*steals every dog I see*

Pervert. That might be the only way you can describe yourself in one word, unfortunately.

Sometimes you wish your brain wasn't wired to notice things other people don't. The little groans of frustration or tired sighs that people make; to others, they sound like sounds of pain - a reason to be concerned. But to you, you can always pick out the breathy tone in their voice that toes the line between pain and pleasure. And there's one person in particular who is overwhelmingly the one most subject to your depraved mind - your supervisor, Agent Kennedy.

Even just thinking about him makes your typing speed drop, your thighs clench, and your breath hitch in your throat. It's embarrassing how much you pay attention to every little movement and sound he makes. You don't know a whole lot about him, but you don't see a ring and there's no framed photo of a wife and kids on his desk, not even a dog in a little stand-up frame, in fact. It only leads you to thinking of him more and more, and stupidly fantasising about starting something with him.

You're not exactly sure what it is about Leon that seems to scratch that little crevice in your brain so perfectly. Maybe it's the way his biceps seem to become impossibly bigger when he folds his arms as he listens to a debrief, or the way you watch his axe literally become buoyant as he walks around when he's on the field, or perhaps the way he lets out the filthiest grunts you've ever heard when he lifts or moves something heavy.

"Hey. You listening?" Leon lowers his head just a little to stare into your eyes. His tone doesn't convey irritation, but rather concern. "You look tired, you need to go home early and call in sick?" Leon asks.

The truth is, you're not sick or unwell. Or… Perhaps you're just sick in the head. You spent hours and hours thinking about him, chasing pleasure into the early hours of the morning with his name at the very tip of your tongue. "O-oh. Um… I guess I feel a little run down. But I'll try to stick it out through the rest of the day." You respond.

"Atta girl. But don't push yourself if you're sick. It's crunch time for reports right now, we don't need half the office sick too." Leon gives you a small grin, before walking off. Something stirs within you the moment you hear him say 'atta girl' in that encouraging, gentle voice.

And so you decided that being the amazing employee you are, the dusty storage room stacked to the brim with archive files is the perfect place to shove your hand underneath the waistband of your underwear and replay that recent interaction with Leon over and over in your head. You stifle a moan as you listen out for any footsteps passing, keeping your back pressed against the cold concrete of the wall as your head lolls back. As your hand works faster beneath the layers of clothing, you just can't help but let out a soft little whimper and allow Leon's name to very quietly roll off your tongue.

"…Yeah?"

You freeze. That's Leon's voice. You're certain of it. Your hand immediately pulls out from under your waistband, an unceremonious 'thwip!' sound of the elastic snapping back and ever so slightly stinging the skin of your lower abdomen for a brief moment. You hear the echo of Leon's boots as he turns the corner of your shelf, staring right at you.

"Oh, um..." You feel the heat rise to the uppermost layer of your skin. If it rises any further, you fear your skin might just incinerate. You kind of wish it could do that right now. "Nothing." You swallow thickly, pathetically even, as Leon takes a few more steps towards you.

"I'm pretty sure I heard you say my name?" His pale blue gaze is intense, though his tone is more gentle than you expected it to be. The cold concrete beneath your skin suddenly doesn't feel so cold anymore.

"No, uh, I actually said… Neon. Like, um, I needed a neon highlighter." Your lie is baseless and nonsensical. You felt like a deflated balloon even attempting to save yourself from this. You should've known someone was already in the damn room, since when you entered the lights were already on. In your defense, you've absolutely rubbed one out to the thought of him during a quiet hour, and nobody has ever walked nearby or came in. You've done this a total of five times to be exact, actually.

"On thin papers that date back to the 70's that would turn into mush? Damn. Guess I don't train you as well as I thought I did." Leon chuckles.

"Haha, oh… Oops… Well, gotta get back to it." Your voice dies in your throat as you push yourself off the wall.

"Where you heading to?" Leon steps forward a fraction more, his heavy boots making an imposing sound. You stare at the polished leather, your eyes lingering on it for a moment before your gaze snaps back up to his.

"Uh, the… The photocopier." You give another miserable lie. Leon quirks a brow.

"That wouldn't be getting back to it."

