Archive of Our Own

Gepard Landau has a secret. A really humiliating type of secret that surely taints the image of himself he has made throughout his life.

The secret is this:

Gepard, in all his hyper-controlling ways, likes to sub. Specifically, he likes to be forced to give in and give up, where the only consequence for doing so is feeling good and not utterly unravelling the person he has made for himself otherwise. Because Gepard has no room for giving up or giving in when he's upholding the Frontline or a lifetime of duty. Instead, he is known to be the opposite: unwavering and indomitable. Belobog's resolute shield.

(Anyone who has slept with him in recent years is very aware of how domitable he actually is.)

Hence, it is a secret he keeps close to his chest.

Except for when he is in the one place that he will never, ever tell anyone that he visits, that is. A little club called Open Floor, which is just close enough to one of their (recently opened) border entrances to have visitors from underworld and overworld alike.

The ground floor is simple. Your typical club where people gather to dance and do stupid things with their free time. Gepard does not care much for it.

The upper floors, then, are not quite that. Instead, it is more like an understanding. That anyone who is allowed to climb the stairs has been allowed to through social connections and general background checks. That they similarly like to uphold decency and safety for all types of people.

Gepard is just lucky he slept with a guy who put in a good word for him, once, because the atmosphere inside Open Floor has made him feel a lot more comfortable about pretty much everything regarding this secret he used to try and smother to death.

(He also came to learn that he was even kind of tame in comparison to a lot of things, and that felt surprisingly settling for Gepard. Like saying, you're not that strange.)

This comfortability is tested rather unfortunately, however, when he sits himself at a table one evening after almost a year of nothing at all.

He's still not brave enough to openly wear anything other than his nicest trousers and a turtleneck without sleeves however, even though other people he has already spotted go much more extravagant than that by a mile.

(He says openly, because Gepard still does have vices. One of which being the collar hidden underneath the turtleneck. A simple, familiar pressure that he indulges in from time to time, though he's never quite brave enough to show it off even here.)

All in all, Gepard feels high strung and taut, just trying to ease back into such an atmosphere. A fact even further tested when suddenly, like a cord being pulled tight, Sampo Koski slides into the booth right next to him.

Casually, he does it. Like he isn't actually Sampo Koski and Gepard also isn't the Captain who has been this close to arresting him for years.

"Well, would you look at that," he starts with a truly lecherous grin that makes Gepard's hair stand on end, "Even somebody like you enjoys visiting a place like this, eh Captain?"

Sampo's arm is slung around the back of the booth and his legs are crossed one over the other. The cocky posture, along with his general appearance — a red leather halterneck and mesh tights under similarly black leather shorts — causes Gepard to feel like a mouse trapped in the snow, with a bird swooping overhead to catch him in it's claws.

His jaw works itself over for the sudden realisation that he has been caught. By somebody he knows, no less. Somebody who can see him, here, sat in a kink club, and know him to be Gepard Landau.

It sets his lungs to panicking and his non-metal palm to cold and clammy, especially when Sampo's smile tips further and he also realises that this is still Koski.

"Cat got your tongue?" he teases.

Koski, a criminal and a scammer and a renowned extortionist, who will surely want to get something awful out of the fact that Gepard is sat here and he can see him.

"No," Gepard squeezes out in his unprompted panic.

He goes to stand and is only stopped by the abrupt way Sampo's hand latches onto the wrist of his metal arm.

(He doesn't even know where he would have gone if had stood, considering how there is a wall on one side, the table in front of him, and Sampo sat at the exit of the booth on his other side.)

"Whoa!" Sampo exclaims with wide eyes all of a sudden, "What are you freaking out for?"

Gepard feels his muscles tighten for the acknowledgement that he's also this easy to read. He tries to pull from Sampo's grip, but the hand is tight and firm and surprisingly strong.

"I'm not having this be tainted by you just because you want to mess with me or- or-" he begins to say tightly.

"Hey, hey," Sampo rapidly says and cuts him off, squeezing his arm, "You've jumped a bit there. I just came to say hello, Geppie. It's not everyday you see a Silvermane here, let alone one like you."

"Don't call me Geppie," he bites out instinctively. "And you think I believe that? You're a liar and charmer, Koski."

Sampo blinks at him, still sat so close. Then, truly awfully, his lips barely quirk into that teasing thing before he speaks again, "You think little old Sampo's a charmer?"

Gepard presses his own lips together tight, still feeling a pressure to his chest.

For some reason, that seems to make Sampo sigh. "Okay, okay. Captain," he starts very purposefully, "You want a minute to think about where we are?"

"I'm very aware of where we are," Gepard replies and tugs lightly at his hand again. Strangely, Sampo seems to let go this time, maybe just because Gepard is not currently raring to fly up to his feet again.

"Yet you think I want to, what, blackmail you?" Sampo raises a brow with a strange smirk. His posture tilts even more to face Gepard, sat practically sideways in the booth to rest his head against the hand slung over the top. The leg crossed over his other is swinging in the air.

"As if you wouldn't," Gepard mumbles cautiously and rubs his hand over the metal of his wrist. Trying to breathe and ease out the spike of adrenaline that had burst so largely under his skin.

Sampo gasps and presses that free hand to his chest now. Over the criss-crossing of his red leather top that comes up to tie under his neck; right below a matching leather collar of his own, which is studded heavily and shown for all to see in a way that Gepard might actually be somewhat envious of.

"Ouch! To think you think so little of me after all this time. I'm hurt, truly."

Gepard's flat look only seems to make Sampo smile wider.

"Really though, I don't think you've thought about that at all," Sampo says as he taps patterns into the booth behind Gepard with his other hand. "Because I'm also here too, yeah?"

"Yeah," Gepard awkwardly says. His hands are pressing tightly together in his lap with his back upright. Facing the table still, even though he's tilting his head toward Sampo to speak. "But that's not wrong for somebody like you, Koski."

Weirdly, there is a open twitch to Sampo's expression. "Not like it's wrong for anyone, you mean. But no, I meant I like coming here. Open Floor has a strict policy on things like extorting people, remember?"

Gepard feels himself blink a little in his stupor, because oh yeah. They do.

Sampo huffs openly. Slowly while he speaks, his fingers seem to walk across the top of the booth toward Gepard's shoulder, "Yeah. They're good for banning people who attempt it. So, even if I was interested in that, which I really am not, I wouldn't want to be banned from a club that I like."

Every word is said very purposefully. Gepard's hands go somewhat limp in his lap with it. And, even through the (admittedly thin) material of his shirt and Sampo's fingerless gloves, he can feel how warm the man apparently runs for every press of his fingers, which are now tauntingly sliding along the edge of where Gepard's sleeve ends.

"Is that enough proof for you? All I wanted was to poke a little fun."

Gepard licks at his gums and looks at the table, trying to quell the embarrassed flush of his face, "Yeah. I- Sorry, I'm just…"

Qlipoth, he sounds like a real idiot.

Sampo makes a soft laughing sound, "Ah, it's fine. That's why I come here too, you know. I'm not trying to have idiots at my back trying to use what Sampo Koski does in bed just to scam me."

Gepard flushes something inexplicably deeper for that statement because, like even more of the dense idiot he is, it has only just hit him that, yeah, Sampo is here talking to him. In a kink club. That he likes.

Still dragging featherlight touches across Gepard's shoulder, too.

The thought of that is making his palm clammy again. He tries to smother it with lightly accusatory words and another flat look, "Like you probably scammed them first, you mean?"

Sampo dramatically pouts, though his fingers are preoccupied with pressing a little further. Close enough to barely twirl into the hair at the base of Gepard's neck.

"And here I was thinking we could forget about all that stuff for a minute."

"What, that you're a criminal? As if I'm forgetting that anytime soon."

Sampo's expression is a deadly type of innocence. His smile something that Gepard has long learned to be wary of, especially for how it sets his stomach rolling. Sampo's words are syrupy to match, "You're saying I'm just that memorable, huh?"

Even now, Gepard's stomach feels like it is being rolled off a cliff. Perpetually plummeting to the floor, especially for the fingers lightly teasing against the skin of his neck over the high rise of his shirt. For how it feels like sparks for every touch.

For how they suddenly pause, stilted, and then quickly curl over fabric, pulling down enough to show-

Sampo's mouth is parted in surprise and he blinks for a moment, staring only at the plain black, velvet collar around Gepard's neck.

Suddenly, he smiles. Wide and unabashed. Gepard isn't sure if it's that or the way green eyes snap back to his or even how Sampo's fingers tease along the edge of the collar, but preservation he feels his blood boiling for it. A burning under his skin surely painting his cheeks with the fire.

"You're a bane on my everyday," Gepard whispers so awfully instead of acknowledging it, "I don't like you at all."

"Yeah," Sampo hums, eyes crinkling with his amusement. "So I've heard."

And then, like something truly, utterly appalling, those fingers curl over the edge of his collar. Prying between skin and soft velvet and tugging. Not even by the rings attached to the front and back, but instead by the body of it. Pressed against Gepard's most vulnerable spot.

Gepard bites hard at his lip to stop himself from doing anything stupid for it. His hand, too, snaps out to press into the space in the booth between them so that he doesn't tilt to far into the pull.

Still, he wills himself to speak. Even if it is taut and full of apprehension, "Why are you here, Sampo?"

"Ooo, first names," Sampo says cheerfully in a way that makes him curl, "And same as you I imagine, Captain."

"No, I mean here," Gepard shakes his head as much as he can with Sampo's fingers still resting between collar and skin. So warm. When he swallows, he can feel Sampo's hand move with it. "Talking to me. You've said hello like you wanted. Don't you want to go, now?"

Sampo's eyes are looking between his very intently, "Not really. I mean yeah, I was just wanting to tease you a little. But now I'm sat here thinking about the fact you're wearing a really nice collar, Captain. And Sampo Koski does love a good collar."

Gepard's eyes can't help but snap to the man's own red leather one before returning to his face. Far too close and yet also too far away. Making his insides squirm awfully, because it's Sampo fucking Koski. The criminal.

Qlipoth. He thinks that very fact is feeding into this secret of his that he comes here to indulge in. Overriding all his typical moral duties that should flare up when Sampo shows his stupidly attractive face.

"Do you want me to go?" Sampo murmurs lowly. The rumble of it thrums under Gepard's skin.

