xx

But still, Gepard’s feeling a little more lax than he would like to admit. He’s on his fourth… fifth? beer now, not even beginning to count the immeasurable amount of littered shot glasses that lie around the bar table infront of him and the other guards. He feels flushed, warm— but then his huge body shifts in its seat and you knock your shoulder against his as you take a sort of tipsy sway from where you sit, crammed in beside him.

Gepard’s movement seems to jostle you, enough to tilt you off balance until you’re colliding with his chest and to no surprise, he wraps a polite arm around your waist to steady you.

You’re just as giggly as the others seem to be, and just as warm.

You’re new to the Silvermane Guards, hardly a guard to a point, and more someone that helps with less-violent parts of the job. Gepard thinks that suits you better, not because he thinks you to be less than it, but more so because he thinks you’re meant for more. Far too pretty to be dirtying your hands with the role, far too delicate for something so harsh.

“I heard you grow flowers.” You say, voice jostling Gepard from the clouded thoughts in his mind as your finger draws a shape into his chest. The statement is enough to deepens his flush, not that having you staring up at him like this helps either, he almost splutters his next swig of beer.

He frowns, looking from you— to the others with a sigh. “How did you…. alright, which one of them told you?”

The questions earns Gepard a few chuckles and slurred shouts from the other guards around the table, their minds lost to the liquor and barely able to form a response that isn’t just a garbled mess of drunken calls.

He quickly gives up, resting his eyes closed when his attention drifts back to you. “I’m not very good at it, it’s just a hobby is all, nothing serious.”

“But I think it’s cute.” You say, laughing as your finger continues its intoxicating ministrations across Gepard’s shirt. “For a captain of the Silvermane guards to be so surprisingly gentle with such fragile things.”

“It’s hardly worthy of such praise, if you were to see the gardens I’m sure you would change your mind.”

“You would show me?” You ask, quickly. Head rolling onto his shoulder as you cast him a teasing blink.

“I….” Gepard pauses. Flushed a deep red, from both the alcohol and the realisation that he really did imply that, didn’t he?

It’s not that Gepard doesn’t find you attractive, he thinks you’re quite beautiful actually. You’re quick witted and rational, patient and kind. There’s a lot of things he could say to compliment you actually, even in the constraints of his intoxicated mind, he’s sure it would be quite easy.

Gepard tries to steady himself with a breath, blaming his cotton-filled thoughts and the heat in his lower stomach on the shots you’d graciously ordered for the table earlier. He should sober up and head home, but then his fingers squish into something soft, pliant and warm, and only when the touch pulls a soft whine from between your lips does Gepard realise he’s still holding you. Tight, as your breath shudders along his throat.

It makes him stiff, rigid. The captain only just realising how your position must look to the others, your chest pressed up against his side and one of your hands all over him, stroking at his chest.

Your lashes flutter, and Gepard swallows loud. “Are you attempting to make a mockery of me infront of my men?” He asks, chuckling while trying to reign himself in.

“I don’t know, Captain.” You purr back, making it entirely impossible. “I think you look pretty cool.”

“You would say something like that.”

Gepard tries to be responsible, as much as it pains him with his dwindling, alcohol-clouded restraint, he knows he shouldn’t take advantage of this. So he removes his arm from you as best he can, and makes to shuffle away. Not that you make it easy, or let him at all as you wrap your arms around his shoulders this time, closer than ever.

“Are you not having a good time with me?” Your words drawl, slurring slightly with your own drunkenness.

“T-that is certainly not the case,” Gepard says, glancing at you once before having to look away again. “I’m sorry if I’ve somehow made you feel that way.”

“Are you really sorry?” You ask again, and if you notice the way a deep flush creeps up Gepard’s neck you choose to ignore it.

“Yes, ofcourse. Hurting you has never been my intention that’s why—“

“Another shot then? For me?” You cut Gepard off as he begins a drunken, rambled apology. He finally looks at you then, meeting your glassy, drowsy gaze from where you’re wrapped around him on the leather couch. And his throat feels dry once more.

“I… I shouldn’t—“

“Please….” You pout. Beautifully tempting, plush lips jutting out and Gepard feels something twitch. A hitch in his heartbeat.

“You don’t make this easy, do you?”

“I guess not.” You shrug, something glowing in the colour of your eyes. Gepard watches you, blinking slow when you pull away from him to pick up one of the last shots on the table and then you return to him, pushing to your knees with an unsteady sway. Just enough to make him have to touch you again, to make sure you don’t fall over.

Gepard looks up at you, kneeling opposite his huge frame on the bar couch. Shot in hand, smiling.

“Allow me?”

