Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gepard had been told he should take a night off as a break from his job.

The advice had come to his desk in the shape of a ticket invitation, accompanied by, “Gepard, next week there’s a night gala. It’s only open for the nobles of Belobog. I was invited as the head of the Silvermane Investigative Department, and I think I’ll go. You should go, too, as chief inspector and the Landau’s firstborn.” The calligraphy was Bronya’s. There were no doubts: her unmistakable signature crowned the end.

With a sigh, Gepard rubbed his thumb over his forehead. The piece of paper was worn out from the multiple times he had folded and unfolded it. The ticket was untouched, still lying at the bottom of the desk drawer. The event would take place that night, and he still hadn’t decided whether to go.

A stack of paper on the left side of his desk eyed him grimly. Gepard leaned back in his chair, dragging his hands down his face. Bronya perfectly knew he hated those kinds of things. They were so futile and diverted his attention from work…

Chaotic as usual, Pela dropped another stack of papers on Gepard’s desk. The Landau eyed them as if a diffident cat with water, and groaned. It was huge. “Is Bronya doing this on purpose?” He asked, a hand grasping at a paper. It was another case which told Gepard that nobles had nothing better to do. A complaint for…what? “Are we serious?” He waved the paper under the ID officer’s nose. “‘The neighbours’ dog barks too much?’ What are we supposed to do? I’m going to drop this job, one day or another.”

Pela raised her brows, quite worried. “Well, Mr Gepard,” she replied, “did you take notice of Lady Bronya’s advice? That about the night gala…” She eyed Dunn, the deputy inspector, who was hunched over another bunch of papers.

At the word “gala”, Gepard’s vice pricked his ears. “Ah…!” Dunn let out, surprised as if someone had pulled him out of dreams. “Pela is right, sir. You don’t take many breaks…you should go.” He then returned to his work, unbothered. The dark circles under his eyes were pretty evident.

Gepard sighed. He usually wouldn’t say ludicrous things like, “This city needs me,” because it wasn’t true. Still… “I have work to do. Look how files are piling up on my – our – desk!” He glanced at Pela’s workstation. It wasn’t much better than his or Dunn’s. It was even fuller.

Pela sighed and shook her head. “Mr Gepard, it’s only an evening. Work won’t grow legs and run away, that is sure,” she sighed. “Plus, we aren’t offended by that. Bronya is going too. You really should, sir.”

Gepard tapped his fingers on the desk. He needed to ponder it – of course he knew “work won’t grow legs”. It wasn’t that the main problem…

If Gepard closed his eyes, he could see the main reason for his stress and nightmares. It wasn’t those many useless complaints from the nobles, nor the critical situations Belobog’s suburbs poured into (which meant the many reports of murders and dead bodies in the streets).

Gepard’s main reason for stress had a name and was very alive, flesh and bones included. In that amalgamation of grievous occurrences, Sampo Koski was what brought Gepard more worries. A swift, enigmatic and tremendous conman, Koski often appeared in the majority of crime scenes and always left the interrogation room unscathed.

A true bone in the throat.

Gepard couldn’t even remember how everything started. He could only tell that Sampo Koski followed him where he, as the SID chief inspector, had to go.

It wasn’t a problem at first. But, after what seemed like years, Sampo’s mysterious appearances had turned into Gepard’s obsession. The Landau almost hoped to see Koski at crime scenes nowadays. Sometimes, he caught himself waiting to see that grinning face. But it was just because Koski’s silhouette was familiar. He had never thought of something more, of course.

The striding of Pela’s chair on the ground pulled Gepard away from his mulling over. He blinked, realising he’d been pondering the decision too much. Once, a now-dead acquaintance had told him that doubts could breed arrogance, and arrogance could give birth to evil. As a chief inspector, he must not mull over things. Even if it had nothing to do with justice…

Gepard picked the gala invitation from the drawer’s bottom. He observed it skeptically, as if such a piece of paper could do him any harm. “You two won,” he sighed. Pela and Dunn shifted their gaze from their work. “But promise me you won’t work until late here…”

Pela pursed her lips into a relieved smile. “I don’t know if we can promise it, sir,” she replied. Dunn let out a rather disappointed whine at Pela’s words.

Gepard smiled. He folded the invitation and rubbed his eyes, a little tired. His coworkers were right: a night wouldn’t change anything. Nobles would nonetheless submit other complaints to the Silvermane Department. Victims and thieves would gather in the corners of the city. But at least one of Gepard’s main reasons for stress would take a break.

Sampo Koski would be asleep, and Gepard would not need to worry about him.

--

The Landau’s Villa was empty and too silent, to Gepard’s liking. Where his father’s screams would once echo in the house, now only a void of noise settled down. Maybe it was better liked that. The Landau’s householder had gotten old, and soon or later it would be his time to go. Gepard sometimes felt guilty for thinking about it as a weight lifted from his chest.

Gepard tightened his necktie. He scrunched his nose at his reflection in the mirror. If he wasn’t stressed from work, he was mulling over his father’s remarks. Even though that old man had stopped barking bigotry, his words were still impressed into Gepard’s mind.

“Marry a noble woman and make an heir. It’s your duty as the Landau’s firstborn.”

Adjusting the shirt’s cuffs, Gepard snorted. If that old-codger knew about his son’s homosexual tendencies, he would probably disown him. Or he would have a heart attack. Being disowned and confessing as the Landau’s firstborn…Serval would be proud of him. But half of Belobog would look at him in disgust, especially the nobles.

Gepard tied the lace of his shoes. A pair of black Oxfords gifted for his thirty-fourth birthday…from his father. Of course. Propping his elbows on his knees, Gepard sighed. He persisted in staying in Belobog only because he promised a dead person he would fulfil his duties. He would protect Belobog’s justice at any cost, or so he had said. Such a thing may sound arrogant, but Gepard had sworn. And he believed in what he did, at least.

That night, he shouldn’t contemplate any of those bugging thoughts. Bronya was right: he needed a break. Gepard rubbed his chin. Both his coworkers and his superior worried that he might break if he didn’t get a pause from work. Hilarious.

Shrugging at himself, Gepard finished settling down and went downstairs.

The only noise came from the living room: fire crackling in its hearth. As expected, the Landau’s householder was sitting alone on the armchair, facing the orangish flames. Gepard tried to be silent as he crossed the hallway. But no matter how old his father was. His hearing was as good as if he were still young.

“Are you going to that famous gala, my son?” The old man asked. He still didn’t turn to face the Landau’s firstborn.

Gepard cleared his throat. He adjusted the edges of his jacket. “Yes, father,” he replied. He tried to be as neutral as possible.

“Good. Because they didn’t invite me.” His father spoke as if offended.

Gepard rolled his eyes, his annoyed expression luckily hidden behind the soft chair. “Well, father, that I didn’t know. I thought you didn’t want to come on your own volition.” It was a lie. But Gepard couldn’t tell him that none of the nobles wanted to invite the Landau’s householder to their parties anymore. Telling him he was now considered a curmudgeon would give him the fatal blow. 

The Landau’s householder scoffed. “Of course, of course,” he replied. Still facing the hearth and its fire, he added, “Try to get yourself a woman, this time. Lady Bronya, perhaps. It’s time for you to get married, Gepard. You’re thirty-five.”

Gepard’s nostrils trembled. He clenched his jaw. The way his father talked was utterly ludicrous and disrespectful. To shut him forever, he could tell his biggest secret and the many men he had lain with. Or he could say Lady Bronya was not a noble like that old-codger thought. He could tell she was an orphan adopted by the previous, now-dead, director of the Silvermane Department. “Yes, father. And you try to go to sleep early,” he said, instead. Burying rage was better than letting it out. Saying such things would also be utterly disrespectful towards his superior.

Without waiting for his father’s reply, Gepard got to the entrance. Fuming with rage, he refused the help of the butler. It was better leave before blurting out all he thought about these “noble lineage” and “marry-to-continue-the-dynasty” idiocies. They weren’t in the thirteenth century anymore.

