Work Text:
It happens so fast. One minute, Land Leopard is surveying the street casually, blending into the crowds of New York despite his patrol uniform. The next, a guy goes flying through the street, ragdolling in a skew of limbs.
He’s perching on a ground-level windowsill when it happens. It’s on the corner of 6th and 49th, where he most definitely hasn’t been wistfully eyeing pastries in the bakery window. Land Leopard likes to sit high up when he can; helps him get a better view of any new territory. It goes with the name, too.
There’s construction on the corner, obstructing both drivers’ and pedestrians’ views. The car whips around the corner and straight into a lone straggler trying to cross the street.
Land Leopard throws himself into action. He sprints on all fours at top speed toward the guy, scattering passers-by with his ferocious speed and deep-throated growling.
The car peels away in a cloud of noxious smoke, rubber tires screeching on asphalt. Land Leopard coughs, trying to track the vehicle to memorize the plate number, if he can. He thinks he sees a 2, or a 3. There might be a letter mixed in there somewhere. He files the information away for later. For now, there’s a man in need of his help.
He finally reaches the guy’s side, shooing away concerned onlookers.
“I’m a professional!” He calls, crawling over the guy to shield him with his own body.
Blood gushes down the scrape on the man’s face, mixing into his shock of blond hair. His shirt has lost a few buttons up top, exposing a chiseled chest that Land Leopard’s eyes linger on for a moment too long. Similarly, his pants have split along the seam running down each side. Land Leopard spots a peek of a familiar print. Before he can reach a hand down to look further, the man’s eyes open. They’re shockingly blue.
“Sir!” Land Leopard says, patting the guy’s face. His hands are covered in black ash from touching the streets of New York. “Sir, are you alright?”
“I see stars,” the man says. His voice is accented pleasantly. The man’s eyes focus, locking with Land Leopard’s gaze. “And you must be the angel come to take me home.”
“I think you’re looking at the buildings above us,” Land Leopard says.
The man blinks. “Oh, I see.” He pushes himself up with a small groan. “What is your name, angel?”
“I’m Land Leopard,” he says. “And I’m not an angel. Just your average superhero here to help.”
“If you are not angel, why are you so beautiful?”
“Please, sir, let’s try to keep it professional,” Land Leopard deflects, cheeks warm. He can’t help it, the guy’s hot. “What’s your name?”
“I am Serge.”
“Do you feel any pain, Serge?”
“Ah, no, not when an angel is so worried about me.” He sits up. “Only my legs hurt.”
Land Leopard looks at Serge’s legs. They're both bent in the wrong direction.
“Oh my god.” He tries not to puke. “Dude, that is not right.”
“Is it bad?” Serge tries to look, and Land Leopard desperately waves his hand to distract him.
“Uh, yeah, pretty bad. We probably need to get you to a hospital?” He ends his sentence in a question. He’s not actually sure what he’s supposed to do in a real medical emergency.
Serge shakes his head vigorously. “Absolutely not. I have job I must do.”
“Serge, my guy, this is beyond even my capabilities.”
“I am already late,” Serge says. “Please, you can help me there, Mr. Land Leopard.”
Land Leopard is aghast. “Are you positive you have to go?”
“Yes.” Serge grabs a plunger and radio that had been scattered by the crash. “I have never missed a gig. I will not start now.”
“If you say so,” Land Leopard says. “Let me help you up.”
He stands, and puts his hands under Serge’s armpits. Under the thin shirt, he can feel the tight musculature of Serge’s biceps. Man, this guy is built.
“Okay,” he says. “One, two, three—“
Serge screams as Land Leopard hauls him up. His legs don’t appear to be straightening out. The poor guy stands on the sides of his feet, bow legged from his injury.
“Serge, I really don’t feel good about this.”
“No, no, I’m fine.” Serge tries to pick up his plunger, then drops it.
“Here, let me.”
Land Leopard picks up the radio and plunger in one hand. With the other, he slings Serge’s arm over his shoulder to help brace him. Now that he’s upright, Serge’s pants, that are apparently made of wet newspaper, threaten to tear away fully. Land Leopard catches an eyeful of his backside; he’s clad in tight bikini-cut leopard print bottoms. Glances down instinctively at his own matching set of shorts.
“I like your underwear,” Land Leopard croaks out.
“Ah,” Serge says, as if he’s forgotten what he’s wearing. He reaches a scraped arm to redo his pants—which are gimmicky trick-pants meant to tear away easily, on closer inspection. “Is my favorite print.” Serge looks Land Leopard up and down openly. “Both to wear, and to see others wearing.”
“You have good taste,” Land Leopard says weakly. His mouth is dry all of a sudden, and he clears his throat. “Uh, where did you say you were going? I’ll help you walk.”
“Thank you, my angel,” Serge says. “30 Rock, please.”
