corridor that only a Landau would think to take, and then heads up the back stairwell. No one would look for him here.
Hopefully.
And then he finds somewhere quiet and waits, half-hidden.
It's an obvious trap for Sampo, and Gepard doesn't expect Sampo will fall for it so much as play along with it, but also, a lot of luring Sampo out really involved doing something that he'd play along with, doesn't it? Doesn't it? Isn't that really what had been happening all along? And then-
And he's not sure what. And then he'll do something. He needs to get even for the forced waltzes.]
[Sampo can tell that exact moment when Gepard's eyes meet his, when his face solidifies into his Polite Captain expression. It's a very effective expression, it masks whatever else is going on underneath Gepard's pretty, well-dressed exterior. When they had first met, Sampo hadn't thought that there was much going on beneath Gepard's Stern Commander face, but he's learned-- the good Captain wears a mask nearly as well as any Masked Fool, he just takes it all seriously.]
[Gepard exits the ballroom after his dances are concluded and he can slip away from the tenacious grasps of hopeful brides-to-be. Sampo follows via a different route, making a brief pit-stop for a wardrobe change into something a little less waitstaff and a little more flattering-- if he's going to potentially take yet another form of Gepard's virginity, he ought to at least be dressed to impress. Put a little effort into it! And, besides, he loves an excuse to wear his Sunday best.]
[And of course he knows that Gepard is waiting for him. Setting a cute little trap, luring him in. And one could argue that it's not an effective trap because Sampo knows that it's there, but... it is successful at getting him to walk into it, so it's not a total failure, either.]
Oh Captain, my Captain! [He strolls down the totally not a trap hall, dressed in a pink suit that the rest of the party-goers would certainly be appalled by. Doesn't the color complement his complexion so nicely, Gepard? He picked it out himself.] Are you waiting for me? You'll miss out on so many dances if you hide away up here. All those ladies will be so disappointed!
Gepard had a plan. It was a pretty decent one, one which entailed hiding like some slavering half-feral creature waiting for Sampo to get close enough so he could tackle him, after which they could have homoerotic makeouts, which might lead to other things. Maybe. Possibly. If he's in a good mood and Sampo's convincing enough, and also if nobody else showed up, and maybe, maybe, maybe, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
So he's there. He's lurking, skulking about in the shadows, and then down comes Sampo in a...
...suit? A pink suit, no less. And Gepard knows what he should do, which is to not fall for the bait, wait patiently, and try for the tackle, and otherwise manhandle Sampo because Sampo made him waltz and fuck him, fuck him, fuck him.
But there is what he should do, and what he wants to do, and Gepard wavers indecisively for a moment, before- ah, well, they can take turns falling for each other's bait. His head pokes out of hiding. He's here, they both knew that this was one of those traps in which everyone took turns falling for it, he can skip the fanfare.]
What are you wearing, Koski?
[Wait, that sounded way too disapproving...]
You look- it's a nice color on you. [Terrible.] You look- [Fuck, he's so bad at this.] You look handsome. It's just I didn't- I'm just going to make a mess of things if I keep on talking.
[And here he is, half-crouched like he's some feral thing that's going to maul Sampo and why did he think he knew how to handle this sort of situation?]
[Gepard looks a little bit ridiculous, crouched over there in the shadows like he's some creeping beast waiting for its prey. And, sure, there are times when Sampo might not mind playing the unwary victim to Gepard's feral, ravenous monster-- to be ravished and devoured by an insatiable beast-- but the effect is dulled a bit by the fact that Gepard's still wearing that starched and impeccable captain's uniform. He still looks more like a knight in shining armor than he does a predator.]
[Sampo preens a little at the compliments-- it is a nice color on him-- and adjusts the way his lapel lays against his chest, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle. How kind of you to notice that he's handsome, Gepard.]
Aren't I handsome all of the time? But I'll take the compliment at face value, Captain. [He did sure bumble his way through it, though. Thankfully for Gepard, Sampo finds his fumbling endearing. It didn't look like he had so much trouble when he was talking to those ladies on the dance floor, but here he is, tripping over his words.] It wasn't easy getting this fabric! Belobog doesn't seem to care much for colors other than white and blue. I had to have it specially imported, and get all the tailoring done before tonight.
[Never let it be said that Sampo Koski doesn't put effort in where it's due. He ambles a little closer to where Gepard is crouching, looking around the corner at him.]
You know, if you stay like that, you'll crease your trousers. You'll look messy for your next dance partner.
[...he does feel rather silly crouching and waiting like he's some predator ready for his prey when he's just right here and he's calling out to Sampo who's right there, and Sampo's ambling over from there to here and just is looking right at him, and-
He sighs. He straightens again. Sampo has a point. He's ridiculous and looks ridiculous and-]
That would be you, Sampo. [Who else would he dance with? Nevertheless, Gepard brushes off his pants.] And I thought the point of all of this was for you to make me a mess, one way or another. [Grump, grump, he's not happy to see Sampo, don't get the wrong idea.] I can't believe you made me waltz with all of those women. You know, if you hadn't shown up when you did, I would've left the estate. I was going to.
