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[ricochetlove]

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[snowshield]

[This is the problem with letting Figaros up on couches. They start to sprawl and act like it's their couch, when it's not their couch, at least not while they have company over. Encouraging strange men who call themselves Figaro is a mistake, and that's something Gepard firmly reminds himself of as he peers at Figaro suspiciously, trying and failing to conceal the flinch of recognition as Figaro says overworking. He also tries to smother the frown that comes with takes a toll, turn it from something deeply uncomfortable (because he's not overworking, he's merely covering the slack, but sometimes slack-covering translates into overwork and he wants to sleep very badly) into something sternly annoyed (he's a guard captain, guard captains aren't known for their pleasant moods.)]

Well...

[The problem is that Gepard Landau isn't so far up his own ass he's not capable of self awareness: when a mirror is held up he can (usually) see himself in it, he thinks. (Maybe.) Figaro says takes a toll and Gepard shifts, deliberately putting himself slightly into Figaro's space. Slightly. Ever so slightly, because he's not stressed or anxious, he's not feeling...

...seen, by someone who's no doubt scheming things...

...he's fine. Perfectly fine. Totally comfortable. This is a conversation they both can have.]

We're short staffed. There's only so much I can do about that...but, I'll admit, you're not...

[Why is this so painful to admit, actually, he's not totally comfortable but he'll barrel through this conversation with the same conviction he used to punch Fragmentum monsters and stroll around Belobog at an hour too late, waiting for a thief who might never come.]

...entirely wrong. [Feels like he's given up way too much ground right then and there.]

[ricochetlove]

[Sampo's gotten pretty good at reading body language over the years, since his continued existence depends on being able to get close to people. He can tell that what he's mentioned lands a few hits-- that little flinch when he mentions overworking, the tug at the corners of Gepard's mouth when he talks about the price of that overwork. He tries covering it up with annoyance, but Gepard already showed his hand. Sampo already knew that he was right just from that brief taste, but now he knows for sure.]

[It probably shouldn't be surprising that the captain of the guard is a workaholic who doesn't know when to take a break. He can practically picture it-- someone gets injured, and now there's a gap on patrol with no one to fill it, and who do they go to? The Captain, because he's reliable and competent and wants to take care of his men. So he'll take the double shift rather than double up one of the other guardsmen. Rinse and repeat, taking doubles or triples, going out again and again to spare the guardsmen under his command from having to take the same burden. And no one even thinks to question whether he should be taking it, because he's the captain.]

[It's at the kind of levels that even Gepard can't deny it, even if he's uncomfortable with the admission.]

Okay. [Because what else do you say to it? That's how things are. Sampo has neither the means nor the insight to make anything better for him with the guards.] So it's a time issue? You're too busy to eat, or to get something? And to sleep, apparently.

[That definitely needs to change. A guy can't live off of coffee and fried olm from food carts, eventually you've got to get, like. A vegetable or something in there. Something that hasn't been fried. Maybe even sit down to eat instead of shoving it in your mouth on the way to a meeting or another patrol.]

[snowshield]

[Okay. Alright. Well. He has two choices. He can either acknowledge that he's uncomfortable and squirm, or pretend like he's not. Fake it until he makes it, and as acknowledging that he's uncomfortable because Figaro's seeing right through him would give Figaro (a horrible name) too much power, Gepard decides to act like he's fine. He's fine, fine, perfectly fine. They're two big guys on a small couch, in a room barren of distractions, and Figaro seems like he's getting to a point.

And he's not sure how he feels about the point they seem to be heading to!

Here's another problem: Gepard doesn't hate what the point might be. He's not sure if he likes it, but he also doesn't necessarily hate it. The point that Figaro seems to be working towards is one that intrigues him as much as he's immensely suspicious of it. But also drawn to it? Mixed feelings, in other words.

So, Gepard...sprawls, a little. If his leg brushes Sampo's own, it's in a very comfortable, two guys being bros, sprawling on a couch sort of way. He's comfortable. He's in control, if not of the situation than of himself. He knows what he's doing. He's not half-hoping he's got an excuse to run out the door. (He does. If Figaro didn't have difficult dietary needs he'd be gone already.)]