"Huh?"

"Continue what you were doing just now." Leon instructs. Still playing dumb, you turn towards the files, pretending to sift through a bunch of folders that have no relevance to you at all. You hear him let out an amused huff, his much larger, calloused hand slowly reaching out to yours. Blinking in shock at the fact that Leon has just grabbed your hand, you're now in total disbelief that Leon's lips are wrapped around your index and middle finger, his tongue softly stroking against your fingertips for a brief moment before releasing your hand with a soft 'pop!'

"W-What…?" You blink, completely stunned.

"Wow. You're acting surprised, even though you've been getting off thinking about me between these shelves for the last ten minutes?" Leon asks, and you feel like you want to melt into a puddle right on the spot.

"…I'm sorry. I don't… Um… I'll stop. I'll stop immediately." You stammer apologetically.

"Why? I didn't ask you to stop." Leon responds. Your mouth opens and closes in surprise, your heart hammering against your chest. "You really think I didn't notice? The way you stare at me like you're going to eat me when I'm prying a warped cabinet door open? Oh. And you cross and uncross your legs repeatedly when you're staring at my arms from across the room. You're not exactly subtle. Although I guess it's my fault too, since I'm enabling all of this." Leon adds.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up - Leon isn't scolding you, nor is he appalled by your behaviour… He's challenging you. He's gauging to see if you have just as much interest in him as he has for you, and if you're willing to act on that interest just as much as he is.

"Wait, sorry, you… You're fine with this?" You ask for confirmation, his response still not quite fully baked in your brain.

"I thought that much was obvious." He lets out a short chuckle. Leon takes another step, his body now invading your personal bubble. "For such a competent agent, you sure do seem oblivious to the hints I've been dropping. But that's okay. If you don't want this, I'll turn around, walk away, and forget it ever happened. We can stay strictly as mentor and subordinate-"

"-No." You interject quickly, clearing your throat. "No, as in, I don't want to stay just as mentor and subordinate. I want this too."

"Good. For a second there I thought I was going to come off as a creep." Leon lets out a small, relieved chuckle.

"…Pretty sure I'm the creep in this situation." You awkwardly joke, briefly rubbing the back of your neck as you begin to walk behind him. Leon takes a seat at the rickety old desk, the old office chair ever so slightly squeaking under his weight as he makes himself comfortable. His legs are spread, his thigh muscles on display even through his utility trousers.

"Maybe." Leon's tone is low and the word is a little drawn out, the cadence of his voice stirring something within you. "Here's what we'll do. You're going to play, and I'm going to watch." His voice is just above a whisper, the broad expanse of his chest catching your eye as he leans his elbows back on the armrest.

"You don't want to…?" You're not exactly sure how you can outright ask your supervisor if he wants to have sex. You're perverted, but you're not shameless.

"Oh, no, believe me, I do. But I got a little banged up from the last field mission I just came back from." Leon lifts his tight quarter zip, revealing his muscular abdomen, littered with nasty contusions, a nauseating purplish and green hue. "There's a few more. Can't really do anything… Strenuous until the bruises have properly healed, at least." He explains.

"Fuck, they look like they hurt like a bitch." You let out a slow exhale, but you weren't really looking at the bruises. That exhale wasn't really one out of sympathy. You were looking at the peaks and valleys of his abdominal muscles, and the way you could see a light smattering of blonde hair travelling south. Your eyes travel back to Leon's gaze, and you already know you've been caught. He notices, but he doesn't address it. He only gives you a short knowing look.

"Yeah. We can do a little more once my body doesn't feel like an overripe peach. So… You think you can show me?" Leon's questions hangs in the air for a moment before you perch yourself at the edge of the table.

"Anything to help my supervisor recover." You joke. Leon slightly shakes his head, leaning towards you for a second.

"We're a little past titles at this point. Use my name." Leon says, echoing your own name as he leans back again.

"Alright… Anything to help you recover, Leon." You say, biting back a grin as you hitch your skirt up to your hips, pull down your panties, and spread your legs once more.