That doesn’t sound much like how you ask somebody to dance.
[Not that he really thinks that Gepard wants to dance with him. Not like that, anyway, gentlemanly waltzes in big ballrooms in front of all the other rich folks. He’s here for a different kind of dance, one that they’re going to do with far less clothes on, and that’s fine. Sampo knows what he’s here for.]
[To make a mess. To satisfy that part of Gepard that wants, until he decides that he doesn’t want it anymore. That’s how things work in the adult world, after all.]
I didn’t make you do anything! You could have told them no. [It would have made him look rude, but technically he could have refused anyone he liked. He’s a free man.] Ah, but you looked so gallant out there with all the pretty ladies. If I hadn’t had the band start playing, I would have deprived everyone of the sight.
It’s rude of me not to pay you a compliment, isn’t it? Since you gave me one. [He reaches out and adjusts the pocket square in Gepard’s breast pocket.] You fill out a dress uniform very well, Captain.
[Sampo claims that he didn't make him do anything, and Gepard makes a face in response. Quick. Sour. Contemplating the merits of trying to kick Sampo at this range, sure, it's not like Sampo currently deserves it, but also, does he deserve it in general? Quite possibly. He can make up some excuse about suspecting that Sampo pickpocketed some guests, which he definitely did; his medal's gone, that's reason to suspect him.
All of this lasts up until the point in which Sampo reaches out and adjusts the pocket square in his breast pocket, and he can't help but lean into that touch, a little, hating himself for doing so. More specifically, about the fact he couldn't help it.]
You're just saying that. [It's a mutter, a little grumble, as he glances away, and then, glances back.]
Do you want to stop my my room, or are we heading straight to the balcony? I have- [On second thought. On second thought maybe Sampo doesn't need to know about the lube.] Well, I'm sure that won't be necessary. I'm sure you're prepared. You brought a suit, after all.
[Gepard isn’t the only guy here with lube in his pocket. Other things, too, but also lube. There’s the possibility that he might get to be on the other end of their usual arrangement, after all, and he wasn’t going to risk having it called off because no one remembered the lubricant.]
[And he’s absolutely not going in dry for Gepard’s first time. He might want to beat up that fine ass a little, but not like that.]
Why don’t we get this show on the road? [He loops an arm through Gepard’s. What a tame beast you are, Captain Landau.] I don’t want to waste time, now that I have you all to myself!
[No sharing him with pretty ladies, at least not for a while. Maybe that’s an idea for next time— get dolled up as Brughel and see how many turns around the dance floor he can get out of Gepard before he recognizes who he’s dancing with. Maybe he’d even keep dancing after he finds out, just to have a reason to avoid the others.]
[He tests Sampo's grip on him, but, finding it sufficiently firm, decides to leave things be for now. They can walk, arm in arm. For now.]
You seemed content enough to waste time earlier. [He's not disgruntled! He's fine! Gepard also starts moving forward, because he really doesn't want to be caught down here with Sampo, professional disgrace, a thief and scoundrel, and someone who stands out in pink.]
I half-expected that you'd have me dancing with all of the women in there, just to prove some sort of point. [He's not angry, no, not at all.] Should I be wondering if you're working for my father, Sampo?
[Sampo was certainly entertained by it, so he considers it a very good use of everyone's time. And those ladies were probably entertained as well, though Sampo cares far less about their amusement than his own. The only person here who wasn't amused is probably Gepard himself, but, well... isn't this a matter of greatest good?]
What, and try to get you married off to some boring woman? I don't think you're in much danger of that, regardless of what I do. You seem as interested in marrying any of them as you do a Fragmentum monster.
[Unless his father figures out a way to finally blackmail Gepard into settling down, Sampo doesn't think he has that much to fear about their little situationship coming to an end.]
But you seem like a decent dancer! I'd have taken a spin with you myself, but that wouldn't have gone over well, would it?
[He'd have been recognized very quickly, and then he'd have half the Silvermane guard after him and he'd never get the chance to play with Gepard. Alas, his own reputation ruins some of his fun.]
[He makes a face at Sampo, who, frankly speaking, deserves it. It's the sort of rare irritation that the Silvermane Guard barely see, the public hardly ever sees, and his sisters sometimes see - he's not a paragon of the Preservation, he's not a captain, not someone who defies life. He's but a man, and a very kind of annoyed man at that. Not irate, not angry, just fucking irritated and consistently so. Less intensity of anger, and more intensity of how long he's going to be grumpy about this.
Because, ultimately, it's not like Sampo hurt him. It's just-]
I would've wanted to dance with you.
