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“Gotta say, at this point,” Sampo drawls, his hands already busy doing quick work of Gepard’s unnecessarily complicated uniform, “you probably qualify as my most loyal returning customer.”
“Stop talking,” Gepard all but growls in response, one of his knees already parked between Sampo’s legs. It takes Sampo a decent amount of self-control to stop his vocal cords from embarrassing him so early. Good thing Gepard doesn’t notice. He won’t let his reputation be stained this easily.
“I mean, you don’t exactly pay me, so that’s probably inaccurate,” he continues, unfazed. “Y’know, I’d be willing to meet you somewhere warmer than the restricted zone in the future, just sayi—”
“I said,” Gepard says, his knee directly pressed against Sampo’s crotch, “stop talking, Koski.”
Sampo Koski doesn’t falter. He does barely manage to hold back a gasp, however. No shame in admitting his weaknesses.
“Aww, but you like my ramblings, Geppie.” Sampo clicks his tongue. Pants off, at long last. He could do this three times a day for the rest of his life, and still struggle with making any sense out of Silvermane attire. “You just take your tsundere roleplaying a little too seriously. Good thing I know you better than that.”
“My what—” Gepard lets out a hiss. The shiver that runs through his body is mirrored clear as day in the expression on his face as soon as Sampo meets his eyes. “Sorry. Your hands are cold.”
“My apologies, Captain,” Sampo says, not sorry at all. He’s not sure whether Gepard realized he does it on purpose to watch him squirm or not, but perhaps it’s better off this way. “Wouldn’t be a problem if you let me do this anywhere that isn’t a snowy wasteland.”
“Be thankful I let you do it at all,” Gepard says, slightly breathless. The sight of the faint blush that’s creeping up his cheeks isn’t enough to stop Sampo in his tracks, but it does get close. How cute. “Get on with it.”
“Oh Captain, my Captain, please don’t rush me.” His fingers wrap around his cock in one swift motion, drawing another half-annoyed, half-aroused sound out of him. Sampo hums under his breath. If Gepard wants warmth and spice and everything nice, maybe he should consider renting a room at the Goethe Hotel. Until then, he’s just going to have to put up with his cold hands. “Artists need time for their masterpieces, after all.”
“Sampo,” Gepard breathes out, his fingers already tangled in Sampo’s hair. “Stop. Talking. Please.”
“Nuh-uh,” is Sampo’s very diplomatic response, accompanied by a light squeeze of his busy hand. Gepard exhales a heavier breath through his nose. It’s fairly obvious that he’s more pent-up than usual—he grows hard almost immediately underneath his fingers, small, irresistible sounds falling from his lips with every other stroke, and he hasn’t even picked up the pace yet. That’s usually how it goes when Gepard Landau has a less-than-stellar day. It’s really, really hot—Sampo’s thought about sabotaging his missions on purpose just to see it more often, but that would be more cruel than entertaining, and he’d rather leave that flavor of Elation to the likes of Sparkle. “Admit it, Geppie. If you really hated listening to my nonsense, you wouldn’t wait for me to nudge you into it before shoving your dick down my throat.”
That faint blush on his cheeks comes back with a vengeance within two seconds of those words. This time, Sampo doesn’t even fight the grin off his face.
“Do you have to be so crass?” Gepard complains, eventually, as if his cock isn’t already telling Sampo a very different story.
“Oh, my dear Captain—I just call it as I see it, I’m afraid,” Sampo replies, the banter leaving his mouth as easily as ever. He hums to himself, then—when his tongue darts out to lick a tentative strip across his cock, Gepard moans into his hand. “You look more delectable than usual today. Any changes in the Belobog water I should be aware of?”
“Just get on with it,” Gepard repeats, a touch of desperation making its way into his voice.
Sampo clicks his tongue in mild disapproval. Would it kill him to take a compliment without fussing? It’s not as if Sampo would lie about something like this. He might be no stranger to deceptive flattery but, sometimes, it just so happens that he actually means it. It’s really not relevant that their arrangement is more of a way for Gepard to decompress and for Sampo not to get arrested. Doesn’t stop Gepard from being pretty, does it?
“Fine, fine,” Sampo concedes, unnecessary theatrics and all, “Now, the show—I practiced this time!”
“Wha—what do you mean by that—” is all he manages to say before Sampo takes him into his mouth and shuts him up at once.
“Aw, shit.” Sampo sputters around him and pulls back a little, just enough to let the tip of Gepard’s hardening erection press into his cheek. “Kinda forgot how big you were for a second there.”
“Sampo Koski,” Gepard lets out through gritted teeth, and the grip of his fingers on Sampo’s scalp grows tighter. Sampo can only count that as a win. “Enough with the jokes.”