I eat when I can and I sleep when I can.

[This is such a bad answer and he knows it.]

Are you saying you'll deliver meals to me? [Is that where this is going?]

[ricochetlove]

[Just two bros, chilling on a couch, zero feet apart because they're totally secure in their sexuality.]

[Gepard sprawls a little and Sampo doesn't move an inch; any encroachment on his space is met with zero reaction, like it's totally normal for their legs to touch, for his knee to idly brush against Gepard's when he bounces his heel a little. Normal bro behavior! Nothing to get worked up about at all.]

[Gepard gives him a terrible answer to an otherwise simple question, and if he thinks that brevity will conceal it, he's not fooling anybody.]

So you don't do either of them reliably. Got it. [You're transparent as glass to him right now, Gepard.]

Well, that's an idea! [See, you're the one who suggested it, Gepard, not him.] If I brought all your meals to you, would you eat them? I'd have to have special permission when you're at the front lines, or to get back to your office...

[snowshield]

[He regrets sprawling, what the heck. It's not like he can un-sprawl, it's not as if he can take his sprawling and put it back where it came from with no one the wiser. He sprawled like he's totally confident, and then Figaro went and said that, and Gepard feels...seen. He's been feeling seen, but he's feeling incredibly seen at the moment. The fact he said a very terrible answer to a terrible question, and the fact that Figaro didn't even try to pretend like he maybe believed him.

Gepard grumps, shifting again as he gets comfortable, because he's totally comfortable and this is a conversation he's comfortable with having, and he doesn't feel too seen, shut up. He's settling in, frowning gently at Figaro as he does so. Thoughtful. Not approving. Not...disapproving, not just yet, just a frown. A completely and totally neutral frown. A captain-y frown, as he's a captain who's used to this. Shut up.]

Wouldn't that cause more problems than solve them? Someone might recognize you, or ask questions, or people might make assumptions about...well. [Well.] Our relationship. That's not to mention that I'm not always in the most accessible of places - do you really want to go to the front lines just to watch me eat?

[This also means he can nudge Figaro's knee with his own. Nudge.] I know you're a capable man and you can handle yourself, but still, that seems like a lot of work for you.

[Which brings up the question of why, because it seems like a lot of work for Figaro, for so very little reward. He wants to ask: why. But- it also feels like they did just that not that long ago.]

[ricochetlove]

[Oh, yes, Gepard, you look very captain-y right now, very scary. The conman currently known as Figaro is just shaking in his boots about it. You're a very big and intimidating man.]

[Sampo taps a finger against his chin, thinking.] Not a whole lot of people have seen me up in the Overworld! And if anyone starts asking questions, well... maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let them draw their own conclusions and just not correct them.

[So what if someone thinks things about their relationship? That might make it easier, be a convenient excuse for why he's around Gepard all the time. Even if the assumption is just that it's one-sided, that Sampo is the one harboring feelings for the stoic Captain... the worst that happens is the rest of the guard feels sorry for him for all the effort he's putting in. He can handle a little misguided pity if it gets him a stable food source.]

It wouldn't be without its benefits for me! [Nudge right back.] If you're going to be a big part of my diet, than I have a vested interest in making sure that you're healthy. Investing in you is investing in me.

[Besides, Gepard's offer is useless for him if he isn't healthy enough to handle getting blood taken from him regularly, regardless of how it tastes. And his body might not be able to take too many additional stresses before he really does start getting sick, iron willpower be damned. It's kind of in everyone's interest to take care of it before it becomes a real problem.]

[snowshield]

[Okay, now he's comfortable. There's something about getting nudged right back, on his couch, in...okay, it's not his couch, but it's also his couch. At this point, it's a couch Figaro's being tentatively allowed on, and he's on thin ice. But there's something about all of this - the nudge, the couch, the situation - that just somehow shoves Gepard back into his comfort zone. It's like he went on a full circle journey, back into his comfort zone.]

Can you please say it in a different way?