[Grump. Gepard picks up the pace a little, and if Sampo pulls away then that's his problem, otherwise the goal is this: get Sampo somewhere marginally more quiet, shove him against the wall, make out with him. Work off the constant grump through more productive ways. That sort of thing. Because he's a physical person, and understands touch better than feelings, sometimes.]
[What a thing for Gepard to say-- that he would've liked to dance with him. The good Captain's sentimental streak rearing its pretty little head again. But Sampo doesn't get much of a chance to say anything in response to that, because Gepard pulls him along, tugging him like he's a child that won't keep up, then pushes him against a wall to kiss him.]
[Well, Sampo can understand that well enough. And he's all right with Gepard getting him up against a wall, with his eager mouth and roaming hands. It'll probably wrinkle his jacket, which is a little bit of an annoyance-- this is a nice suit, thank you very much-- but he can iron out a few wrinkles. Ten minutes of necking with Gepard is priceless.]
Hey. [His hands are cupping Gepard's face, because it's really just too pretty not to touch.] Don't forget about that balcony that you promised me. We deserve a view!
[A pretty view of Belobog for someone to get railed to. Who is still up for debate, it depends on whether Gepard will find that medal of his.]
[Kissing Sampo is...clarifying. It's like the cool air of Belobog when it hits just right after a long day at work. Sharp and crisp. Clear. It reminds Gepard of what he did all of this for.
Sampo's hands are cupping his face and Gepard blushes. He likes it. He doesn't understand it, why he likes it, why Sampo seems to like it, it's a gesture that makes him freeze like he's a rabbit numbed by a fox's riddle. (Not that Gepard knows what a rabbit or a fox is, not exactly.) And he's reminded of the balcony-]
You're right. [He'd tilt his head forward so his forehead is buried against Sampo's shoulders, but he's being held. How can he move?]
Besides, some staff still do come this way. I shouldn't have stopped.
[But, clarity. And so Gepard-
Takes a step away from Sampo's hands, half-turns to lead him onward, pauses, and offers his hand again. They can walk hand in hand, and find the balcony, and Gepard can figure out the logistics of shoving a few fingers up his ass and Sampo can watch, and none of this will be embarrassing for him at all. Or not. Or- he shouldn't overthink this.]
[Don't overthink it, Gepard. Just think about Sampo's hand in yours, and the route you have to take through the dim halls of the Landau estate to bring your secret lover to your hidden balcony. And once they're on that balcony-- well! They'll figure it out, right? One way or another, everything will be fine. Better than fine.]
I'm sure most of the staff are busy at the party. [The current master of the house is a very particular man, after all, and his wife is just as demanding. The staff will have their hands full just making sure that everything goes off without a hitch, and hopefully everyone will be too busy to notice Gepard's absence.]
There's still the matter of our game to resolve, too! Can't forget that.
[That's ultimately what will determine who wins, and who gets their naughty way. Whether it'll be Gepard offering up his ass to whatever Sampo wants to do with it, or Sampo submitting himself to the good Captain's desires. A fun time either way, regardless of who's in charge for the evening. And certainly a better time than what Gepard would've had on that dance floor, pretending to enjoy spending time with his father's choice of eligible bachelorettes.]
[...he'd been hoping that Sampo would forget about their game, because then he could indulge in his curiosity without having to acknowledge a few things about himself, like how much trust he's putting into Sampo's hands and what that means, or the fact that the further away they get from the party the more he feels...
He feels lighter. The world feels lighter. They're together and the world feels just a bit lighter.]
Haven't you won already? [Gepard grumbles that out instead as they walk, hand in hand, to the secret balcony.] I suppose if I pin you down and search you I can get my medal back, assuming you have it with you, but that feels like cheating at this point.
[And in case Sampo doesn't get it, Gepard tries (and fails) to glare at him. It's more fond exasperation. He doesn't know. Don't tell him.] We're holding hands. It'll be difficult for you to get away from me now.
You say it like it would be a hardship! It would’ve been a fun way for you to get my suit off.
[But here they are, on Gepard’s special balcony. The heaters warm the air up enough that it’s fairly comfortable to stand outside, even without a coat. He was right about the view— it is excellent, looking down at the city with all the twinkling lights of this planet’s last bastion laid out before them in the snowy dark. They’re far enough from the party that no one could have reasonably spotted them, but some of the staff must have opened the windows of the ballroom to let cool air in, because the sound of the band playing a waltz is still distantly audible.]
[They’re still holding hands. Sampo turns and steps into Gepard’s personal space, puts a hand on his shoulder and moves seamlessly into a waltzing stance, taking the following position. Surely a man like Gepard would be more comfortable with the lead.]
Well, if you don’t want to do that, you could get a dance. [The band has started up a new song, something pretty that Sampo’s pretty sure he’s heard before.] Just until the song ends.