It was the 1950s. Still, Gepard feared society was far too distant to leave bigotry behind.

--

Suffused lights and soft voices of people; a pale light of a full moon, which seeped through the tall windows.

That was what filled the main room in the villa on the gala night. The space was huge enough to accommodate tables and a dance floor, with a small wooden stage in the corner. A modest orchestra thrummed the sweet notes of some classical opera’s songs – from the “Nabucco” by Verdi to “Sonata No. 2 in A minor” by Bach. With the education he had received, Gepard could recognise most of those. He wasn’t a particular fan of classical music, though such a soft background was welcomed.

Gepard finally found relaxation. He listened to Bronya’s discourse put out to some other nobles at their table. She was talking about the well-being of Belobog, but not once had he chided in. Whenever the supreme inspector mentioned him, Gepard limited himself to smiling and nodding at those nobles who sat with them. For some reason, he couldn’t bear their faces, nor their presence. Their mouth opened like those fangs of evil hyenas and spat poison whenever they talked.

“I do care about Belobog, so that is why I ask to do something for those…poor people.” One spoke.

Gepard had to suppress a snort. By that, it was obvious they meant, “I want my streets clean”. Such spoiled rats rambling about protecting the city…they were cruel and ignorant. One did not protect Belobog by ignoring those who really need help. Gepard wanted to point that out loud, plus say, “You, lords and ladies, do not need any help. You must provide it to those in need,” but he couldn’t. Bronya must have sensed what the chief inspector wanted to say, because she gently kicked his leg under the table.

Gepard pulled his lips into a forced smile, so bitter it scrunched his eyes, but did not make them shine with sincerity. He spared them his words and returned to watch the orchestra playing, “Für Elise” by Beethoven. Many nobles danced in the middle of the room, brushstrokes of motley clothes painting the air.

Gepard glanced at his wristwatch. It was not midnight yet. The nobles at his table continued their discourse, which was now sliding into the boring part. Sighing, he cleared his throat and said the only thing he would say to such arrogant people, “Ladies and lords, if you excuse me, I need to use the washroom.”

It wasn’t true. Gepard was nonetheless sure he’d find a bathroom cabinet more interesting than a noble talking.

The whole villa was crowded, though the hallways were empty. A brownish carpet muffled Gepard’s steps as he walked. The orchestra’s playing came distant. He sucked in a breath, pushing open the washroom’s door. That part of the villa was so silent that it almost felt creepy.

As if it belonged to another dimension.

Gepard refreshed himself, spraying water on his face and wetting his wrist. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. Two cerulean eyes stared back at him. A perfect shaved chin, blond hair that should’ve been slicked back with pomade but hadn’t. The faintest hint of dark circles under his eyes. A tonic body hugged by an elegant suit. That was the image of the chief inspector of Belobog, the firstborn of the Landau family and a noble who should soon marry and make an heir.

Gepard’s lips trembled. A lump knotted his throat and pushed tears to the corner of his eyes. He scoffed at himself. He puffed out a breath and buttoned the jacket of his suit. He unbuttoned it again. With a sigh, he diverted his attention to adjust the shirt’s cuffs. He then raked a hand through his hair and left the bathroom. Why would he need to cry? He had everything. He was a pillar of Belobog’s justice. He was a noble.

Gepard crossed the hallway back. He bit his inner cheek, trying to sink molars into the flesh. He had everything, yet not what he really wanted. The orchestra hit the ending notes of “Für Elise”.

As the Landau’s firstborn and as a man from a noble family, he should not think or do certain things. Yet he nonetheless had his way with men many times. Did he like it? Of course, each of those nights. Did he crave again a touch that was a sin? With all of his heart. Sometimes it was unbearable.

Did he regret what he had done in those years?

Gepard couldn’t reply to that nagging question he often put out to himself. He did not. A poisonous voice told him he should, instead. He should feel disgusted by himself for craving unfaithful love, yet…he did not. He couldn’t possibly be wrong. If so…why did those bigoted men’s god preach, “Love has no limits”?

As Gepard reached the tables again, someone bumped into him. They pulled him away from his self-destructive thoughts and…put him into a whirlwind of feelings. Between stupor and incredulity, who had bumped into Gepard was a woman who resembled Sampo almost in a creepy way.

His heart pumped fiercely in his chest. She was beautiful, though.

With a grin more lascivious than any seducing woman Gepard had known, that said person sized him up. Her gaze was as intense as that of Koski. The burning flames crackling inside the Landau’s chest were a familiar heat. “Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman said, ghosting his fingers upon Gepard’s chest, “who could believe I would bump into the Landau’s firstborn!”

The Landau felt his cheeks blooming hot. He glanced down at the woman’s table. He cocked a brow. Three members of the Wildfire Centre, Seele included, smiled at him. “This is something I should say,” Gepard gently remarked, looking at the woman again and softly brushing her hand away. “May I ask the name of the lady I disturbed?” He pursed his lips into a soft smile. He could feel his heat rippling to his ears, which throbbed loudly. The woman was indeed beautiful.

The woman waved a hand in the air, a languid laugh puffing her chest. “Madam Brughel Poisson,” she replied. Her eyes took huge bites of the man’s silhouette in front of her. “But Lady Poisson is enough.”

Gepard suppressed a shiver. The woman’s gaze made her look like a hungry animal. “Ah, I’ve vaguely heard your name, Lady Poisson,” he replied. His smile trembled a little. The more he looked at her, the more he could see Sampo’s face overlapping Lady Poisson’s.

Madam Brughel rolled her eyes. She eyed her friends, who had returned to their discourse and ignored the two of them. The subtle grin on her lips deepened. “That honours me,” Lady Poisson replied, eyes sharp and piercing as she glanced back at the Landau. She then stretched a hand towards the man. “What about joining me for a valzer, Mr Landau? To become friends, of course.” The giggle that left her mouth after was like the hiss of a snake.

Für Elise ended with sweet noises, each note sounding as if it were tiptoeing around the air. The burning fire inside Gepard’s chest flared up in a dance of embarrassment and stupor. He gently grabbed Madam Brughel’s hand. “Of course, Lady Poisson,” he murmured, his nostrils dilating.

The sweet notes of another song filled the villa. At the beginning, a piano solo was followed by the soft notes of violins and drums. It sounded like the delicate march of undaunted soldiers. “Oh, my favourite,” Madam Brughel smiled, letting Gepard guide her on the dancefloor.

Gepard was amazed at how easily he felt lured by that woman. He shook his head. When Madam Brughel placed a hand over Gepard’s shoulder, the man rechanged the languid glance with a soft one. “You have delicate tastes,” he said. As the notes of an organ poured into those of violins and drums, Gepard gently placed his hand on the woman’s waist. “I hope I’ll be good enough to dance this.” He clasped the woman’s hand. Nobody paid them attention. Gepard’s heart pumped loudly in his chest. If the night ended well, he could ask her to see each other again.

He could make his family proud.

Madam Brughel languidly giggled. “Of course, you would be, Geppie,” she whispered, following Gepard’s steps as the song continued. The soft marching left place to a sweet, feminine voice that sang upon a piano solo’s delicate notes. She drew a circle together with Gepard. Her red dress tinted the air with a velvety red; the tails of the Landau’s suits cut through it. “What a good dancer you are. I would’ve never thought,” she teased.

A hit with a gentle caress of the violins’ chords and the thrum of a guitar, and Gepard stopped their twirls. “How did you call me?” he asked, cocking a brow. That voice and that way of talking…

Only one person addressed him as “Geppie”. Only one teased him like that.

The opera singer stopped her chirping, sweet notes filling the air. The crescendo began with the violins singing louder. It felt as if notes were running, one trying to catch another. When the opera singer began to sing again, she sounded troubled.

Gepard could imagine a woman dancing alone in a palace, sorrow wrinkling her face as she performed to escape a tragic fate. He dragged Lady Poisson around the dancefloor, pulled by those notes. The melody was exquisite, but he realised he didn’t know the name of the opera...