"Fuck, you were close, huh? It's dripping all down your thighs." Leon whispers, already palming his cock at the sight of you. You might combust on the spot, watching him stare at you like this. But you keep it together, as you begin to rub yourself for him slowly. Your moans are soft and stifled, mostly out of pure fear that you'll be caught with your hands between your legs in front of your supervisor.

Leon frees his cock from his pants, and you momentarily fear that you might genuinely drool all over your white and blue striped work blouse at the sight of him. He's exactly as you imagined from all that print checking and the way you watched him walk, as if it's heavy. Scratch that - he's better than what you imagined him to look like. It most certainly is heavy. With blown out pupils, you continue to rub little circles on your clit at a frantic pace - you're watching him watching you. It makes your head spin to the point where you feel a little dizzy. You want to touch him so badly, to feel him, but you have to settle for this.

…Unless.

Your gaze drops down to his polished boots. Not a speck of dirt, blood, or grime. Your hand slows, and Leon gives you a quizzical glance. "You okay?" He asks you, his hand slowing.

"I'm fine," you reply, almost feeling caught off guard by how gentle his tone is and how perceptive of a person he can truly be. "…I was just wondering how clean you keep those boots." You add.

Leon quirks a brow, letting out a short chuckle of bewilderment. "You're wondering if I keep my boots clean at a time like this? Shit, I know I'm a little old, but I didn't think I was that bad to look at."

"What? Oh, no, no. Trust me, you're… Really nice to look at. I just wish I could touch you in some way, is all." You pout.

"I'm not sure if I'm fully following. But yes, I clean these boots very regularly, and they're just for the office."

"Just… Just keep going." You tell him, your dangling feet now planted on the charcoal coloured carpet as you close the gap between you both. "I'm just going to hope you don't have a foot or ankle injury." You say, sinking down to your knees as you straddle Leon's boot. His eyes widen, as you carefully lean back, your impossibly slick pussy settling on the broad, flat part of the leather.

"God damn." Leon breathes out as you begin to grind yourself against his boot.

"Too much?" Your question is breathy as your clit rubs against the firm leather.

"No. No. Just… Haha, fuck." Leon's free hand reaches out, his fingers gently raking through your hair for a moment as he gives you a small smile. "Just a pleasant surprise." He determines.

"Good." You respond, as his hand travels from your hair to cup your jawline, his thumb stroking your bottom lip. You whimper as you fuck yourself into the surface of his boot relentlessly, picking up the pace of your hips as you watch his hand pump his cock faster and faster.

"Yeah… That's it. Keep going… That's my girl." Leon groans as he watches you desperately buck your hips, your mouth slightly agape as you chase pleasure from something as simple as his boot.

"I-I'm gonna…" You mewl, your words dying in your throat.

"You gonna cum? Good… Good girl. Show me." Leon coaxes, his words giving you that one final shove that sends you over the edge, the feeling of warmth spreading throughout your lower abdomen, as the obscene wet squelching sounds from your pussy echo throughout the room. The sight of you coming undone in front of him causes Leon to let out a deep groan of pleasure. Your eyes are fixed on the thick, white ropes of cum that he catches in his hand, his chest heaving and an unmistakable red flush creeps on the back of his neck to the tips of his ears as he finishes.

Leon reaches overhead, quickly grabbing a wad of tissues for both you and him as you clean yourselves up. "Can you stand?" He asks as he moves to get up, and you slowly rise from the floor, with Leon holding you steady by the arms as you find balance on your legs once more.

"Thanks." You give him a small smile of appreciation.

"Was about to say the same thing." Leon says, leaning you against the desk as he kisses you deeply. You were expecting something that was all tongue and teeth, but it was a remarkably tender kiss that leaves you feeling flushed in the face. Turning around to pull your underwear back on, you notice it's missing.

"Oh, that's weird, I thought my…" You turn back to Leon, and you notice his hand shoving something in his back pocket for a moment.

"You can get it back after dinner with me tonight." He says, before straightening his posture and walking out of the door. The door closes with a gentle thud. All you can do is blink for a moment as your breathing fully evens out.

Well... That's one way to be asked out on a date.

You’ve dealt with your fair share of speed-boosted infected; limbs windmilling, clawing and careening, all bursting energy and no finesse.