[Sampo turns and steps into his personal space. The music strikes up, and without thinking about it, like it's the most natural thing in the world, like he was born for it, Gepard starts dancing. Waltzing. Sweeping Sampo up into a dance- he's not that good at dancing, it feels like he's marching like he's a toy soldier instead of dancing, this doesn't feel like he's doing a good job of sweeping Sampo off of his feet, but it's nice. Quiet. It's nice not feeling like he has to perform for anyone.]
Thank you for indulging me.
[He says this very quietly, as if they're on the dance floor and have to worry about some other couple overhearing it, like it's a secret pressed between pages and hidden in a book, like it's a soap bubble that will pop the second it rises in the air. Like if he speaks it too loud, some servants will find them, he'll have to arrest Sampo - or Sampo will throw down some smoke bombs and vanish - and he'll have to trot back down and do his duty.
[Gepard is, as expected, a very adequate dancer. A little stiff, maybe, but exactly on-beat and so predictable in his movements that he’s easy to follow. Sampo feels very confident about the safety of his toes, even if he wouldn’t be as confident in their likelihood of winning any dance competitions.]
[But that’s fine. It’s fine. Gepard’s face is quietly pleased as though this is the nicest thing that’s happened to him all week, and they’re waltzing to the distant sound of the band underneath the stars and fluctuating auroras. Those ladies down in the ballroom would have eaten their own expensive silk skirts to be in Sampo’s position right now, with Gepard’s hand in his, dancing under starlight.]
You are my favorite. And not half bad at a waltz.
[The music eventually fades, though, and the dance ends, as all good things must. But it does give Sampo an excellent opportunity to kiss Gepard, which he very much takes advantage of. If you’re presented with the opportunity to kiss your situationship on a romantic balcony in starlight, you’re a fool if you don’t take it.]
[Sampo calls him his favorite, and it sends a little thrill down Gepard's spine. It shouldn't. But it does. Because Sampo could've had the entire universe, but he picked Belobog? He picked him? It's probably a line. It's probably a lie. But he believes in it- which is terrible, but they're waltzing under the starlight and everything feels perfect.
The music fades. And it's tempting to pave the path back to something resembling normalcy - a comment about the game, about how they might as well get on with it, a comment about Sampo's criminal ways - but he's kissed and Gepard promptly melts in Sampo's arms. He leans into the kiss, a little desperately (with a whimper, muffled), hands twisting in the fabric of Sampo's jacket before one hand sides into Sampo's hair. It feels like a dream. He danced under the starlight with a man who makes him feel special, everything's absurdly romantic, if he woke up in the snow Gepard wouldn't be entirely surprised. Upset, but not surprised.
But he breaks the kiss for air. The moment holds. He's a little bit surprised and hopes Sampo can't tell.]
How do you want to... [Um.] ...conclude our wager?
[Ah, Gepard really is a good kisser. Maybe he's learned since he started having Sampo as his dirty little secret-- practice does make perfect, after all-- maybe it's how earnest and intense he is about the whole thing. Really giving it his all, every single time.]
[Sometimes, he gets this look in his eyes like he's stunned every time he pulls back and finds that Sampo is still there.]
Right, right. Well, I figured I'd make good on all my promises. [Sampo is all easy smiles to Gepard's sheepish verbal sidestepping.] I did say that I would bend you over and show you a good time. I'm prepared to deliver!
[He slips his hands down from Gepard's lovely shoulders, slides them instead down to the buttons of his impeccable uniform's jacket and starts pushing them through their buttonholes. Hard to do much delivering on any promises if Gepard's covered with so much starched fabric.]
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[Who knows? That's part of the game. Just like how Sampo wouldn't know if Gepard managed to excuse himself out of attending.]
[The party goes as expected. The ballroom is sumptuous. The canapes are tiny and intricate and the liquor costs more than an Underworlder's yearly salary. The band plays something sweet and pastoral, Gepard Landau enters the ballroom-- finely dressed, only slightly late, and almost immediately accosted by a potential wife candidate. Hand selected by his father, of course, some pretty thing of acceptable social stock. A fitting broodmare for Landau studding. It must be galling, for one's own father to pick out a bride with the same compassion and consideration that one would pick a horse to breed.]
[Gepard is speaking to one of those lucky little broodmares. Not the first, maybe, and certainly not the last. She's probably a lovely girl, really, with a sweet and gentle disposition, and might not have even made a bad wife, if all one cared about was pedigree and whether she'd be an inconvenient roommate. One of the waitstaff appears next to the good Captain, seemingly from thin air-- as good waitstaff do-- bearing a tray full of champagne flutes. The waiter is unremarkable in terms of his appearance, brown haired and forgettable as far as facial features go, and he offers flutes of champagne to both Gepard and his companion.]
[Because of how they are standing, when the waiter hands the glass to Gepard's potential suitress, his hand passes briefly in front of the good Captain's chest.]