Madam Brughel showed him a slew of teeth. “Lady Poisson is by all odds the great Sampo Koski,” she replied with a whisper.

Gepard’s eyes widened. “You…” He clenched his jaw, heat rippling to his ears. He knew it. He should congratulate himself for letting Koski fool him. It had been such an easy move. And Gepard couldn’t ignore how lured he’d felt by Sampo’s womanly counterpart.

“I am full of surprises, Geppie,” Sampo replied, diligently following each of Gepard’s movements. The way he was saying, “Geppie,” was extremely sweet.

The Landau did not dislike it. Odd. A familiar pet name whispered by a familiar voice. When a soft chorus of other feminine voices added to the main, the criminal squeezed the detective’s shoulder.

Gepard couldn’t help but notice how gentle Sampo’s touch was. This little foolery irked him a lot, yet he couldn’t deny he had found Madame Brughel beautiful. Sampo was beautiful, he had to admit.

Gepard’s brain was full of fog. He couldn’t think straight.

“You’ll be under arrest as soon as this idiocy ends,” he said out of frustration. As the song began to quieten, Gepard made them draw a last twirl. A sharp look painted his face, but his tone betrayed him. He realised he did not want that odd dance to end.

Sampo chuckled. As their twirl stopped, he caught a moment to lean over and whisper in the Landau’s ear, “I strongly doubt so, Geppie.” His lips brushed close to Gepard’s skin, which burned hot.

The song ended as it started.

As the opera singer’s voice began to fade and notes sweetened into a soft end, Gepard dipped Sampo. Green eyes bored into cerulean ones, a languid grin pursing rosy lips. Gepard’s heart skipped a beat. The burning fire finally consumed his heart with a devouring passion.

Breath ragged, Gepard tugged Sampo so he could lean straight again. He pushed him away after. “Watch your back, next time, Koski,” he murmured. “I won’t be so permissive again.” He realised he was sweating and, without even waiting for Sampo’s reply, he left the dancefloor in a frenzy.

A loud downpour of applause for the opera singer and the orchestra put the evening to an end.

Chapter Text

With incredible curiosity, Gepard observed the last file Pela had brought him. It was not that interesting. It just helped him not think about the night before. Another futile complaint about dirty streets and loud neighbours pushed the night gala back in Gepard’s mind. Being fooled like that by Sampo Koski (lured by the beautiful Madame Brughel) was unpardonable. Or, better, it’d been brightening.

Gepard finally realised he did not care if that conman was a man or a woman. He felt nonetheless drawn by Koski’s charm.

Inked words, some smudged as if the person who had written them was tired of it, smoothly ran underneath Gepard’s eyes. He clenched his jaw. Trying not to think about Sampo Koski was not as easy as he thought. The curve of a “c” reminded Gepard of Koski’s subtle grin. The oblong form of an “o” was similar to the lazy cut of the man’s eyes. The sweet shape of an “m” made the Landau think about Sampo’s lips: Gepard had never looked at them from such a proximity as the other night. The delicate silhouette of the “s”…

Gepard crumpled the paper. Heat burned his whole face. He tossed the paper away, shaking his right hand as if it hurt. His fingers tickled, and his palm sweated. He could remember how Koski’s skin had felt beneath his palm, no matter the layer of cloth wrapping it.

Hot and sweaty.

Gepard had no way out as his brain began to work. He could not help but imagine his fingers unbuttoning Sampo’s shirt with delicacy.

Lost in the reverie of his bubbling passion, he drifted into lewd desires: he imagined the pads of his fingers brushing Sampo’s skin. In his fantasies, he would trail his hands down, gently and slowly. His palm would press against Koski’s belly, and his fingers would squeeze it. His forefinger would tug at Sampo’s belt, and his thumb would hook at the buckle. Gepard would murmur, “Useless,” in Koski’s ear. His teeth would nibble at the other man’s earlobe before he’d kneel in front of him, almost in worship.

A voice would say, “Someone reported a homicide in a suburb of Belobog,” with a worried tone.  

Gepard’s shameful bubble popped, and he winced. “What?” He asked Dunn, adjusting in the chair. He could feel the heat devouring his face.

Dunn gathered his curly hair in a ponytail. He cocked a brow, baffled by his superior’s reaction. “A noble has been found dead in the suburb. They dropped the case to us,” he replied. “Are you all right, sir?”

Gepard dragged a hand down his face. The chair squeaked on the ground when he pushed up. “Of course I am.” He waved a hand in the air. He tried to maintain his serious façade. Puffing out a breath, he looked at his wristwatch and said, “Well, they strike early.” He crossed the office, walking past Dunn and grabbing his coat from the hat rack. “Let’s go.” He was already at the door, pressing it open as an excuse not to look at his vice.

Dunn followed his superior. He patted Gepard’s shoulder and said, “You seemed a lot lost in your thoughts, sir. You had me worried for a moment.”

Gepard slammed the door shut behind him.

--

It wasn’t a pretty show. Gepard spared himself from looking at the corpse too intently. He focused on questioning the witness who was with two police officers. The forensic arrived right when Dunn had enough of looking at the lifeless body.

“It’s a noble, sir,” Dunn stated after Gepard was done with the witness.

The Landau sighed and put his hands in his pants pockets, pushing the coat’s edges at his sides. “I know. I remember his face at the gala yesterday,” he replied. “Given what the two officers say, his wife reported his disappearance last night. He left the gala early. But apparently, she couldn’t find him at home.” Gepard pinched his nose between his forefinger and thumb. He sighed and pressed the pads onto his eyes, tired.

Dunn crossed his arms, looking at the forensic examiner checking the body. “A love affair which ended really badly?” He pondered.

Gepard shrugged. “I would say ‘one or the other’. Another symbolic murder, a warning, overall hatred towards nobles…it could be anything. And you know homicides had increased after the war.”

“Yes, I know…” Dunn mumbled. “Riots, too. Belobog’s situation worries me.”

Gepard wanted to reply, “Nothing out of the ordinary,” but he realised it sounded quite apathetic and gruesome. It wasn’t his fault. He had probably become like that after witnessing so much violence. But leaving that behind, he had promised he’d protect Belobog’s justice. He would need to do investigations as usual, and neither justify the victim nor the murderer. “We must be objective,” he opted for instead. And he almost laughed at himself. A little duplicitous, he was.

That rule didn’t apply to Sampo Koski.

The forensic examiner diverted Gepard’s attention to the case. He was almost glad: he did not want to risk thinking about that man again. A reverie full of passion was still lingering somewhere in the back of his mind, like a prowling wolf. And Sampo Koski was the cause of all that.

However, unfortunately, Gepard’s attempt to focus on his work failed. Right when the forensic examiner was affirming what were only theories, a familiar silhouette peered into the alley. As soon as Gepard locked his eyes with a pair of green ones, a familiar, languid grin pursed rosy lips.

Gepard’s heart plunged in the depths of his guts. His nostrils flared.

“Tsk-tsk. What a pitiful scene,” Sampo puffed out, almost amused.

The forensic examiner cocked up her brows, surprised. Dunn glanced at Gepard and said, “Sir—”

“Don’t! This time I’ll get that fraud!” Gepard cut short his vice. He extended a hand towards Dunn as if to stop him. He realised he’d acted out of impulse as he noticed Dunn’s knitted brows.

However, Sampo’s impromptu laugh blurred out his sensible side. Before he could even realise it, Gepard was running down alleys and streets, on the fraud’s tail. Koski was almost startled by that sudden hunting, but he was not unused to it. Their cat-and-mouse play was something that happened quite daily. Sampo could only have a few weeks off before Gepard would be on his tracks again.

Panting down the streets, Gepard wondered if that Koski knew what he had done to him. How obsessed he’d turn him into once he’d show that languid grin of his. The gala had been the final straw. Gepard had believed for so long that what he nourished for the fraudster was hate. He still did, now, as Sampo’s mocking laugh echoed in the air.