"…I don't know," he whispers, even though he should definitely be saying yes, "Probably."

"Okay," Sampo replies just as quietly, though he does not move his hand away. The closeness of their words against the low club atmosphere is thrilling. "Can I ask you a question first?"

In fact, Sampo pulls against the collar a little more when he speaks, and even despite himself, Gepard tilts closer with it. He nods slowly, eyes flickering rebelliously down to the man's lips, which quirk upwards again.

He feels like he's waiting for Sampo to pull again.

"Which do you prefer?" Sampo says with a hot breath out his nose and dangerous tilt of his head, leaning in a little just to match, "To be submissive or Dominant?"

Gepard's mouth is so unbelievably dry.

"Submissive," he breathes out shakily, "You?"

Sampo's eyes are heady and his smile feels just as piercing. "Depends on my day. And who I'm with," he says so casually, and Gepard's hand curls against the material of the booth underneath them for it. "You know, for some reason I still wasn't expecting you to say you like to sub, Captain. Even though it's obvious now that you have."

Gepard feels his heart beating a heavy, pounding rhythm to his chest. Clinging onto his reservations, he says, "Why do you keep saying it like that? Captain, I mean."

Sampo's smile for that is truly lecherous. A curl that spreads across his face like a promise (or a tantalising threat). "You said you didn't want me to call you Geppie. And, well, it's a little hot to think about."

The tone of his words is not subtle in how he's waiting for Gepard to pry, but Gepard is like a fly caught in his web, knowingly twisting and tangling himself in silk even though he has full capability to pull away. "What is?"

Sampo's expression feels so pleased for it.

"Bending you over and calling you Captain all the while," he says and steals all of Gepard's air away as he does, like he's pulled on the collar too hard (though Gepard isn't sure too hard really exists). Sampo beams for what must be showing on his face and continues hastily, "Such a high ranking title, and yet you come here just to get on your knees for any ordinary person who will tell you to. Isn't that your appeal?"

Gepard presses his lips together to control himself some. It makes his words tight and firm, "For them, yeah. For criminals, not so much."

Sampo grins something a little ecstatic and yanks hard on his collar. Gepard cannot stop the whimper it punches out of his throat. Sampo leans in closer. Close enough that Gepard can feel warm breath against his skin.

In an awful hasty rush that makes Gepard want to keen, Sampo whispers, "Get a room with me. I really wanna make you bend and I'm gonna be fucking thinking about it all night if I can't."

Gepard feels himself coiling up at the words. When he opens his mouth, nothing quite manages to come out. Caught on all the things swirling in his chest, because this is a bad idea. It's Sampo Koski after all. Sampo Koski. Who he doesn't like.

Gepard tries to say that over and over and over, hoping eventually it will be enough to remind him of what exists outside of these walls.

(Though, isn't the reason he comes here in the first place to forget about the world outside? To give it up, in fact? To give in?)

Sampo's face is shifting, not that Gepard knows what it means. His fingers loosen on the collar and his words start to tumble out again, "It's fine if you don't want to. I just meant-"

"I want to," Gepard's tongue says hastily despite all his chanting, as his good hand snaps out to grab over Sampo's arm to stop it from pulling away. A thing he feels like he doesn't even control. "I just shouldn't."

The wariness that might have been flickering across Sampo's face hides away. He takes a sharp breath and when he smiles it's back to that impish thing from before that sets Gepard's stomach rolling. "Yeah? That's the best part, though, isn't it? You want Sampo Koski to fuck you even though you shouldn't. You want to spend the whole time arguing that fact, and I want to spend the whole time trying to get you to say you like it."

Gepard is reeling for every word. For how deplorably true it is and how much even the idea makes his spine tingle.

(Sampo shoving him into a bed. Sampo goadingly calling him Captain, a reminder of being Belobog's indomitable shield even as he is being unforgivingly (and wonderfully) dominated by someone he should hate. Sampo smiling and forcibly pulling his collar again as Gepard tries to argue.

Shit, he really is about to let this happen, isn't he?

He's going to like it, too.)

"Yeah," Gepard breathes out in a pathetic sound, "I don't think you'll manage it though, Koski."

"Oh, are we back to surnames, Landau?" Sampo goads with lidded eyes, "And here I was hoping to hear you moan my name like a whore."

Gepard shudders like a whore. He can't stop himself from digging his fingers into the flesh of Sampo's arm. The only place they're really touching, even though it feels to Gepard like everything about Sampo is everywhere.

He wants to really feel him everywhere.

"Room," Gepard says like that makes any sense.

"Yes, okay," Sampo agrees like it does, too.

Gepard is pathetically hasty to rent out a room on one of the higher levels of Open Floor, but he can at least relish in the restlessness of Sampo at his side. Incapable of standing still at all, it seems, as he shifts from foot to foot.

That is until they they step into a room with low, warm lights and a plush sofa to match it's bed anyway. Until the door of said room pulls shut, and Sampo drops a small bag he had apparently brought to their feet before crowding Gepard quickly against the door.

Only then does standing still apparently seem fine, maybe just for how he is blocking all forms of movement from Gepard as he does.

"Ground rules," Sampo rushes out as his hands come to press against the door either side of Gepard's head, "You know the colour system people use here?"

"Yeah. Red, yellow, green," Gepard nods as his lungs can't help but rattle with every breath for how close they are. For how tight the space between his body and Sampo's is. Pressing his hands against the door behind him for stability just the same.

"Good, we'll stick with it," Sampo states like there is no room for anything else. His eyes sweep over Gepard and it makes him want to squirm. "Your feelings on marking? I especially wanna get my teeth on you, Captain."

Gepard shivers, though he tries to stifle it because he really doesn't want to come undone before they've even started. "Marking is good," he agrees and licks his lips a little anxiously for what he has to say next, "But I… I want to fight back for it. For all of this."

"You want me to make you?" Sampo says just as lowly as the thrumming in Gepard's skin. When he nods, Sampo's smirk is truly like a spear to the chest. "Yeah, okay. I can do that. I wanna have you beg for me."

"Force me to, then," Gepard whispers.

The sound of Sampo's breathing feels like the building thing before an avalanche. "Fuck. Names," he grits out like he's itching to do something else, "You do like being called a whore, yeah?"

"Yeah," Gepard says and already feels the rush of admitting it to a person like Sampo, "You?"

Sampo smiles, "Yeah, anything is fine by me. Though you're calling me Sampo again by the end of this."

"I'm definitely not, Koski," Gepard says a bit bratishly.

He doesn't really tend to do that much, but there's just something about Sampo that makes him want to push.

The sound that Sampo makes is low and a little obscene. Abruptly, he swoops in toward Gepard, but Gepard at least saw this from a mile away, and so his good hand quickly snaps up to cover over his lips. It means that Sampo's mouth initially presses into his palm with a fervour instead, though he quickly pulls back with a disbelieving smile.

"Seriously?"

"I don't kiss criminals," Gepard replies hastily.

Sampo's eyes are truly almost black in the low lights. His words are just as dangerous, "You will."

Gepard feels himself sink into the tone of it, as his blood rushes round and round and round in his head. Especially as Sampo grabs at his wrist to forcefully pull his hand away and lean in, and Gepard instinctively manages to get his metal hand up in time to push his face away.

"I won't," he says in a similar type of way.

They devolve quickly after that. Into something that sets Gepard's heart pounding for Sampo's surprising strength, as he fights to get Gepard's hands away enough to kiss him and Gepard fights for the very opposite.

Even when he shoves at Sampo's shoulders, the man only grabs at the neck of his shirt (though he was clearly aiming for the collar barely poking out from underneath) to pull him away from the door and closer.

"Need to get a leash on that collar, I think," Sampo growls out as he continues trying to grapple Gepard's arms out of the space between them.

Gepard can't stop the pitiful sound that slips past his mouth at that. As he pushes and Sampo pulls him back, and they step further into the room with every give and take.

Except, suddenly, when Gepard goes to shove again, Sampo grips his shirt tight and powerfully presses his entire weight forward into Gepard instead of pulling. The surprise of it — plus the good, heavy weight of Sampo — has him reeling and tipping over his own feet.

At the very least, he manages to clutch onto the leather of Sampo's top to pull him down with Gepard, sending them both tumbling to the floor together. A tangle of limbs and lines and heavy breaths.

Still, Sampo is a menace, and before Gepard can even get his bearings for how the two of them are pressing into the carpet, he sees Sampo's face leaning in close.

Gepard shoves his head back with all the might he can muster, and Sampo practically cackles for it. A really fucking nice sound for Gepard's stomach, which is already swooping in excitement for every move of their scuffling anyway, especially as it only becomes hastier and messier. Intertwining together on the floor. A lot of limbs hitting each other as they shove and pull.

At one point, Gepard rolls them so that he's pressing Sampo down under the heft of his torso, but the man wraps long legs around Gepard's waist and uses all his body weight to flip them back around just as fast.

Sampo hastily grabs at Gepard's wrists right after to press them either side of his head. Sitting atop his stomach and looking down at him very hotly. Hair falling low and cheeks a little pink.

(Gepard is so unbelievably hard right now. It's a little deplorable, in fact.)

(Even worse than that, though, is how he can feel — and see — the tenting of Sampo's shorts pressing against him just the same.)

Sampo's words when he speaks are breathy between the heaving of his lungs, "You know, I've always wondered if you could beat me in a fight like this, Captain. It's good to know that you can't."

"You've not won anything," Gepard argues firmly for the way the words travel like a spark down his spine. He tries to buck upwards to get Sampo's weight off his torso, but it's not centred enough and with how Sampo's sat he simply pushes further up his chest. Closer than before.

Sampo smirks wildly for it. Gepard's muscles are taut for the sight and the feeling of being caught underneath him like this. No room to move away or push back for how his hands are trapped. Almost no ability to do anything but shakily breathe when Sampo leans down towards his lips again.

Almost, anyway, because Gepard's fighting instincts kick in for it. In a way he doesn't often let happen even during scenes, because he's not trying to hurt an ordinary civilian at all, but…

This is Sampo Koski. Apparently that overrides such things, because his instinct carries through before his thoughts do, and when Sampo begins to lean down Gepard snaps his head up to hit him. Headbutting him something hard.

