Work Text:
It’s not that Gepard is a raging workaholic who has no social or recreational life outside his Union duties, as kindly observed by Serval.
It’s also not that Gepard lives off the adrenaline of doing mundane reports and briefings out of obligation which ultimately end up being nigh redundant, as pointed out by Pela.
In truth, the captain of the Silvermane Guards is simply a man of habit. Joining the military at a young age indoctrinated him to the rigid structures surrounding the nature of his work very early on. His promising skills, along with his family name, meant that expectations and duties set upon him were far more than the others. It soon became a habit to place his work at a higher priority than even his health.
Admittedly, it was only by cultivating this dedicated attitude that he was able to achieve such a renowned rank at such a young age, perhaps at the cost of other important things. Such as an appreciation for good music, as once again pointed out by Serval.
“…which is why,” Sergeant Pela slams a hand on his desk and glares at him with as much deadpan as her large doe eyes can muster, “we’re kicking you out of the office for a week.”
“You just can’t do that,” is the only reply that the renowned captain can muster, sitting behind the desk with a pen in hand. “What about these reports?”
Pela’s brow twitches worryingly. “You know that the higher-ups don’t even read them, right?”
Gepard doesn’t even deny it. “Then, what about the patrol squad I’m supposed to lead in two days?”
“Assignments have been shifted. Captain Dunn is subbing in for you,” she replies.
“Huh?” Gepard says, wide-eyed. “But, Pela, you know the official procedures, I can’t just walk away from my work unless I file a request for leave—”
Pela’s gaze shifts from annoyed to tired in an instant. “I filed it for you. The Madam Guardian has already approved of the leave.”
Gepard blinks owlishly. “What.”
“What.”
The blond knight runs a hand through his hair, “Madam Cocolia—”
“—thinks you deserve a break as well,” Pela finishes for him. “Even Bronya came to me with concerns the other day, you know. You’re going to work yourself to death, and you’re the only one who can’t see it coming.”
“I…”
“Gepard.”
“Okay. I understand. I guess you do have a point.” Gepard sighs, defeated. Lately it has felt like it’s been harder to get up in the mornings, not to mention all the times he spaced out between training drills.
Pela says nothing for a moment, as if surprised that it was really just this easy to convince her coworker like this.
“Well, enjoy your temporary freedom.” She puts her hand on her hips. “Remember, just because we’re not gonna bother you for a week doesn’t mean you can skip meals again. And you better sleep eight hours.”
He laughs. “Okay… thanks, Pela.”
“What for?”
Gepard gives a small, sheepish smile. “For looking out for me.”
In return, Pela simply huffs and turns towards the door, leaving after replying, “Serval is the one you should actually be thanking. I would simply rather not have to get used to a new supervisor if you do end up incapacitated from overwork, Captain Landau.”
The door closes with a resolute click, and Gepard is left alone in his minimalist office, staring at the dying plant on his desk that an officer gifted him a month ago.
…Oh, he thinks belatedly. Of course it was her.
“Serval, what is the meaning of this?”
The blond woman turns around, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the man at the door of her apartment above the workshop. “My dear little brother! Finally off from work, are we?”
She’s got a strange glint in her eyes, and Gepard can’t help but notice that something seems different about his sister today. Is it her over-enthusiasm? Her change of attire? That plotting grin on her face?
“Off from work…” Gepard grumbles, pulling his mind away from all the questions. “I suppose so.”
Serval slinks around him and pats his shoulders reassuringly as the blond man takes off his boots and armoured jacket. “Aw, little Geppie, wipe that disgruntled look from your face. Your big sister is going to take you somewhere fun today.”
“You mean,” Gepard sighs, “you’re going to drag me off to one of your rehearsals again.”
“Haha, of course not. I’ve already given up on trying to get you to understand my music,” Serval smiles sunnily. “So this time, I’m taking you somewhere that will help you loosen up.”
The younger man takes off his gauntlet and flexes his hand, trying to shake out the chronic cramps. He looks up into sharp blue eyes, and finds himself suddenly uncharacteristically scared. Once Serval has made up her mind, it’s almost impossible to talk her out of it.
A Landau signature trait, really.
Serval straightens up. “First, I’m getting you out of that stuffy uniform. You’re in your sister’s apartment, not out there brawling with monsters in the Freeze. We’re getting you changed. Right now.”