Yet, Gepard could tell something had changed. Or, he’d just realised it. Such an obsession almost rotted his brain.

He knew Sampo Koski’s banters weren’t casual.

That day, Gepard could consider himself lucky. Maybe it was fate’s gift, which had finally recognised Gepard’s endeavour. Or maybe, for once, Koski’s cunningness failed him.

Sampo made the wrong move. Like a mouse, he’d ended up in a blind alley. He stopped running, facing the Landau behind him. He was out of breath.

Gepard stopped, out of breath too. Koski grinned at him, but there was no amusement on his face. He gave up teasing the officer. Walking closer, Gepard coerced Sampo to step back until the alley’s corner. Tittering, the conman folded his arms in surrender. “You won, this time, Geppie,” he laughed off, nervous.

Gepard clenched his jaw. He brought his hand to his hip, brushing his fingers on the cuffs at his side. Sampo continued his nervous ramble. It fuelled something in Gepard; irritation, perhaps.

“Listen—”

Gepard grabbed Sampo by the collar of his shirt. He slammed him against the wall with so much strength that Koski coughed. His eyes widened in disbelief.

“Now you don’t puff your chest anymore,” Gepard hissed. He shook Sampo, their face so close that their nose almost brushed together. “What was that, yesterday?” He rumbled. He should’ve asked, “What are you doing in a crime scene?”, but no. He wanted to know what Sampo was trying to do to him. So, he questioned again, “Want me to go mad, hm?”

Sampo let out another titter. He shook his head and looked over the Landau’s shoulder. His hands pressed against the office’s chest. Gepard’s nostrils trembled. Koski’s palms were warm, even if the city was freezing. Gepard could feel it even through the layer of clothes. He dilated his nostrils. His mind spun, the reverie of passion bubbling in the back of his mind. He let such burning flames flare in his chest. He let them devour his heart. “Fuck off,” he swore. He always tried to hold back from swearing.

From kissing the man in front of him.

Gepard couldn’t anymore. He leaned over, crashing his lips against the other man’s. It hurt: teeth clashing together and noses bumping. Koski let out a surprised gasp, but did not push the officer away. Instead, he hugged Gepard tightly, fingers grasping at his coat.

Koski’s unexpected compliance fed the burning passion in the Landau’s chest. Gepard grew greedier within seconds. He pressed his lips harshly against Sampo’s mouth. He grunted against Koski’s lips, his tongue prying them open. He pinned his knee between the conman’s legs, pressing it against his crotch.

Sampo roughly ground himself against Gepard’s thigh without hesitation. He let out a pleased moan against the other man’s lips. The Landau kept Koski pressed against the wall, letting the conman rock his hips on his leg. It surprised Gepard how little control Sampo had. He did not seem ashamed of rutting against the detective with such fervour in broad daylight. The Landau’s heart pumped furiously in his chest. It was as if Koski had looked forward to that moment to come. 

Out of breath, Gepard pulled away from the kiss. His fingers still clutched Sampo’s shirt tightly. Koski clung to him. He continued to rock his hips against the Landau’s leg. Gepard’s breath trembled. Sampo bore his eyes into his. His face wrinkled with full pleasure, making the other man’s heart jump.

With another strained moan, Sampo pressed his forehead onto Gepard’s shoulder. The barely controlled movements of Koski made the Landau’s skin electric. His pants bulged too, but he held back.

At the third moan Sampo let out, Gepard grasped his face and kissed him again. It was messy this time. He pressed his knee further against Sampo’s crotch. Koski moaned against Gepard’s lips even louder. His body trembled under waves of pleasure. He pressed his palms so tightly against the detective’s back that the Landau could feel Koski’s heat fully.

Grunting, Gepard tilted Sampo’s head. His heat burst forth in his body, and devouring the man beneath him was a must, now.

But with a last moan, Sampo finished his orgasm in his pants: he didn’t even have the time to pull himself out and rub it. He pressed a hand on Gepard’s chest and pushed him away. “Oh, fuck,” he murmured. “Fuck, fuck.” He shoved the other man to a side.

Gepard stumbled, taken aback. The heat in his body was still devouring every inch of his blood. Sampo’s rosy lips were red. The frown of the lingering orgasm still knitted his brows. Blue tufts fell on his face, adding to the bangs that covered his left eye.

Gepard clenched his jaw, realising what they had done. “I’m…sorry,” he murmured. He bit his inner cheek. He should’ve been angry at Koski. Why, of all things, did he let out a “sorry”?

Sampo sighed in frustration. He glanced at the detective. He laughed, but it was not in his usual languid way. It was more of a tittering. He was an utter mess, but Gepard couldn’t deny he was…pretty. Beautiful, perhaps.

Sampo shook his head and pushed away from the wall. “Catch me next time, if you can,” he laughed off. Unsure, he added, “Geppie.” Swifter and more agile than someone would be after such intercourse, he rushed out of the alley.

Gepard didn’t try to run after him. Sampo’s touch had been scarce, and he hadn’t even orgasmed like the other man.

Still, his body throbbed with unfinished heat.

--

Unlike the silent villa, Gepard’s mind was a cacophony of sounds. The downpour of his thoughts accompanied that of the water. It sprayed the shower’s tiles, like Gepard’s mulling over thrummed his brain.

Sampo murmuring his pet name overlapped with his shameless moans in Gepard’s fantasies. The reverie full of passion had returned to torment him with a desperate need.

Gepard pressed his palms on the shower’s wall. He looked down at himself and shook his head.

He shouldn’t do something like that. Pain piercing his crotch or not, rubbing it out while thinking about Sampo didn’t sound morally compliant to Gepard’s sensible side. He shut his eyes. What he had done in the alley with Sampo wasn’t morally compliant either.

Gepard clenched his jaw. He knew Sampo had probably brushed that little “incident” off his mind. It irked the Landau. Did Sampo realise he had Gepard at his mercy? A pretty mess who had rutted against him so eagerly. Such a greedy accomplice. Gepard didn’t regret kissing him at all.

The only regret he had was that he didn’t touch Koski harder.

The Landau cracked his eyes open. He grasped at his own mouth. Madame Brughel or Sampo Koski…

Gepard felt nonetheless lured by that fraudster either way. The burning passion that devoured his heart was for his archenemy: he needed to come to terms with it.

With a sigh, Gepard looked down at himself again. He clenched his jaw and touched his crotch.

He would regret it in the morning.

Chapter Text

Arms crossed on his chest, Gepard nervously bounced his leg under the table. He listened to the third suspect of that day ramble about alibi and excuses.

The victim’s wife lamented the cool temperatures of the interrogation room at least three times. She often broke her deposition with, “Oh, why it’s so cold in there!” and, “Interrogating suspects like this is so rude.” She made the chief inspector and his vice lose count of how many times she repeated the word “innocent”. As much as she’d been labelled as a suspect in the files, nobody had accused her of homicide.

Gepard sighed. He needed a break: they had been conducting interrogations since the eighth of that morning. He had a vague hunch of who had killed that noble. The killer was his wife, most certainly. But Gepard needed to clear his mind for a moment. He left the poor Dunn to continue alone.

He was ready to collapse in his office chair just for a few seconds. The previous day — with its murderous novice and little, lewd intercourse — left Gepard’s mind in a fog of regrets and mixed desires. He couldn’t focus like that: not if Sampo’s face and voice continued to thrum his brain.

Gepard rubbed his face. Just when he opened the door of his office, an agent stopped him. “Sir. There’s a woman in the hall who’s making your name,” the young agent said. “I tried to tell you’re busy, but she says it’s urgent…”

Gepard cocked a brow. Could’ve been Serval? No, she would’ve said she was his sister. He sighed. “Fine. Don’t worry,” he replied. After thanking the agent, he reached the hall. His heart almost collapsed when a familiar silhouette waved at him.  

It was Madam Brughel. Or, he should better say, Sampo Koski.