Sampo groans something truly strong for it and pulls back. The hand that had been trapping Gepard's good arm instinctively goes to press over his nose, too.

The silence that quickly smothers them both after is suffocating. Gepard feels it squeezing at his ribs under Sampo's weight.

"Fuck," Sampo rasps as he pulls back his hand to see blood painting his fingertips from how it is slowly but surely trickling from his nose. Green eyes snap to Gepard's so quickly after, too, and the smothering only gets worse because his expression is nothing but heat.

Gepard makes an awful sound in his throat at the rush of it.

Then, before Gepard has a chance to do anything at all (even apologise like he's so close to doing), Sampo swoops back down like it is somehow still the only thing to do, even despite the bleeding and the tension and the things Gepard surely deserves for pushing so far. Punishments or even just the proper ending of this amazing, titillating thing that is somehow happening between them, because-

Ah, shit.

Gepard, in his moment of panic, is much too caught up in his head to actually take in that Sampo is leaning down. That he is crowding him against the floor, pinning his wrist again, kissing him, winning; all because Gepard is too busy thinking.

"Hah," Sampo breathes out quickly for the first press of their lips together, "That's all it took? You just wanted to make me bleed first, is that it?"

Gepard grunts and tries to tilt his head away. Sampo just chases to catch him and kiss him harder. Forcefully sliding their lips together in a wet press of weight, because the blood from Sampo's nose is coating his lips and subsequently beginning to coat Gepard's too. Tangy and metallic and warm.

Gepard tries not to sink into it, but Sampo tilts his head and opens his mouth a little wider and Gepard can't stop himself from doing the same to match. From letting this be the first thing he gives into to get away from thinking, because Sampo is finally kissing him and it feels good. Even in how Sampo's blood intertwines with the heavy exchange of their spit, because this too becomes like a fight. All their pushing and pulling now just contained to how they kiss so headily. Wantonly.

(Also holy shit. Sampo teases his tongue against Gepard's lips and he realises with a startle that Sampo's tongue is split. As in fully down the centre. Curling around Gepard's easily with it.

Fuck.)

If someone had told him even this morning that he would be kissing Sampo Koski, he probably would have thought them insane.

Then again, it being him specifically is beginning to feel like the best part of tonight.

"You're so easy," Sampo goads in a breathless rasp against his mouth after too long of just their tongues curling together, "All that just to break at the first kiss. Can't believe you're this desperate for me."

"As if," Gepard argues even despite what he was just thinking and how he knows he must look dishevelled and awful. "You're just the first one who came along, Koski."

"Oh, you're just a whore for any dick you can get, then?" Sampo practically growls out.

Gepard barely contains the hot breath that curls out his nose at the degrading and how Sampo kisses him again. Now somewhat meaner, especially as he drags his teeth across Gepard's lip. Pushes in. Bites down.

Gepard makes an utterly pathetic whimper at how Sampo bites him hard enough to draw some of Gepard's blood now, too. How, when he kisses Sampo for it after, it means the tang of it is also intertwining on skin.

Then, to make all the heat of this worse, Sampo rocks his hips down against Gepard's stomach with a groan. Not even sat low enough to rut against his own dick with it, just the shirt over his abdomen, which only rips another sound he really shouldn't make into Sampo's mouth.

"Aeons, you do moan like a slut, don't you?" Sampo pants out as he ruts again. Making Gepard's body tense from the humiliation of Sampo declaring him so desperate. Of his demeaning words and also how Sampo is pressing down into him like he wants to use him to get off and be done with it. "I bet you've made that sound for so many fucking people."

"Yeah," Gepard says petulantly even though it really is not that many at all, "Are you sad you're not special?"

Sampo groans something beautifully rumbly. Face painted in red below the nose and eyes dark. "I'm gonna ruin you for anything else. Make you desperate for this. For how it feels to have Sampo Koski destroy your perfect image."

Gepard's insides flip at how that fact is already somewhat true. Still, he clings to all his reservations, because he's not giving in all the way that quickly. It wouldn't feel as good if he did. "As if you could. You're the one who seems desperate to me, Koski."

Sampo only rolls his hips harder with a open, breathy sound. A drop of the blood rolls down over his lip and onto his tongue, and Gepard is embarrassingly mesmerised by the sight. "Yeah, I'm easy too. But at least I can admit I'm a whore instead of pretending I don't want it."

It feels like there is scalding hot water being poured all over Gepard's skin.

"I don't," he fights even despite how he ruined he sounds, "I don't want it at all."

Sampo smiles wide. Abruptly, he sits up further and lets go of Gepard with his right hand to lean back and press it behind him. Right over Gepard's aching dick through his trousers.

"That's why you're this hard, huh?" he goads and grips over fabric tighter, squeezing unforgivingly. An exhilarating rush from just that alone.

Gepard bites hard at his already swollen lip to stop the sound that wants to leave him. He squirms under Sampo, too, and takes the shift in position to ruck his own weight up again with a grunt. This time, though, he makes sure to angle it properly enough that it forces Sampo sideways toward to floor rather than at himself again.

There's something dangerously thrilling about how, even though he manages to pull away enough to turn over and try to pull to his feet, Sampo once again grabs at him to yank him closer with a strength Gepard is beginning to really like. Except now, he presses Gepard face-first into the floor, shoving him down with his entire body in a way that makes Gepard want to drool into the soft material of it.

(He thinks he's already getting addicted to how easily Sampo manhandles him. Not many people are even capable of scratching that itch, considering his height and his size, and having Sampo be one of them is really making his hair stand on end in the best way.)

"You know," Sampo murmurs lowly into Gepard's ear as he crawls over him even more, sitting over the backs of his thighs to pin them and carding deadly fingers into his hair. Skimming tantalisingly over his collar under his shirt as he does, just to tease the idea that he could pull it again. "I wanted to actually do this on the bed, but you're not really giving me a choice."

Gepard thinks his mouth is watering at the implication that Sampo is going to fuck him like this. Humiliatingly. Deplorably. Right into the floor even though this room has a lot of other much better places to have sex.

He shifts enough to get his hands under him anyway, just to attempt to push away some more, but Sampo only grabs his wrist again tightly. He pulls them up to hold behind Gepard's back, though he makes a low sound right after, "Fuck, I really wish I had brought my rope with me. Wanna tie you up fully. Maybe that way you'll stop squirming."

Gepard pants into the carpet. Cheek warm where it presses down and just about able to look behind him at Sampo, who is dishevelled and lightly flushed but still smirking that teasing thing. His lips are still tinted from his bleeding too, though it's stopped now and the blood is slowly being wiped away by tongues and the back of Sampo's red-tainted hand, clearly.

"You just haven't given me a reason to," Gepard hisses, somehow still clinging to defiance even though he's aching for it. Leaking something disgustingly fierce into his underwear for the idea of Sampo really forcing him down.

(There's no other time he can be defiant without truly disastrous consequences, after all.)

Sampo's expression slips into something truly dangerous.

It's even worse when he speaks.

"Okay. I see how you wanna be," he hums, "What's your feelings on impact play?"

Gepard feels like he shivers something right from the top of his head to his toes for it.

"I like it."

Sampo makes an almost cruel, breathy laugh that Gepard finds much too attractive. He blames it on the fog of the scene, because he would surely not find it as charming without it. Surely.

"Good," Sampo repeats in that syrupy sweet innocence again, "I thinking I'll strip you now then, Captain. Get you nice and bare. But the more you fight me on it, the more times I'm going to spank you after."

Like the menace he is, Sampo lets go of Gepard with one hand and leans closer. Close enough to breathe against his hair and pry his fingers under the high neck of his shirt.

"So," he continues, soft and low and yet still heavier than anything in the world right now, especially as he pulls on the ring of Gepard's collar wonderfully, "Be a good boy and don't fight me."

Gepard whimpers something truly pathetic and needy for it all into the floor. Maybe just a silent plea of do it again.

If his mouth was watering before, now it really is almost drooling. At both the promise of spanking and also being a good boy, even though they can't co-exist. Fuck, the latter isn't even what he's seeking right now, yet still, the sound of it in Sampo's lovely rumble is like a destructive explosion to his lungs. Obscuring all his thoughts otherwise in the smoke.

He only seems to see through it again at the feeling of Sampo's fingerless leather gloves sliding under his shirt at his waist. Pushing up, up, up, across his back and dragging fabric with it.

The touch is a little foreign with how long it's been since he's done this at all, and it instinctively makes Gepard squirm and try to come away from the spark of it.

Sampo only tuts at him, "That's your first."

Gepard bites at his already bitten lip too hard for those words. Still, he really can't help himself now that his first is already promised. Because there's something truly, wrongfully tantalising about continuing to fight against all of Sampo's touching, forcing him to force Gepard into submission. Pretending that he doesn't want Sampo Koski to just take him now and ruin him quickly, even though he really, really does.

(Qlipoth, he definitely does need to be made to submit for such a thought, lest it begin to seep into the real version of Gepard Landau that cannot begin to indulge in things like this. Like bending for the will of his long-time criminal chase.)

That's all he thinks, over and over like a swirling whisper of his want, as Sampo truly does begin to strip him. Once again manhandling him enough to flip him over first, though Gepard fruitlessly writhes and claws and pushes at him. Sometimes actually catching skin under his nails. Sampo only continues to yank Gepard's shirt up and over his head, though he has to physically push Gepard's arms through the sleeves in order to do so. Unbuckling his belt and hastily dragging his trousers and underwear down together too, even as Gepard kicks his foot into Sampo's shoulder hard.

All of it, thrown to the floor around them. Leaving Gepard completely naked and vulnerable under Sampo.

(Sampo's hands only seem to get bolder for every way Gepard fights back, a flexing of the muscles all the way up to his shoulders. Gepard is so unbelievably turned on by the sight of them pressing him down like it's easy.

It almost makes him want a proper fight without a pre-determined winner, just to see who could truly come on top; but that is a dangerous, dangerous thought.)

Still, Gepard's good hand smothers over his mouth all the while, just to bite down on something other than his abused lip to stifle himself.

Oh, but the way Sampo eyes his cock (and the pre-cum it's already beading onto his stomach) once it's out in the open space between them does make Gepard arch unconsciously up into the air. For how Sampo's mouth is parted softly and his eyes are dark and low.

"Koski," Gepard whispers dangerously between his fingers.