With no small amount of effort, she manages to drag Gepard further into the apartment, much to the latter’s confusion.
“Look, I just came here to talk, I’m not—”
“So,” Serval spins around, a sad (but also unconvincing) pout on her lips, “you really don’t want to spend family time with your lonely big sister? It’s been a long time since you came to me about anything other than work and repairs…”
“I,” Gepard scowls, biting down whatever remark he had in mind. It’s true, after all. His loyalty lies first and foremost with the Madam Guardian…
But that doesn’t mean that he should neglect his family either. “Okay. You win.”
Serval responds to that with a victorious little fist pump, and Gepard, with a resigned smile on his face, decides that at the very least, he can afford to give his sister this small happiness.
…Unfortunately, it is only two hours later that he begins to have some doubts.
“Serval,” he starts, but is cut off by the older Landau waving over one of the waitresses and rattling off another order for various different kinds of alcohol that Gepard has never even remotely heard of, much less drunk before. Before the waitress leaves, he quickly adds a request for a jug of water, just in case.
“Serval,” he tries again.
The older woman laughs around a hiccup as she focuses her attention back to her little brother. She’s holding a strangely coloured cocktail with a little umbrella in it, and it looks just as steady in her hands as the new Union recruits trying to hold a heavy cast iron sword without toppling over.
“Gepaaard, you’re such,” another hiccup, “a stick in the mud,” Serval bemoans, downing the rest of her cocktail in one gulp. The tiny paper umbrella falls down somewhere beneath the table. “I brought you— brought you here to get wasted, not to be… my fucking chaperone, hic.”
Gepard glances around. “It’s not that I’m purposely trying to ruin your fun. It’s just, why did you choose such a…”
“Seedy looking place on the outskirts of Belobog?” she slurs. “Gimme a break, you really think you can let loose drinking in the main district when every second person recognises your stupid face?”
“I, well,” Gepard furrows his brows. “Actually—”
“Shut uuuup,” Serval groans. “Just shuddup. You’re gonna lecture me again about saving face for the Union or ‘maintaining duty and vigilance’ aren’t you?”
Gepard crosses his arms and closes his eyes. He knows where this is going.
Serval continues on, relentless. “Well, lemme tell you this, big boy! You’re what now? In your twenties? How many friends do you have? Have you ever gotten a girlfriend? Have you ever even gotten laid?”
Keep calm. Gepard thinks. His eyebrow twitches. Calm. That’s it.
“I’m just looking out for you, little brother.” Serval lowers her head to the table until there’s an audible thump. “It jus’ makes me sad to think that you’re probably gonna be a Union bootlicker for the rest of your life. The world outside this city’s a hellhole, Plamya’s blessings won’t last forever, and eventually we’ll all freeze to death. You can’t fix everything, so you should really… learn to live a little instead.”
“Serval..”
The blond woman lifts her hand to her face to check her watch, before pulling herself upright, looking around. “Should be here.”
Gepard blinks. “What?”
Serval’s eyes stop somewhere past Gepard’s head, lighting up. Gepard turns around to look at the entrance of the establishment, but fails to see anything of interest.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, turning back around.
“Nothing!” Serval smiles in that saccharinely sweet way that she always does whenever she’s hiding something.
Gepard frowns, choosing not to comment on it. Serval is terrible at acting, but also terribly good at guilt-tripping Gepard into doing anything she wants, so most of the time he doesn’t bother trying to suss out her antics anymore.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Serval stands up, wobbling a little on her heels.
“Will you be okay?” He stares worriedly at her.
“Right as rain,” she smiles back unsteadily. “Remember, Gepard, you gotta live a little, got it? Sometimes you’ve just got to take whatever life throws at you.”
“…Understood,” he replies, but actually not quite understanding at all.
The younger Landau watches as his sister’s figure sways towards the restrooms, prepared to run over in case she falls over. An audible sigh of relief leaves his lips when she disappears behind the door.
Old habits immediately rev back up again; he sweeps his gaze across the establishment and notes the time, points of exit, the other people around him.
A couple sitting at the bar, a woman in the corner, a group of teenagers at the back, and a… man approaching him?
Said man slides into Serval’s seat opposite him with practiced ease, a wide smile on his face. He’s quite built, with an admittedly handsome face and sly grin.
Gepard scowls. “That seat is taken, unfortunately.”
“Ah, is it?” The purple-haired man says, looking not even a little surprised. “My apologies, it’s just that you looked like you were in need of some company here, all by yourself,” he grins.