With his brain a little foggy about what had happened in the past two days, Gepard almost rushed towards the woman. The fraud. Whatever Madam Brughel wanted to be called. His head spun.

With a frustrated sigh, Gepard grabbed Sampo by his arm and dragged him into the corridor, away from curious eyes. “What are you doing here?” He whispered, sizing up the woman. He noticed Madam Brughel didn’t wear either her white fur or anything ostentatious like she did the night of the gala (her velvety red dress was still engraved in Gepard’s mind). Still, there was something eye-catching about her grey skirt and black turtleneck. A fur that resembled that of a snow leopard slid over her shoulders in a quite lascivious way. The delicate pearl necklace was the cherry on top. Gepard could say he felt hot because of the department’s heating system. A pity that the stove in the basement needed to be repaired and that the whole building was rather cold.

Madam Brughel pursed her lips in a soft grin. She didn’t need to be languid that morning to have the detective’s attention. “Don’t be such a rude man, Mr Landau!” She laughed. “I thought you enjoyed my company last night.”

Closing his eyes, Gepard pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Sampo’s strained moans in the alley overlapped the voice of his womanly counterpart. “Don’t say it like that,” he replied, opening his eyes again. “I did not, however. You lied to me, Sa – Lady Poisson,” he corrected himself, fearful someone might hear him.

Madam Brughel bore her eyes in Gepard’s. The latter felt like he could combust. “Oh, come on, captain,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You enjoyed it, like you enjoyed the little encounter with a friend of mine in the alley yesterday.” She leaned over, blue hair brushing her shoulder (Gepard wondered where Sampo could find wigs of such excellent quality), and whispered, “Don’t lie to me, Geppie.”

Gepard felt a shiver run down his spine at the diminutive. His heat rippled to his ears once more. Madam Brughel’s voice was like a sweet melody… “Be careful with your words. I’m at work,” he murmured, crossing his arms on his chest. He didn’t deny Sampo’s remark about their encounter.

Madam Brughel stretched out a hand and brushed her fingers over Gepard’s bicep. “Listen, sweetie,” she said. That word made the detective wrinkle up his nose. Sighing, she continued, “This friend of mine wants to see you tonight. Can you make it possible?”

Gepard knew what Madam Brughel was referring to. Listening to Sampo’s other identity talking about himself like that creeped him a little. Still… “Depends on who this friend of yours is,” he whispered back. He reciprocated Madam Brughel’s lazy gaze.

Lady Poisson cocked a brow, amused. “Tsk-tsk. You know who it is.” She curled her fingers around Gepard’s bicep and squeezed it. “And, again, don’t lie to me. You want to see him as well.”

Gepard uncrossed his arms. “Fine.”

“Good!” Madam Brughel smiled. She pulled something out of her black purse. “Don’t delude him.” She handed Gepard a piece of paper. When he took it, she gently gripped his arm and made him lean over. Unexpectedly, she pressed a firm kiss on his cheek. After she left, waving and saying, “See you tonight, Mr Landau.”

The hall heard Madam Brughel loud and clear. Gepard wanted to bury himself in the ground. He crumpled the piece of paper in his hand, brushing his fingers on his cheek. When he looked at his pads, he realised Lady Poisson had smudged her dark-red lipstick on his skin. “Damned you, Sampo Koski,” he hissed between his teeth. Then, glancing at his fisted hand, he uncurled his fingers. He read the piece of paper.

“Tonight, 7:00 p.m., Nat & Family. Don’t delude your favourite criminal, my captain!”

To crown that oddly elegant calligraphy, the shape of a kiss tinted the paper with red. Gepard couldn’t help but sigh Sampo’s name again. He hoped that the fraud wasn’t trying to scam him.

--

The nagging idea that Sampo wanted to bury Gepard’s reputation in the mud came to his mind too late. Elbows resting on the counter, and his leg bouncing nervously, Gepard waited for Koski at Nat & Family. Just as that fraudster had asked him. The thought of Sampo Koski trying to blackmail him for dear life was something very tangible. But if Gepard counted in the way that fraud had rubbed against him ferally, that thought deglazed.

Gepard bit his thumbnail. The lewd thought of Sampo wanting something carnal from him that night suddenly thrummed his brain. He was not disgusted by the idea, still…having sex with his archenemy?

Gepard gulped down the beer he had ordered. He couldn’t bear it. Well, he couldn’t bear the wait. If Sampo didn’t show his ass within minutes, Gepard would be prone to think he really had been scammed.

A strong pat on his shoulder made him rethink it. “Captain!” Sampo greeted him with the most amicable grin he could muster. “You actually came.”

Gepard coughed. He pushed Sampo away quite brutally. “Damn, Koski!” He almost choked on the beer. Facing Sampo, his heart plunged into his stomach. With a reddish foulard around his neck, shirt unbuttoned that much to reveal skin on his chest, and blue hair barely pomaded, Koski was beautiful. He was oddly beautiful, and Gepard couldn’t deny it anymore. How did it come that he was noticing that now? Gepard clenched his jaw. He was tempted to stretch a hand and adjust that bang that partly covered Sampo’s left eye.

But Koski looked at him with a languid gaze and deepened his grin, and Gepard had to hold back. “Drinkin’ without your guest is rude, Geppie,” he quipped. He then tipped his head at the young man behind the counter and said, “Luka, bring some strong liquor to the usual table.”

Gepard cocked a brow. “‘Usual’ table? Do you…” He waved his hand, hoping Sampo would catch his hint.

Sampo actually did, and laughed. “What? No. It’s for working purposes.” When Gepard pushed away from the counter, Koski guided him towards a quiet corner in the pub. As they took a seat in front of each other, Sampo added, “Not those kinds you think of. Hm…you’re the first, actually.”

The little giggle that escaped Sampo’s mouth made Gepard’s cheeks bloom with heat. “So now I’m a client?” He grumbled, leaning back on the seat and crossing his arms on his chest. He scoffed. “I knew it. I knew I was being—”

“Whoa, Geppie! Slow down a moment,” Sampo cut him off, leaning forward on the table. He rested his chest on his crossed arms, baring the skin even more. “I didn’t say anything about ‘clients’ and ‘money’. Unless you want to pay, ‘course…” His languid grin pursed his lips again.

Gepard tried not to glance down. Otherwise, the temptation to rip that foulard off Sampo’s neck and completely unbutton his shirt would take over his sensible side. “You do not disappoint. As always,” he sighed.

“Well, you came on your own volition. You can walk out of this place whenever you want. But you aren’t doing that,” Sampo replied. His green eyes bore into those cerulean of Gepard. “Which means only one thing, Geppie.”

Gepard averted his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he murmured.

The waiter brought them a strong liquor and two little glasses. Sampo brought his attention to the young man and said, “Thank you, Luka,” before returning to look at Gepard as the young man left. He poured liquor into both their glasses. “No. You know, Geppie,” he remarked. “You’re the one who started everything.”

Gepard wrinkled up his nose. He uncrossed his arms and stretched them on the table. He slouched over his seat and looked down at the little glass full of alcohol. “You enjoyed it,” he murmured. Still incapable of looking at Koski in the eyes, he continued, “But I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

Sampo sighed. “You’re right. In fact, after years of this ‘cat-and-mouse’ play, that was a must.” He bumped his knee against that of Gepard’s.

Gepard winced. He raised his look. Sampo smiled at him, raising his glass to say, “Cheers,” silently.

Adjusting on the chair, the Landau did the same. He gulped down the liquor in one go. Slamming the glass on the table, he leaned over and whispered, “You hoped for that.” Blond tufts fell on his face. He dragged a hand down his face and peered at Sampo. “You wished that to happen.”

Koski’s cheeks bloomed with faint pink. “Hm.” He sipped at his liquor, oddly less confident than before. “Who can tell if you kept me pressed against the wall?” He laughed it off and added, “I just took advantage of it for a little respite.”

