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For Gepard, it was an ordinary and completely unremarkable day.
A daily patrol shift schedule. Maintaining order. Sampo Koski, with whom the law enforcement officers engage in a daily game of tag. His capture in some deserted alley, which could very well end in a smoke screen and a farewell air kiss. Pressing him face-first against the wall, which was met with an obviously vulgar and inappropriate remark. And nothing unusual could possibly happen.
Gepard was already almost prepared for Sampo’s next escape, habitually reciting protocol and fastening handcuffs onto unresisting hands, listening to cheerful chirping right beside his ear. He had already reached his hands toward the other’s sides in an attempt to search the criminal—but suddenly stopped.
There was something wrong in his actions. Something unfamiliar and strange. He didn’t want to search him—no, not at all. He simply wanted to slip his hands through the openings in his clothing, touch his bare sides, and squeeze very tightly. So tightly that dark handprints could later be seen.
At that thought, Gepard involuntarily shuddered, and Sampo did not miss it.
— Ah, Captain, is something wrong? Have you finally realized my charm? — Sampo whispered playfully right into his reddening ear, pressing closer. Gepard unconsciously tightened his hands over the white skin and slightly pulled away.
— Nothing like that. — Landau did not look at the face of the person beside him. Something told him this might be the beginning of the end, so instead he drilled his gaze into the wall in front of them. — You’re just irritating.
“Yeah, that’s exactly it,” Gepard thought with a sigh, continuing the search. “He’s just so irritating that I want to hurt him. I must not give free rein to my feelings.”
When he finally slid his hands toward the protruding pelvic bones in order to reach the pockets of the clothing, accidentally brushing unexpectedly warm skin, a muffled snort sounded near his ear, and the body in his hands twitched under the searching touch.
— Ah, Captain! Where exactly are you going? — the fraudster sang harshly, arching his back in a clearly suggestive manner.
— I… I didn’t… — this time Sampo was in no hurry to run, instead enjoying the captain’s rapidly reddening cheeks, standing there with interest, waiting for his next words. — I didn’t mean… to touch…
Sampo burst into loud laughter, slowly melting into soft giggles, while Gepard grew redder with every passing moment. He did not understand what was happening, but along with the tingling in his fingers, a hunger also began to rise in his stomach, when soft cupid-like lips pressed to his ear.
— Little Gepie is so indecisive today, — giggling echoed in his ears, and Landau barely managed to stop himself from squeezing the person in front of him under some strange feeling — Are you not feeling well? I’m actually worried! — sad notes slipped into his deep voice, and Gepard could almost see those beautiful lips puffing out into a feigned pout.
Gepard coughed into his fist.
— I’m fine. It seems you don’t have anything on you, so let’s go — he firmly squeezed the strong shoulder, trying not to look at the man in front of him — just a little tired. — He still decided to add it, not hearing any response.
Sampo looked at him carefully, trying to catch his gaze, but Gepard actively avoided it. A feeling of unease slipped into the thief’s heart, but he chose not to pay attention to it, focusing instead on the unexpectedly strong grip. Usually Gepard was much gentler in this regard, but now Koski even feared that a dark bruise might later appear where the captain’s hand was.
— Sigh, Captain, I really think something’s wrong with you! — the blue-haired man sang, only for show holding already-open handcuffs behind his back, while at the same time pulling out a smoke bomb — Looks like quite a lot has been weighing on you. You know, if you keep squeezing me like that, you’ll break my arm! — In the end, he earned a slightly worried look from the captain, who loosened his grip. — And you even missed a couple of obvious tricks, seriously, what happened!
The smoke bomb dropped into the soft snow hummed quietly, and nimble hands reached toward the captain’s beautiful shocked face.
— I hope next time we meet you’ll be alright, my dear Captain!
When Gepard felt a soft touch on his cheeks, everything was swallowed by smoke, and soft laughter was already ringing far ahead.
Returning home after yet another difficult day, Gepard exhaled deeply, turned around, and slammed his head into the wall without restraint.
— What the hell… — he whispered, fiddling with his keys.
This was not normal. Neither understandable nor acceptable by Gepard or anyone who might learn of his thoughts. His teeth ached and itched, and Gepard couldn’t hold himself back and went to buy some pastry or something similar to relieve a hunger that wasn’t there. He wanted to bite. To grind his teeth. But not to eat.
Arriving at the shop, Gepard noticed new merchandise. Stress-relief toys lay on the shelves in bright colors. The Trailblazer had once brought one, and it turned out that Belobog citizens had enough stress for it to become a popular item. He took two and a couple of packs of cookies.
Returning home in an unusually happy mood, Gepard quickly unpacked his new purchase and squeezed it. But felt nothing at all. He kept thinking about why, while squeezing and releasing his hand, deforming and restoring the silly-looking bird. The captain closed his eyes and tried to imagine what he had felt during his encounter with Sampo.
He felt the warmth of his body. Soft skin under his gloved fingers. A faint tingling all over his body. And a persistent, overwhelming desire. A desire to squeeze, bite, tear apart—as if some unknown beast had awakened inside him, wanting to feed on living flesh. He saw those cheeks he wanted to bite. He saw exposed pieces of skin, the cutout in the jacket at the center of the chest, and wanted to press his face there and lick it. He saw those thighs…
Gepard woke up to find he had shoved the chicken’s head into his mouth and bitten down quite hard. He immediately removed the toy and went to brush his teeth to get rid of germs, then ate crackers and cookies. His teeth itched.