[His duty fulfilled, the waiter unobtrusively slips away, leaving the two of them to their conversation. (His eyes are green, if Gepard happened to look closely enough.) A little later, Gepard might notice a missing weight on his chest-- a missing medal, one with a green ribbon.]
[The game's afoot, Geppie. Catch him if you can.]
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Gepard freezes in his tracks for a second too long, his gaze a little too distant. His mouth parts ever so slightly and he feels a fluttering in his chest - anticipation - and then Gepard gathers himself because the captain knows what happens next: he'll scour the crowds trying to find someone who doesn't quite fit in, or, someone who fits in a little too well, but-
Gepard Landau made a mistake.
And that mistake was that he froze in his tracks for a little too long and his gaze because a little too distant, and his mouth parted ever so slightly, and he did so while facing some women/potential additions to the Landau family/future mothers of his children.
Fuck fuck fuck. And now he's obligated to make some polite small talk. And if music starts playing, he'll probably have to ask a couple to dance.
Still, outwardly: he's the polite son of the Landau family.]
And how are you enjoying the party, miss...?
[The woman titters out some response. Gepard changes his tactics to scouring the crowd and trying to see someone who's fucking amused at his expense, because he sure feels like a fool right now.]
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[The good Captain is forced to deal with the woman’s tittering— the eldest daughter of a middling family, getting to the age where she must be paired off and hoping to make a social leap— and off somewhere in the crowd, a pair of green eyes watches him with amusement from near the band. Gepard could fight his way through Fragmentum monsters, could weather the worst of Jarilo-VI’s eternal winter, but he can’t escape the perfumed clutches of would-be brides.]
[Catch Sampo’s eye, Gepard, and he’ll give you a cheeky little wink.]
[And then he turns to say a few words to the band’s conductor. There might be a little money exchanged, maybe not, but right after he does, the band strikes up into dancing music, just a little early for this time of the evening. But who doesn’t love a little dancing? Certainly not Gepard, who would appear terribly rude if he didn’t take a lady or two for a spin around the dance floor.]
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But then-
Music starts. It's a nice waltz! Gepard contemplates the merits of throwing Sampo out of his father's house, but he's got a woman in front of her and he knows what he's supposed to do.
So he charmingly smiles at her in the same way all retail employees smile at their customers, extends a hand, and asks-]
May I have this dance?
[She, of course, is delighted to have this dance, and off they go, waltzing. Gepard can feel the approving eyes of his mother, probably, glad that one of her children is finally showing signs of giving her grandchildren. His father is pleased, probably. Assuming he's paying attention.
He hopes Sampo is amused, but Gepard has no time to look for him, he has to look like he's reasonably, politely enjoying this dance and he does his best, because he is a man of duty. It's pleasant. He enjoys dancing, generally speaking; it's something that relates to music, but it's physical. Tactile. The woman enjoys it, maybe? At least it hadn't been a bad dance.
The music ends. He thanks her, and then makes his excuses- okay, no, she asked him out (in a polite, high society sort of way, but still) before he could ditch.]
My apologies, miss, but I'll be back on the frontlines by then.
[Help.
...but it's fine, one thing leads to another, and he ends up dancing with another woman (if he doesn't, he might return to discover that he's expected to go on dates with Woman #1) while making more polite small talk, gently fantasizing about running out into the snow and back into the arms of the military. It's very charming. People think him and Woman #2 are a handsome couple.
It's fine. It's just another extension of duty.
One more dance and then he'll just leave, feign having to pee (or something) and gather himself in a quiet corner, and until then he just will dance and long for the cold and the snow. At least that's simple.]
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[Gepard isn't even a terrible dancer, at least from Sampo's estimation. He's very regimented about it, dances on-beat like he's marching in formation, but he's certainly been taught what to do. Probably had it drilled into him when he was a child, exactly for situations like this. No stepping on delicate ladies' toes for Gepard.]
[Well! It's all fine and dandy to watch Gepard suffer through all the forced attention, but Sampo also wants to make sure that the good Captain's attention doesn't stray from the real prize here. All these little ladies might want to one day be the new Lady Landau, but they aren't invited to the real game-- Sampo's the one in the running for that, to be the only person who gets to bend the good Captain over a balcony railing. Or to get bent over himself, they'll see how the evening goes!]
[Sampo wanders his way closer to the dancers, slipping in between the other patrons without attracting their notice; he's good at keeping a low profile when he wants to, at being practically invisible. These kind of high-society people always just ignore anyone who looks like they'd just be a servant, below their notice. Their arrogance works out to his favor! And he wants to be able to get close enough to the dance floor for Gepard to notice him on one of his turns, so that he can give him another cheeky wink. Enjoy those dances, Captain, and all those pretty ladies who so desperately want to keep your attention.]