[Is it too late to throw Figaro off of the couch? Seems like it. And speaking of too late: he's spent too much time in Figaro's hideaway. He should be going soon. (Will he? Probably not, but the responsible part of Gepard notes helpfully that he should probably say something like, "Let's discuss this tomorrow night." Run out the door. Track down his men. Reassure them. Go home. Scream into a pillow because he's thinking with his dick and he doesn't like this, he's not used to his dick having a say, and now it's having a say it's being very insistent with its feelings.)

But, first things first, and Gepard crosses his arms, nudging Figaro with his knee again because he has a point to make, and it's a very good point.]

Saying it like that makes me feel like I'm an olm that you're fattening for the slaughter. [See? Amazing point.] And I'll only be a part of your diet until we can come up with something more sustainable. I've no doubt you'll get tired just feeding from me.

[ricochetlove]

[That's actually an interesting thought. Would he get tired of feeding off of just one person over and over? People got tired of eating the same meals again and again, and Sampo only really has one food option anymore-- just blood. Aeons, he wishes that he could eat real food again. Pasta! Oh, how he misses pasta. Bread. Carbs in general. A good steak paired with a full-bodied red.]

[Would Gepard taste a little different if he fed him different things? Would he be sweeter after the dessert course, more savory after an entree of red meat and potatoes? Would he be able to taste spices, the pungency of garlic and onion? He'll make himself hungry (hungrier) just thinking about it.]

I've never tried just feeding off of one person before. [He's always had to find new prey with every feeding. It's hard to find people that he can trust with his secret.] Who knows, maybe you'll be so tasty that I won't want anyone else!

[Maybe, once he's on a regular diet and getting good sleep, Gepard will be the tastiest man in Belobog. He's already a dish on the outside, might as well be one on the inside, too.]

Y'know, aside from just not liking how it sounds, you didn't actually give me a good reason not to bring your meals? [That's just semantics, not a real argument.] If you don't like it, I can always stop after we get everything sorted out.

Then you can go back to-- [He waves a dismissive hand.] Slugging back day-old coffee instead of having breakfast and getting bouts of lightheadedness every time you stand up too quick from a chair.

[snowshield]

[Why does being Figaro's exclusive meal sound so tempting, why does he feel so flattered by it, why does he want Figaro to just only want him - to not be tempted by anyone else, to only want him. Besides the...thinking with his dick thing.

Actually...no, here's the better question. Why does Figaro make it sound so tempting? He bristles, something close to an annoyed cat. Figaro suggested he might not want anyone else; Gepard is unamused, nothing to see here, it's as straightforward as it seems, nothing to be seen here.]

For Qlipoth's sake...

[As if he doesn't want this. As if this deal isn't starting to feel like it's too good to be true - he gets the company of a handsome man with striking eyes, he gets fed, and he only has to give his blood every so often. He already gives his sweat, blood, and tears for Belobog's sake. How is this any different, really?

But still. Still.]

Fine. I won't say no to free meals, Figaro, but- [But.] But I won't hold you to it when you get tired of it, and don't feel like you need to feed me to get me to help you with your problem. And I won't expect you to follow me to dangerous places.

[ricochetlove]

[There's a kind of romance to it, the idea of one person that you get all of your sustenance from. It's like something from a novel, if that novel took a very generous view of vampires; one of those ridiculous cheap one-Shield romance stories where the lead was a delicate flower who swooned into the arms of a dark and sultry villainous lover. Ridiculous, but you can kind of get where they're coming from.]

[Gepard finally acquiesces to the idea, albeit with apparent reluctance. He makes it seem very much like he doesn't really want to be doing this, but that he's giving in at Sampo's insistence. On some level, he knows it's horseshit-- who would really turn down free food, delivered right to them, for practically nothing? He'd be more amused if he knew about the inner machinations of Gepard's brain, and the way he thought about his pretty eyes and handsome face.]

It's a deal, then! [He smiles and leans in. Won't you take his hand, Gepard, and shake on it?] And don't worry, I like dangerous places. I don't mind following you there.

[Ah, but if he's going to do this, than he needs information! Information is a very important thing, he knows that intimately. And he needs information quick, if he's going to start this new job.]

What do you like? [Other than handsome rogues with green eyes, apparently.] If I'm going to start feeding you, I need to know your preferences!