The next day, everything repeated.
A daily patrol shift schedule. Maintaining order. Sampo Koski, with whom the law enforcement officers play a daily game of chase. His capture in some deserted alley, which could very well end in a smoke screen and a farewell air kiss. Pressing him face-first against the wall, met with an obviously vulgar and inappropriate comment. And Gepard prayed that nothing more would happen.
And again—that feeling.
His eyes darkened when they locked onto lowered eyes the color of fresh grass, and lips like a cupid’s flower that he wanted red and swollen. Gepard wanted to purr and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. Like a gentle cat, he wanted to rub his head against the man’s entire body and lick every centimeter. To purr and meow, asking for more. To bite fingers, cheeks, legs—anything he could reach. His teeth ached again, and his hands tensed, ready to clamp down and tear fabric, to damage something.
He was interrupted by Sampo, who had already slipped out of the captain’s grip and turned to him with a concerned expression.
— Hmm? Are you really alright? You’ve just been staring at the wall for a couple of minutes and not doing anything.
As he said this, he turned Gepard’s head toward himself with his hands. His hands were warm, almost gentle, but slightly dry and rough at the fingertips. Gepard wanted to let out an animalistic howl and tear his hands away. He wanted to eat him. And that thought scared him.
— Yes, I’m fine, — the blond answered sluggishly, looking anywhere but at Sampo. Because it was frightening. He didn’t want to cause pain. Sampo tilted his head questioningly, like a dog trying to understand its owner’s mood, and because of that Gepard wanted to die.
— I don’t think so. Hey, maybe I’ll just leave today and you go home and rest, huh? — he asked this gently. Almost pleading. And the beast in the guard’s mind wanted Sampo to beg.
“Probably.” he agrees, feeling that he won’t be able to withstand any more attention. He’ll snap. His hands tremble as he tries to restrain the urge to grab. The criminal looks surprised, then even more concerned. He stops smiling, and somehow that only makes things worse.
“Wow, things must really be bad if you’re agreeing to rest.” Sampo thoughtfully shakes his head and lets go of the other’s face. Somehow, it feels much colder than before he was touched. “Well then, I’ll go. And you should probably get some rest.” He pats Gepard on the shoulder and leaves with an encouraging smile.
As soon as the crimson coat disappears around the corner, it becomes colder.
Gepard stands there for a while longer, simply staring at the empty wall, trying to process what just happened. After a heavy sigh, he rubs his already slightly cold hands and reports an unsuccessful attempt to catch Koski. After work, he will go to his sister and ask for advice. Maybe she won’t have an answer, but she might at least give him guidance or calm him down.
Late in the evening, after finishing some reports, he texts Serval about his upcoming visit and approaches the workshop door. His sister is already waiting for him there, preparing snacks and hot tea. Seeing the blond head, she smiles and greets him.
“Hi, little Gepi! Come on, get changed, I’ll finish everything up here.” she says, carrying a couple of trays of assorted snacks into a separate room with a sofa and TV. Gepard takes off his coat and follows her, finding her already sitting down.
“I wanted to talk and ask for advice…” he says awkwardly in a quiet voice, sitting next to her. Her expression turns serious.
“Wow, this must be something important…” she says, sliding a tray of cookies and chips closer.
“Actually, not really…” Silence falls. Thinking about his problem in the form of the blue-haired criminal, Gepard quickly takes chocolate sticks and begins to slowly chew them, trying to suppress the hunger.
“Well, I can see it’s really bothering you.”
“Um…”
The engineer doesn’t rush her brother, patiently waiting for him to speak. Gepard, meanwhile, waits for his teeth to stop itching and aching, eating stick after stick. One. Second. Third. Fourth.
On the fifth, he finally stops.
“It’s just… strange…” Serval raises a questioning eyebrow. “I don’t even think you’d understand… You might even get scared…” Serval doesn’t look convinced.
“What could possibly scare me about my own brother? Do you want to eat a person or something?” she chuckles jokingly. Gepard freezes. He doesn’t find it funny. Not at all. His gaze anxiously locks onto the plate of sticks, and he takes another one. “Hm?” she frowns.
“Well… um…” Only the crunching is heard again.
“Wait, seriously?” Gepard keeps eating. Seventh. Eighth.
“I told you it was strange…” he slouches. Nervous. The chocolate on the stick melts.
“Wait, wait!” She waves her hands, her face surprised but a little curious. “Can you explain in more detail? When did it start, how does it feel? At least who do you want to… um… eat?”
The tension could be cut with a knife. And again: crunch crunch crunch. Tenth, eleventh, twelfth. Crumbs scrape against his teeth and crackle. His jaw tightens, using all its strength on each bite.
“It’s… really strange… just yesterday while I was chasing Sampo…” At that moment, Serval’s eyes widen in shock. “I just… wanted to squeeze him? Leave bruises or something like that… bite him… tear him apart…” The pack is almost finished. Sixteenth, seventeenth. He bites between words. “My teeth also started itching unpleasantly… like I needed to clamp them down on something really hard or something… I… I’m scared…” The half-eaten stick almost falls from his trembling hands. Serval’s face is unreadable.