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Sure, let's call it anger. He's filled with a lot of anger and he angrily wants to take it out on Sampo or have Sampo take it out on him. (Shut up.) Lots of white-hot anger. Anger which he wants Sampo to beat out of him, or he takes it out on Sampo. (Shut up.) He wants to run after Sampo, tackle him to the ground, but only if Sampo's into that, and-
He can't do any of that. What he does instead is draw upon his polite captain facade (which isn't a facade, but also is - these things are complicated) and dance the dance to the end, and he smiles and says something polite (don't ask Gepard what he said, he just has a set of a dozen stock phrases he uses for occasions like this) and leaves.
He, more specifically, leaves through the side entrance to the hall, the most obvious entrance a Landau would take, and encounters some hired help who asks and Gepard says that he's going to get a breath of fresh air, and then he slips around the side - a corridor that only a Landau would think to take, and then heads up the back stairwell. No one would look for him here.
Hopefully.
And then he finds somewhere quiet and waits, half-hidden.
It's an obvious trap for Sampo, and Gepard doesn't expect Sampo will fall for it so much as play along with it, but also, a lot of luring Sampo out really involved doing something that he'd play along with, doesn't it? Doesn't it? Isn't that really what had been happening all along? And then-
And he's not sure what. And then he'll do something. He needs to get even for the forced waltzes.]
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[Gepard exits the ballroom after his dances are concluded and he can slip away from the tenacious grasps of hopeful brides-to-be. Sampo follows via a different route, making a brief pit-stop for a wardrobe change into something a little less waitstaff and a little more flattering-- if he's going to potentially take yet another form of Gepard's virginity, he ought to at least be dressed to impress. Put a little effort into it! And, besides, he loves an excuse to wear his Sunday best.]
[And of course he knows that Gepard is waiting for him. Setting a cute little trap, luring him in. And one could argue that it's not an effective trap because Sampo knows that it's there, but... it is successful at getting him to walk into it, so it's not a total failure, either.]
Oh Captain, my Captain! [He strolls down the totally not a trap hall, dressed in a pink suit that the rest of the party-goers would certainly be appalled by. Doesn't the color complement his complexion so nicely, Gepard? He picked it out himself.] Are you waiting for me? You'll miss out on so many dances if you hide away up here. All those ladies will be so disappointed!
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See.
Gepard had a plan. It was a pretty decent one, one which entailed hiding like some slavering half-feral creature waiting for Sampo to get close enough so he could tackle him, after which they could have homoerotic makeouts, which might lead to other things. Maybe. Possibly. If he's in a good mood and Sampo's convincing enough, and also if nobody else showed up, and maybe, maybe, maybe, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
So he's there. He's lurking, skulking about in the shadows, and then down comes Sampo in a...
...suit? A pink suit, no less. And Gepard knows what he should do, which is to not fall for the bait, wait patiently, and try for the tackle, and otherwise manhandle Sampo because Sampo made him waltz and fuck him, fuck him, fuck him.
But there is what he should do, and what he wants to do, and Gepard wavers indecisively for a moment, before- ah, well, they can take turns falling for each other's bait. His head pokes out of hiding. He's here, they both knew that this was one of those traps in which everyone took turns falling for it, he can skip the fanfare.]
What are you wearing, Koski?
[Wait, that sounded way too disapproving...]
You look- it's a nice color on you. [Terrible.] You look- [Fuck, he's so bad at this.] You look handsome. It's just I didn't- I'm just going to make a mess of things if I keep on talking.
[And here he is, half-crouched like he's some feral thing that's going to maul Sampo and why did he think he knew how to handle this sort of situation?]
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[Sampo preens a little at the compliments-- it is a nice color on him-- and adjusts the way his lapel lays against his chest, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle. How kind of you to notice that he's handsome, Gepard.]
Aren't I handsome all of the time? But I'll take the compliment at face value, Captain. [He did sure bumble his way through it, though. Thankfully for Gepard, Sampo finds his fumbling endearing. It didn't look like he had so much trouble when he was talking to those ladies on the dance floor, but here he is, tripping over his words.] It wasn't easy getting this fabric! Belobog doesn't seem to care much for colors other than white and blue. I had to have it specially imported, and get all the tailoring done before tonight.
[Never let it be said that Sampo Koski doesn't put effort in where it's due. He ambles a little closer to where Gepard is crouching, looking around the corner at him.]
You know, if you stay like that, you'll crease your trousers. You'll look messy for your next dance partner.
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He sighs. He straightens again. Sampo has a point. He's ridiculous and looks ridiculous and-]
That would be you, Sampo. [Who else would he dance with? Nevertheless, Gepard brushes off his pants.] And I thought the point of all of this was for you to make me a mess, one way or another. [Grump, grump, he's not happy to see Sampo, don't get the wrong idea.] I can't believe you made me waltz with all of those women. You know, if you hadn't shown up when you did, I would've left the estate. I was going to.
