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You were remarkably poor at saying no.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. You were quite good at saying no to most people - “protecting your peace,” you liked to say.
At first, Gepard had been no different. It had been easy to say no when you both stood on opposite sides of the conflict, when you looked at him and only saw a mindless follower, incapable of considering the unjust treatment he enforced for Cocolia. Even after everything had calmed down and he’d apologized, you only said yes when it was truly needed; but if the guards were capable, then it wasn’t your priority.
Until it was. Until you were stumbling into a hotel far past sundown after a training session that went too long. Until you were hauling pounds of extra supplies to the outposts. Until you were subtly urging Himeko and Welt to stop back at Jarilo VI between almost every mission just for the sake of checking in.
At some point, you’d started to see a kind, easily flustered captain with too much weight on his shoulders when you looked at him. His stubbornness had gone from aggravating to charming, his face from quite punchable to handsome.
At some point, you’d found yourself unable to refuse him. To stay away.
Which was how you’d ended up in the snowy outskirts of Belobog with Gepard at your side.
“There’s been some centralized activity to the south,” he’d said, at least having the sense to look apologetic, after requesting your presence within a day of your most recent steps back on the planet. “We’re spread pretty thin right now and I was hoping you’d join me in checking it out - if you’re willing, of course.”
You had made a show of considering before saying, “I suppose I can spare my expertise,” with a pleased grin that you suspected belied the fact that you were going to say yes before the question had finished leaving his lips.
It had gone smoothly. At first.
The fighting wasn’t an issue. You and Gepard made a rather formidable duo; he always had your back, shield at the ready, and made cutting down the fragmentum monsters relaxing in a way. You hadn’t found anything particularly out of the ordinary, just many of the creatures grouped in the area, and you spent the afternoon clearing them out.
No, the fighting was easy. The trouble came on a whipping, freezing wind, dragging along a blizzard that had encased you both in a matter of minutes.
The cold wasn’t so bad, not with the trailblaze keeping you warm, but the snow had soaked you to the bone and you could hardly see five paces ahead. It was all you could do to keep your sights on the bright blue accents of Gepard’s uniform as he led you towards some unknown destination. He’d simply grabbed your hand and began walking, yelling something over the wind that you couldn’t hear, and you followed without question.
It could’ve been minutes you trudged through the growing snowdrifts, or it could’ve been hours. You weren’t sure by the time the ghost of a dark, rectangular figure began to take shape on the horizon.
As you got closer, you could make out a small, wooden building, worn and weathered but still standing. Gepard’s hand slipped out of yours to open the door and step just inside the frame, guiding you in, so in you went.
The space was spartan and rather cramped. It held three simple cots along one wall and a fireplace across from them, everything open except for a tiny, enclosed room in the far corner that you suspected held a bathroom. There were boxes and shelves storing everything from blankets to weapons to food. None of it luxurious, to be sure, but sustenance nonetheless.
The door shut behind you with a creak and you turned to see Gepard leaning back against the wood. His blond hair was soaked, plastered to his flushed face, and you couldn’t help but smile at the cute, disgruntled frown that furrowed his brows.
“I deeply apologize for getting you caught up in this,” he said with a heavy sigh. “There were no signs of a storm rolling in before we left.”
You crossed your arms over your chest, though unable to keep the hint of a grin from tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Indeed, I expect some serious compensation. Several meals, perhaps a residence. A new loft in Belobog sounds nice.”
“I’m sure we can arrange that,” Gepard said with a huff of a laugh. He then pushed off the door and walked past you, shifting through some of the stacked wooden boxes.
You watched the elaborate fabric across his back stretch and lax as he knelt down to unlatch a container, continuing, “It’s no problem. Things like this happen. Perhaps the gods decided I was due to be humbled.”
After a moment, the box thudded closed and Gepard stood back up, turning to face you with an outstretched hand that now gripped some pieces of fabric. There was a small smile gracing his lips as he said, “Humble is the last thing you need to be.”