These aren’t blisterheads. They have stamina. They’re keeping up.

You twist and shoot one whose fingers are uncomfortably close to swiping the back of Leon’s shirt. The nearby white paneled wall goes bright, splotchy red.

“Intel’s getting a new one ripped if we make it out of this,” you pant, breath dry and ragged in your throat. Your lungs are burning.

“We’re making it out,” Leon tells you. Conclusive, no room for argument. He dodges left, hand once again grazing your arm to pull you with, but you’re already there, a perfect shadow.

This hall is wider, brightly lit with glass cases set in between the wall panels.

You’ve only got eyes on one thing as you run.

EXIT

It’s a final sprint.

You grit your teeth, breath loud in your ears, arms and legs pumping hard, trying to build a gap that allows for a sudden smack into the double doors, a loss of momentum and reversal of motion to slam the barrier closed.

‘Slam’ turns out to be optimistic. It’s a hydraulic close. Glacially fucking slow.

“Fuck! Force it!”

You almost bash heads with Leon, throwing your combined weight against the doors as the calamitous wall of infected catch up, arms reaching through the diminishing gap, scratching and clawing at you.

With a roar of effort, the doors finally give way under pressure and close with a crunch. An arm, hand, and various fingers fall onto the concrete.

“Bar it! Bar it!” Leon’s braced against both doors, his body a wedge, jarred by the furious thumping from the other side.

There are massive pneumatic rod locks on either side of the door. The control panel is dark.

“There’s no power!”

“You’re armed!”

Oh, right.

BANG T-SHUNK

Smoke curls from the barrel of your gun. The blasted hole in the control panel sparks weakly, fizzes, then goes dark.

Leon pushes away from the secured doors, rubbing at his ear. Your head’s ringing like a struck bell and you’d been back at arm’s length, not parallel with the barrel.

“Say something?”

“Something.”

“Yeah, can’t hear shit.”

"You only look like it.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

He’s flipping you off.

You grab it like a pinky promise, linking middle fingers, and he rolls his eyes.

“Alright. Let’s bounce,” you say.

He pulls you back. Urgent, abrupt. It bumps you against him.

“Wait.”

You’re in a greenhouse.

Rows and rows of lush, overgrown plants stretch unfamiliar leaves towards a glass-paneled sky. The walkways between rows are made of industrial metal grating, a stale funk rising from the darkness underneath.

No breeze is stirring the air. The back of your neck starts prickling; your animal brain tugging on your metaphorical hem and pointing.

The plants are rustling lightly.

Leon half-turns his head towards you, keeping his eyes on the jungle ahead.

“What’s the sitrep on the door?”

It’s still thumping against the locks, battered by the relentless undead. You glance at the panel you’d shot, burst and gutted, the wall above it blackened.

“Fucked.”

“Other doors?”

It’s just wall. Wall, and wall, and wall, smooth and inhospitable.

“Negative.”

“How long can you hold your breath?”

“I don’t think that’s the concern.”

You’re playing back the last hallway. White walls broken by glass panels, streaking by as you run. Behind every glass panel, a bright orange suit, thick like leather.

Bite-proof.

“Fuck.”

“So you tried to bypass it underground.”

“So we tried to bypass it underground,” you confirm. You watch the man nod, taking notes. He’s a leftie.

“Good thinking.”

“Yeah, well. Apparently not.”

The metal grating isn’t light. Thankfully, you and Leon aren’t weak.

The daylight sits like oil on top of water, only greasing weakly off of the reflective metal of more walkways below; descending levels disappearing into the dark.

“Oh, good. Can’t see the bottom.”

“Endless possibilities,” Leon says. “Cover me.”

The first level is an eight foot drop. Leon swings his legs into the gap, scoots forward, and eases himself down slowly, like he’s waiting for something to file a violent complaint. When nothing does, he drops onto the walkway, the metal clanging despite his rubber soles.

He shines his flashlight forward.

“Ugh.”

“What?”

“Love what they’ve done with the space.” He pockets the flashlight, reaching up to you. “It’s a charm you have to see in person.”