He doesn’t respond, just nods. His brain feels like it’s made of goop, too many shots— too many beers. Aeons, he’s drunk. He’s barely aware of the other guard’s own conversations in the background or the steady hum of the beat of the music. But what Gepard is aware of, is the way your delicate fingertips stroke just beneath his jaw and tilt, your other hand pressing the shot glass to his lips and you grin wide as you tilt it down his throat. Giggling sweet as he accepts it with a wide-eyed, glassy look staring up at you.

The liquid burns as he swallows it, but he takes it in one gulp. Your hand swiping the beads of alcohol that escaped down his chin with a hum. “Well done, Captain.” You laugh, patting his cheek affectionately. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Not at all.” Gepard slurs, his voice low as he feels the alcohol take its hold on him. Making his judgement hot, clouded. “Was that enough of an apology then?”

“Almost.”

“What else may I do for you?” Gepard asks, jaw slack, still slightly sticky from the last shot and you lean over to rest the empty glass down on the table with a thud before you’re giggling.

“Let me think.”

You don’t, not for long anyway. Not before you’re back on him again and Gepard has to lean back against the leather bar couch to steady himself when you suddenly begin to climb on top. In one swift, fluid motion— you slink yourself onto the captain’s big lap, and he feels his heart in his throat when your hips bare down on top of his. His ears ring, drowning out the hollers and claps from the guards around him as he gives you a surprised, embarrassed look.

“Wh—what are you? This is h-hardly appropriate.”

“But I thought you were sorry?” You pout again as you get comfy, and Gepard thinks you’re a terrible, terrible drunk. A terribly cute drunk. You’re clumsy and clingy, handsy as your palms begin to rub all across his broad chest and he wonders if you can feel the way his heart is racing beneath your touch. His throat feels like it closes, his ears stinging red.

But then you nudge yourself closer, hips pressing over his crotch and Gepard blames the alcohol on his inability to stop the throb of his cock. The slight friction, accompanied by the heat between your legs and the subtle pressure is enough to make his hands clamp down on your hips. Hard.

He tries his best to still you, but even then it’s not enough. He can still feel you, the plush press of your cunt over his now half-hard bulge. The way he’s only getting harder, growing with every second he spends in this stuffy bar with you on his lap. Drunkenly acting a fool while surrounded by his comrades.

“I-it’s hot in here, wouldn’t you say?” Gepard tenses his jaw, blinking up at you. “Do you feel it too?”

You shake your hips again, only just able to go against his vice grip, but it’s enough to make you whine. “Yeah, it feels nice though.”

“Perhaps I should go and get some…. some air.”

“Oh?” Your voice huffs this time, as if surprised by his reaction, but at the same time you lean forward. Your chest presses up against Gepard’s broader one until he feels like he can’t breathe, and he feels your clothed cunt roll along the length of his fat cock as he desperately tries to still it from underneath you. Your breath tickles his neck, words slow. “I can get up if you like.”

“No.” He answers too quickly, and with his embarrassment— his holds wavers. As if offering you some freedom. “I mean, sorry, in a minute is fine. I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“Really?”

Gepard doesn’t know what he’s doing. Why he can’t tell you no, why he had that last shot, why he came here at all.

But all he does know right now, is that your clothed cunt feels so, so soft and so good from where you’re slowly grinding it down on his bulge. And aeons…. he doesn’t want it to stop yet, not even when he’s surrounded by his guards, not even when he’s putting on such a public raunchy display as captain.

Your lips lean close enough to trace Gepard’s jaw, and he drops his head back to grumble. His hands squeeze at your hips, and instead of stopping you this time, he accompanies it, dragging you back and forth along his thick cock. Even going as far as to subtly roll himself into you with slow thrusts, praying that the dimly lit Belobog club will atleast give grace in covering his flush. As far as it stretches.

“Maybe another minute?” You purr, squeak when the thick tip of Gepard’s cock seems to roll over the bump of your clit through your clothes. His eyes squeeze shut, the dizzy spin of the room suddenly doing him wonders.

“Yes…. K-keep doing that for now.” Gepard slurs, twisting into you in the hopes of finding your lips. “Please.”

✩ Is considerate about smoking and smelling like smoke around you. But you know if you ask him to shotgun you... yeah... he's so down. Although he's a little clusmy the first time because he all hot under the collar and there's a slight shake in his hand while using the lighter.

✩ He hides it well but you can rile him up so easily. If you show more skin than normal, or you're wearing a shorter shirt that shows off your naval when you stretch, or you've pinched his cigarette from his fingers and taken a drag from it. He's shifting in place trying to hide a boner while murmuring about how you're not good for his heart.

✩ He doesn't like quickies, he prefers to be able to go at his own pace and be able to choose where things get heated. But he has thought about having you against the desk in his office on more than one occasion.