“Dangerous to give me permission to let my head grow,” you warned. You took the offerings, fingers working across the soft, heavy fabric of the shirt and pants. “I might never find a hat that fits again.”
“We’ll have one made with the generous compensation you’ll be receiving, no?”
“Oh, you are so right.”
Gepard gestured to the clothing now hanging between your hands, looking a bit guilty. “It’s not anything particularly nice, just some extras we keep around for situations like this. It might be a bit large, but I’m sure it’ll be more comfortable for now. You’ll get sick if you stay in that.”
You looked down at yourself.
At least you’d opted to wear pants and a jacket today, rather than the usual skirts and meager outfits you typically donned. You didn’t need them to stay warm, of course, but keeping yourself dry was ideal. Not that it had worked out as planned.
“They’re just fine,” you assured him earnestly after a moment and moved to approach the furthest cot from the door.
Your bag dropped down with a wet plop on the floor, your weapon thumping against the wood a moment later. Then you turned to the wall and began to strip out of the dripping, heavy clothes.
The layers stuck to you like a second skin, resisting each movement as you unzipped the jacket and peeled off the shirt beneath. You pants provided the most trouble, not wanting to budge past your hips, but eventually relented and you were left for a moment considering.
Considering.
Perhaps it was uncouth, but you looked over your shoulder briefly to see Gepard knelt at the fireplace, back to you, and shed your undergarments as well; there would simply be no comfort with these cold, wet items still hugging your body. Then you slipped on the new long-sleeve shirt and slacks. They were simple, soft, and, most importantly, dry - if not a tad big.
You turned back around to a fire crackling behind Gepard.
“That should help,” you said as you brought your clothes over to drape on the floor in front of the fire.
When Gepard pushed off the ground and turned to face you, there was an odd look in his eyes; it was one you’d seen a few times when he hadn’t noticed your attention, though you’d yet to decipher it. The flush high on his cheekbones hadn’t subsided, but rather darkened as his gaze flicked down your form, so quick you weren’t sure if you’d imagined it. But when he smiled, it was the same kind smile as always, and he stepped out of the way so you could arrange your clothes.
“Yes, they’ll be dry in the morning if we leave them here,” he said while beginning to undo the various fastenings holding together his chestplate.
“Morning?” You blinked. “We’ll be here all night?”
“Most likely, yes. It’ll be dark soon anyway.” The chestplate unlatched and Gepard placed it onto one of the empty shelves before looking back with a long-suffering sigh. “Would you believe me if I said our storms used to be worse?”
“Gods, how bad?”
“They’d rage on for days, maybe a week if we were particularly unlucky.” There was a clank as Gepard added one gauntlet to the shelf, then the other. You were distracted for a moment by just how many straps and buckles and buttons adorned his uniform; that couldn’t possibly be efficient. “Since you guys sealed the stellaron, they’ve gradually dropped off. Now they typically last a day or so, and the winds aren’t quite so fierce.”
You whistled, gaze turning to the singular window where bullets of snow shot past the foggy glass. “I don’t even want to know what you consider fierce winds if it’s not this.”
There was a whisper in the back of your mind, like there always was, that asked how many people they’d lost in those storms; how many unmarked graves perhaps lay under the frozen ground. You reckoned everyone here, Gerard included, had seen much more suffering than they sometimes let on.
A deep chuckle drew your attention back to Gepard.
He’d turned his back to you, arms shifting as he worked off the soaked jacket. You watched, a bit transfixed, as he tugged the simple black sweater out from where it was tucked in his waistband and began to pull it over his head.
The muscles of his back rippled with each movement, pale and glistening just a bit from the remnants of the damp clothing. Your eyes tracked the curves, the lines, the few scars that discolored his skin, some darker and some near white. You wanted to map them, to learn where each wound had originated, what stories they held.
You found yourself wondering if his skin was as soft as it looked. What would it feel like to have those muscles flexing under your touch? Were his hands calloused? They must be, from the endless training and fighting. Would the scrape of them trailing up your arm, your thigh, send shivers through your body? Or perhaps he would flush his palms against your ribs as his fingertips skirted daringly close to your chest.