Gepard pushed back on his seat. His nostrils flared. Talking about sex or anything else physical didn’t disturb him. It was the way the discourse was put that embarrassed him. “You—” Gepard cut himself off alone. He already knew where the conversation was about to bump. “Then why would you contact me after? In that way, moreover.” He felt hot. He had to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. He crossed his arms on his chest. “I didn’t like your little foolish play.”

Sampo cocked a brow. He put aside the half-empty glass of liquor. He didn’t seem to appreciate alcohol that much. “I thought otherwise,” he replied, resting his chin on his hand. “You seemed very into it.” His lips pursed in the most malicious grin Gepard had ever seen.

The Landau scoffed. He ignored Sampo, whose eyes were shamelessly taking bites of every inch of his chest and arms. “No. It was weird. Don’t do it ever again.” He regretted saying it a little. He sounded as if there could be the possibility that they would see each other again. He mentally groaned at the thought that he wouldn’t be displeased by that.

“Oh, Geppie,” Sampo laughed, languid. He was confident again. “Lady Poisson is me. I am Lady Poisson. We’re the same person. That’s not weird.”

Gepard splayed a hand on the table. “Well, it’s you who acted as if you and Madam Brughel are two completely different people.” He bore his eyes into Sampo’s. It wasn’t easy. The conman’s gaze was so intense that it burned Gepard’s face.

Koski deepened his lascivious grin. “I just thought you were into such kinds of things. You know.” He leaned over, crossing his arms under his chest again.

Gepard tried not to look at the exposed skin. “You always think wrong,” he replied. He grinned and bluffed, “I made you too cunning. You’re less keen than I thought, Koski.”

Sampo sighed. “Stop blabbering, Geppie.” He traced the glass rim with his forefinger, a little pensive. After a while, he glanced at Gepard again. In his face, there was no shame when he said, “I’m aware of you in the most intimate way. Nowadays, I can decipher any of your reactions. Yours aren’t impulsive acts out of rage. After years, I can tell what you want. I know why you’re so obsessed with me.”

Heat rippled to Gepard’s neck and ears. It burst inside his chest, devouring blood as Sampo’s words struck him. “Drop the act, Sampo,” he murmured, averting his gaze. “What do you want? Why did you want to see me?” He glanced at the door of the staff’s room at the end of the pub’s corridor. “I want to hear the real reason.”

Unexpectedly, Sampo stretched out a hand. He brushed it against that of Gepard on the table. “This is the real reason, Gepard,” he replied, his tone a lot softer than his usual. “I mean it.” His eyes searched for the Landau’s.

Gepard clenched his jaw. He didn’t push Koski’s hand away. When he finally looked at Sampo, he noticed a soft light in the other man’s eyes. “You lie,” he murmured. But he knew Sampo wasn’t. And that was what probably terrified him the most.

Koski puffed out a laugh. It wasn’t languid. It was soft. Oddly soft. “I wish, Gepard.” He squeezed the Landau’s hand. “But I fear the feeling is mutual.”

Gepard’s heart plunged into his guts. His breath trembled. Sampo wasn’t calling him “Geppie” or “Captain” as he would normally do. He was calling him by his name.

And it sounded tremendously sweet in Sampo’s mouth.

Gepard let out a trembling breath. He had lain with so many men…why would Sampo be different? It’d be a swift night. They would fuck as they were eager to do, and then they would return to their daily routine – both working their separate jobs and Gepard chasing Sampo down Belobog’s streets.

That would only be an occasional night. Only one.

“You called me to finish what we’ve started,” said Gepard. “I guess you’re a lot busier, usually.” He tried to sound confident, to look at Sampo in the eyes while telling so. He could, of course. He wasn’t an adolescent anymore. Still, heat nonetheless spread throughout his body. Sucking in a breath, he grabbed Sampo’s hand in his. He brushed his thumb beneath the other man’s palm, gently. “So, let’s not waste your precious time.”

Sampo let out a laugh. His breath trembled a little. The faintest pink blossomed on his usual pale cheeks. “You’re right,” he murmured, an odd, genuine smile scrunching his eyes. “Let’s finish what we’ve started. I hate leaving things incomplete.”

--

The drive to the nearest hotel was, all in all, less embarrassing than Gepard had imagined. Sampo did not tease him. He instead asked…questions about his private life. He’d gotten interested in him. That made Gepard’s heart pump loudly more than a kiss. He didn’t know why. When it had been Sampo’s turn to tell his daily life, those words filled him more than sex. It’d been weird.

After Gepard paid the hotel room twice its price (he needed to quieten his own paranoid fears), he and Sampo walked upstairs and snuck inside it silently.

They didn’t talk for the first few minutes. They only asked each other’s preferences, and after agreeing on who would do what, Sampo disappeared into the bathroom. He was fine with Gepard stretching him before the act; he only said he needed time to wash up.

Gepard took advantage of the moment to undress. To mull over what he was doing, mainly. He couldn’t, though. Just when he’d taken off his coat and unbuttoned his shirt, Sampo was in the room again. He kept only his shirt and underwear. He tossed his pants on the ground carelessly and kicked his shoes away.

Gepard didn’t say anything. He gave his back to the other man.

Sampo plunged to sit at the edge of the bed. “You sure train a lot,” he commented just when Gepard took off his shirt and shoes.

Gepard scowled and faced Sampo. He didn’t reply. Mouth sealed, he reached the other man and kneeled between him. It was like in the reverie of passion that it had bloomed in his mind when he was at the office. Quite similar.

Sampo propped himself on his palms. He stretched out a hand only to hook his forefinger on Gepard’s dog tag. A frown wrinkled his forehead. He let it go and brought his hand to the bed again. He didn’t purse his lips in a grin, but rather asked, “You sure ‘bout this, Gepard?” His tone, again, was soft. He didn’t comment on the dog tag. He understood. Gepard regretted his previous, offensive words.

Sampo was indeed as keen and sensitive as Gepard had pictured him.

The Landau suppressed a shiver. Sampo’s voice was lulling. He wanted to hear his name again in Sampo’s mouth. But he couldn’t tell it to him. He didn’t want to appear too weak in front of him. “I do,” he replied, voice firm. He cupped Sampo’s knees. The skin was cold. “You?” He looked up at the other man.

Sampo smiled. Again, he was too soft. Gepard didn’t know if he could bear it. He hardly held back when Sampo buried his hand in his hair. “I’m already gettin’ on it,” he whispered. Gently, he slid his hand behind Gepard’s nape and guided him towards his crotch.

Gepard’s breath trembled. Air crackled hot. He felt both excited and anxious. He had done it so many times, but his heart nonetheless pumped loudly in his chest. Maybe it was because he was about to do that to his archenemy. To the man he should hate from the depths of his guts, but he could not.

A little impatient, Sampo tapped his fingers on the nape of the man between his legs. Gepard stopped mulling over his thoughts and began to kiss the clothed size. He teased it to its maximum, kissing and licking it through the fabric. That was how Sampo liked it. Or so he had specified to him earlier.

Sampo grunted a little when Gepard ghosted a suck at the tip. He slid his fingers up Koski’s legs. He tugged at the waistband of the underwear. He looked up, searching for consent. Sampo glanced down at him, his eyes a little hazy with a beginning pleasure, and nodded.

Gepard did not lose time. He couldn’t stop his fingers from trembling a little when he stripped Sampo of his underwear. The other man thumbed his nape in reassuring motions. Gepard felt oddly comforted. Maybe that was why he felt nervous: Sampo was incredibly soft. He’d expected him to seek something rough.

A wrong expectation.

Gepard’s last experiences had left a bitter taste in his mouth. They’d made him forget that there were people who still wanted to be treated gently. Or, who wanted to treat their partners gently.

Gepard did not indulge himself in such thoughts too much. He was with Sampo, doing it with him. He realised he wanted to enjoy every minute of it. And he oddly hoped to hear his name leaving that sharp yet sweet mouth again.

He wanted to hear his name murmured with pleasure.