[snowshield]

[It's taking a great deal of restraint to keep from leaning back. He's a captain. He has the honor of the Landau family to think about. He's on a very strange man's couch, in a bad part of town. The hour is late. No one knows where he is. If Serval was here- no, Serval never would've played along with things to get to this point. If Serval had been the one handling this, there's a decent chance that they'd all be in her workshop right now - him, his sister, Figaro - and Serval would be telling him that he's a blood donor now.

...that's besides the point. Gepard's aware that if he had been born a woman, this would absolutely be the set-up for a half-Shield romance novel, one of those painted on paper so cheap they're practically translucent. He takes Figaro's hand, Figaro shoves him against the couch, things happen.

But that's not going to happen because- because. Criminal and officer of the law; guy who needs to eat people, and his blood donor. He takes Figaro's hand - firm, confident, not at all out of his depth - and then Gepard blinks at him like he's a startled child.]

My...preferences?

[What?]

You want to- [What?] You want to know what I like to eat? [Nobody asks him this. Gepard ever so slightly scoots in, because he's confused-yet-transfixed, transfixed-yet-confused, peering at Figaro curiously, with slight wonder, because what a strange question. What a strange question!] I don't think anyone's ever asked me this before. At least, not unless I'm ordering and I have to choose between two types of meat skewers...

[What a strange question...oh, wait. He knows why.] I'm not a picky eater. Don't worry, I'll eat whatever you bring.

[ricochetlove]

[Gepard looks so surprised when Sampo asks him what ought to be a really simple question-- just what he likes. Has no one ever asked this man what he likes in his entire life? It's not much, he just wants to know how Gepard takes his coffee and if he likes his eggs scrambled or over easy, if he likes his steaks medium-rare. Things that anyone who knows him moderately well would at least have an idea about?]

[Man. Just how self-sacrificing is this guy? Is he really the type to just pretend like he doesn't have any preferences, so that he doesn't feel like he's burdening anyone else?]

You're going to make me have to guess? [Sad eyes are going to start coming back into play here, Gepard, this is your own fault.] I want to bring you things that you'll like, not just what you'll choke down. Don't make it hard for your good pal. How can I bring you coffee if I don't know how you take it? Are you a pancake man or a waffle man? They're important questions!

[Only important to him and anyone else who wants to know what Gepard likes, at least.]

[snowshield]

That's unfair. [He breathes it out as the sad eyes come back into play, those are unfair, that's a dirty move, how is he supposed to resist them? He can't. He is but a man, one confronted by a sad pair of green eyes that he can't quite say no to.]

I just thought you'd find whatever's easiest... [Just whatever food cart's closest, not necessarily putting in effort besides that, why is this so...it's embarrassing, but weirdly endearing, but also flustering, and Gepard hesitates- but only for a moment.]

Pancakes if my sister Lynx is making them, otherwise waffles. As for coffee, I usually drink it too quickly to really notice anything like flavor. [Uh...] There's a lot of food out there. I don't really know what to say. [Has he said enough? Is that good?]

[ricochetlove]

[That's why he learned how to do the sad eyes, Gepard! They're unfair, a dirty play. Probably even more effective when he was younger and not a grown-ass man, but it still has its uses.]

I'm trying to make your diet better! Loading you up with more stuff from the food carts really isn't changing much, is it?

[He's going to cook for you, Gepard. Maximum effort! That'll give them the best chance of success in changing Gepard for the better, and also Sampo might be able to experiment a little with that whole flavor profile idea. It intrigues him, and it's been a long time since he's been able to have any kind of choice about what he eats. So sue him for wanting to be able to have a choice about his meals again.]

Well, that's a start, at least. I can work from there! [Lunch is still going to be a guessing game, but he'll figure something out. Same with dinner, but there are some solid recipes that are usually a hit. Can't go wrong with a good roast, not here in Belobog.] I'll need your schedule, too, otherwise I'll be running all over the place trying to find you.

[Can't deliver his lunch if he's still out on patrol or something, after all.]

We can work out those details later. It's really late, and you probably have to go back to work tomorrow. Do you wanna crash here for the night? Sleep off whatever's left in your system? [He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, indicating to the other room.] You can have the bed. The door locks.