For some reason, Sampo ignores him completely and leans up over again. Still kneeling between his legs to do so. The crowded feeling over his body is only amplified by Gepard's utter nakedness.

Well, except for his collar, anyway, which-

Which Sampo abruptly reaches out to touch. His fingers sliding along the edge until they find the clasp that is holding it together. Sending Gepard's stomach plummeting.

"Wait," he begs and snaps out to grab Sampo's arm, "Leave the collar?"

Sampo just smiles. A sudden, blooming thing against his cheeks that makes Gepard's own flush.

"Call me Sampo and maybe I'll consider it," he says so fucking terribly.

Gepard tightens his expression as much as he can. He can't give in to that before he's even given in to anything else.

"No?" Sampo coos in a dramatic, put upon type of pity.

"You're the worst," Gepard bristles for how the sound of it rushes right to his dick. How even his verbal fighting is squashed so simply.

"Yeah, I am," Sampo hums with a smile again and a heavy breath through his red-tinted nose.

He undoes the clasp. Gepard tries not to make a pathetic sound at the absence.

"I've got something better for you anyway," Sampo says quickly and just as syrupy as before. He leaves Gepard's collar by the rest of his clothes and suddenly reaches up toward his own neck.

Oh.

Oh, Qlipoth.

Sampo undoes the clasp on his own collar — studded and red and leathery — with eyes that shine way too much for whatever must be on Gepard's face that he cannot control. Because Sampo undoes his collar and then promptly reaches back down to Gepard to put it round his neck in place of his other.

Sampo's collar.

On Gepard's neck.

His breath is trembling as Sampo fastens the clasp. It's wider than his own and heavier against his neck, too.

He likes it. A lot.

Gepard's collar he had picked mainly because he likes the soft pressure of the velvet and how easy it was to hide. Sampo's, then, he likes because it's Sampo's.

Oh, that's a very bad thought, isn't it?

It's made infinitely worse by how Sampo grins and says, "Much better. Though we can still improve, don't you think?"

And then, awfully, Sampo takes Gepard's velvet collar and reaches up to clasp it around his own neck. A true trade of trust, now. 

It looks really good on him. The stark black against the red of his top and the white of his hair. The way it wraps around the curve of his throat. Maybe it's just that Sampo looks really good and the collar is only making it worse. Or Gepard is going fucking insane, maybe, considering he's genuinely admiring Sampo Koski's attractiveness right now and thinking nothing but hot, hot, hot.

(He's really hoping Sampo likes wearing it in the way Gepard likes wearing his.

Preservation, that's an even worse thought, surely.)

"You like?" Sampo teases and bites at his smile. 

Gepard sucks in a breath through his teeth at the acknowledgment. Probably much too wide-eyed and red-cheeked, especially because he really doesn't know how to respond to that right now.

Despite his silence, Sampo laughs, winks and then pulls back from Gepard — who is still reeling inside his brain — to lean over the room as far as he can, just to grab at the bag he had dropped by the door. He immediately pulls it closer and rifles inside.

Gepard waits only with the sound of his thumping heartbeat in his ears.

Initially, it's only how Sampo pulls out a condom and a small bottle of lube to casually slide into his shorts that makes Gepard's legs squeeze in unconsciously; but to make it worse, he reaches back into the bag briefly before pulling his hand out with a heavy, warm look to his face and a murmur of there we go.

The matching leash to the collar on Gepard's neck rests like a threat threaded between his lovely fingers.

Gepard doesn't move even a muscle as Sampo fully twists back to face him. To lean down and clip the leash to a hole in the collar. To Sampo's collar.

It earns him a wide grin and a promising wrap of those long fingers around the cord. "Where has your fight gone, Captain? Do you just want this that much?"

Gepard tries shake his head and stern himself again. "No."

Sampo pulls. Gepard makes a whine so unabashed it must be filthy to hear as he rises up with the tug. Arms splayed out behind him for support.

"Sounds like you want it to me," Sampo goads, "You like my collar too? It's fun to swap, right?"

"No," Gepard repeats just for Sampo to pull again. A hard, unforgiving yank that once again makes him gasp.

Fuck, he's leaking something pathetic onto his stomach right now.

"Oh, but you should look at yourself right now, Captain," Sampo continues cruelly. The way he says Captain really makes Gepard's legs twitch. "Imagine what your men would say to see you like this. All naked on the floor, so desperate just for the fact you want to be collared by a criminal. By me."

"I don't," Gepard argues so awfully. His thighs squeeze against how Sampo is still sat between them even despite how he tries not to.

Sampo's entire expression gets a little darker. Sweeping him up and down. The hand in the leash curls with it.

"You do though, don't you Gepard?"

He can't stop the shudder at Gepard. So strange now in comparison to the teasing of Captain, but…

He already wants to hear it again so much. So much.

"Just look at you," Sampo murmurs headily. His free hand presses into Gepard's stomach. So close and yet so far. "You're leaking so fucking much and I haven't touched you once yet. It's pathetic."

Gepard shivers from head to toe and presses his hand to his face again to hide the shaky heaving of his breath, trying to lean back but unable to go far for the leash. Propped up on one elbow with Sampo leering over him. Still, he only beads more pre-cum at the demeaning words voicing his thoughts. At Sampo's handsome face, with his low, domineering expression in the warm lights of the room. At the carpet under him and the way he can see Sampo's hands curl.

At the way that, just barely from how Sampo is sat between his legs, Gepard can feel the hard, straining press of his cock through his shorts against him again.

Sampo hums something heavy and then leans back. Gepard has to sit forward with it due to the way he doesn't let even an inch go on the leash. "Maybe if you sit well enough while I spank you, I'll touch you after like you're aching for."

Gepard's words are stuck in the press of the collar, he thinks. He tries to make his face glare something heated, but considering how Sampo curls a lecherous smile he isn't sure it works. Especially with how casually Sampo shifts back enough to pull to his feet after. Forcing Gepard up onto his knees with it, just so he won't be strangled by the pull of the leash.

Pathetically, his tongue curls to speak now even though he couldn't make it before. A disappointment he really should not be showing, "Not on the floor?"

Sampo pleased expression is undeniably disastrous. "But you earned so many, Captain. Old Sampo Koski doesn't want to hurt his back bending you over his knee on the floor for that long."

Gepard makes a needy fucking sound. He's already slipping too far, surely. Trying to cling on still, because he's never good at letting go completely without it being forced from him.

Sampo only hums like he knows everything about Gepard and begins to step toward the generously large sofa against the wall, forcing Gepard to follow. When he gets close enough, he sinks down right into the centre and spreads his legs wide like he owns the thing. His lap like a throne Gepard is begging to be bent over.

"Come," Sampo orders and pats his leg with one hand while yanking hard on his leash with the other. Making him gasp, quick and sharp and pinched. "Be good and lay here for me."

Aeons, Gepard feels like a dog right now, what with how he follows the order obediently with shaky limbs. Climbing up onto the sofa so that he's kneeling next to Sampo and then crawling forward enough to lay over him. Face pressing into the material of the sofa at his other side just like it had been on the floor. Looking out into the room with baited breath, though he can't even really take in all of the extravagent decor and toys about the place, considering there's only one person consuming all his brain power right now.

"So you can listen when you want to," Sampo says in a way that makes his stomach roll shamefully. To make it worse, he forcefully grabs Gepard's hips and easily manoeuvres him to get more comfortable with that thrilling show of strength, but the position they end in traps Gepard's cock against Sampo's thigh. Against the mesh of his tights and the bottom of his shorts with a tight pressure from his own weight.

Then, while he's thinking of only that, Sampo whispers, "Desperate to be punished, aren't you? Can't even bring yourself to fight it."

Gepard can't stop how he grinds wretchedly against Sampo with a tight, muffled sound.

"See," Sampo says with a low breath of his own before Gepard feels the press of his hand — and therefore the tantalising leather of his glove — over his lower back. "Like a whore."

"I'm not," Gepard argues wetly, though the friction of fucking his hips is a little too delectable not to continue. His hands are clutching at the sofa desperately.

Sampo pulls at his leash. His other presses down against his hip to stop his writhing. "The more you do that, the longer this is going to take."

Gepard grits out his tight, clinging words into the sofa, "You put me here, Koski."

Sampo hand suddenly moves to tangle into the back of Gepard's hair, leash left loose to hang over Gepard's back.

It's the only precursor he gets before Sampo's other hand comes down against his ass with a good smack!

Gepard groans hard and quick for it. For the starting tingle that spreads out in a slow throb right after. A tangible promise that Gepard can use to imagine, now, what even more strikes will feel like.

Sampo's fingers tighten in his hair, while his other hand grips into the flesh of his ass where it had just struck. "That's about the level I'll keep it if you want it," he says too easily, "Your colour, Gepard."

"Green," Gepard whimpers out terribly for the sound of Gepard again. He thinks how Sampo's hand smooths over his ass right after Gepard answers feels like praise for his enjoyment. Indulging in gripping at skin.

Barely though, just barely, he brings himself to whisper, "And I can take more."

"Yeah?" Sampo groans and twirls some of Gepard's hair round his fingers, "You want it harder?"

Gepard nods humiliatingly into the sofa. He's so so glad he can't see Sampo's face, because he can already hear how mirthful it is. The sight would only send him reeling more.

"Get comfy then, Captain. We're doing at least fifteen, though you'll surely get more considering you want to be a brat. Maybe you should count for me and see how high you get."

Being called a brat only makes him slip back into the fog, clinging to defiance and his walls again. "Only a brat because it's you. If I actually wanted it, I wouldn't be-"

Smack!

"Hah," Gepard breathes out into the sofa for the way the suddenness of that one stings when it builds a layer on top of the first. The half-leather of Sampo's fingerless gloves against skin. It rushes up his spine like a whip, and he can feel how his dick throbs for it against Sampo.

Still, it's only just as hard as the first one.

"Don't lie, Captain," Sampo says with such a lovely rumble, "You want this so bad you're still trying to hump me. It'll only earn you more."

"I don't want this," Gepard begs in a wrecked way while his brain says nothing but please. "You're just telling yourself that."

"A lie," Sampo tuts and does as he said and strikes him again. Quick and sharp and piercing before the slow spread again.