The stalwart captain opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off by a waitress setting a tray of drinks onto the table.
Serval’s cocktail orders, he recalls. There’s a lot more than he remembers. Not wanting to make the situation awkward in the presence of an unfamiliar third party, he silently closes his mouth again. When the waitress leaves, the unfamiliar man sweeps his gaze across the glasses, picking one out that holds a bright azure liquid in it.
“Blue Lagoon,” the man smiles; when he does, his eyes wane into moons, long eyelashes stark against the pale lighting. For some reason, Gepard can’t stop staring. “One of my favourites, try it.”
Gepard wonders if Serval is going to berate him for finally drinking for the first time tonight in front of a literal stranger rather than her. But reason tells him that she would be ecstatic to see him step out of his comfort zone regardless of circumstance, so he accepts the glass with reluctance.
The first burst of flavour on his tongue has him scrunching his face, the sour taste slowly receding into a more pleasant sweetness. The aftertaste lingers, notes of lemon zest tingling at the back of his throat. The melting of winter frost into cool spring mornings.
“It’s… not bad,” he decides tentatively.
Emerald eyes light up with satisfaction. It’s strange, Gepard thinks, how the warm light of the bar makes everything seem just a little softer around the edges.
All he’s known while growing up are the sharp edges of silver blades, the creaking of frostbitten joints, the distance between him and the rest of the world. His men trust him unconditionally, yet he is their captain first and foremost, and the weight of their lives on his hands is too heavy to share. But it doesn’t matter—he understands; this is his duty as the bulwark of the people, and he will spend his life to see it through.
What rips him from his dazed musings isn’t the stranger snapping his fingers in front of his face, but in the background; Serval waving silently as she spots Gepard in the presence of another man.
Gepard stares at her as she slinks towards the bar counter and starts conversing with the bartender instead, essentially leaving her brother to fend for himself.
“…”
A warm weight slides over the top of his hand. Gepard blinks, muscles going rigid. He looks down to find a black-gloved hand covering his own, then looks up to find unreadable emerald green staring into his icy blue.
“That’s one hell of a glare you’ve got on,” the stranger smiles, eyes thinning. “The drink not to your liking?”
“No.” His hand twitches. “It’s not that.”
“Then,” the other continues, “what could be bothering our dear Silvermane Captain like so?”
The blond tenses, sliding his hand out of the loose grasp and fixes the man with a critical look. “How did you—”
The stranger laughs, a rough sound that’s surprisingly pleasant to the ears. “Your face is quite well-known throughout Belobog, you know? A real work of art. Exquisite,” he drawls.
The owner of said face coughs lightly, feeling his ears heat up at the words. It’s true that civilians would recognise him anywhere he goes, but most of the time Gepard associated that with his weapon, uniform and Union badge. Outside of his work environment and in different clothes, he didn’t expect anyone to give him a second look.
“Well, regardless.” The man swirls his alcohol and holds up his glass, the amber liquid inside glinting under the pale lights. “The name’s Sampo. I’m here to serve you for tonight, esteemed client.”
“Sampo,” he rolls the word around his tongue. Hesitantly, he holds up his own glass in toast. “Gepard.”
Sampo laughs again. “I know.”
The alcohol spreads across his tongue and lights up in his mouth. It burns his throat as it goes down, and Gepard’s still not exactly used to it, but he can’t say that he dislikes it either.
“Well, Gepard, or if you prefer Captain Landau—”
“Just Gepard is fine,” the blond interjects, “I’m not on duty at the moment, so the titles are meaningless.”
Sampo beams a little at that. It’s kind of an endearing sight, but Gepard doesn’t allow his mind to think any further than that. “Of course! So, Gepard, I heard from a little birdie that you’re in a bit of a dilemma. I’m here to propose a solution.”
A dilemma? Gepard thinks, but before he can dwell on it, Sampo rises and leans over the table to whisper something in his ear.
“…!”
Quickly drawing back, the purple-haired man chuckles, settling back onto the chair in a manner that Gepard thinks is far too relaxed for what he just offered. “How about it?”
Gepard is lost for words.
Sampo waits opposite him, a strange tension etched into the lines of his shoulders. He leans forward, elbows on the table, green eyes piercing.
Gepard is already halfway through formulating a rejection before Serval’s jabbing words echo insistently through his mind: have you ever gotten a girlfriend? Have you ever gotten laid?