Silence, broken only by crunching. Twentieth, twenty-first.
“This… really is strange…” she thinks, recalling something. “And how exactly do you want to… bite him?”
“Um…” Gepard leans back on the sofa and closes his eyes, imagining it. It feels quite strange to imagine biting someone, especially when it’s your enemy.
He imagined Sampo. The usual Sampo, with a carefree smile and open arms. His teeth itched and Gepard ate. Twenty-eight, nine, thirty. Trying to focus, he pictured actually touching him the way he wanted to. Squeezing his cheeks, placing a hand on his chest where his heart beat steadily. Alive, strong, loud—just like his own right now. He brought the careless face closer and bit down on his cheek. He had accidentally taken two sticks and was biting them together now. Forty.
He held the image of that cheek in place in his mind, sucking and running his tongue over the skin inside his mouth, receiving giggles from it that made everything in his stomach turn and shift in an unpleasantly ticklish tandem. His heart rose into his throat, cutting off air, his lungs sank downward, refusing to let him breathe, his kidneys jumped up and down, his intestines unwound and tied themselves into knots. It was strange, in some way horrible, but so pleasant.
From the corners of his imagined mouth, saliva dripped, and Gepard woke up from having eaten the last stick—now the bowl was empty. Forty-seven. Uneven.
“And?” his sister asked, looking at the empty plate.
“Tasty…” his brother answered in a strained voice.
The silence was now unbreakable. Gepard noticed that saliva had indeed started to run, and he quickly wiped it away with his hand.
“And what about Sampo?” she asked cautiously, trying to understand without pressing him.
“I think… I want to… squeeze him in my arms completely? I want to bite his cheek the most, or his thighs, and otherwise just bite his whole body… Maybe… take a little bite… without pain…” he fidgeted with his fingers. He could take more cookies and crunch them, but his stomach wouldn’t take anything more. Serval handed him tea, and he accepted it gratefully. His eyes were filled with fatigue and sadness.
“Well… I don’t know much, but I only have two conclusions.” She raised a finger with an air of importance. Gepard smiled faintly at her little performance. “First—there’s a budding cannibal in you, and you want to eat human flesh.” The guard grimaced at the thought. That was the worst possible option. Although if that were the case, Gepard would willingly go to prison under strict guard. “And second—you have an overflow of feelings because of Sampo.”
Gepard grimaced even more. And what did that mean?
“If you ask me, it means you want to squeeze him and bite him because you like him too much.” She smiled. Gepard frowned harder, deep tension lines forming between his brows. “I’m not a psychologist, but I’ve heard that this can happen when, for example, you see something very cute and want to squeeze it. Although maybe Sampo causes stronger emotions in you than cute animals.”
Silence, uninterrupted by anything. Gepard weighed the possibility of objecting, while Serval waited for him to gather the courage to speak.
“Maybe I just hate him that much…?” Gepard looked at his sister with dim hope. She shrugged—she didn’t know.
And with that their short meeting ended, and Gepard drifted home lost in thought. “If you do end up eating him, promise me you’ll eat him with bread,” came a later message on his phone, which the guard couldn’t help but smile at.
The next day, Sampo was gone. The day after that as well. He only returned on the third, and everything repeated again, just like any other ordinary, completely unremarkable day. Only one thing had changed—Sampo seemed a little worried.
“Oh, we haven’t met for two whole days, and this is how you greet an old friend?” he stretched the words melodically, and Gepard thought about what those words would taste like. Probably sweet, like chocolate sticks.
“You have the right to remain silent. Remember, anything you say may be used against you in court.” He tried not to focus on the tingling in his fingers as he fastened the handcuffs around strong wrists. An image flashed in his mind of him holding those hands above Sampo’s head, while he himself… He didn’t continue that thought.
“Oh, how cold! All captains are the same, they don’t appreciate poor Sampo Koski at all!” He sighed dramatically and whimpered. Gepard swallowed at the thought of how else Sampo could sigh and whimper.
“Stop acting.” Among captains, you only know Bronya and me.” Gepard didn’t want to think about how, during the search, he lingered too long in certain places. How he lifted that strange shirt (who even walks around like that in this cold?), ran his hands over firm muscles and down to the thighs, tapping the fabric while listening to the criminal’s cheerful chatter.
“That’s already two! That’s plenty for statistics, if you ask me!” For statistics, Gepard was not suitable. Because his attitude toward Sampo was anything but cold. Very much the opposite—hot. He couldn’t help but snort at the comment, earning even more words in return. And more. And more… Aeons, how he wanted more words from Sampo…
“You’re talking nonsense,” the captain stated as fact. There was so much of this nonsense it filled his entire being and more. So much that he wanted to consume it just to reduce its volume. His hands lingered on the openings at Sampo’s sides. Gepard had spent the past two days thinking about his feelings and realized that at least this particular part of him he wanted to bite off completely. Probably so the blood would spill out and warm those exposed sides. For bigger reasons, his already cluttered mind was not capable.
“At least it’s enough to distract you, isn’t it?” The question was purely rhetorical, because the hissing was already almost right beside his fingers. And there was more than enough nonsense anyway, because he didn’t even feel like getting angry anymore.
In the smoke, he felt a warm softness on his cheek and a voice: “Glad you’re feeling better.”