The moan Gepard makes for it is downright pathetic. Skin already hot and mouth open and panting. Arching into Sampo like a plea. Again, please, again.

"I'm gonna make you say it. Make you beg for it," Sampo promises in a fierce rasp, only serving to make Gepard harder somehow. Making Sampo's thigh wet with his pre-cum. "Gonna make you moan my name."

"I've already said it," Gepard bites out terribly and curls his fingers into the sofa for the spike of anticipatory adrenaline that comes with it. The way his insides plummet amazingly at the fight he knows he deserves to be punished for. Desperate to hear Sampo's disapproving tone again as he peels Gepard back just that little bit more. "Koski."

"Wrong," Sampo tuts exactly how Gepard wants. His hand, bizarrely, only seems to sweep over skin though. Gripping tight at Gepard's ass and also his thighs. Practically kneading into his flesh with the ball of his palm before stroking softly over the parts that are already stinging.

Gepard is too starved for it already, though, and the promise of the affection snapping into pain is making him curl up at the wait. Spreading out from where Sampo touches him right through to his toes, a taut tension that wrings the muscles of his back together and makes him bite at his lip. Hairs standing on end at the terrible buzz of trying to predict when Sampo will coil up to strike instead of playing coy and trying to lure Gepard into feeling-

Smack!

"Ah," Gepard rocks out into the sofa for the surprise of the wack. For how quickly it hits after the building wait. A sharp release for-

Smack!

"Oh fuck," he moans out uncontrollably and does grind pathetically into Sampo's leg again. Practically quivering for not only how little he expected the second, but also how much harder it was than any of the others. A deep, seering connection of leather onto his skin, made worse by how every strike so far has been piled onto the same spot of Gepard's ass, which is now burning for the sting. 

Qlipoth, he hopes the mark from that one is carved out to fit Sampo's palm.

Sampo's hand returns to softly kneading into him like a balm. It makes Gepard whimper.

"I'm fucking obsessed with the sounds you make, Captain," Sampo whispers and Gepard sucks at his lower lip to stop himself from folding further for just that. When Sampo speaks again, it's much closer to that domineering type of thing again, "Now, are you finally ready to count? We're already at five extra."

It's such a belittling thing to ask: for Gepard to count every hit as they get him closer and closer to truly unravelling. To count and know by the end exactly how far he had pushed for more, more.

He does it, though.

Sampo's first one — or technically sixth — is almost light against against his upper thigh in comparison to heft of the most recent ringing. The next one, too, is the same. A stinging to his skin that only makes him breathe sharply out his nose.

All it does is leave Gepard to build up that thrilling buzz again though. Staring at the floor and waiting for harder. Waiting to be really punished.

"Where have your noises gone?" Sampo goads cruelly as he scratches at Gepard's scalp in the in-between, because that hand follows the same pattern as the spanking too. Pulling hair taut before a hit and affectionately carding through it otherwise.

Gepard, like a brat, doesn't respond.

Sampo spanks him a little harder for that one, still at the top of his thigh, and Gepard can't help how shaky he sounds when he says eight under his breath.

"Beg and I'll do it hard enough to make you cry," Sampo almost growls out.

"No," Gepard argues without any real strength, because just the thought makes him throb and writhe his hips for friction from Sampo's thigh.

Sampo tuts and moves to spank his other thigh now. The sound is like a rush over him, and even if it's still nothing hefty like he had been tantalisingly given like a taster before, the ache it leaves is still coursing through him pleasantly anyway.

Though, when Gepard begins to say nine, Sampo smacks him once, twice, thrice all in quick succession. Sharp and quick against his skin. Building layers to all his pain now, from dull throbbing to stinging sparks.

That, then, does makes Gepard quiver and punch out a stuttered drawn out whine which Sampo quickly spanks him again for. This time a painful whip of a thing on the proper curve of his ass that has already been hit, leaving him twitchy and creating a wet spot from the awful way he's drooling between his panting. It feels amazing.

"Thirteen," he brokenly pleads. Hands now limply resting by his head.

"Oh, good boy," Sampo praises pleasantly and the sound Gepard makes is obscene.

Once again, however, Sampo returns to caressing him. In fact, the hand that had been curling his hair even lets go to slide torturously down the length of his spine. Soft and light.

Gepard shivers terribly and appreciates how it makes the cruel prickling leftover from Sampo's hand even stronger in comparison.

"So sensitive," Sampo whispers, "I don't know how you live being so strung up all the time, Captain."

Like this, Gepard thinks.

"It's been a while," he breathes out instead and presses his face into the sofa more. Barely able to keep himself from rutting against Sampo in his ache to be struck again.

Luckily, Sampo makes a low sound and gives him it like a reward this time, even though it's meant to be punishing him for his disobedience. A whack — neither too hard or too light — over the cheek he has yet to spank. Fresh and biting, almost cooling to the other bits of his skin that have been wonderfully abused otherwise.

"Fourteen," Gepard gasps. Wet and stuck. His eyes are shut tight, now, because it makes the anticipatory not knowing so good. Easier to focus only on Sampo. Only on his touch.

"That's why you want it so bad, hm?" Sampo murmurs. His voice like the most amazing soothe to Gepard's burning just the same. "Because nobody has been touching you like they should."

"I don't," Gepard still says, just hoping and hoping.

The welt of Sampo's palm is killer and hard. Rocking his entire body with it. A blooming pain that makes his cock leak and tries to force him to forget all else other than how it rings throughout his muscles. So close to achieving it, too.

Fifteen, he thinks. Already past the pre-proposed limit.

"You want to try that again?" Sampo gutturally says. His non-spanking hand now pressing into Gepard's lower back with a purpose. Pulling at the skin of his ass, maybe just to get a better grip to strike him with.

"I don't," he repeats pleadingly. Coiling tight all over.

Sampo once again spanks him hard and unforgivingly with that strength he had used before. 

Holy shit, the sound it rips from him is deplorable. He clings to the material of the sofa beneath him for it. Gepard pictures the way the muscles of Sampo's arm must flex as it reers up and shudders all over. 

"And now?"

"Fuck," Gepard gasps for the pain. Drooling and sweaty and so fucking hard. "I don't."

Smack!

There is a sob, now, and Gepard thinks it comes from him. Sampo hasn't even asked yet, but Gepard still says, "I don't."

He thinks he hears Sampo rasp something low before his ass is struck again. Just as brilliantly hefty and painful and strong. Except this time, while Gepard is still staggering for his bearings to stay coherent after the hit, Sampo smacks him again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

The leather of his palm, cut off enough that Gepard still feels the softness of his fingertips like a tantalising taste of what his bare touch could really feel like. The weight of his legs below Gepard, which are sturdy and yet still wonderfully soft as he humps against them in between every hit. The way his other hand smooths back down Gepard's spine, only to do what it had done before and pry itself under his (Sampo's) collar and tug.

The drooling and the panting and the stinging, seering of his skin under the strength of only Sampo's hand. 

"Please," he pleads as his head is forced up more from the collar, "Please."

The sound Sampo makes is undeniably beautiful. "You want it."

Still, Gepard needs. It's clinging to the edges of everything. "No, I- I-"

Except his words don't even complete before the smack! And it hurts so fucking good. So amazingly, brilliantly good. Gepard knows he could come from only this, especially for how each hit rocks him down into Sampo's thigh more and more. From even just the pain stomping out every thought other than want it and Sampo and hurts and more, more.

He thinks that part is what does him in. He doesn't want to come yet. He wants. He wants.

"You want it," Sampo growls like an order.

"Yes, I want it," Gepard finally begs. Pleads. "I want it...!"

"What do you want?"

"You."

There is one final yank of the collar before the hefty smack! Before Sampo lets him breathe again, and Gepard physically curls into the sofa for it with nothing but a wet sob to fall from his swollen, blood-tinted, spit covered lips.

Twenty-four.

Strangely, there is the sound of leather being pulled that makes him reel, though he quickly, stupidly realises that it's Sampo's gloves. Because those wonderful hands smooth over his skin like a balm again, except this time it is skin-to-skin in their entirety. Warm and soft and affectionate to where Gepard must surely be marked with Sampo's handprints otherwise.

"See," Sampo whispers beautifully, "It felt good to admit, didn't it?"

"Yes," Gepard utters out wetly as he presses his cheek into the sofa and tries to catch his breath. Eyes teary in the best kind of way. Blearily open again to look at the clenching and unclenching of his hands under his head.

"Yeah," Sampo agrees with such a hot, sparking tone of voice, still groping at his skin like he can't help it. Running up his trembling spine again. Kneading into his ass. His shaky thighs.

Sliding fingers between his legs now, too.

"Please," Gepard begs and ruts against Sampo's thigh again for the reminder. Sliding his legs further apart on the sofa.

"You really are a mess, Captain," Sampo degrades him with the hefty reminder of exactly who they are again, even as his dry fingers press against Gepard like a promise. "I wasn't even touching you there yet."

Gepard only whimpers and squirms at the touch ghosting over him. Somehow, he finds it in himself to twist back more now that he's been broken in a little. To prop lightly up onto his good elbow and look up at Sampo behind him.

Green, hooded eyes are already looking right at him. Face pink and still somewhat stained bloody below the nose; blue hair falling low over it. 

Fuck, Sampo is really fucking attractive like this. Bending Gepard over and looking like he wants just as much.

The man licks at his lip and moves his hand from Gepard's legs to his face, now. Leaning over to swipe at the wetness under his eye with a disastrously hot coo before his index and middle finger drag at Gepard's bitten lips.

Gepard parts them too easily and sticks out his tongue. Sampo lets out a heavy, heavy breath and then grins wide and fierce. His fingers slide into Gepard's mouth with a fervour, and Gepard in his wet, still stinging fog, dutifully curls his tongue around them both.

"Desperate like a whore," Sampo rasps. Gepard's eyes flutter for it and how those fingers pull out his mouth and drag his spit with them.

Strangely, all Sampo does is paint his wet fingers all over Gepard's back again. Now an even more shuddering sensation as they skim over scars and his spine and the indentations of muscles that involuntarily twitch as they pass by.

At the confusion that must be plain on Gepard's wobbly breath, Sampo's only gets more impish and teasing as he says, "Did you think that was for me to finger you? I just wanted to see if you would suck."

Gepard burns an indignant humiliation that spreads from his chest right out to his cheeks.