“…”
“Well?” Sampo murmurs, words quiet against the sound of Gepard’s thundering heartbeat.
Gepard swallows, forcing down the heat in his cheeks. “…Okay.”
Take that, Serval, he thinks.
It’s time to take what life throws at him.
Gepard tries his best to ignore the all-knowing smug look that Serval shoots his way as the two men leave the bar. Sampo doesn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he’s enough of an actor to pretend not to care.
There’s a flashy looking hotel just down the road from the bar, which Sampo brings him to. Gepard doesn’t need to squint against the flashing neon signs to know what sort of patrons it accommodates for.
“Room 402.” Sampo winks at the receptionist. The blond is too busy trying not to let his face combust into flames to notice that the other man seems to have booked the room ahead of time.
“Welcome to the land where dreams are made!” Sampo singsongs as he ushers his companion into the room and flicks on the lights.
Gepard blinks. “This is a hotel room,” he says intelligently.
“Just humour me, dear captain,” the other shrugs his jacket off and hangs it behind the door. Gepard stands frozen next to him, unsure of what to do. What comes next? What would Serval do in a situation like this?
Actually, perish that thought.
“Well. Fancy a snack?” Sampo juts a thumb to the small cocktail bar in the corner. “They’ve kindly provided us with,” he peers at the bowl of something sitting on the counter, “free raisins.”
“….No, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” The taller man shrugs. You can head into the bathroom to freshen up first, I’ll go after you.”
By Plamya’s blessings, somehow Gepard manages to ‘freshen up’ without dying inside and/or texting Serval to come pick him up ASAP before he melts into a vaguely human-shaped puddle like a water flavoured popsicle that Pela once likened his personality to. Though, the look Sampo shot him as he left the bathroom makes him kind of wish that he did.
To take his mind off the situation, he opts to stare at the array of alcohol in the bar instead. There’s a small bottle of Belobog’s specialty vodka, some tonics, some wines, glasses, raisins…
A breath ghosting his nape causes his muscles to stiffen up.
“So you did want to help yourself to the raisins.” Sampo’s voice rumbles behind him.
“Hardly fond of them,” Gepard grumbles in response.
“Well, that’s alright.” A large, warm hand slinks under his shirt and wraps around the curve of his waist. Gepard shivers. “There are better things to savour throughout the night if we take our time…”
Gepard really wants to die now.
Thankfully Sampo seems oblivious to the knight’s raging inner turmoil and hums as he kisses down the line of the other man’s neck. At the same time, he rubs his hands on the knight’s abdomen, tracing the shallow valleys of his abs. Each touch sends Gepard reeling—he’s hardly ever been intimate with anyone before, let alone let someone else seize control over his body like this.
Sampo bites gently into the junction between his neck and shoulder then licks the area, sending a full body shudder running through Gepard. Strings of saliva connect between Sampo’s mouth and Gepard’s pale neck as he draws away.
“Wow, so sensitive… could it be, the famous shield of Belobog, the righteous guardian of the people, the sweetheart of all the single ladies and elderly grannies in town,” Sampo fakes a gasp, “is a virgin?”
Stop talking!!!! Gepard thinks almost hysterically. In a sudden rush of adrenaline, he grabs Sampo’s collar and crushes them both into an open-mouthed kiss, completely mismatched and clumsy and both of them tasting faintly of alcohol. Snapping out of his shock, Sampo pushes back against the other man, vying for dominance. He pushes a knee up between the blond’s legs, earning him a tight moan and a desperate jerk of hips.
By Plamya, Gepard thinks hazily, this man is going to be the death of him. Sampo kisses him so fiercely that he can hardly find room to breathe, tilting their heads to slot further into each other’s mouths. “…! Hah…”
They eventually fall onto the bed together, Sampo tries to roll on top of Gepard but whether it’s the lingering liquid confidence in his veins or the ingrained habit of leading the charge, Gepard knees him in the stomach and straddles the bigger man instead.
Looking down at those cocky green eyes, Gepard sucks in a breath.
Sampo rests his hands around the other man’s thin waist, then against the curve of his buttocks. Gepard shifts himself backwards; he can feel the other man’s member rapidly hardening beneath him. He curves his back down until his forehead is almost touching Sampo’s, strands of soft blond hair closing the gap between them. He hopes Sampo can’t hear his heart almost beating out of his chest.