Gepard didn’t feel better. Everything only got worse, and after that encounter he stood in that alley until his fingers went numb from the cold.
At home he grabbed the stress-relief toy and sat down in the armchair. He needed to think. Think about why this was happening and how to get rid of it. This time he wouldn’t stop until he reached the end of the fantasy.
Sampo was sitting on the bed. His bed. Gepard’s bed. The monster inside him purred in satisfaction. That was exactly where he belonged. Preferably without clothes, but Gepard wasn’t brave enough to imagine that yet, so for now the man was only in underwear and a shirt. For now.
Gepard took his face, bit his cheek, and mentally purred. The feeling was pleasant, correct. The kind you want to continue forever. He licked the skin, receiving laughter that he usually heard when catching criminals. A bubbling, gurgling, satiated feeling slowly rose from his stomach through channels into his brain, threatening to burn away all rational thoughts. Though it felt like that had already happened.
Gepard deepened the bite, eliciting a soft yelp from the imagined figure, and sucked in air, making Sampo murmur something about unimaginable appetites. “You can’t just suck me dry like some kind of fruit!” Sampo would probably say something like that, and Gepard wanted to object. “I can. Very much can. I’ll suck you dry and eat you down to the last bone.”
After that there would surely be a stupid joke, another burst of laughter and snorting. “Like a piglet,” Gepard thought. During some searches Sampo really did snort and squeak from tickling, twitching like an anxious sparrow with fluffed wings. “I’d eat him without leaving anything.”
He would strip away the layer of skin, beneath it suck up a tangle of nerves and veins like noodles, then enjoy the muscles, eat the fat, then the organs, drink the bone marrow, and finally finish it all with bones—and those thoughts brought darkness to his vision from sheer excitement. And Sampo himself was like excitement. Like joy, like the sweetest fruit. The Trailblazer had said something about an Aeon of joy, and it felt to Gepard like they were exactly the same.
Finally Gepard pulled his teeth away and looked at the satisfied, tousled face. The bite mark was clearly visible and in some places even bleeding. A thought crept in to take care of it, disinfect the wound, kiss along its edges—but later. Gepard licked his lips and toppled Sampo fully onto the bed, leaning over him like an unbearable weight and kissing him, kissing him, kissing him. Nose, forehead, eyes, chin, and especially the abused cheek. He stuck out his tongue and licked it like a repentant beast, as if asking forgiveness for causing pain. Sorry for the fact that you’re as tasty as an Aeon.
It seemed to Gepard that Aha tasted like an explosion, like confetti made of candy, like cotton candy made from tree leaves, like rose petals, like blood mixed with sugar—and Gepard felt himself becoming sinful. What do Aeons taste like? Are they edible? Would it hurt them? He was not a scholar, and certainly had no connection to gods, but licking the imagined Sampo made him feel as if he had reached an Aeon itself. He understood why Sampo followed the Path of Nihility, because Gepard was being openly swallowed by it. And like a faithful dog, he needed a muzzle and a leash. A muzzle so he wouldn’t snap, a leash so that if a piece did end up in his mouth, he couldn’t swallow it. To tighten, to choke, so that—by the Aeons—he wouldn’t sin. Only submissively drooling through the bars, hoping for blessing.
In his mind he moved lower. Lips were forbidden. He bit the neck, immediately and hard, absorbing the pure sound from the person beneath him. He sucked, in places until bruises formed and drops of blood appeared. It felt like he was in a heaven made of cotton candy. The air seemed filled with roses and green grass. He wanted to eat those eyes. Gepard tore open Sampo’s shirt where the thief’s collar sat. He could never look away from it. And he kissed him gently—but he wanted to chew through the chest between the ribs and straight to the heart. To bite without pain, but really to devour it with bread, savoring every piece. And blood like exquisite wine, which Gepard didn’t even like—but now he was ready to drink, drink, drink. He lifted dark eyes, clouded by an unknown desire, toward the man and melted further. Eyes dark with lust, a shy smile on his face with a bright blush, a bite mark on his cheek, and his neck covered in bruises. Gepard had drunk so much he was intoxicated. And he bit.
This time Gepard woke up because something slapped his nose. He found himself in the same armchair, with a chicken’s head in his mouth and the rest of the chicken in his hands. Ah, it seemed that during these fantasies he had accidentally torn the head off an innocent blue chicken—how absurd. Just as absurd as the persistent hardness in his trousers. Gepard wanted to die.
The next day he went on patrol in a haze of thoughts. His brain refused to function in any direction, and Danne wisely took over part of his duties as deputy captain. In his peripheral vision, a blue head appeared again and Gepard bolted forward, not noticing the surprised looks. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to think about anything except the Aeon in the flesh.
A chase lasting an hour. Gepard could endure it, but Sampo was already starting to pant. Pinned against a wall—and… inactivity. The guard’s hands rested on his sides without moving, not even trembling. And Gepard himself was inactive too, as was his mind. Frozen, half-dead.
Sampo shifted.
“And still something’s off,” the thief said, turning without resistance or tricks. He looked strangely. His gaze moved from face to feet and back, searching for clues. There were no clues in Gepard’s eyes, none in his face either. He just looked, as if through, as if not there, as if those hands weren’t resting on the criminal’s clothes. “You’re really falling apart, little Geppi.” The familiar nickname echoed somewhere—unclear where, in the heart, lungs, or head, but it echoed somewhere.