Reality snapped back into place as a navy shirt, a mirror to your own, slid down to cover his back.
A shameful heat crept up to your cheeks as you turned to sit in front of the fire. One hand dipped into the deep pocket of the borrowed trousers (much deeper than any of your clothing typically offered) where you had tucked your phone, pointedly ignoring the sounds of wet clothing and rustling fabric behind you.
The waterproof case March had insisted you invest in proved to be useful after all as you swiped through the home screen and opened up the messages without issue, despite the dampness that had penetrated even the deepest crevices of your bag. It was only after you had hit send on a brief note to the Astral Express group chat - Stuck in a blizzard for the night B^) don’t wait up - and immediately threw an error that you realized there was no service.
Unfortunate. But it certainly wasn’t the first time you’d disappeared for a night or two, so you figured they’d survive; probably.
You must have sighed, because suddenly Gepard’s voice was close as he said, “Yeah, the connection is unreliable out here even in the best of weather, so I wouldn’t expect anything for a while.”
You glanced up just in time to watch him take a seat beside you on the creaky, wooden floor. It was strange to see him out of uniform; even after all the time you’d spent together, it was a rare occurrence, though one that always made your stomach flip. He looked vulnerable, looked so very human. He held out a hand to you, this time with something that looked like jerky, and you gratefully accepted, unable to help the smile that unfurled as your fingers brushed ever so slightly.
There was that curious flush on Gepard’s face, not unlike the one you could still feel heating your skin. Odd.
“It’s not gourmet, but it keeps,” Gepard said as he took a bite of his own strip of meat.
“You keep saying things like that,” you huffed, “but I’m not nearly as prissy as you seem to think I am. I’ve suffered far worse meals than this.”
Gepard raised an eyebrow, amusement tugging at his features, as you brought the dry snack to your mouth. It was thick, chewy but tough, and you were sure you looked incredibly silly struggling to tear free a bite.
A pause.
“Okay, this is pretty terrible, but my point stands.”
Gepard just smiled and shook his head. “If you say so.”
“Don’t say it like you don’t believe me,” you countered, wrestling with the meat for another bite. It really was dreadful.
“I’m afraid I can’t say it any other way.”
“Just for that, I’m eating yours too.” You snatched the jerky from his hands and attempted to form some semblance of a stern frown, though it was impossible to keep the delight from peaking through. “If I puke, it’s your responsibility to clean up.”
He laughed then, a bright, clear sound that you only ever heard in these rare moments of privacy between the two of you. It was a sound you could drown in, that you would bottle and bring with you on your journeys if only it was possible. A nagging smile curved your lips, even as he said, “Not helping your case.”
“The case is already closed,” you said, but tossed the strip back to him.
-
Sleep was never easy.
On the best of nights, your dreams were filled with visions of people you didn’t remember, places you couldn’t recall. You weren’t sure they were memories; perhaps it was simply your imagination, perhaps they were dreams as normal as those of anyone else. But there was that pinprick of familiarity you couldn’t shake.
On the worst of nights, you were tumbling through space or surrounded by paling bodies. On the worst of nights, you couldn’t stop the screaming and wailing that played like a broken record in your very bones.
All that to say you often found yourself staring at the ceiling, wondering how long it would be until morning, and tonight was no different.
It had gotten dark remarkably quick, and you had both retired to the cots soon after. You’d said goodnight and took care to remain perfectly silent, even as you proceeded to spend what was probably hours counting the boards making up the roof above your head.
You had assumed Gepard had passed right out - the exhaustion was certainly eating at you, and his armor was a good deal heavier - but at some point, in the quiet and dim firelight, a strange sound caught your attention.
It could’ve been the wind or maybe fabric rustling, until you heard it again. And then again a moment later.
After a minute of simply listening, you realized that it was shivering coming from Gepard’s direction. You bit your lip, considering, before whispering his name.
There was a beat, then, “Yes?”
“I can hear you shivering.”