Well, the opportunity was served on a silver plate: Gepard could try. A little, sudden smile pursed his lips. Almost eager, Gepard grabbed Sampo’s length. Then, gentle but not timid, he took him in his mouth.

Sampo winced. He clutched the detective’s hair a little tighter. Strained moans slowly left his mouth. Gepard was again surprised by how little control Koski had. He couldn’t smile, with him in his mouth, but he really wanted to. Instead, to prove how amused he was, he filled his mouth with more of it. Little by little. Sampo’s breath increased. Gepard’s cheeks heated up as he heard such a sweet melody.

Sampo had to curl up on himself. He grunted, two of his hands now clutching Gepard’s hair. His breathing increased, accompanied by loud moans.

Gepard’s knees hurt. His jaw ached. He himself began to feel wet between his legs. But he was more eager to give Sampo pleasure than to feel it. It made him excited. After a few seconds, he looked up to check on the man he was sucking off. Koski was on the verge of releasing, brows knitted with pleasure.

Sampo did not, of course, moan Gepard’s name. Before orgasming, he tugged at the other man’s hair, murmuring with strained breath only, “I’m near.” Just that, alone. Not, “Gepard, I’m near.”

A warning, right. Gepard emptied his mouth and pulled away. He tried to ignore how Koski’s words affected him. He pressed his palm on Sampo’s length and thumbed the tip. It helped the other man to finally orgasm. It dirtied his shirt.

Gepard moved away, pushing up from the ground. His own crotch hurt, telling him he needed to relish it too.

Panting, Sampo said, “Condoms are in the pockets of my pants.” He raked a hand through his already messy hair. He did not try to sit, and still lay on the bed.

Gepard put a hand in his pants pocket. “Keep them for you. I have mine.” After he’d pulled out a condom, he tossed it next to Sampo. The latter sighed, resting the back of his hand on his forehead.

His fingers steadier than before, Gepard unbuckled his belt and took off his pants. Before stripping off his own underwear, he said, “We can stop it here if you do not want.” It was both to have full consent and…because Sampo already looked worn out.

Sampo snorted. Gepard’s offer made him sit on the bed in a frenzy. “You didn’t relish. If you – If you don’t want to fuck, I can suck you off, too,” he proposed. He sounded a little eager. His eyes wandered over Gepard’s lower body. He visibly, almost comically, bit his bottom lip.

Gepard scoffed. He slid his underwear off, then his socks. He tossed both on the ground. “That’s not what I meant.” He put a hand on his hip. “Stop staring as if it’s some kind of trophy.”

Sampo couldn’t hold back a laugh. He finished unbuttoning his shirt and took it off, sticky now. “You should consider it as a sort of,” he quipped.

“Ludicrous,” said Gepard. That only made Sampo laugh more.

Gepard rolled his eyes. Ignoring Sampo’s giggles, he crossed the room only to reach his coat on coffee table. He searched for a napkin. After, he reached the bed again to crouch on the ground and carefully cleaned Sampo’s tip. Koski cocked a brow. He didn’t comment on it, though.

Gepard tossed the napkin on the ground and looked up at Sampo. Green eyes glanced back at him. Rosy lips were softly parted. A dream-like expression veiled his face. His cheeks were pink from the previous heated intercourse.

Gepard’s breath trembled. It would be only a night, yet he couldn’t deny he’d miss such a presence. Sampo was comfortable in his own way, even if they really hadn’t done anything too heated yet. Gepard sighed. He rested his head on Sampo’s knee, closing his eyes just for a moment.

When Sampo placed a hand on his face and ran it down, Gepard opened his eyes again. Koski pursed his lips into a smile. His caresses were gentle, comfortable even. Gepard relished in the moment, folding his hands on his lap. His crotch hurt, but he did not want to do it yet. He wanted Sampo to reassure him just a little. Gepard had asked him that earlier, but as long as it was part of what they had agreed on before getting physical, Sampo seemed partly genuine in his cuddles. The Landau completely relaxed under his touch.

Sampo thumbed Gepard’s cheekbone. He ran the back of his hand on it, after, lips still pursed in a sweet smile. He raked his fingers through Gepard’s hair, twirling his forefinger around a blond tuft. He then grasped Gepard’s chin and tilted his head up.

Gepard grabbed Sampo’s wrist. He gently peeled the hand away and pushed up from the ground. He looked down at Sampo. The other man knitted his brows. The room buzzed with an electric silence. Gepard sighed out a breath and leaned over. As he cupped Sampo’s face, he brought his lips to those of the other man.

Koski’s breath trembled. He grabbed Gepard’s wrists and let him kiss him.

The kiss was not rushed as that in the alley. Gepard took his time – the night was still young. He indulged himself in tasting Sampo’s lips. The sound of their smooching overlapped the electric silence. Gepard pushed Sampo up the bed, climbing on it after him. He was still grasping at the other man’s face, refusing to pull away from the kiss.

Sampo complied. He ran his hands up Gepard’s arms and curled his fingers behind the latter’s shoulders. He pulled him close, splaying his palms on the skin. His pads traced the muscles on Gepard’s back, which flexed the faintest at every touch. Gepard moved his lips to kiss the corner of Sampo’s mouth. He pecked the other man’s cheeks.

In that moment, they were not the criminal and the detective hating each other on the streets. There was something untold between them, which Gepard could not describe as anything but a pull towards each other.

He wasn’t even sure if he’d ever hated Sampo, and vice versa, in the first place.

With a greed he’d never thought he would nourish, Gepard began to gnaw at Sampo’s collarbone. He propped on his elbows and brushed his hands over the other man’s waist. It was a simple gesture, but he’d never gotten so intimate with a one-night stand before.

Gepard realised he wanted more of that.

He brought his lips to Sampo’s chest. He lingered kisses on the other man’s skin, trailing his lips down his abdomen. He trailed up again, brushing Sampo’s pectoral.

Koski brought his fingers to Gepard’s hair and caressed his blond tufts. He thumbed the Landau’s nape. Soft murmurs left his mouth as Gepard kept pecking his pectoral. When he gently bit at it, Sampo winced a little.

Gepard pulled away, stopping the little, intimate sequence of kisses. Sampo sighed, as if displeased. Gepard cocked a brow. He could not suppress a little grin from pursing his lips. He lingered a look over Sampo’s face, then grabbed the condom on the bed.

With a sigh, Sampo offered Gepard help to slide it on. They did not talk. They did not, not while Gepard put on the condom, nor when Sampo turned to lie on his stomach.

The electric silence stilled in the room as Gepard brought his lips to Sampo’s back and kissed it. He took a moment to linger his eyes on Koski’s silhouette: slender, but not excessive, a hint of muscle flexing at the slightest touch. Those were the muscles of someone who had to train on the streets.

With trembling breath, Gepard stretched Sampo to prepare him. Again, they were silent. Sampo was propped on his elbows, forehead pressing on the pillows as he grunted the slightest. He opened his mouth only to say, “That’s enough. You can do it.”

Gepard obliged. He grabbed Sampo by his waist and pushed himself inside him. He did it gently and slowly. Koski’s soft grunts overlapped with those of Gepard. More than an act of love, it felt like something done out of pragmatic need. It partly was. Their feelings for each other were still entirely crude, unshaped beneath a turmoil of confusion and greediness.

They could’ve waited before clinging to each other and devouring their flesh. But their bodies’ primal necessities spoke for themselves first.

Gepard, all in all, could still say he was seeing stars. Excitement mixed with a turmoil of thoughts as he kept thrusting his hips against those of Sampo. Their grunts became a lump of overlapped moans. Sweat soon collected on their bodies. Sampo trembled beneath Gepard and moaned shamelessly. He was so pleased that those noises helped fuel Gepard’s orgasm alone.

Gepard dug his fingers into Sampo’s waist, too deep into the flesh as he continued his thrusting. He did not know what to feel. He was about to orgasm, but as a burning pleasure grew inside him, a lump formed in his throat. He did not know why, but he wanted to cry. All of a sudden, he felt filthy. He felt like he was using Sampo only for sex. Which was true, and Sampo was okay with that. Yet it felt wrong to him.