The silence was almost tangible on the skin. Cold, unpleasant, but slightly sobering.
“You look like you feel bad.” Yes. Bad because of Sampo. Bad because Gepard remembered how even before forgiveness of all Sampo’s sins, before his meals delivered, before the fall of Cocolia, he would freeze for long moments staring at exposed skin.
“Maybe you’d like some hugs, huh?” He was joking. Definitely joking, indicated by the playful smile and light tone—but Gepard found himself nodding.
Sampo looked at least surprised.
“Then come here, little Geppi.” And Sampo still opened his arms. And how could Gepard refuse such a gift?
The guard pressed himself against the thief’s neck, the one who had stolen his heart, and felt like a real dog. He prayed to all Aeons that his teeth would be pulled out and his arms torn off, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to hold back. He was on the verge of biting, squeezing, breaking. Barely restrained himself, closing his eyes, trying not to think about the floral scent or the warmth. And they were everywhere. Surrounding the captain’s entire body.
Sampo placed his hands on the blond head and slowly massaged it. Gepard wanted to purr, but instead he pressed closer, clenching his lips in an attempt to stop himself. His hands curled into fists, leaving crescent marks on his palms under the fabric.
“Hey, Geppi, I can feel how tense you are. Relax, let go.” He said it softly, but cheerfully—and Gepard wanted to scream. He didn’t know what he was being pushed toward, and that scared him.
When he feels the taste of blood on his tongue, he is almost afraid he actually bit too hard, but no. Sampo pulls away from him, seeing the guard’s lips bitten open until they bleed, and Gepard finally feels a fragment of torn upper skin on his teeth. Sampo is in shock, and Gepard is nearly in panic. He covers his mouth with his palm, pressing so hard it hurts, and frantically looks around, hoping to find an escape. Sampo is holding both of his hands. Firmly. And staring at him with intense concern.
— Gepard, what happened? Fuck, Gepard, you idiot! — Sampo is slightly frightened, and Gepard blames himself even more. — Seriously, what’s wrong with you? If you don’t tell me, I swear I’ll call your sister and convince her to convince the Guardian to give you a month of leave!
Gepard wants a lifetime of leave. Preferably with a fatal outcome. He wants to say something, but the lump in his throat won’t let him. Maybe it’s his heart pounding and expanding from fear, or maybe it’s suddenly released tears.
Sampo hugs him, wipes his pale skin with his hands, and says something vaguely worried and soothing. There is noise in his head, and Gepard cannot distinguish a single word. He feels almost nothing except noise. Loud, tangible noise. He doesn’t feel his face distorting, doesn’t feel everything leaking out—eyes, nose, mouth. Doesn’t feel his body shaking in panic. Doesn’t feel himself slowly sinking to the ground, gripping Sampo’s sides. It feels like he is dissolving, like his skin is peeling off along with his entire body, turning into a restless puddle of blood, flesh, and tears.
Gepard vaguely realizes Sampo is calling someone, sounding alarmed. Gepard regrets it. The thief presses the phone to his shoulder, listening carefully while trying to do something else at the same time.
He lifts Gepard’s head, says something, keeps talking and talking, and the guard is so sorry he cannot hear, cannot listen. He sees nothing through his tears, there is an unpleasant taste in his mouth, and his throat spasms into broken sobs. He is so desperately sorry.
The thief’s hands lightly but uncertainly slide over his tear-streaked face, feeling, touching, pausing on his torn, bitten lip, trying to smooth it. Wiping away tears only for new ones to replace them. A beautiful face comes very close, and Gepard, in a panicked attempt to think, realizes Sampo is literally a centimeter away, whispering something. His nose brushes against the other’s, their breath warm and steady, eyes locked. Gepard blinks rapidly, confused, squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them again in panic. The lips in front of him breathe in and out in the same rhythm—and then Gepard realizes he is actually suffocating.
He tries to copy it. Desperately forces air through his chest, coughs as it resists, punishing him. Tries again and feels a bubbling resistance. He doesn’t understand whether it’s tears, blood, or his brain, which—apparently—has melted and is flowing down his throat. He tries again and again, trying either to survive or simply obey. To be good. To wait for a reward.
Sampo helps, though he is almost just as panicked as Gepard. He tries to massage tense muscles, rubs his jaw, wipes away everything that spills out. Breathes warm air, and in the absence of oxygen Gepard vaguely realizes it smells like chewing gum. Mint. Gepard suddenly wants to press himself to those lips, feel coldness in his throat, cool the burning heart in his chest, and stop suffering from lack of air. Hatred toward himself and his desires grows exponentially and shows no sign of slowing. The air is so scarce it becomes truly frightening. His vision blurs, dark spots threaten to fill everything. And his teeth hurt.
Through this haze of agony, fragments of awareness slip in. He feels fingers inside his mouth, prying his lips apart and seemingly slowly filling him with air. Like inflating a balloon, he is gradually filled with breath from someone else’s lungs. Sampo is blowing directly into his throat, occasionally patting his cheeks, trying to keep him conscious. It is humiliating.
Gepard tries to swallow again, and this time it almost works. His throat burns. A faint mint freshness lingers on his tongue. Gepard hates himself for wanting more of it just to feel it again.