Perhaps sensing his hesitation, Sampo grabs the blond’s arm, and in one swift motion flips their positions back around. Facing downwards now, Gepard notes that Sampo’s movements are unnaturally agile, even with such a sturdy frame. Careful, quick, almost deceiving.
What kind of background does this man have? Maybe… he could check with the citizen archives later—
Sensing that Gepard’s mind has wandered off, Sampo ruts against the knight to tease him. “No thinking about anything else for tonight, like work!” The words sound suspiciously like something Serval would tell him, but Gepard has no time to dwell on that.
“Then you’ll have to make me forget about work,” Gepard grins daringly, in true stubborn Landau fashion. Sampo raises his brows.
“Oh,” a glint shines in his eyes, “I’ll make sure you remember tonight well.”
Sampo descends upon him with intentions true to his words; he presses heavy kisses into Gepard’s nape, his shoulders, down to his trapezius, mapping out a constellation of red marks across sensitive skin, like markings of territory in fresh snow. Gepard tries to crawl out and away from the onslaught of stimulation, but Sampo’s grip on his waist is iron, and it keeps him in place, helpless and receptive.
“Oh,” Sampo breathes as he finishes vandalising the pale body beneath him. “I like this. Someone as powerful and revered as you, turned into a mess like this beneath me.”
Gepard wants to retort. Wants to say literally anything at all, but instead he can only pant as a hand slides into the dip of his ass and gently spreads him open, the feeling of being exposed like this causing him to close his legs and bury his face in the sheets. “…Mmh.”
“It’s alright,” Sampo coos reassuringly, coaxing his legs open again. “Just need to prep you, okay? Won’t hurt.”
Gepard isn’t worried about pain. He grew up on it, thrived on it—but the feeling of a lubricated finger breaching his hole is of neither pain nor pleasure, instead an intense discomfort. It’s a feeling that he never thought he’d ever experience, but Sampo works him open patiently and skillfully, and after a few minutes Gepard is leaking onto the sheets, dizzy from the onslaught of new sensations.
“Ready?” Sampo asks. He takes the cant of hips as a positive answer, quickly rolling a condom onto his hardened dick with a precision that belies his enthusiasm. He ruts a little against the knight’s backside, sliding between his buttocks. Observes for reactions.
Gepard gasps when he feels the length of the other’s dick against his hole.
It can’t fit, there’s no way… right?
…But he wants it. It doesn’t matter, he’s already burning up inside, and the feeling of Sampo grabbing his trembling thighs and resting his huge cock against the entrance is already enough to make Gepard mewl.
For a moment it seems like Sampo’s going to push in, but then he pauses, as if contemplating, and draws away slightly.
“What… what are…?” Gepard blinks, jerking his hips back minutely, his mind fogged up as he ruts against Sampo’s cock, focusing single-mindedly on the heat in his stomach, the need to be used.
“Hurry,” he groans, not caring about dignity or properness anymore and simply wishing that the other man would stop teasing and hurry up and fuck him.
Behind him, Sampo wets his lips. “Hm? What was that? You gotta be clearer, babe. Ask for it nicely.”
With burning cheeks, the knight moans, twists his waist, spreads his legs slowly. One hand reaches back and exposes his trembling, moist hole, willingly presenting himself to be devoured.
“Please,” he begs, slightly hoarse. “Ple…ase… hurry, take me— ah, uhn! Uh—” he writhes when the head of that thick cock sinks in past the rim, “oh… ah, gods…”
“Relax, ‘kay, just relax.” Sampo eases in slowly, mindful of the other man’s reactions as he opens him up, rubbing the back of Gepard’s hand.
“Feels,” a gasp, “strange.” The hot length buries into him deeper inch by inch, dragging against sensitive walls. It’s almost overwhelming, that feeling of having something so large in there, laced with sparks of indescribable pleasure.
“At least it doesn’t feel bad. It’ll feel good soon,” Sampo hums casually, as if they were just having a normal conversation. “Y’know, I watched you fight once. It was like,” he pauses, “watching a great snowstorm razing everything into the ground. I was awestruck.”
A part of Gepard’s brain tells him he should be concerned about why a civilian saw him fight monsters potentially out in the great Freeze, but all that turns to mush as Sampo changes his angle slightly—grinds down against something that punches a filthy, needy sound out of Gepard’s mouth.