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[Not that he really thinks that Gepard wants to dance with him. Not like that, anyway, gentlemanly waltzes in big ballrooms in front of all the other rich folks. He’s here for a different kind of dance, one that they’re going to do with far less clothes on, and that’s fine. Sampo knows what he’s here for.]
[To make a mess. To satisfy that part of Gepard that wants, until he decides that he doesn’t want it anymore. That’s how things work in the adult world, after all.]
I didn’t make you do anything! You could have told them no. [It would have made him look rude, but technically he could have refused anyone he liked. He’s a free man.] Ah, but you looked so gallant out there with all the pretty ladies. If I hadn’t had the band start playing, I would have deprived everyone of the sight.
It’s rude of me not to pay you a compliment, isn’t it? Since you gave me one. [He reaches out and adjusts the pocket square in Gepard’s breast pocket.] You fill out a dress uniform very well, Captain.
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All of this lasts up until the point in which Sampo reaches out and adjusts the pocket square in his breast pocket, and he can't help but lean into that touch, a little, hating himself for doing so. More specifically, about the fact he couldn't help it.]
You're just saying that. [It's a mutter, a little grumble, as he glances away, and then, glances back.]
Do you want to stop my my room, or are we heading straight to the balcony? I have- [On second thought. On second thought maybe Sampo doesn't need to know about the lube.] Well, I'm sure that won't be necessary. I'm sure you're prepared. You brought a suit, after all.
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[Gepard isn’t the only guy here with lube in his pocket. Other things, too, but also lube. There’s the possibility that he might get to be on the other end of their usual arrangement, after all, and he wasn’t going to risk having it called off because no one remembered the lubricant.]
[And he’s absolutely not going in dry for Gepard’s first time. He might want to beat up that fine ass a little, but not like that.]
Why don’t we get this show on the road? [He loops an arm through Gepard’s. What a tame beast you are, Captain Landau.] I don’t want to waste time, now that I have you all to myself!
[No sharing him with pretty ladies, at least not for a while. Maybe that’s an idea for next time— get dolled up as Brughel and see how many turns around the dance floor he can get out of Gepard before he recognizes who he’s dancing with. Maybe he’d even keep dancing after he finds out, just to have a reason to avoid the others.]
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You seemed content enough to waste time earlier. [He's not disgruntled! He's fine! Gepard also starts moving forward, because he really doesn't want to be caught down here with Sampo, professional disgrace, a thief and scoundrel, and someone who stands out in pink.]
I half-expected that you'd have me dancing with all of the women in there, just to prove some sort of point. [He's not angry, no, not at all.] Should I be wondering if you're working for my father, Sampo?
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[Sampo was certainly entertained by it, so he considers it a very good use of everyone's time. And those ladies were probably entertained as well, though Sampo cares far less about their amusement than his own. The only person here who wasn't amused is probably Gepard himself, but, well... isn't this a matter of greatest good?]
What, and try to get you married off to some boring woman? I don't think you're in much danger of that, regardless of what I do. You seem as interested in marrying any of them as you do a Fragmentum monster.
[Unless his father figures out a way to finally blackmail Gepard into settling down, Sampo doesn't think he has that much to fear about their little situationship coming to an end.]
But you seem like a decent dancer! I'd have taken a spin with you myself, but that wouldn't have gone over well, would it?
[He'd have been recognized very quickly, and then he'd have half the Silvermane guard after him and he'd never get the chance to play with Gepard. Alas, his own reputation ruins some of his fun.]
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Because, ultimately, it's not like Sampo hurt him. It's just-]
I would've wanted to dance with you.
[Grump. Gepard picks up the pace a little, and if Sampo pulls away then that's his problem, otherwise the goal is this: get Sampo somewhere marginally more quiet, shove him against the wall, make out with him. Work off the constant grump through more productive ways. That sort of thing. Because he's a physical person, and understands touch better than feelings, sometimes.]
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[Well, Sampo can understand that well enough. And he's all right with Gepard getting him up against a wall, with his eager mouth and roaming hands. It'll probably wrinkle his jacket, which is a little bit of an annoyance-- this is a nice suit, thank you very much-- but he can iron out a few wrinkles. Ten minutes of necking with Gepard is priceless.]
Hey. [His hands are cupping Gepard's face, because it's really just too pretty not to touch.] Don't forget about that balcony that you promised me. We deserve a view!
[A pretty view of Belobog for someone to get railed to. Who is still up for debate, it depends on whether Gepard will find that medal of his.]
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Sampo's hands are cupping his face and Gepard blushes. He likes it. He doesn't understand it, why he likes it, why Sampo seems to like it, it's a gesture that makes him freeze like he's a rabbit numbed by a fox's riddle. (Not that Gepard knows what a rabbit or a fox is, not exactly.) And he's reminded of the balcony-]
You're right. [He'd tilt his head forward so his forehead is buried against Sampo's shoulders, but he's being held. How can he move?]