[Making it the safest room in the apartment.]

[snowshield]

[It's really difficult saying no to those eyes. They're very unfair. He's only known Figaro for a handful of hours and Gepard feels as though he should be better at resisting sad eyes. He should be able to turn them down! But it's difficult. So, so difficult. Green had always been his favorite color.

Figaro (one day he'll have to get his real name) says that getting food from the food carts isn't changing much, which is...fair, yes, and the captain flushes a little as he says that - a mixture of guilt and self-awareness. This does bring up a good question, which is...

Just where the hell is he going to get his food from, if not the food carts? It almost sounds as if Figaro intends on cooking for him. Which is silly and absurd, as no one would go to that much effort for a stranger, even one they have an agreement with, not when they could just get takeout and call it a day. Well.

They can talk about that later. For now, Figaro raises a good point, and Gepard grimaces as it is late, and he should get some sleep, Figaro is right. Still.]

Your couch is fine. [This is accompanied by a shake of his head: yes to staying over, no to the bed.] I'll only need a quick nap, and then I can get back to my men and reassure them that I haven't died. [And then he can take a second nap in his office, and then get back to work, see? Everything's fine.]

[ricochetlove]

[Sampo props his cheek on his fist, looking at Gepard as he totally insists that he doesn't want the bed and that he only needs a quick nap. Which also just affirms what Sampo had initially suspected-- that Gepard neither eats nor sleeps regularly. Additional data received: it's partly his own fault, out of presumably sheer stubbornness.]

If you aren't going to get a full night's rest here, wouldn't it be better for me to walk you back to your men, and then you can go home and sleep in your own bed? I'm sure you'd be able to go in a little later in the morning tomorrow, since you worked so late and got assaulted. And wasn't catching up on sleep one of the things we'd agreed would help? You could start tonight!

[Plus, if he walks Gepard back to his men and Gepard tells them that he's a good Samaritan who helped him after his assault, that would go a long way in convincing them to let him in when he comes by the Fort or to the barracks. Getting him in good with his men right from the get-go.]

Besides, a quick nap might not be enough to let the drugs wear off. You aren't reacting to them the way most people do, so I'm really not sure how long they'll affect you, or what the symptoms will be like. You wouldn't want to go in to work still affected by them, would you?

[snowshield]

[He squirms. He can't help it. He's being seen through. He knows it. Figaro's being very insistent, in a way Gepard doesn't like in part because he really, really, really likes it. It's...well. Nice. It's nice having someone not immediately defer to him (and for his well-being, no less), and having that someone not be one of his sisters.

It's also deeply uncomfortable because what the heck, if he didn't know better he'd think Figaro cared.]

...I don't want to put you out. [...and he has no idea if he can make it to the Administrative District, let alone to his apartment, without at least a nap.] It's late, and it's your bed.

[It should be noted that he's not trying to get up. Gepard has a hunch, and that hunch is that the second he gets up he's going to lose his sense of balance and have to fight off a brief bout of vertigo, and the only things in his stomach right now is half a loaf of rye bread, some dried meat, and coffee. Not the sorts of things that need to be spewed out on a floor. Instead, he just...continues to sit very comfortably and tries to project Captain confidence to the best of his ability: stoic, confident, in control, not trying to stay still lest he upset his stomach.]

Where would you go if I slept in your bed?

[ricochetlove]

[It isn't really anything personal-- it helps that Gepard's cute, of course, that always helps, but Sampo's mostly being generous because he really kind of put this guy through it tonight. Sure, Gepard's a Silvermane guard captain, but Sampo drugged him, assaulted him, and tried to eat him. And instead of being rightfully freaked the fuck out, Gepard's been trying to solve his problem for him like he's any other citizen of Belobog, and is willing to go so far as to put his own literal neck on the line. That deserves Sampo not being a complete shithead to him, ergo, offering up his bed. Plus, his bedroom door locks, so it's the only room in the apartment that Gepard could be in that he would be sure to hear it if Sampo tried to enter.]