“I’m afraid I can’t control that.”
You rolled your eyes and sat up. In the soft, orange light you could just make out his form, two cots down and back to you, covered in what looked to be at least three blankets. You were shocked that between the covers and the fire he was still cold, but you supposed you weren’t the best judge of such things. “Do you need more blankets?”
“They’re all freezing,” he said, teeth chattering. “Think this place could use some repairs; it isn't keeping the cold out at all.”
For a moment, you just watched him, watched the subtle shaking of his shoulders. He turned to lay on his back, gaze directed at the ceiling, and you watched his breath crystallize in the air. So it was quite cold.
“Come here,” you directed, scooting over and patting the spot beside you.
Gepard sat up on an elbow and looked towards you. He blinked. It was hard to see in the scant lighting, but you swore that red flushed up his neck and cheeks. “What?” he asked a bit hoarsely.
“The trailblaze keeps me warm,” you explained. “I’m basically a personal heater, so come here.”
“That’s not - I’m - that would be terribly inappropriate,” Gepard argued, struggling to find the words, and the color in his cheeks darkened. “I’m fine, it’s just one night.”
You sighed deeply, mostly just to convey the absurdity of his objection, and said, “Gepard, it is just you and I here, and you’re going to freeze to death, so get your ass up and come lay next to me.” You patted the mattress again. “It’s nice and warm; toasty, even.”
There was a long moment of silence, but you didn’t press. You could see in the way his jaw ticked that you’d already won.
Sure enough, Gepard exhaled and shuffled out from under his blankets. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he crossed the few paces to your cot, hesitating a moment at the side before sliding in where you had pulled back your singular blanket.
To call him tense was a monumental understatement.
It was a tight fit. There was just enough space to leave an inch or two between you, but you were hyper-aware of every movement, or lack thereof. He laid like a statue next to you, staring directly up, and now that he was closer, you could definitively make out the blush that still lingered across his cheekbones and the tips of his ears.
“Can you relax?” you whispered, the words a touch biting but with no heat behind them. “You’re thinking so loud it’s going to keep me up.”
Gepard swallowed thickly before starting, “No, I really can’t. I’ve never - I’m not -,” but failed to find the words. He cut himself off with an aggravated sigh.
For a second, you wondered what exactly “he never,” but grabbed that train of thought before it could distract you and instead opted to chuckle, “You really expect me to believe you never bunked with Serval when you had a scary dream?” It was a poor attempt to lighten the mood, to relax him, but an attempt nonetheless.
“Well we’re not kids and you aren’t my sister. It’s different ,” he snapped, a sharpness to his voice that knifed through you.
“Your words make sense but your tone makes it sound like an insult.” You fully turned your body, propping up your head on one hand to get a better look at him. He was still looking at the ceiling, still lying perfectly straight, still colored by the brilliant blush. “I know I’m not your sister,” you continued, frowning, “but I thought - we’ve been through a lot together. Surely that counts for something. Or do I truly make you so uneasy?”
Finally, Gepard looked at you. His eyebrows were knitted together and his lips were curved down, but there was a familiar warmth in his eyes. The tightness in your chest eased a fraction as he said, “No, I apologize. I don’t mean it as an insult. It does count, but you - you’re not - it’s not like Serval. It’s…” The words eluded him again and he gave up, groaning and turning his head back. An arm draped over his face.
You bit your lip. Perhaps it was hopeless to try to parse through his words, but you couldn’t help it. Had you overestimated your friendship? Were you not nearly as close as you thought?
A sigh escaped you and you moved to turn back over. In readjusting, however, your fingers brushed against his own, hanging over his head in your direction, and you couldn’t stifle the quiet gasp - his skin was like ice.
He might really, truly fall ill overnight at that temperature; or worse.
“Gepard,” you murmured softly, taking his hand. You tugged, guiding him to move as you turned over, back to him. “You need to warm up, so stop being difficult.”