Sampo watches carefully to make sure he recovers properly, stroking his cheeks, wiping away excess moisture. And he looks better than the Aeons themselves. As if no human should even be allowed to glimpse him. As if Gepard should not exist in a world where someone like him can know him.
— Calmed down?.. — Sampo asks carefully, almost fearfully, and Gepard wants to disappear into the ground.
He is afraid to speak. Afraid he will cry again. Crying in the Landau family was dangerous, wrong, shameful—it meant weakness. The Landaus must not be weak. But what if one is weak toward something specific? All he can do is nod faintly, trying to hold back more tears on his already ruined face.
— Phew, you really scared me! — Sampo is almost back to his usual self, smiling and all the things that make Sampo Sampo. Gepard tries to resemble a human at least. — Seriously, what happened? If you don’t want to talk, fine, but that was really scary!
Gepard sees his smile and wants to bite again. He bites his lip instead, but Sampo quickly pulls him away from it.
— Hey, don’t… You’ll bite your lips off like that. How am I supposed to kiss you after that? — Sampo laughs softly, placing his thumbs on the corners of his bitten lips and massaging them. The beast inside purrs and writhes from the gentle touch, while the human desperately holds himself back from putting Sampo’s fingers into his mouth. — Where did you even get such a habit? Maybe you should bite my fingers instead?
He is joking. As always. But the mind, liquefied by hysteria, is too exhausted to analyze it, and Gepard’s teeth gently close around one of the fingers. He clenches his fists on his knees, restraining himself from biting harder. From bone-cracking force, from flesh in his mouth.
Sampo looks surprised, even slightly flustered. Gepard just whimpers softly, holding the finger between his lips, trying to come to his senses. The thief pulls him closer, and Gepard almost prays because he doesn’t pull the finger away, even starts stroking and massaging his aching head. Sampo doesn’t taste special. Not sweet. Just salty sweat, a bit of his own blood, mucus and tears, ordinary human skin. But it is strangely calming. Just having it in his mouth, just feeling warmth and a fragment of reality in this absurd situation. It is pleasant. Right. Not shameful.
Gepard closes his eyes, steadying his breathing. He leans into Sampo’s chest, feeling the heartbeat through his forehead. Slightly rapid, but alive and warm. Something animal inside still wants to bite, grip, lick—but no longer like a beast gone mad. He wants to gently bite lips, gently squeeze cheeks, lick the neck. And love. He wants to love very much.
The scene becomes calmer. Breathing returns to normal and becomes the only sound in what had just been suffocating noise. It is quiet.
— So… — Sampo breaks the silence first. — What was that about?
He doesn’t want to answer. Explaining this strange situation will probably only make it stranger. It would be surprising if Sampo didn’t get scared. Instead, Gepard shakes his head, refusing.
— Huh? I’m worried, you know! — warmth spreads in his chest — Seriously, I got scared when you started bleeding on my shoulder!
Gepard murmurs indistinctly around the finger in his mouth. An unwanted smile touches his lips.
— Ahh, my finger isn’t tasty! And I’m trying to talk to you here! — Sampo complains playfully with a smile, as if not actually scolding him. Gepard feels unwell. Like he’s going to suffocate in love. His heart gurgles in satisfaction, no longer beating properly. Melted along with his brain. His lip burns, but it is bearable.
And everything around him is so calm, so pleasant.
Time passes—what feels like hours—and Sampo finally pulls away. Gepard would have grown roots and died if he had to decide when to let go himself.
— How are you? — Sampo asks gently, and Gepard smiles foolishly, almost purring through the finger. He finally pulls his hand away, and the guard almost shamefully follows it with his gaze. — Hey, I’m talking to you. Why are you smiling like that?
And Sampo is smiling too. Beautifully. Softly and simply. It’s not the false, flattering smile he uses with clients. It’s not the suggestive grin he uses when he flirts. And it is the most beautiful thing Gepard has ever seen in his life. He can’t hold himself back and sinks into the hollow of the thief’s neck.
— Sorry. — hoarse, but sincere. As if he hadn’t just been on the verge of hysterics and barely crawled out of it. His hands are back in Sampo’s hair. It’s slightly damp with sweat, and Sampo carefully combs through each strand.
— Oh, come on. If there’s anything Sampo Koski can handle, it’s hysterics. You know how kids in the Underworld act sometimes? Well, I do. — Gepard hears the embellished tone. He remembers that almost panicked voice speaking on the phone. And somehow it only makes him smile wider. Even chuckle.
Silence again—comfortable and warm.
Then Gepard’s phone lights up with a message from Dunn. The captain reluctantly pulls away to take it out of his pocket. Sampo, thinking Gepard is about to leave, starts to get up, but the guard presses back into the warmth with the phone still in his hand.
Gepard calls Dunn and quickly says, “Dunn, finish everything for me today. Sorry for the inconvenience, I’ll give you a bonus at the end of the week.” After a short reply, he hangs up and fully sinks back into the confused warmth of the other man.
— Oh? Has Captain Gepard Landau decided to abandon his duties for old good me?
To hell with everything. He’s back to factory settings—no censorship, no reason. His thoughts turn into mush, his sounds more animal than human, and he feels like a satisfied beast whose insides are all mixing together in a wet, sloshing mess.