His hands are firm on your sides, your shirt riding up a little as he supports you down onto the platform with him. He absently fixes your rucked hem as you shine your flashlight into the gloom.

“Ugh,” you agree.

Roots.

Long, white, spidery roots hang from the ceiling in lengthy clumps and bundles, like massive, cobwebby chandeliers.

Leon’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing.

“Hey. Look.”

He steps forward, reaching into the nearest nest of gauzy filaments. He pulls his hand out, fingers curled around a narrow, dark plastic tube.

You come closer with the flashlight.

The dark color is red.

“It’s warm,” Leon adds, horribly.

The tube snakes off into the darkness below. You point your flashlight down and catch a glint off of something flat, circular, and shiny.

Leon’s separating more tubes from the leggy mass of roots. Only the one is red, but the others don’t look any less… organic.

“God. Which way do you think they run?”

He glances at you. “Three guesses.”

“Plants don’t bleed red.”

“Not typically.”

You share a resigned look, then he brushes past you, face set.

You turn to find him making quick work of the stairs down to the lower levels, hand on his gun.

You check your pistol's chamber and follow.

“A line of tanks.”

“Life support tanks, yes. Dozens.”

“Which way were the tubes running?”

“Both ways.”

“So…”

“The tanks were feeding the plants, and the plants were feeding the tanks.”

“Life support, you said. So there were … humans? Inside the tanks?”

“Yeah,” you say, looking away. “Used to be.”

There’s a thick film of slime on the tank, like growing snot. Your flashlight can’t make out anything coherent inside.

Leon shines his flashlight down the row; cylinder after cylinder, standing like a row of human-sized batteries, all mucky with slime and tickled by the trailing ends of roots from the massive bundles overhead.

Somewhere ahead, a steady dripping, echoing. You don’t appreciate the cliche.

“When was the initial outbreak?” Now that you’re on solid ground, your voice seems to suck right into the floor.

“All the lab logs and entries stop around six months ago.”

“So no one’s been down here for half a year.”

“Yeah.”

Leon shares a long look with you, mouth tight. Then, hesitant, he wipes a window through the muck on the nearest tank.

The beam of his flashlight illuminates the chamber. You can see a vague shadow suspended inside, like a bug in rough, raw amber.

He steps back, jaw tight.

“Dare I even ask?”

He shakes his head. “It’ll put you off soup.”

You shine your flashlight upwards; the root balls catch it and glow, high overhead.

“What was so wrong with good ol’ hydroponics?”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Leon says, heading off down the line of tanks.

“Twist my arm.”

“You didn't see it?”

“It was behind one of the tanks. In the dark.”

“You didn't hear it?”

“It was a little noisy at the time,” you say, annoyed.

Third tank from the last, everything goes spectacularly tits up.

Glass shatters outward, slimy and wet as it ricochets off your defensively raised arms. The body in the tank falls forward and swipes for Leon’s legs.

It’s not like the infected you’re used to, desiccated and dry as jerky.

This one is wet. This one is dissolving, skin sloughing from muscle sloughing from bone. Entrails spill from its body cavity, slippery, spreading across the hoary concrete as the disgusting thing writhes for a claim on your partner’s ankle.

Leon stumbles out of reach, gun aiming at the mucky skull. It explodes like a sixpack in a hot car and you’re shouting, ducking behind your arm again—

That’s when the other thing strikes.

Leon shouts in pain and tries to tear free. The pale, rubbery thing keeps hold of his shoulder like an overexcited dog with a rope toy.

“Leon!”

It’s too close to his head and he’s thrashing, you don’t have a clear shot. Something glints in the shadows behind his hip.

The hatchet. He’s already grabbed it.

A roar, a swing, the song of a sharp blade slicing clean through something organic.

The pale thing hits the ground with a sound like a rotting squash, the vine swinging empty into the darkness behind the tanks.

Leon falls to one knee with a grunt, the hatchet clattering onto the concrete.

“Leon! Leon,” you’re touching his back, crouching down with him. He’s breathing hard through his nose, clutching his shoulder. The fabric is darkening under his hand.

“Let me see. Leon.”