Perhaps he’d already frozen to death, or perhaps he was too cold and too tired to put up a fight, but mercifully he followed. His body pressed lightly against yours, chest to back, legs tucked behind yours, and he allowed you to drape his arm over your waist and stomach. The weight of it was steadying, comforting in a way you didn’t expect.
For a while, quiet overtook you both, but you knew he hadn’t fallen asleep by the thrumming pulse you could feel where your fingers still wrapped around his wrist. The rapid pace might have been concerning if not for the fact that his skin slowly began to warm.
Eventually, his voice broke through the silence. “You really do run hot.” A pause. “Thank you.”
“I’m adding space heater to my formal compensation request.”
Gepard chuckled, a deep, vibrating rumble, and his breath fanned out across your neck. It was warm, but sent goosebumps crawling over your skin nonetheless. Gradually, you began to feel him relax against you. His arm loosened, wrapped comfortably around your body, and his breathing evened out; not asleep, but also not panicking.
The quieting of the atmosphere allowed tension to release from your own muscles, as well, and a sudden wave of exhaustion swept through. Aeons, it had been a long day. Perhaps like this, with Gepard’s warmth at your back, you could have a deep, dreamless sleep.
You moved a bit, trying to readjust in the least disruptive way possible. You tucked your head further into the pillow and wiggled. A moment later, you wiggled again, and suddenly Gepard’s hand slid out from under yours and moved back to grasp your hip.
“Stop squirming,” he huffed, an odd, wobbly edge to his voice.
“Why? I won’t be doing it all night.” You resisted the urge to let too much annoyance leak into your tone at his constant obstinance. “I’m trying to get comfortable.”
“ Because ,” Gepard breathed out, nearly a hiss. When he failed to continue, your brows furrowed and you geared up to demand a proper explanation - after all, you were keeping him warm, you deserved to get sleep, too - when you felt it. Felt something pressed against your rear. Felt…
Oh.
Oh.
The air left your lungs in a quiet exhale and you went perfectly still. Gerard tried to shift back, to make it less noticeable, but there wasn’t much room on the cot meant for one and oh, now that you’d noticed it, there was no going back, no hiding it.
Your pulse fluttered, erratic in a way that matched what you’d felt in his wrist only moments ago, and now you got it - got what he was struggling to say.
He’d never been in bed with a woman. Not as an adult, not like this, with thoughts that apparently strayed far from etiquette.
Perhaps you should be offended or embarrassed. Perhaps you should be scrambling out of bed and putting space between you guys, drawing a line in the sand and staying firmly on the side of decency. Perhaps you should do so many proper things, but there was a heat flaring low in your stomach that ached, that urged, and without thinking, you found yourself wiggling your body just a bit.
Gepard’s fingers dug deeper into your hip and you could hear him swallow, could feel the uneven breath against your neck.
“What are you doing?” he asked, barely a ghost of a whisper.
You squirmed again. “Getting comfortable.”
The sound that tore from his throat when you pressed back more firmly against that hard length was positively indecent. And wonderful. And addicting. You had a feeling that it was a sound you would not soon forget, especially in those quiet nights when your hand drifted between your legs seeking release.
His breaths were shallower, quicker with each movement, his fingers gripping so hard you thought they might bruise. You hoped they would.
Let him mark you.
“Do you want to touch me?” you dared to whisper, placing your hand atop his.
Another shaky exhale, and then Gepard was shifting, tilting his head forward to lean against your own. You felt him nod, even as he muttered, “I’m sorry.”
“Touch me.”
You guided his hand over your body, sliding up your side and stopped just under your breast. There was a hesitation, fingers shaking, until your thumb brushed soothingly over his skin as encouragement, as permission, and his hand came up to fully palm your breast.
He kneaded, grasped, gentle and unsure and agonizingly soft. It was so different, so much better, when it was a hand other than your own.
Gepard’s thumb unknowingly skated across your nipple, sensitive and peaked, and you couldn’t help the quiet, breathy sigh that left your lips, couldn’t help the way you leaned back into him, into the hard line still pressed against your rear. It must have felt good for him too, because his fingers tightened on your pliable flesh and he pushed back against you just slightly.