His mind slides down his own channels, blending with his organs in a strange soup, refusing to function properly at all.
— Mm… — he hums, almost purring, burying his nose into the crimson coat on Sampo’s shoulder.
— Huh? That’s neglect of duty! Does an old man like me deserve such an honor? — Sampo’s lip is bleeding. He’s too lazy to wipe it. It’s relatively warm today. — Don’t ignore me!
And the weather really is nice today.
Sampo snorts as if offended, but there’s a smile on his face, and the beast inside Gepard completely loses control. His heart howls in longing, floating helplessly in blood; his thoughts shatter into compartments like potatoes in soup; his lungs collapse as if boiled. The thread seems to snap, and his teeth bite into the exposed skin of Sampo’s shoulder almost playfully.
Sampo yelps—just like in Gepard’s imagination—and Gepard barely holds back a sound.
— I’m not tasty, leave me alone, — the man whines theatrically, but turns his head anyway, exposing a beautiful neck as if inviting him. And Gepard is utterly undone. He bumps his forehead under Sampo’s chin and drags his nose along the carotid artery, feeling the steady pulse of blood beneath. — You’re not Gepard, you’re a little hungry wolf!
Sampo doesn’t realize what effect he’s having. Because right now Gepard is not a wolf. Not even a beast. A monster—something ready to bare its teeth and tear soft skin apart. Instead, he presses closer to the neck and gently bites, feeling the pulse quicken, as if wanting the heart to send blood not to the brain, but straight into his hungry mouth.
He traces the muscle with his tongue, sucking slowly, savoring it, purring at every sound.
— Mm… listen, I’ve got some things to do… — Sampo finally speaks again after falling quiet for a moment. Gepard feels him tense through his hands. Tastes his rising pulse. And the beast growls, unwilling to stop. In retaliation for being pushed away, he bites down harder, leaving a faint mark.
Sampo goes completely rigid and trembles, and Gepard notices with surprise that his face now matches the color of his coat. Tense, nervous, eyes shut, very red. A rational person would call this madness. The beast revels in it.
— Mm-hm, — Gepard hums indistinctly, knowing this had to end eventually.
— Then… let me get up? — Sampo’s voice is quiet and hoarse.
Reluctantly, Gepard stands, dragging Sampo up by the hand. A short awkward silence falls. Sampo thinks about his own thoughts; Gepard thinks about Sampo. His voice, his help, his hand in his own. Gepard barely restrains himself from kissing every finger.
— Well… bye?
— Bye.
The conversation ends. Silence. A heavy, lingering note. The thief’s hand slips away, and he leaves. When he’s almost gone around the corner, he turns and awkwardly waves, smiling uncertainly, still faintly red—and Gepard does the same.
When only the guard remains in the alley, he, in a daze, calls his sister and drifts toward her workshop.
When he knocks, a smiling girl opens the door—but her smile fades the moment she sees his condition. Likely bad. His eyes are swollen, dried tear tracks on his face, blood from his lip stopped only halfway through drying, and his face is smeared with crusted blood. His hair is a mess, and his collar is stiff and unpleasant from the same dried stains. There’s iron in his mouth and a faint scent of mint and roses.
The older Landau sister drags him inside by the scruff and tells Molly to go home, taking him to the bathroom and sitting him on the toilet.
— What the hell?! — she yells worriedly, grabbing a towel and wrapping his cold hands in it. Gepard hadn’t even noticed they were going numb.
— I bit Sampo, — Gepard mutters, smiling like an idiot.
— And he bit your lip for that? — she sounds angry, wiping him clean.
— Mm… no, that was me… accidentally.
— Idiot. Instead of biting yourself, you should’ve just eaten Sampo whole, — she sighs.
— I was just… holding back. Then Sampo let me bite him. It’s fine.
— And how was it?
— Fine.
— And what do you want now?
— Him.
Serval nods like she expected that. As if Gepard himself wasn’t internally shocked.
— Maybe take a day off. Seriously. You need to recover.
He nods. He already feels like he’s on cloud nine—and if this is what it feels like now, tomorrow he might not even find his wings to keep flying.
She throws him out the door, telling him not to run into anyone, because right now he probably looks like a shadow over the snowy plains. Gepard smiles at the absurd comment and walks home through the night streets.
He hadn’t realized how long he stayed with Sampo until he saw the stars.
The weather really is nice today.
The next day it was snowing. The wind howled outside the window, and the shutters creaked unpleasantly. The sky wasn’t visible behind the clouds; it was overcast and dry.
Gepard felt the same.
His mouth was dry, his throat hurt unbearably. His eyes refused to fully open, and grains of dust and dried tears were stuck between his lashes. His heart sloshed on the threads of consciousness. And Gepard himself was woven from threads. His arms broke apart into scraps, reaching toward the floor, just like his head; his tongue, like a satin ribbon, awkwardly unfolded in his mouth, trying either to coil or stretch out to its full length. Everything inside him was a complete mess! Twisting, knotting, tearing in half, mixing into colors.
Threads of thought snapped halfway, and the remaining ones were scattered through his skull like fireworks.
Gepard wanted to fall through the earth like water, but instead he remained only torn fragments on the ground, waiting to rot.
He wasn’t allowed more than one day off by his conscience. He was worried, even afraid, that he might run into Sampo. Afraid of explaining himself, afraid of seeing the reaction. But Sampo wasn’t there. And not the next day either. In a way, it was calming; in another, terrifying.