Gepard realised he did not want only sex from Sampo. He did not want to satisfy only the desire of the flesh. He wanted something else, but he wasn’t sure if Sampo would be fine with it.

Sampo grunted again, coming for a second time. Gepard did not linger on how the other man could easily come only with anal. He kept moving until he orgasmed too. He tried to focus on Sampo’s warmth, on his soft grunts and last moans as he orgasmed.

He could not.

The lump in Gepard’s throat grew as his burning passion did. A suffocated sob escaped his mouth. Gepard clenched his jaw and pressed his forehead against Sampo’s shoulder. Silent tears began to roll down his cheeks. As if it were more a duty than an act of personal pleasure, Gepard continued to thrust his hips. His last moans mixed with the faintest sobs. He hoped Sampo did not hear him.

As he finished, Gepard collapsed on Sampo’s back, making the latter plunge against the mattress. He puffed out a trembling breath. He buried his face into Sampo’s crook of the neck without even thinking – as if he were searching for some comfort.

Koski faintly coughed. “You’re heavy, captain,” he softly giggled. His voice was croaky and breathless.

Gepard held back from nuzzling his face into Sampo’s neck and murmured instead, “Sorry.” He hated that Sampo didn’t call him by his name. He gently pulled out after. An act that oddly made him feel extremely empty. As he sat by the end of the bed, he said, “Wait here.” He looked at the other man over his shoulder.

Sampo snorted. “Where could I go, captain?” He quipped. “I’m not the type who runs away after.” He turned his face on the pillow and wrinkled up his nose at the Landau.

Gepard ignored the affection that was bubbling up in his chest. “Neither am I,” said he.

Sampo softly smiled. His gaze was as intense as ever, except it was not languid as usual. It did something to Gepard’s stomach. He wanted to hug Sampo and plead with him to murmur his name. He wanted Koski to comfort him.

But that was only a one-night stand, dictated by their primal needs more than their sensible side. Sampo had reached out to him for that, and not for anything else.

Gepard did not indulge in looking at Sampo. He would collapse, otherwise. With a sigh, he left the bed and walked to the bathroom. He only needed it to take off the condom, clean himself up and wet a towel. After, he returned to the bedroom and crouched on the bed. He always did everything with practical manners.

Sampo winced a little as Gepard gently dabbed his entrance. Gepard resisted the urge to lean over, kiss Sampo’s head and say, “I’m sorry. Next time I’ll be gentler,” because they weren’t boyfriends. And there wouldn’t be a next time. Gepard knew it, but it nonetheless pained him.

Sampo rolled on his back and let Gepard clean up his sticky stomach and length. He broke the silence only to ask, “Are you always this gentle? It’s not necessary.”

Gepard wrinkled up his nose as he tossed the towel on the ground. The pavement was an utter mess of clothes, a napkin and now the towel. He moved away from between Sampo’s legs and collapsed on the other side of the king-sized bed. “I just wanted to,” he replied, giving the other man his back.

Sampo hummed. “Thank…you.” He was hesitating.

Gepard pulled the blankets up on him, ears red with no reason at all. He was only surprised by Sampo’s hesitation and his murmured thank you. He did not reply.

Sampo sighed. “I’ll wash up,” he announced. He obtained only a soft grunt from Gepard as a reply. With another sigh, Sampo murmured, “It’s seldom that people clean after the mess they make. I can’t tell you if you did it because your righteousness or somethin’ else.”

Gepard’s ribcage clenched around his heart. He wanted to turn, grab Sampo and fess up to him the passion he felt for him. But that would probably make Sampo grab his things and run away terrified, so he just shut up.

The rustle of sheets announced that Sampo had left the bed. After, he clicked the light switch. The bedroom plunged into a faint, almost romantic darkness: a pale moonlight seeped through the velvety curtains. With a sigh, Sampo murmured, “Fine, captain.” He sounded wounded. The bathroom door slammed after him.

Gepard tried to focus on the sound of water spraying on the shower tiles, rather than on his own thoughts. The reverie of passion was still in the back of his mind. Now it’d been replaced by a bubbling affection, which simmered in his chest and guts.

Gepard closed his eyes. Sampo was again in the middle of this newborn love’s bonfire.

--

It was probably past midnight when Gepard woke up. His ears were thrumming loudly. He was panting; his lungs felt heavy, as if full of water. It felt as if the ribcage was piercing them. Gepard felt startled. He’d heard a loud boom. Or had it just been his mind?

Gepard opened his eyes and sat on the bed. His breath came out ragged. He couldn’t think straight – not with all that darkness. Where was he? It couldn’t be that he was still there. But no one screamed. No one cried. Everything was silent. It scared him even more.

Tears rolled down his cheeks. Gepard brought a hand to his chest and curled his fingers around his dog tag. It was warm – no. It was hot like his whole body. Gepard couldn’t stop crying. He wiped away his tears with his wrist, but they continued to come out. He gripped his dog tag tightly, as if it could give him comfort.

He remembered he wasn’t alone when a hand touched his shoulder. Gepard winced. Sampo’s touch brought him to reality. It did partly; Gepard continued to cry. Through blurry vision and darkness, he searched for Sampo’s familiar silhouette. He needed comfort. He couldn’t find himself caring about their weird situation, nor how odd it was wanting to be comforted by his archenemy. He was too confused by his sudden fear.

Gepard scooted close to Sampo, hugging him tightly. If Koski was surprised by that, he didn’t show it.

“Hey,” Sampo whispered. His voice was sweet. He embraced Gepard and leaned on the headrest. “Hey, Gepard,” he whispered again, “that’s okay. It probably was a nightmare.”

Gepard placed his head onto Sampo’s chest. His skin was warm, and his embrace was oddly reassuring. He focused on his heartbeat: Sampo was alive. Gepard let out a trembling breath and nuzzled so close that his whole body pressed against that of the other man. He nodded vigorously and clung even more to Sampo, their limbs almost intertwining.

Again, if Sampo was irritated by that, he did not show it. He caressed Gepard’s head, raking his finger through his hair. “It’s over,” he whispered, reassuringly. “You’re safe.” He ran his hand behind Gepard’s nape, over his shoulder. He placed a kiss atop his head.

Gepard should’ve found it weird. He did not. He hugged Sampo tightly, terrified the other man could slide away — he could die. A gulped sob of fear made his body tremble. Sampo placed another kiss atop his head, always murmuring, “You’re safe, Gepard.”

Gepard’s lips trembled. Hearing his name was reassuring. Sampo’s cuddles were reassuring. As he couldn’t cease to cry, Gepard realised he did not want Sampo to leave. “Don’t go away,” he sobbed.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sampo whispered back. He hugged Gepard tightly and curled up to rub his cheek against the other man’s hair. “You’re safe ‘nd sound. Not alone, not out there. You’re safe, with…” He trailed off. He sighed and kissed the Landau’s head again.

Gepard could not hold himself back from murmuring, “…I’m with you. Tell me I’m safe with you.” He did not care what Sampo would think. He needed to hear it. To calm down.

Sampo’s breath trembled as he whispered, “You’re safe, Gepard. You’re safe with me.” Even if he’d hesitated in his words, his grip did not relax around Gepard. In a mere attempt to quip, he added, “Your favourite criminal is here. Okay?”

Gepard, between a sob and another, grunted, “Stop with that, Sampo,” he whispered. “You’d be my favourite even if not a criminal.” He did not really care if Sampo understood that or not. He did not care if his words were weird. He just needed to blurt out everything, so he’d not feel oppressed anymore.

Sampo, on the other hand, let out a loud sigh. As he murmured, “I know, Gepard. I know,” he squeezed the Landau even tighter in his embrace.

Gepard relaxed a little. His name in Sampo’s mouth was the sweetest melody he’d ever heard.