“Gepard,” you breathed, absolutely winded, and craned your neck to look back at him. “Do you want to kiss me?”
You felt him nod again before propping himself up on an elbow. You’d never seen the look on his face before; the blush you were familiar with, of course - cute and pink across his cheeks - but it was the heat of his gaze, the parted lips and knitted brows, that sent a lick of fire straight to your core. How was it possible for simply a look to have you feeling so hot?
Soft, blond hair tickled your skin as he leaned close, forehead resting against your own. “Is that okay?”
“Kiss me.”
So he did. His hand dragged up from your breast to gently cup your cheek, your jaw, as his lips found yours for the first time. It was tentative, a ghost of a kiss, really, but it felt like coming home.
“Gods,” he exhaled, barely breaking away, then surged back in.
Your mouths moved together like a dance, in sync as if you’d practiced a thousand times when it was really just instinct and connection that drove you. Gepard’s hand crept back down, brushing over your neck and collarbone before finding your other breast. The touch had you gasping and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth.
It was foreign, warm and wet and intoxicating. He tasted earthy, faintly reminiscent of the jerky, and you wondered how it seemed so bad earlier when it was so, so good on his tongue.
You rolled onto your back and wrapped one arm around his shoulders to haul him closer. Your other hand dropped to where he was squeezing your chest, guiding it down to the hem of your shift, and he groaned into your mouth at the first brush of his fingers against your bare skin.
Gepard’s fingers skirted back up your stomach, your ribs, to grasp at your breast again, and oh, the scrape of his callouses against you was downright maddening.
You wanted to feel them elsewhere.
“Touch me,” you sighed, repeating the words from earlier against his lips. Gepard opened his eyes, those beautiful, endlessly blue eyes, and confusion cut through the lusty haze, but you could barely think, barely breathe, so you said again, “ Touch me .”
Thank the gods he understood.
His fingers were cautious, reverent, as they trailed down your body, lingering at the waistband of your loose pants before slipping under. And when he felt the lack of underthings, the curse that escaped his typically professional demeanor was filthy.
“You are…” he trailed off, gravelly, desperate. “You are unbelievable.”
“Is that a good or bad thing?”
“Good.” He slid his fingers down between your wet folds and you couldn’t possibly have held back the broken, pleading whimper if your life had depended on it. “Definitely good.”
It was like nothing you'd ever felt before. Or maybe it was, but you had no way to know; all that was left was a vague understanding of how these things worked, of what was meant to feel good. And oh, this felt good. You had never been so sensitive, where even the most miniscule movement had you arching, pushing closer to his touch.
Gepard angled his head to reclaim your lips while his fingers stroked up and down, gentle, exploring every inch of you. A sharp jolt of pleasure burned in your core when he brushed against your clit and you moaned into his mouth, unabashed.
He immediately took note of your reaction and focused his ministrations on that small bundle of nerves. His fingers circled and stroked until you were seeing white behind your eyelids, hips rolling in some desperate attempt to find that friction, that liquid fire shooting through your veins.
"Does this feel okay?" he asked quietly, the words brushing against your lips.
"Yes." It was more of an exhale, a sigh, than anything else. "Yes, gods yes."
A coil wound tighter in your stomach with each movement, each tease and press and stroke, building a tension in your muscles that could only be released in one way. Between his lips now trailing from the corner of your mouth to your jaw and his fingers between your legs, your mind was utterly blank. You just needed more. More of this. More of him.
Gepard pressed closer, his length rubbing against your hip, and that was it. That was what you needed.
“Wait,” you breathed and forced yourself to sit up, ignoring the ache that immediately built when his touch disappeared.
Concern hung on the edges of Gepard’s expression, but he was too dazed to do anything but watch as you guided him to lay on his back, quickly discarded your trousers, and climbed atop his lap. You sat back on his thighs, resisting the urge to start grinding against his tented pants, and looked down at him.
He was beautiful, really.