Gepard thought that if he were in Sampo’s place, he would be afraid to leave the house for years.
To his own surprise, he saw Sampo a week later. Instinctively, he chased after him—and there it was! An ordinary day, everything normal again! Ordinary conversations and inappropriate remarks during the chase! As if Gepard hadn’t been picking apart the threads of his soul all these days, trying to weave his former self back together.
They ran long enough for Sampo to start getting tired, and for Gepard to close the distance. Just a little more and the guard could once again grab Sampo by the edge of his clothing and pull him to a stop. He could already feel the warmth beneath him, almost hear the familiar comments.
But then everything filled with smoke. His mind short-circuited from the unexpected turn. When the captain emerged from the haze, the thief was already gone. He stood there, breathing heavily, trying to recover, but it felt like one of the threads in his throat had been pulled too tight.
Sampo didn’t appear again for several days, vanishing into smoke the moment he came into view.
His heart pounded, trying not to burst from anxiety. Had something happened to him? Was he injured? Did he not want to see him? Of course he didn’t, idiot! And yet his heart wouldn’t calm down, trying to understand. The worry wasn’t because Sampo didn’t want to see him—it was because Gepard couldn’t clearly see him to make sure he was alright.
It became uneasy, while his heart, with its broken spokes, untangled and rewove everything Gepard had struggled so hard to repair.
These half-chases happened less often than before. Once every few days, sometimes weeks, Sampo would appear and immediately run away again, while Gepard tried not to lose pieces of himself. It was unsettling, but there was no strength or reason to stop it. His teeth itched, and at night he had to bite his own hands.
Another shift. A flash of blue hair on the horizon, tension in his legs. The chase began, and Gepard intended to continue it to the end.
Sampo looked more exhausted than usual, occasionally stumbling and shortening the distance. The guard was worried, ready to leap in if the thief fell and got hurt.
And a fall did happen.
At a sharp turn, Sampo misjudged his strength and almost tumbled down the slope, but Gepard caught him in time by the hand, preventing the fall.
An awkward silence fell. They both panted heavily, trying to recover from the chase. Gepard didn’t dare look up, afraid of seeing disgust or hatred, and obediently stared at the ground. The hand in his was warm. The guard bit his already unhealed lip, trying to hold himself together.
— I… uh… — Sampo’s voice was embarrassed and quiet, and Gepard found the strength to look up.
Sampo was rapidly blushing, avoiding Gepard’s gaze. His beautiful face wore an awkward smile, and dark circles lay under his eyes.
The monster inside him thrashed in hysteria, clawing at its cage. It screamed and howled in a hungry fit, leaving deep grooves on the inner walls of his mind.
— Sampo… can I…? — Gepard didn’t even know what he was asking, but Sampo finally looked at him and closed his eyes, giving silent consent.
The beast inside calmed down, quietly whining in anticipation like a good boy. And Gepard gladly followed through.
Their lips met in a hesitant kiss. The beast in his mind erupted again like a happy puppy. It yelped and jumped in joy. It was finally allowed to taste Sampo. Finally allowed to love and cherish him. Gepard felt almost ashamed thinking about what would happen when he was allowed to bite him.
Gepard cautiously parted his lips, slowly and gently sucking on Sampo’s lower lip, making the thief whimper softly. Strong thief-like arms wrapped around his neck while Sampo opened his mouth for the kiss to deepen. Slowly, Gepard left marks on Sampo’s lips, savoring him, drinking him in, and finally moved deeper. He gently ran his tongue along Sampo’s teeth, played with his palate, then with his tongue, circling and swallowing. He caught Sampo’s tongue between his teeth and sucked, drawing an surprised cry and wide green eyes.
— Eep! — Sampo tried to protest without his tongue. Gepard let go of the bitten skin. — Don’t eat my tongue!
Gepard laughed shyly and hugged him carefully, resting his forehead against Sampo’s shoulder. He was so happy.
— I love you… — he murmured, sticking his tongue out and dragging a wet line from the collar to Sampo’s ear.
— Are you offering to be your personal chew toy?
— Mm… — Gepard didn’t feel like speaking. Instead, he focused on gently nibbling the red ear.
— Hey, that’s unfair. I agree to be your boyfriend, but not your food! — Sampo laughed, and something inside Gepard’s stomach exploded with warmth.
— I won’t eat you. Just nibble a little. — A soft whisper near his ear and another kiss. So pleasant, so good.
— I’m not a bone. — Sampo turned Gepard’s face toward him and pulled him in for another kiss. The beast was happy. Gepard smiled into the kiss.
— Not a bone, — the blond agreed.
— And yet you still want to bite me, — Sampo said.
— Mm-hm.
And again silence, broken only by wet kisses and soft laughter.
— Will you be my boyfriend?
— So you can bite me?
— Yeah.
— Fine, let’s do it.
More laughter. Soft, quiet. So comfortable and warm that all his organs settled back into place, all threads gathered into a neat bundle and formed a normal person again. The beast inside fell asleep. And his thoughts were filled only with love.
They left the alley only an hour later. Sampo had bite marks and hickeys in visible places, looking disheveled, slightly dissatisfied, but tender and softened.
And Gepard’s teeth no longer itched.