Land Leopard pulls his phone out of his workout belt, tapping one-handed. “Oh, that’s only one block! You were almost there.”
They set off. It’s slow going, since one of Serge’s legs drags behind him. Land Leopard is taking most of his weight—not that he minds. The man is warm against his side and back; despite being hit by a car mere minutes ago, he smells pleasantly of musk and cologne. His hand brushes against Land Leopard's bare midriff, causing goosebumps to break out across his skin.
Serge groans in pain, and Land Leopard casts about for something to distract him.
“So, where are you from?”
“You noticed my accent,” Serge says. He wiggles his eyebrows in what is probably meant to be a sultry motion, causing the scabbed wound on his face to break open again and send fresh blood down his cheek.
“Yeah, pretty sexy,” Land Leopard tries to joke. It falls flat, coming out completely earnest instead. “Um, but yeah, tell me.”
“I am from Russia,” Serge says. “I come to this land of opportunity to pursue my dream job.”
“Sweet, man. What job?”
“I am stripper,” Serge says, matter-of-fact. Land Leopard chokes on his tongue. That explains the underwear, at least. He’s quiet for a moment while he recovers from the mental image of Serge grinding on a pole. Unfortunately, Land Leopard’s patrol uniform leaves very little to the imagination.
“I’m not from around here either,” he says, trying to carry his end of the conversation.
“Ah, I know this already. Because you are angel, you must be from heaven.”
Land Leopard laughs. “I’m from Canada, actually. But I can see how you could make that mistake.”
People gawk at them as they limp by. Land Leopard makes a rude gesture so that they don’t stare at Serge.
“I’m only passing through New York on a trip,” he continues. “Lucky for you that I decided to patrol tonight while on vacation.”
“Yes, lucky me.” Serge says. “My hero.”
The words strike a chord through his body. Those two words. They’re the reason he took on this calling; the reason that he donned the Land Leopard uniform and drew on the whiskers in the first place. The only thing Land Leopard has ever wanted to hear in his life. He could kiss Serge for that.
“Ah, I think my stop is coming up,” Serge says. Land Leopard looks up, and sees a red-and-blue neon sign winking at them.
“Whoa, you’re gonna go strip at Radio City Hall?”
Serge shakes his head. It looks painful. “No.” He gestures at the tall office building in front of it. “Here. Bachelorette party.”
“Oh.” He wonders what kind of bachelorette party it is.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Land Leopard,” Serge says. He struggles to stand on his own, reaching for the plunger and radio.
“I have to ask, what exactly are you meant to be dressed as?”
“Sexy plumber,” Serge says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because I am here to plumb your insides.” And he winks outrageously.
Land Leopard’s stomach flutters with butterflies. “Well, good luck with the job, Serge.” He turns to leave.
“Wait,” Serge exclaims, “I cannot let you go without thanking you properly.”
He tries to laugh it off. “Just doing what’s right.”
“Still. Anybody else would have forced me to go to doctor, rather than letting me come to job. For that I am grateful. How can I contact you?”
Land Leopard considers for a moment, before reaching into his utility belt and pulling out the permanent marker he carries around in case any adoring fans want an autograph.
“Here, give me your arm.” He pauses. “Or, would that ruin your job? To deface your skin?”
“Ah, yes. Try here instead.”
Serge turns around and pulls his pants and leopard bottoms down, exposing his bare asscheek.
“Underwear does not come off in routine. Will be safe.”
Land Leopard thinks he’s going to combust from how hot his face gets. His whiskers might be melting off. But he bends and writes obediently, scrawling ‘@LandLeopard43’ on the world’s most sculpted butt.
When he finishes, Serge straightens with a beam. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Land Leopard says. “So… this is goodbye, then.”
“Yes,” Serge agrees.
He tilts forward, and Land Leopard’s hands shoot out automatically to catch him, worried the man is going to faint. But Serge doesn’t faint at all. Instead, his hands cup Land Leopard’s face, and then Serge’s lips are on his own. They’re warm, slightly chapped, tasting of pennies and asphalt. Land Leopard’s eyes fly wide in shock, and then flutter closed as he melts into it. There’s a slight press of Serge’s tongue against his lower lip, but before Land Leopard can chase it, Serge pulls back. The tip of his nose is smudged gray with Land Leopard’s face paint.
Land Leopard follows his motion instinctively, dazed.
“You have been a most wonderful guardian angel,” Serge says. “Regretfully, I must go to work now.”
“Will I see you again?” Land Leopard can’t help but ask.
Serge pats his haunch, the side that Land Leopard had written his info on, and winks. “I will text.”
With that, he turns and walks into the building. Land Leopard watches him go, jaw dropped in awe. Serge’s ass is so fat.
Land Leopard is pretty sure he’s in love.