“Found it.” Sampo smirks. “Everything okay? You can take more, can’t you, even for a first-timer? Look, you’re leaking for it.”
No I’m not, Gepard thinks feverishly. But his body is telling both of them otherwise. He’s thrusting back without thinking, chasing the tail end of that white hot pleasure, the drag of cock setting his nerves alight.
“Maybe you’re just born to take cock,” Sampo whispers against his ear.
“Nnho, wai… wait, wait— ah…!” Gepard cries out as Sampo grinds against his tight walls, the latter’s member a heavy weight within his hole as it presses repeatedly against his prostate. “Wait.. I’m gonna, you’re—”
“Relax,” Sampo growls low and hot against his ear. “Think of it… as endurance training.”
Endurance training, Gepard thinks with a groan, gripping the sheets with whitened knuckles as Sampo pins him down, begins to fuck him until he’s wide-eyed from pleasure and shivering from the slightest touch. For me, or for him?
Coherent thoughts leave him as Sampo grabs his wrists in one hand, holds his nape with the other and continues to thrust into his raised ass until Gepard can hear himself moaning whorishly into the bed. It’s so much— the drag of his cock hitting so deep, so much, almost too much, but it feels good it feels good it feels good but he can’t come—
“…!!” A hand wraps around his cock, causing him to jolt as if electrocuted. The rush of pleasure turns his knees into jelly and wipes his mind blank until he’s coming onto the bed. “Mmguh—! Nn…!”
It takes a few more thrusts before Sampo climaxes too, spilling inside the condom with a gasp. Gepard grunts when Sampo pulls out, thighs twitching as he pants through the aftershocks. It takes a few moments to clear his head before he can muster a thought together.
“That… was…”
“Good?” Sampo presses light kisses across the shell of his ear, the gesture so gentle and comforting that it almost seems out of place. Gepard nods slowly, the orgasm having left him lightheaded and pliant under the other man’s touches, hardly noticing that Sampo has slipped off his condom and replaced it with a new one.
“Great.” Sampo rolls the blond over, wipes a bit of the latter’s come from his dick and licks it off his thumb, then licks his lips. He looks absolutely predatory.
“Then, another round? This is training after all… and I know you would never skip out on those.”
The morning light pouring into the room rouses Gepard from his sleep. Blinking, he spends a few moments reorienting himself and staring up at the ceiling, before pushing himself upright.
“Ow.” He winces—his back hurting like he’d just carried three tonnes of recon equipment while trekking through the Freeze. He swears he just heard a part of his spine creak in despair.
Something shifts to his side. There’s a groan as Sampo throws the pillow on his face onto the floor and yawns. “Urgh… mornin’.”
“Good morning,” Gepard replies candidly as he tries to slide off the bed in a way that won’t cause his sex-aggravated early onset arthritis pains to explode through the rest of his body. “Ow. Fuck.”
He hears rustling behind him. “Wow. I didn’t know the white knight of Belobog knew how to cuss.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Hey! Not my problem that you were begging me to f—”
Gepard whips his head around to retort, but instead he stops. And stares. Then he opens his mouth. “You have the most terrible bed hair on the planet.”
A bark of laughter. “Do I? You don’t look any better.”
“That’s because you tried to pull it last night when we…” he trails off, “when, you…”
Sampo raises an eyebrow. Gepard buries his face in his hands and tries not to have a crisis. What kind of situation is this… the captain of the Silvermanes. In a bed with a stranger. In some shady part of town. On vacation.
Serval’s laughing face flashes through his mind, vaguely chanting something like truly a virginal maiden!
Gepard decides to stop thinking altogether, finally stands up and starts collecting his clothes together.
Lazily watching the other man get dressed from the bed still naked, Sampo eventually speaks again with a pout. “So you’re just gonna leave?”
Gepard busies himself with buttoning his shirt. “My sister is probably wondering where I am.” Sort of true. Serval would wonder, but wouldn’t do anything to actually search for him. “And I have work today.” A lie.
“Mmh.” Something tugs him backwards. “Wait.”
Gepard turns his head. Sampo pulls him back onto the bed, earning him a surprised yell and a glare of annoyance.
“What?” he asks, heat creeping up his cheeks again.
“We had a great night, y’know? Maybe we could find some time to meet up again.” Sampo smiles—that damned, suave smile, “I know you don’t like raisins, so… how ‘bout a date?”