"Bastard," he grits, though he knows it's still wanting for every syllable.

Sampo's own expression flutters low. Abruptly, he leans back fully against the sofa again, and quickly smacks his bare palm against Gepard's ass. A different type of feel than the leather.

Seeing him rare up to do it (exactly how Gepard imagined, too) is somehow worse and better than just closing his eyes to wait, and Gepard punches out an awful half-cut sound with even just the slight new sting. So much when compounded with how heavily he's still throbbing from the earlier strikes.

Twenty-five.

(He doesn't really know why he's still counting them in his head. It just feels good to do it.)

"Call me what I want and maybe I won't have to spank you anymore," Sampo says with that heat to his face. Bleeding out onto his tongue again, clearly, even if there's no blood anymore to show it.

Gepard shakes his head and presses his face back into the sofa to stifle how looking at Sampo really makes him want to squirm and give in to that too.

Not yet.

"Too bad, then," Sampo hums.

Still though, there is a sudden dull click, a pause, and then the feeling of actually wet fingers sliding back between his legs to press against Gepard. He arches up into the surprise of it, especially for how it is almost cold in comparison to the seering burn of his skin nearby.

(He suddenly remembers Sampo grabbing the lube from his bag earlier.)

The feeling of the first long finger finally pressing into him makes him sag a little, though. Cheek once again pressing flat against the bottom of the sofa. Breaths long and heavy for the adrenaline-fuelled thrum still thumping under his skin.

Sampo makes a breathy noise of his own for it as his finger slides further into him. "How long?" he pries as he teasingly continues to press at Gepard's insides. A slow, purposeful aim to unravel him, much less sharp than the spanking. "How long since you had someone fuck you, Captain?"

Gepard whimpers and writhes for it all anyway. Smothering his face tighter to hide it, and also to not answer such a destructively embarrassing question. Especially not for being called Captain while Sampo Koski's fingers are inside him.

Qlipoth, he can only imagine how it would ruin him completely for anybody to find out that fact.

Sampo merely tsks. Surprisingly though, he only seems to reaches out to the leash that had been left loose, because it suddenly curls tight and tugs. Thankfully smothering his thoughts again. Just enough to pull Gepard's head back with the flat, wide pressure of the (Sampo's) collar. To make him press up on his elbows slightly and pant into the open air again to avoid having it cut off his breathing.

"How long?" Sampo repeats as his middle finger presses into Gepard with his first now. Feeling like they press everywhere within him and over him as they do.

"Ten–" Gepard starts and then cuts himself off with a sharp gasp as he rocks his hips back needily into only two of Sampo's fingers like something utterly pitiful. Hair falling over his flushed face for how he's looking down at his hands below him. "Ten months."

Sampo growls something low and begins actually fucking his fingers in and out of Gepard, "You've been counting the days? Just waiting for somebody to finally come and undo you?"

"Yes," Gepard whimpers and rolls his hips. Trying not to moan properly at how it rocks his truly painful, aching dick between his weight and Sampo's leg so tightly. Firmly. A hot, heady friction that he wants to feel properly over him. The idea of Sampo's fingers touching him there too, if he could hope for it. "Hah- shit."

Sampo pulls tighter on his collar and presses a third finger into him easily. It makes Gepard feel even more like a desperate whore to have nothing but want flow through his nerves at the stretch. No pain at all in comparison to the burn of his skin. Just a pleasant aching for Sampo to press him down again and fuck him for real. To break him from the inside as well as the out, now that he's already struck him into cracking with just his palms.

"So noisy," Sampo repeats dangerously as he starts to build a truly fast pace with his fingers. Pressing against him. Stretching out. Curling in. "Grinding so much for just my fingers. It's making me insane. I can feel you leaking all over me, you know."

Gepard moans high and wanting. Hanging his head as low as he can with the pull of the leash. Jaw just as loose and open. Yet still, all that comes from his tongue is wet gasps.

Sampo tugs his collar harder. His words still continue to tumble out and bury inside Gepard just the same, which only serves to make Gepard leak more. "When you have to work in the morning, Captain, will you think of this to get through the day?"

Gasps and gasps and-

"Ah!" he moans out at the spark-white hot of Sampo's fingers finally hitting against his prostate now too. Making his thighs twitch even for how he's laid bare and flat across Sampo. Spreading his knees as wide as he can across the sofa. "Yes, yes, I will."

"Yeah?" Sampo says gutturally and does nothing but press hard and heavy and tight into that spot inside him. Circling in. "You'll think of me even though you shouldn't?"

"Hah- hah- Koski," Gepard whines pathetically for the implication that picturing Sampo Koski fucking him is the only way he'll live in the coming weeks.

(It's true, though. He's going to be thinking of this for longer than that, surely.)

His sounds are only made worse by how impatiently Sampo groans and loosens his collar again, just to get his hand free enough to bare down with a smack against his ass again. Except this time, the beautiful sharp pain of it sings through his body just the same as the building of pleasure from Sampo's other fingers pressing up into him.

"Oh fuck," he sobs for the way he's caught between them.

Twenty-six.

"What did I say?" Sampo adds right after.

"Please, please," Gepard continues to babble even though it isn't what Sampo is asking at all. Maybe just for how much he is rising. Quick and looming now. Humping Sampo's leg with it. Fucking back onto those lovely, lovely fingers. "Please fuck me, oh Aeons. I don't- I don't wanna-"

"Say it first," Sampo cruelly continues, "I'm not doing it until you say it, Gepard."

He thinks it is surely Gepard again that does him in, finally. Makes him give in for this too, because it's much easier to break once he's already cracked once. And he wants so fucking badly to feel how good it will be to give up this one when the others have already made his brain blank so amazingly.

"Sampo," he whines, "Sampo. I- I-"

The sound Sampo makes is also a little obscene in a way that rushes straight through Gepard. He abruptly yanks the leash again — much, much harder than before — and pulls strong enough to make Gepard come back up onto his knees again fully. No longer bent over Sampo's knee, but instead upright at his other side. Heaving every breath, especially because his other hand is still pressed hotly inside Gepard.

There is no moment to take in anything at all, though, because Sampo simply pulls the leash in the opposing direction, now, and gets Gepard close enough by the collar that he can surge in to kiss him.

The moan Gepard makes at the hot press is needy and wanting and urgent. Hands slinging around Sampo's neck instinctively and pressing closer than even before. Once again going insane at the reminder that Sampo's tongue is split as it presses against his. No more fighting it, only wantonly sliding his lips between Sampo's for the way his fingers continue to fuck into him.

For the way he presses a fourth into him. Curls up and in and stretches him with it.

Sampo grabs his right leg with his free hand and manhandles it so that it presses between how Sampo's are spread even wider on the sofa. Sitting on top of his thigh, now, as he continues to beg for friction by humping it. Now a new, fresh angle to feel Sampo's tights and his shorts. A burning reminder of how Sampo is still fully dressed while Gepard has been stripped of everything.

"Aeons, Geppie," Sampo now bites out into his lips, and the sound of Geppie only ruins him further. Gasping and writhing at how Sampo's mouth curls against his own. "Are you gonna come just riding my leg? Like a real slut would?"

"No," Gepard begs as he continues doing just that, "Please. Please. I don't wanna- Oh fuck. Need you to stop me, Sampo. I- I-"

Sampo coos and presses his forehead harder against Gepard's. The hot pant of his breath like a drug for Gepard right now that he tries to breathe in from this close.

"You want me to fuck you that much?"

"Yes," Gepard pants like something truly broken, "Don't you want that too?"

"So fucking much," Sampo growls, "Wanna make you moan my name some more."

As he does, his hands suddenly (and somewhat disappointingly) slide out of Gepard to grab his ass entirely. A delectable squeeze against raw skin. To pull him close by the hips and rut up into him too: once again gifted just a glimpse at the (surely painful by now) tent of Sampo's shorts against Gepard's thigh between his legs on the sofa.

It pins him down against Sampo's leg to stop his grinding. To force him to tantalisingly stop all the pleasure he had been building with, now. No fingers and no friction. Left waiting again.

Gepard is close to drooling for the reminder of that, too. Pressing as close as he physically can against Sampo with his body.

"Pin me down already then, Koski," be breathes out in the last dredges of his brattiness.

He should have been spanked enough already not to want it more, and yet. And yet.

Sampo's hand grips into his skin again, but even headier than that, Gepard gets to see how his face gets loose and dark now. How he sighs, looking intently at Gepard's face too.

The buzzing goosebumps prickling along his skin in the wait — which Sampo only seems to drag out with that soft kneading of his fingers again — don't do anything other than make the sting of Sampo's hand when he eventually spanks him again even sharper. Firm again. Hard again. A little higher than before for the new angle of how Gepard is arching in his lap, though not any less thrilling.

"Ah!" he expels just as sharply into the short gap between them. Curling his hands against Sampo's hair for the way it whips up his spine.

Twenty-seven.

"It's like you want me to make you cry again," Sampo goads with pupils more dilated than anything else.

"Please," Gepard begs and presses his forehead back to Sampo's. Needing to be closer. Wanting to be undone even more.

"And you're so lovely when you beg, too," Sampo continues under his breath as he once again soothingly caresses where he has struck. Hands smoothing up and down his sides now in a way that makes Gepard writhe. "Ask me nicely, Captain."

"Geppie," he whimpers before his brain can stop him, considering it is stuck underneath the good heft of Sampo's palm, "Call me Geppie."

Sampo's words are a rumble that Gepard wants to bend under, "Only when you call me Sampo."

"Sampo," he bites out pathetically because the sting is still sharp and not dulling out yet, "Please pin me again."

There is nothing other than the way Sampo grips his hips for that one. For how, in a swift roll of their weight, Sampo moves them both so wonderfully easily just to get Gepard's back against the sofa underneath and Sampo between his legs again. Pressing down with his hands against Gepard's hips so that there's no room for him to move away at all. Enclosing so completely over him. Trapping him in.

Not that he wants to move away even an inch, of course.

"See," Sampo murmurs with his hair falling low, leaning far enough over to still be right above Gepard's face, "You get what you want when you do it how I ask."

Gepard whimpers and sucks at his own lip to at least retain some dignity. His hands are still pressing over the sides of Sampo's neck. Over Gepard's collar where it rests there like a dangerous whisper.