You’d always known Gepard was exceptionally handsome. Whenever he’d been a nuisance, it had annoyed you to the point of wanting to punch him. And whenever he’d seen his errors, had begun to atone for them, and a fragile friendship grew between the two of you, it was a whisper in the back of your mind that you tried not to dwell on.
Not that it always worked.
But looking at him below you now, with the slightly mussed hair and the pink cheeks and that glazed over adoration in his eyes, he was so very real. So very beautiful.
He wasn’t the captain of the guard or the unrelenting hand of the supreme guardian or any other of the countless titles that had been attributed to him over the years. He was just a man. Your friend. Maybe more.
Definitely more, as you placed delicate hands at the hem of Gepard’s shirt and slid it up to bunch at his chest. Your fingers danced along his muscles, featherlight as you studied the rigid lines and soft curves that flexed under your touch. And his scars, not just along his back but some marring his abdomen, as well. You traced one with a single fingertip, smooth and almost unnoticeable, then leaned down to kiss the story weaved into his skin.
Then you kissed the next one. And the next. Until you’d cherished each scar, each mark of evidence that he had suffered and survived.
When you finished and glanced up, silver lined those blue eyes; perhaps a trick of the pulsing firelight, but your heart ached nonetheless and you leaned in, hands resting on his chest, to kiss his lips this time.
It was slow, deep, the sort of kiss that made you feel safe. Gepard’s hands finally moved from the bed to slip just under your shirt. They settled on your hips, his thumbs rubbing soft, soothing circles against your skin. And you could’ve melted into him, could’ve stayed there kissing him forever if you had not been acutely aware of the hard line pressed between your stomach and his.
So you pulled back, a smile curving your lips, and met his gaze as your hands came to the waistband of his pants. “May I?”
"Yes," he exhaled, voice shaking.
You moved slowly, tugging down his waistband and the briefs underneath, and Gepard moaned, a deep, broken sound, at the first touch of your fingers wrapping around him. He was hot, so hot, and soft like velvet. Beads of liquid leaked from the tip and you swiped a thumb across, dragging the slick down to spread over his length.
Gepard's hands moved down to sink into the plush of your thighs. His breathing was ragged, chest near heaving as you curiously pumped up and down. It was odd, really, how something could feel so soft and so hard at the same time, but you liked it. And you especially liked the blissful look on his face.
There was a lot you could do, a lot you wanted to do. Taste him. Study him. See how much you could make him lose control with just your hands, just your mouth.
But there was an ache in your core, a glaring emptiness that you needed to rectify.
You shifted forward, putting your weight on your knees, and lined him up at your entrance. Before you could go any further, Gepard tightened his hold on your thighs and breathed out, "Are you sure?"
"Yes." There was no hesitation, no doubt. "Are you?"
He nodded, short and dazed, but his eyes were clear as they locked onto yours, glittering with an emotion you didn't dare to name. So you began the descent.
You went slowly, so slowly, taking inch by inch and feeling yourself stretch in a way that was new and strange, but not unpleasant. Gepard had rolled his head back against the pillow, eyes just barely open and focused on the spot where your bodies were so intimately joined. His shallow, uneven sighs matched your own until he was inside you in entirety, skin to skin, pelvis to pelvis.
It was a sense of fullness, of wholeness that you didn’t know existed beyond a vague notion. You stayed still, trying to accommodate the new sensation, the clenching you couldn’t control, and you could tell from the slight shaking of his fingers where they dug into your legs that Gepard was trying to let you. Trying to wait.
You smiled, pulling your shirt over your head, and guided Gepard’s hands up to your breasts. His touch was gentle, reverent, as he kneaded your flesh and flicked his thumbs across your nipples. And a moment later, he surprised you by sitting up, shucking off his own shirt, and taking one into his mouth.
Gepard sucked and laved, his tongue so wet, so warm as it teased your sensitive peak. You sighed, then outright moaned when you experimentally rolled your hips, burying his cock at a new angle and creating friction against your clit. And oh, the vibrations of his own groan against your breast was a particular kind of torture.