[He wouldn't, of course, have tried to do anything while the Captain is asleep. But he also noshed on the guy's throat about twenty minutes ago, so he understands the lack of trust.]

Right here. [A simple answer to a simple question. Sampo gestures at the couch that they're both sitting on, really taking in the full expanse of its worn fabric and slightly sunken seat cushions. Truly an old, reliable workhorse of the furniture world.] It's not the first time that I've crashed on this ol' couch! Trust me, it's more comfortable than it looks.

[It isn't, really, it's probably exactly as comfortable as it looks, which isn't very. But since he's been a fugitive, he's slept in all sorts of places, many worse than this. So, relatively speaking, this really isn't all that bad of a place to crash. Anyway, one night on the couch won't kill him, even if his back and knees probably won't appreciate it.]

[snowshield]

[If the couch is more comfortable than it looks, then Figaro wouldn't have fought him as hard as he had on sleeping on it, would he? And Gepard's mouth opens to say just as much, before it closes, and then he keeps it decisively closed for a second. His jaw works, a little, as he searches for the right words, but there's really only one thing to say to that, isn't there?]

Very well.

[Gepard's nodding, and then immediately regrets it because nodding his head means moving his head, and moving his head means he's not exactly having the best time. Whew. Gepard touches a hand to his forehead, but-

Okay, the world's not spinning too badly.]

That's not what I should say, is it? What I should say is thank you. It's probably strange, given how we met, but I appreciate you looking out for me. [...that sounded- well, anyway, Gepard flashes Figaro a smile. Something small, a little fragile, a little delicate and shy, like a sunbeam through a ceiling of clouds...which quickly settles into something exasperated.

Because, as it turns out, he can't leave this unaddressed after all.]

Don't lie about the couch. We both know the truth.

[ricochetlove]

[See, look at that smile! Shy, almost demure, and almost certainly not what someone would expect out of a stalwart guardsman. But it makes his face look sweet, at least for those few moments that it's there. Like all good things, it doesn't last for very long.]

[Called out on his own couch lies.]

Okay, okay, you got me. It's not very comfortable.

[Still not the worst, but yeah, okay, it's not the best either. Man, the guy just couldn't give him a break, huh? Had to call him out.]

But you're my guest, I can't have you sleep on the couch! What kind of host would I be?

[In addition to not being a bad host, he also didn't miss that little touch to his forehead, like he'd had a sudden dizzy spell. Really proving his point about why he needs to sleep it off.] Do you need some help standing up? You were supposed to be out for a few hours, you know. You're the first person I've ever come across who doesn't go down! It's impressive, but it probably doesn't feel great on your end.

[snowshield]

[He manages to (he thinks) look kind of stern-yet-exasperated, captainish but not too impersonal, at least up until the point Figaro asks what kind of host would he be? It's at that point that Gepard's captainish reserve melts (at least a bit) because...

Yes.

Yes, that's exactly the sort of thing he'd say or do if the situation was reversed. He'd insist on the couch and having his guest take his bed, and he'd insist on it being more comfortable. That's why, when Figaro makes his offer, Gepard grimaces. It's something that would be a smile if the subject wasn't a strange man helping him to his bed, and, speaking of? Gepard's kind of...aware that if he was pinned to the bed and ravished by said strange man (a man with enchanting green eyes) he might not put up as much of a fight as he, perhaps, should.

But that's something he can worry about after a good night's sleep. For now, he just ever so slightly nods. Carefully nods. And, as established, gently grimaces.]

If you don't mind?

[And also.]

Honestly, if you hadn't made that noise when you did I probably would be fast asleep by now. [You know! The utterly disgusted noise!] That's what woke me up enough to resist it.

[ricochetlove]

[How scandalous, that the stalwart and morally upright captain of the guard might even think about being pinned to a strange man's bed to be ravished, especially a criminal's. Even more scandalous that he might not put up much resistance. Unthinkable, that he might like it.]

[But, of course, no one knows what goes on in the minds of stern captains except for those stern captains, right? So Gepard's secret is safe, so long as he doesn't tell anyone about it.]

Not at all! [Sampo stands, then offers his hand to Gepard like a gentleman would offer it to a lady that he'd asked to dance. Come on, Gepard, why don't you take his hand?]