The reminder of its feel makes Gepard curl his non-metal fingers over velvet like Sampo had, prying to get in next to skin, and the man's entire jaw clicks shut. A silently heavy look given right to him. So close. Not yet close enough.

Gepard's heart is pounding.

He pulls.

Sampo makes a noise that coils around Gepard's abdomen tightly. He comes forward with it until their noses touch, leaving them breathing sharply against each other in a way that is disgustingly exciting.

"Careful, Geppie," Sampo murmurs.

Gepard's toes curl and his legs come up to wrap around Sampo's waist further. He tugs again just to know; What will Sampo do to him for it?

Sampo groans like a spark and suddenly wrenches back from Gepard's grip. Leaving Gepard's hands to clench into the air in his absence. Leaving him to do nothing but watch as Sampo impatiently reaches down to his shorts.

Yes, he thinks. Except, he's so ruined he thinks it actually comes out of his mouth. "Yes, yes."

"Whore," Sampo breathes with a surprising fumble to his fingers as he pulls the zipper down. Gepard only shudders and squeezes in his legs. Now once again able to see how his own cock twitches where it sits so painfully high and hard up on his stomach. A truly pitiful red. Hands limply resting right next to it.

Sampo, before he does anything else, reaches into his pocket again and pulls out the condom wrapper to bite it between his teeth without acknowledging Gepard at all. It makes him feel even further ruined, like he could be anyone and Sampo would be the same.

(Except, he's wearing Gepard's collar. So it's Gepard he's going to fuck, all while he wears Sampo's collar just the same.

Shit, he's still caught up in that way more than he should be, surely.)

He's ripped from his thoughts for how Sampo forcibly grabs his legs to pry them away from his waist, and Gepard instinctively fights that like earlier. Except now he's squeezing to keep Sampo close, and Sampo is using his strength to push Gepard away with a deadly grin around the wrapper. It makes him tremble even more, and the fact he has such little strength left in his legs to stop Sampo from moving them is mouthwatering.

So Sampo, very easily for his shaking, pulls back enough from Gepard to actually shimmy down his shorts completely and kick them to the floor along with his shoes as he does.

Everything else stays on. His red leather halterneck, his tights — which, holy shit, are crotchless, meaning Sampo's been hard against tight, unforgiving leather this whole time with nothing inbetween — and the collar too.

Gepard can't stop his legs from curling around Sampo again the moment he gets the chance. Staring only at the curve of the man's cock (also a beautiful red from how hard it is) which ends up pressed against Gepard's pelvis as he's pulled in. Almost close enough to be pressed against Gepard himself.

He could be drooling for it but he doesn't think he can coherently pay attention to that at the moment.

"Beg for me again," Sampo orders as he takes the condom out of his mouth to rip it open and roll it onto himself with parted lips. To grab the lube that is pressing into the sofa just next to them and get himself coated in that as well.

"Sampo," Gepard starts obediently and the way Sampo's cock openly twitches in his hand is fucking amazing, "I want it. I want it."

His own hands feel a little listless against his stomach. As he squirms and arches up for how Sampo manoeuvres him again like nothing. Ending with his foot pressing into the carpet and the other leg kneeling up on the sofa, while Gepard's are wrapped tight around his waist. Angled more so that he's pressing in toward the back corner of the sofa now.

"Good boy," Sampo praises in a rasp once he settles enough to finally, finally, finally press against him. The feeling of the head just barely skimming over him like a tease, still. "So desperate for me you can't even fight it anymore, huh?"

Gepard genuinely arches something dreadful for the feel of Sampo's cock pushing in, too. For hands gripping his waist tight enough they could bruise into flesh. A different kind of imprint than the spanking.

His own hands come up to press over his mouth again, but Sampo only leans abruptly closer to grab his wrists between between just one hand and press them over his head. Really pinning him down with it.

He bottoms out and Gepard's moans something pathetic, looking right up at Sampo above him, who is staring with such a fucking heat to his expression that Gepard wonders if it could thaw him out for good. Green eyes smothered with black, face a killer pink, the barest hint of old blood by his lips now, hair barely sticking to his forehead where it isn't falling low in how he's looking down at Gepard.

"Sampo," he whimpers with the feeling. Knowing he must look even more debauched, for his dried tears and his sweaty, burning skin and swollen lip.

"Fuck," Sampo growls out and then slowly begins to drag out of Gepard.

The way he fucks him, here, is a bit like how he spanked him, too. Slow and heady and warm most of the time, just the anticipatory drag of his cock against Gepard's insides that makes him arch and goosebumps prickle along his skin; all until Sampo suddenly snaps his hips hard into Gepard. Over and over, only to make Gepard moan sharply and wring his wrists in Sampo's grip, until Sampo deems that the moment to go back to slowly rolling into him again.

It's fucking torturous.

It's making Gepard fall apart at the seems.

"Sampo, Sampo," he begs during the slow push. As Sampo's free hand indulgently slides up his pre-cum stained stomach to knead into his chest now too. The soft give of his pecs with how loose he has been made to become.

"You've got such nice tits, Geppie," Sampo breathes as he pinches one of Gepard's nipples like a menace even despite how flushed he is everywhere. From his cheeks to his neck to his shoulders too, a deadly pink against the red of his top. "Should've done something with them."

And Gepard, oh, Gepard should not say what he says to that. But he's aching and broken and desperately trying to fuck himself harder onto Sampo like the man has given him the barest taste of. Collared and naked and quivering from every hot touch that he has not had in so long.

Even worse than that, every touch that has not been so good at undoing him in even longer. Because Sampo is good at it, somehow. Like he knows just how to bend Gepard in the best kind of way that he needs.

(And, technically, haven't they known each other longer than any person Gepard's ever fucked before?)

That has to be why. It has to be why he pleads out, "Next time. Next time. Please. Oh Aeons- please fuck me harder. I need it."

He doesn't even really think about what he's begging until Sampo stills. Eyes snapping to Gepard and hand curling tight around his wrists.

"Next time?" he repeats so dangerously.

Gepard's mouth is caught open. His lungs slipping into squeezing short and fast under what feels like the weight of everything on his ribs, "No. I meant- I didn't-"

"Say it properly," Sampo breathes out low and starts grinding his hips with a pant, "Say you want me to fuck you again."

"I don't," Gepard whispers like deja vu. Arching up. Leaking furiously. So full from where Sampo is circling, bottomed fully out. Enough to see the barest swell of him from the outside through Gepard's stomach, and holy fuck that is so unbelievably obscene.

"You do, though," Sampo says in such a strange tone of voice, maybe close to amazement, "You want Sampo Koski to ruin you again, Captain. You don't know how you're going to cope if I don't."

Gepard goes to shake his head, but suddenly Sampo's hand snaps up to grab at the closest connection of the leash to his collar.

He pulls and Gepard bends again with it.

"Say it," Sampo orders, "I'll fuck you exactly like you're needy for if you do what I want, Gepard."

"I want you to fuck me again, Sampo," Gepard pants with the way Sampo's lovely voice curls his insides up. "You break me good. I- I need it."

"Yeah," Sampo growls, "You do."

In an awful way that Gepard pathetically complains against, however, Sampo pulls out of him. He tries to cling on, but Sampo unforgivingly grabs him with both hands again.

Then he flips Gepard over into sofa once more. Face first again.

That makes Gepard's fighting stop very quickly, because Sampo spreads his knees out and presses him down flat. Grabs his wrists again to hold them behind Gepard's back. Presses into him much quicker and heavier and deeper than before. Pins him so heavily.

Gepard drools.

Sampo begins to really fuck him.

A hard, fast, pounding thing that has Gepard punching out moan for moan for moan. Rocking into the sofa. Bending his legs at the knees again to get them loosely behind Sampo's thighs where he's still half stood for better purchase; a silent plea of don't stop to go along with his very, very deplorably loud ones.

"Fuck, fuck. Sampo," he chants open mouthed into the sofa, "Hah- hah- Yes, yes."

"This is what you need, isn't it?" Sampo rips out into the air heavily between his own needy sounds that Gepard is very thankful for, because it surely means Sampo wants this just as much. His hips snap forward dangerously strong enough to have Gepard's entire body drag against the material of the sofa. Gepard loves the power of it. "To be fucked so hard you forget. You love it."

"Yes," he pleads, "Good, good, so good- I-"

Smack!

"Oh-h, holy shit," Gepard cries out for the sudden welt of Sampo's free palm against his ass again. Because now Sampo must surely only do it because he knows how much Gepard adores the strike and the way it sings.

"Twenty-eight," he just about sobs between his whines. Teary-eyed for just that singular hit again.

"Fuck, you're still counting?" Sampo hisses as he soothes over skin again. Gepard squeezes taut all over for it, and the next thrust of Sampo into him is so amazing because of the drag. 

"Aeons," Sampo squeezes out between the myriad of groans that are falling from his own lips. As he sets a truly heavy, brutal pace into Gepard. A thrilling strength Gepard thinks he's never going to match again. It's Sampo's warmth leaning over his back some more, pinning his hands tighter, fucking Gepard as deep as possible. His cock pressing into him everywhere.

It presses Gepard's own dick even harder into the sofa too. Trapped and stuck under them and unable to do anything but throb brilliantly at every new thrust. 

"You're fucking insatiable," Sampo whispers heavily. So close. So close. "Hah, fuck. Don't know how nobody has kept you yet, Geppie."

Gepard sobs out something strong for the words and how he feels Sampo everywhere. Outside and in. Heavy and weighted and firm. Bending Gepard so good, so good. He can't do anything but take it, and that's kind of the best part.

Suddenly, Sampo shifts just barely to the side, brushing right against his prostate again with his next hard thrust. A spark of good heat whipping up Gepard's spine in a way that makes him tremble and push back.

"There," he begs so wet and ruined, and Sampo makes a wretched sound just as he continues pressing him down in that same angle.

Gepard knows his mind is fully gone. Left only to let himself feel and feel and feel. No thinking. Dragging his cock against the sofa with every harsh thrust. Arching like a whore with every hit against his already thoroughly stinging legs.

"Sampo," Gepard cries again. Utterly ruined. "Please. I wanna come, please."

The sound Sampo makes is amazing. Finally pressing his face to Gepard's neck now too, so that he can feel the wet air being heaved against skin.