“I take jokes very seriously, and that wasn’t one,” Sampo immediately says, his hand getting a hold of his cock again. If looks could kill— “May I please try my hand at a second chance, Captain Landau?”
Gepard exhales a shaky breath. “You—”
“I am here to please!” he exclaims, a split second before his lips close around Gepard once more.
The sound that escapes his throat is priceless.
“Easy,” Gepard groans, fingers closing around his scalp, as if Sampo were a wild dog with no leash, wagging his tail and thrashing around at his feet. “You’re going to—ah—hurt yourself.”
With his jaw slackened and his tongue flat against the shaft, he eases Gepard’s length deeper into his mouth, inch by inch—much more slowly, this time. Gepard’s only reaction is a slightly harsher tug on his hair, and so he marches on with the reassurance that he won’t doubt him again.
Seriously—Aeons forbid he miscalculates by a few inches for once.
“You taste nice,” Sampo murmurs, breath meeting the leaking tip of his cock. He doesn’t need to look up to know that blush on his face is definitely making a third comeback. Call him a master of his craft, if you will. “Scrumptious, even.”
“Sampo,” Gepard growls under his breath, “You’re supposed to help me out, not make my stress worse.”
“Oh, so hurtful,” he says, giving his cock a stroke or two for good measure. “I was serious, you know.”
After that, he doesn’t wait for Gepard to come up with another complaint—he just eases him into his mouth once more and flutters his eyelashes up at him as innocently as he can.
That usually means do whatever you want with me, and luckily Gepard takes the bait just as quickly as he usually does.
And yet, barely one thrust in, he says, “You almost choked last time—I’m not going to let you talk me into it again.”
“Nooo—hmph,” Sampo stammers around his cock, another thrust stuffing his mouth—and only his mouth—full.
He’d meant it when he said he practiced! He is not about to let his hard work go to waste.
“Sampo, you—” Gepard blurts out, blindsided, and then his cock hits the back of Sampo’s throat anyway. “Fuck.”
The honorable, prim and proper Captain Gepard Landau, indulging in one singular curse word at long last—all because of little old Sampo Koski.
How flattering.
Sampo swallows thickly, his throat closing in around him, and Gepard whimpers. His gag reflex almost gets the best of him in the process, but he powers through. Two failures in a row would make a terrible dent in his self-esteem.
“Oh, shit,” Gepard groans, and would you look at that—two curse words!
While Sampo is too busy gloating to pay attention to his physical reactions, it’s his turn to get blindsided as Gepard’s grip on his scalp grows tighter and he pushes his head down to let his cock drive in deeper. Sampo coughs around the intrusion but luckily doesn’t choke—the gloating takes precedence again. Not going to talk him into it again, huh?
He screws his eyes shut and forces himself to relax his body, ease out the tension from his neck muscles and his jaw, then directs all his attention on keeping his breathing steady and securing some air in between each thrust of his length splitting his throat open. Gepard feels heavenly like this, invading all his senses from every angle and using him for his own pleasure.
He tries contributing at first, hollowing his cheeks and swirling his tongue around whatever he can reach before Gepard pulls out and then back in over and over again, but he soon gives up when he realizes they both like it better when he doesn’t, anyway.
“Fuck, Sampo—you feel so—” Gepard groans, not even bothering to finish the sentence. Third curse word, Sampo thinks, the thought distant and easily lost in the dull ache permeating his upper body. “I’m gonna—”
Numb, sore, and a little out of his mind, the one thing that finally gets him to choke is Gepard’s cum shooting down his throat.
“Sorry, sorry,” Gepard blurts out, slight panic making its way into his voice. Oh, how adorable. He lets go of his hair and takes a hold of his face instead, clearly concerned that he would crumble into the snow while coughing or something equally unrealistic. Not that Sampo would bother pointing it out. Unlike him, Gepard’s hands are almost freakishly warm and his palms soft on his skin, and Sampo is really only human. “I should’ve pulled out.”
“Mhm, not really,” Sampo finally manages to say, heat rising up to his ears. He’d almost feel embarrassed about it—if only he could bring himself to care. “I wouldn’t mind if you did it on my face, though.”
Gepard doesn’t say anything to that—not immediately, at any rate. Under Sampo’s scrambled gaze, he brushes his thumb against the corner of his mouth—likely to remove any leftovers of his cum, he realizes a heartbeat too late. He’s already half thinking about saying a nonchalant thanks, buddy to cover up the anomalies in his ribcage, when Gepard blinks and pulls back all at once as if he’s been burned.
And Sampo goes tumbling down in the snow anyway.
“My—ahem—apologies,” he says, pointedly not looking at him and already fiddling with his pants and putting his armor back into place. “Thanks. I’ll see you when I see you.”
“You got it, Captain,” Sampo murmurs under his breath, wincing at how rough his voice sounds.
His heart doesn’t quiet down until Gepard is out of sight.