You'd startled me! [You'd make a noise, too, if you expected to bite down into something delicious and found out that it actually tasted like an old gym sock.] Most people are asleep before I get around to biting them, though. So you're still a special boy!

[And hopefully this special boy is steady on his feet, because if he isn't? Than it's back into the conman-currently-known-as-Figaro's arms for you, to be bridal carried just like before. Let him carry you over the threshold of his bedroom like the prettiest bride in Belobog, Captain.]

[snowshield]

[He hesitates, a breath's worth of hesitation as Gepard handles. But he takes that hand. Gepard breathes out, slow and steady, as he tries to stand. He succeeds, a retort about being a special boy on his lips, but then his legs wobble like he's a baby fawn and he's not all that steady on his feet after all.

As he's swept into a bridal carry, a noise escapes Gepard's lips. A choked-out gasp that's quickly smothered as Gepard hooks his arms around Figaro's neck and immediately buries his face into the crook of his shoulder. Figaro can probably see the embarrassed flush across his ears. Probably. Hard hiding that shade of pink-red. But, Figaro can't see his embarrassed face, and that's good enough, isn't it?

Isn't it?]

Do you normally like carrying around people, or is this just another way I'm special?

[Gepard says it as dryly as he can, which is to say...not very, but an effort's very clearly being made.]

[ricochetlove]

[The good Captain is very much not steady on his feet when he stands, so up into Sampo's arms he goes-- he's remarkably cooperative about it, all things considered, and hardly even protests. Just makes a bit of a fussy noise and locks his arms around his neck, hiding his face in Sampo's shoulder as though that would cover up his blush.]

[Is it part of the interview process for being a captain, he wonders, to be so cute? Or is Gepard just special again?]

[It isn't going to be a long trip in Sampo's arms since the apartment isn't very big, but he'll enjoy every moment of it. It isn't every day that he gets to flirt with cute men, so he should take advantage of the opportunity while he has it! And, if their little arrangement keeps up, he'll have even more opportunities to make Gepard blush, what a lovely thought.]

[With Gepard's face against his shoulder, he probably can't see the smile that Sampo sends his way, the obnoxious wink.] Only the pretty ones, Captain.

[The ride on Air Figaro must come to an end, though, because he's made the very short trip across the room and into the bedroom, where the bed awaits. It is... a bed, there's really not much more to say for it-- a serviceable mattress with a serviceable amount of somewhat threadbare blankets and a lonely pillow, sitting on a common metal frame. A small bedside table that probably was there when he got the apartment, with a lamp that... mostly functions as intended, even if it has the unfortunate habit of switching itself off unexpectedly. A small chest of drawers against one wall, which, if Gepard got nosy, he would find mostly empty, save for a couple of spare sets of clothes and a few other odds and ends. A mostly spartan bedroom that's more a place to sleep than it is a place to live.]

Here we go. [Gepard is deposited onto the mattress.] Do you want something to change into? We're pretty close to the same height, you'd probably fit into my things.

[He probably has a shirt and a pair of sweatpants or something around. Something that would be sufficient to use as sleeping clothes, if Gepard didn't want to sleep in his street clothes.]

[snowshield]

[Being called pretty gets him to make another fussy noise, and mumble something that suspiciously sounds like a denial, but isn't all that articulate because it's being said into a guy's shoulder. Disregard it, it probably doesn't matter. It's just a disgruntled noise. It's not important.

What matters is that Gepard's deposited onto a bed, in a room that makes him...feel something. It makes him feel a thing. He has feelings about the room. And so forth and so on. Those feelings can be examined later, at leisure, not now, when he's on the bed. It's a place to exist, and he'll exist on it, and if he ignores his blush it'll surely go away.

He's asked a question, and Gepard blinks at his host, the very gracious Figaro with strange dietary needs, as he considers it...]

If it's not too much trouble. [Then.] You really want me to be comfortable. If I didn't know better I'd think you'd want me to come back. I feel like I'd be letting you down if I don't have the best sleep I've had all week.

[At this rate he'll be conked out until mid-morning.]