"Yeah," Sampo whines desperately and pries his fingers over Gepard's collar again. (Sampo's collar.) He pulls the leather up with his fingers and Gepard only sobs harder for how Sampo presses his face tight into the gap it creates at his neck. Just below the collar. "Are you desperate for it? You wanna– ah, wanna say my name as you come? Wanna– fuck–"

And then Sampo cuts himself off by latching his mouth onto that spot at Gepard's neck and sucking. A sharp pressing thing of Sampo's tongue and the light pull against his teeth too. Rocking so hastily into Gepard now too, like he's chasing. Over and over and over. Powerful and sweaty and hot, hot.

Gepard is fucking obsessed with it. He's coiling tighter and tighter and tighter. Shaking at every thrust that presses over that spot because he wants to feel it again. Just one more time. The inbetween of good pleasure and the sting wrapping round him all at once.

"One more," Gepard drools at the hint of sharp teeth indenting his skin, "Please, please. Hit me again, Sampo, please."

Sampo moans and licks at the spot on his neck he has marked. That's the only breath Gepard gets before he leans back enough to spank down again. A hot, hard, unbearably wonderful thing against the side of his ass — though it's mostly from compounding on top of all his throbbing from other harder hits — that does exactly what Gepard needs and makes him arch. Makes him coil like a spring. Trembling. Panting. A ringing of pain along with the pleasure of Sampo fucking against his prostate again and pressing his hips down with the weight of it to trap his painful, painful cock just how he adores.

Gepard wants to come undone. He wants to feel it course though him like a deep scratch to his perpetual itching. Like it could be enough to soothe it forever, even though he knows in barely any time at all he'll want it again. 

That he'll want Sampo again. Just as much as he does right now, because nothing compares to this feeling.

Oh he's so close. So close. He's so fucking close. Please, please, please-

Smack!

Sampo's bare palm is firm and unforgiving and killer as he strikes like he needs to carves out his palm into flesh. Gepard sobs and comes against the sofa so fucking hard. A seeringly painful, brilliant, enveloping thing to blank all other possible thoughts than so good and Sampo.

(In the midst of it, still, he thinks he feels the final welt of one last smack against his ass.

Thirty-one.)

Shit, shit, Sampo wanted him to say-

Oh.

Gepard belatedly realises he's already chanting it in his sobs as he comes completely unravelled. A cascade of Sampo Sampo Sampo.

"Yeah, yeah," Sampo chants back in a such a caught out, unabashed type of whine, as his hips truly start to stutter. As he shoves so close, so close. Face pressed to the junction of his neck again. Every lovely sound feeling like it tangles into Gepard's skin now. "So good for me, Geppie. Oh fuck- So good. So- So-"

Gepard pants so bad for the overstimulation of Sampo relentlessly fucking into him with the praise. Faster and faster. How Sampo is making such amazing, wonderful wet noises into his neck, open-mouthed and almost sucking at skin again. Pressing down all over. Clearly so close himself. 

Gepard, impulsively in what little coherence he has left, manages to pull his hand from Sampo's grip (only because Sampo allows him) and reach up blindly behind his head to where Sampo's is. Fumbling against hair before he can finally pry fingers into one of the rings in Sampo's collar.

(Gepard's collar.)

He pulls closer to him with all the pitiful strength he has left before he's truly gone to the after. 

Sampo makes a heavy moan. High pitched and tight. It's fucking amazing. It might sound like Gepard.

It's apparently enough. The feeling of Sampo twitching inside of him even through the condom as he comes makes Gepard feel so fucking full but also not full enough.

Next time, his blissed out brain begs wrongfully.

There is a lot of heavy breathing for a moment, as Sampo comes to a halt and they both simply heave out something hot and wet where they're pressing their faces. Gepard into the sofa and Sampo into the back of Gepard's neck. 

Gepard's hand is limp against the back of Sampo's head now. 

Eventually, though, Sampo makes a low sound and pushes up some. Letting go of his other wrist to press one hand near Gepard's head, while the other smooths through his hair so softly. Such a good touch for how sensitive he feels.

Gepard's own hand slides over hair as he pulls it back to him, before he tilts his head to see Sampo as much as possible.

"Better?" Sampo breathes out.

Gepard nods and feels himself flutter for the smile that curls at Sampo's lips. For how he strokes over Gepard's cheek with his thumb for one long moment before properly leaning back again.

Those lovely hands spend a long time just caressing Gepard's skin again, though. Softly. So softly. Over the red of all Sampo's marks. Expression loose as Gepard does nothing but breathe some more and shiver for everywhere they skim.

Eventually, Sampo hums and slowly pulls out of Gepard. Immediately taking off the condom to tie once he has and standing up from the sofa to cross the room to the other side, where there's a table with a bin right under it.

(Qlipoth, actually looking over there — where there are a variety of general toys for so many things he hadn't even noticed, including spanking — makes Gepard realise he was so fucking wound up and desperate that all Sampo even had to use was his hands. That the only thing he's thought about since the moment they stepped inside was Sampo.)

Still, even despite the loud thought, all Gepard can bring himself to do is sink pleasantly into the sofa and wait. All his tension far, far gone now.

Sampo grabs a tub and some wipes from the table before quickly returning to kneel behind Gepard.

It doesn't take him long to realise that the tub is a balm when Sampo gets some on his fingers and once again returns to smoothing over flesh. Except now it is cool and pleasant over the burning of his skin, and the touch makes Gepard hum and sink even further.

"Do you have some balm at home, too?" Sampo hums so wonderfully.

"Mhm," Gepard hums with the barest nod.

Sampo smiles so indulgently for it. "Good."

Though, like a menace, once he's spread it all over, Sampo can't seem to stop himself from taking one last good handful of Gepard's ass. "Aeons, you have a nice ass too," he dramatically pouts, "It's unfair to have both, you know."

Strangely, Gepard laughs. A loose, unstifled sound from his chest that for some reason makes Sampo's eyes snap to his face again.

"Says you," Gepard says in his new contentment.

Sampo grins even despite the way Gepard thinks his cheeks might be pinker. "Wow, is that a compliment I hear? Geppie. I might feel special at this rate."

Gepard only bites at his smile and shrugs. Sampo laughs something breathy for it too and pats at his waist.

"Turn over so I can clean you up," he says with his smile.

Gepard does just that pretty easily, and Sampo uses the wipes along his skin so carefully before wiping at the sofa too. Gepard wants to close his eyes with it. Ask Sampo to merely smooth over his skin some more.

"You want me to help you dress?" Sampo hums so kindly.

"Yes please," Gepard gives in and says for the loose feeling that always comes after. Where it just feels so much better to have Sampo help him sit and work all his clothes back over himself than doing it himself. Especially when Sampo is so nice for it now. Fingers simple and easy to sag against until he's dressed appropriately enough to get home, at which point…

"Bath. Blankets. Yeah?" Sampo says very pointedly as he pulls on his own shorts and shoes again. Stood right in front of Gepard, close enough to press his hands to Gepard's shoulders.

"Mhm," Gepard nods again, though Sampo's face pinches strangely.

He holds out a hand between them. Gepard blinks.

"Give me your phone," he says, and even though it isn't as commanding anymore, Gepard gives in to the order easily and without much thought (not that he has much right now anyway).

He hands over his phone, open, and Sampo takes it quickly.

"You're gonna message me if you want anything, Gepard," Sampo states in that same kind of way where Gepard just wants to listen. "Or if you feel off, yeah?"

"Yeah," Gepard nods once the phone is back in his hands, "I'll be okay, though, because you're good at being nice, too."

Sampo snorts and presses his hands to Gepard's face. Thumbs against his cheeks again. "Sampo Koski's a nice guy in reality, you know?"

"You can be nice and a bastard," Gepard smiles and leans in a little closer.

It makes him notice what he hadn't before, and he instinctively moves to lick his thumb before bringing it up to Sampo's face, which is riddled with confusion.

He wipes away the last dredges of blood that are still clinging to Sampo's skin.

"Sorry about that," he says meagrely once Sampo's skin is clear. "We didn't talk about going that far, I was just-"

Sampo drags Gepard in with his hands for a sudden kiss. A good, warm, lingering press that Gepard likes a lot.

"I'm not sorry," Sampo says, "I don't usually get to fight people who can put a dent in me. It's good."

Gepard sinks back for it. "Me neither," he whispers.

"You still want a next time?" Sampo suddenly rushes out.

"Yes," Gepard pleads a little desperately still, because he knows it won't take him long to be taut again, and the idea of coming back to Sampo to wreck that is definitely something he won't be able to ignore. "Do you? Was this..."

Good for you too, he almost says.

"Yeah," Sampo says anyway because Gepard is apparently that obvious still, "So much. You were very good for me, Geppie."

Gepard feels so pleased for the words. He wonders a little vaguely if he'll still feel that way when morning comes.

"You don't need anything else?" Gepard asks impulsively at the sudden thought of being good for Sampo more.

Sampo makes a really attractive smile, "How about a bouquet of flowers next time? I like roses."

Gepard huffs and pushes as Sampo's shoulder. He laughs something even more goading and attractive for it.

(Will you think of this to get through the day? he suddenly hears in his head and shivers.

Yeah. He definitely fucking will.)

Gepard does not do anything but go home and want to relax. Loose and thoroughly fucked enough to feel good.

He realises, though, when he strips for the bath Sampo messages him to run — which, messaging Sampo Koski, he really has unravelled so unbelievably far — that the pressure to his neck is not his.

Or, well, that is to say he had been so, so out of it in the fog he didn't even think about the collar at his neck to be anything but his own.

It isn't, though. In fact, it's still Sampo's collar. Red and studded and something to make his insides squirm wonderfully. A collar that Sampo will have seen, considering how he was literally the one to help pull Gepard's shirt over his head earlier.

Considering he was still wearing Gepard's, too.

Meaning he let Gepard keep it. Knowingly.

Don't know how nobody has kept you yet.

He really, really hopes that means what he thinks it means, and Sampo might want to keep him.

Oh, Gepard is so screwed. He's going to be messaging Sampo in barely a week at this rate for their next time and praying to Qlipoth that it will stick.

He really wants it to stick. He wants to be kept.

He wants to feel this good more often.

(From fucking, of course.

Nothing else.)