When you placed your hands on his shoulders, Gepard unlatched his mouth and cool air flushed over your skin where the remnants of his spit left you glistening. He looked up at you with an intenseness that made your stomach flutter. And when he smiled, something small and kind and unsure, you knew you were done for.
You’d do anything to see that smile every moment of every day.
So you dipped down for a brief kiss and began to move.
It started slow - lifting yourself gently up and then coming back down. Gepard had fallen back against the sheets, one arm draped across his forehead and the other back to its familiar home on your thigh. His eyes fell closed despite himself as you dragged your body up and down his length. The pace was delicious, maddeningly so.
With each rise and fall you got more confident, more desperate, until you were spilling out moans and whimpers and sighs, chest bouncing with the frantic rhythm. Gepard responded in kind, a choppy string of curses and groans slipping past his resolve.
Suddenly you were tugged down and flipped over. The bed creaked under the movement but you paid it no mind as Gepard bracketed you in, holding himself above your body, and began to thrust into you.
It was so much faster than you’d been able to go and the angle was hitting one spot just right, so right that you couldn’t see, couldn’t think. It was too much and not enough and you couldn’t do anything but wrap your arms around him, ride it out, nails digging into the firm muscles of his back.
“You’re so - so perfect,” Gepard stuttered, head buried against your neck and lips forming the praises against your heated skin. “You’re everything. Gods, I can’t - I can’t hold out.”
“Please.” You didn’t know what you were asking for, your mind full of static, full of white light and searing pleasure, but the words tumbled out unbidden anyway. “Please, please - need you.”
The sounds of skin slapping against skin, of squelching slick, of gasps and broken moans filled the quiet night air. His thrusts were erratic now, without rhythm, just desperate and clipped and so, so deep, and his pelvis rubbed against your clit with each meeting until you were dangling at the precipice.
“So close,” you whimpered, arching into Gepard’s warm chest. “Feel so good - you’re so good, Gepard. Oh gods, please .”
And that must have done something for him because he cursed and his thrusts somehow got even deeper, even harder, and you were gone, thrown over the edge and tumbling through the air. It was pleasure so acute, so overwhelming that it bordered on unbearable. You barely even registered Gepard frantically pulling out and stroking himself until ropes of white streaked across your stomach.
There was a blissful quiet in your mind and in your body as you lay there, the last waves of your climax pittering off. Had you ever been so calm? So thoroughly satisfied?
You hadn't realized you'd closed your eyes until the feeling of fabric against your skin had you blinking them open. Gepard sat on the edge of the cot with a rag in his hand, gently cleaning off the remnants of his seed. It was a rather nice view, with the trousers low on his hips and his shirt still thrown somewhere in the room.
After a quiet moment of admiring the way his muscles shifted and flexed, he said, "I'm sorry. For, uh, getting this on you."
The growing flush of his cheeks had you grinning, too downright adorable, and you resisted the urge to tease him. "Trust me, I don't mind."
Once you were clean, Gepard discarded the rag on one of the empty shelves and came to stand awkwardly beside the cot. You watched, amused, as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, some debate running wild in his head. Gods, it was endlessly endearing to see the unwavering Captain of the Silvermane Guards so nervous, so unsure.
When he was still quiet a beat later, you reached out to grab his hand and guided him back into bed beside you. The blanket was soft against your skin as you pulled it up to cover you both and turned on your side to face him. He was tense again. If you looked closely enough, you swore you could see the gears working overtime in his mind.
"Gepard."
He started, turning his head to look back at you. "Yes?"
"I enjoyed that. Did you enjoy that?"
"I enjoyed it a lot." The blush deepened, pink spreading to the tips of his ears, as he added, "I enjoy you a lot. I already did; before - before that."
Warmth bloomed in your chest. You shuffled closer, his arm opening obediently and then curling around your back when you tucked yourself into his side. It was a perfect fit, like you were made for this, made for him. And when you tilted your head up, he was already meeting you halfway, lips pressing softly against your own.
"I quite enjoy you too."