Besides, some staff still do come this way. I shouldn't have stopped.
[But, clarity. And so Gepard-
Takes a step away from Sampo's hands, half-turns to lead him onward, pauses, and offers his hand again. They can walk hand in hand, and find the balcony, and Gepard can figure out the logistics of shoving a few fingers up his ass and Sampo can watch, and none of this will be embarrassing for him at all. Or not. Or- he shouldn't overthink this.]
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I'm sure most of the staff are busy at the party. [The current master of the house is a very particular man, after all, and his wife is just as demanding. The staff will have their hands full just making sure that everything goes off without a hitch, and hopefully everyone will be too busy to notice Gepard's absence.]
There's still the matter of our game to resolve, too! Can't forget that.
[That's ultimately what will determine who wins, and who gets their naughty way. Whether it'll be Gepard offering up his ass to whatever Sampo wants to do with it, or Sampo submitting himself to the good Captain's desires. A fun time either way, regardless of who's in charge for the evening. And certainly a better time than what Gepard would've had on that dance floor, pretending to enjoy spending time with his father's choice of eligible bachelorettes.]
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He feels lighter. The world feels lighter. They're together and the world feels just a bit lighter.]
Haven't you won already? [Gepard grumbles that out instead as they walk, hand in hand, to the secret balcony.] I suppose if I pin you down and search you I can get my medal back, assuming you have it with you, but that feels like cheating at this point.
[And in case Sampo doesn't get it, Gepard tries (and fails) to glare at him. It's more fond exasperation. He doesn't know. Don't tell him.] We're holding hands. It'll be difficult for you to get away from me now.
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[But here they are, on Gepard’s special balcony. The heaters warm the air up enough that it’s fairly comfortable to stand outside, even without a coat. He was right about the view— it is excellent, looking down at the city with all the twinkling lights of this planet’s last bastion laid out before them in the snowy dark. They’re far enough from the party that no one could have reasonably spotted them, but some of the staff must have opened the windows of the ballroom to let cool air in, because the sound of the band playing a waltz is still distantly audible.]
[They’re still holding hands. Sampo turns and steps into Gepard’s personal space, puts a hand on his shoulder and moves seamlessly into a waltzing stance, taking the following position. Surely a man like Gepard would be more comfortable with the lead.]
Well, if you don’t want to do that, you could get a dance. [The band has started up a new song, something pretty that Sampo’s pretty sure he’s heard before.] Just until the song ends.
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Thank you for indulging me.
[He says this very quietly, as if they're on the dance floor and have to worry about some other couple overhearing it, like it's a secret pressed between pages and hidden in a book, like it's a soap bubble that will pop the second it rises in the air. Like if he speaks it too loud, some servants will find them, he'll have to arrest Sampo - or Sampo will throw down some smoke bombs and vanish - and he'll have to trot back down and do his duty.
But it's a nice night. It feels soft. Quiet.]
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[But that’s fine. It’s fine. Gepard’s face is quietly pleased as though this is the nicest thing that’s happened to him all week, and they’re waltzing to the distant sound of the band underneath the stars and fluctuating auroras. Those ladies down in the ballroom would have eaten their own expensive silk skirts to be in Sampo’s position right now, with Gepard’s hand in his, dancing under starlight.]
You are my favorite. And not half bad at a waltz.
[The music eventually fades, though, and the dance ends, as all good things must. But it does give Sampo an excellent opportunity to kiss Gepard, which he very much takes advantage of. If you’re presented with the opportunity to kiss your situationship on a romantic balcony in starlight, you’re a fool if you don’t take it.]
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The music fades. And it's tempting to pave the path back to something resembling normalcy - a comment about the game, about how they might as well get on with it, a comment about Sampo's criminal ways - but he's kissed and Gepard promptly melts in Sampo's arms. He leans into the kiss, a little desperately (with a whimper, muffled), hands twisting in the fabric of Sampo's jacket before one hand sides into Sampo's hair. It feels like a dream. He danced under the starlight with a man who makes him feel special, everything's absurdly romantic, if he woke up in the snow Gepard wouldn't be entirely surprised. Upset, but not surprised.
But he breaks the kiss for air. The moment holds. He's a little bit surprised and hopes Sampo can't tell.]
How do you want to... [Um.] ...conclude our wager?
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[Sometimes, he gets this look in his eyes like he's stunned every time he pulls back and finds that Sampo is still there.]
Right, right. Well, I figured I'd make good on all my promises. [Sampo is all easy smiles to Gepard's sheepish verbal sidestepping.] I did say that I would bend you over and show you a good time. I'm prepared to deliver!
[He slips his hands down from Gepard's lovely shoulders, slides them instead down to the buttons of his impeccable uniform's jacket and starts pushing them through their buttonholes. Hard to do much delivering on any promises if Gepard's covered with so much starched fabric.]
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