You shove his hand clear, unzipping his collar and yanking it aside.

His skin is patterned with circular rows of bleeding dashes. Lots of them.

“What the fuck.”

The pale, rubbery thing lies flaccid on the floor behind Leon. At first glance, it looks like a starfish collapsed on itself.

At second glance, you start to see the teeth, fine and triangular, in diminishing rows like a shark.

Pink with blood.

“Shit. Hey.”

Leon’s still on one knee, head down. You push his hair back, leaving a bloody streak on his skin, and tip his face up. There’s sweat on his forehead.

It takes him a moment to focus on you.

“Tell me what you’re feeling.”

He grunts. His pupils are a little too big, even for the dim lighting, and they’re not reacting right when you pass your flashlight closer.

You’re trying not to panic.

“Can you get up? Can you walk?”

He lets you haul him to his feet but shoves you off when you go to duck under his arm. You don’t take offense; it’s a good sign. He’s steady enough on his own.

“Grab that,” he tells you, voice rough. He’s holding his shoulder again, pointing down at the beheaded plant. You pick it up by the little stem of vine, grab his hatchet, and follow him close, ascending fast while he calls for extraction.

You don’t wait for your debrief to finish writing.

“What did the labs say?”

“They’re still running tests.”

“What did Medical say?”

“They’re still running tests.”

“What, with a potato? Where's the sense of urgency, here?”

“At last report, Mr. Kennedy was stable,” he says, capping his pen.

“He was half delirious coming off that chopper!”

“They’ve determined he’s in no immediate danger.”

“How can they know if they’re still running fucking tests?”

You get your name in an admonishing tone. You stand up, your chair screeching against the floor.

“I wanna see him.”

“He’s in precautionary isolation.”

“I was exposed to the same bullshit he was. I wanna see him.”

“You weren't bitten.”

“What, you think he’s gonna bite me?”

Your debrief just looks back at you, calm and level, his hands folded prim over the closed folder containing your account of the whole goddamn shit-spackled mission.

“He’s in precautionary isolation,” he repeats.

Your teeth grind, a muscle in your jaw jumping.

“Are we done here?”

“Yes. You are free to go.”

Medical stops you at the door. They aren’t fooled by your purposeful stride, your bored but intent expression. They hook your arm and yank you away like it’s goddamn Looney Tunes.

“We were told you might try that.”

Fucking debrief.

So now you’re sitting at home, dialing the Medical desk every fifteen minutes, certain from the complete non-activity of the past four hours that they’ve filtered your number as spam.

Assholes.

You should go to bed. Medical’s kept you both alive thus far, through hell and high water. Leon’s in good hands. Stable. No immediate danger, they said.

You rotate your phone in your hand, over and over. Upside-down, rightside-up. Staring at nothing.

You call the labs.

Some poor idiot actually picks up.

“I-I-I can’t give you that information,” he stammers, when you demand an update on Leon. On the biting plant. On fucking anything.

“I’m his partner! I was ground zero when it happened!”

“I-I can’t verify that over the phone.”

“Then I’m coming in,” you say, prim. You hang up on more panicked stammering, tossing your phone aside on the couch.

You’ve barely made it to your feet when your phone starts ringing.

Incoming Call Leonnedy

You stub your toe on the couch in your scramble to pick up.

“Leon! Are you okay?”

Immediately you can tell he’s not.

“I need help,” he says. Croaks.

Cold sweat breaks on your skin.

“Where are you? What’s wrong?”

“I’m… I can’t…” He gasps.

You’re a whirl of activity. You’re grabbing your wallet, your keys, pulling a jacket on over your pajamas. There’s no fucking time to change.

“Leon, where are you.”

“Home.”

“What?” You stop cold in your mad dashing, gripping the phone too hard. “They sent you home like this?”

“They said I could take care of it.”

“Take care of what? They won’t tell me fucking anything, Leon–“

He groans through clenched teeth and oh boy, Medical’s gonna find out just how creative you can be when it comes to revenge. You shove your feet ungracefully into some shoes and grab for the door handle.

“The venom,” Leon’s panting in your ear, and then he gets to the zinger. “It’s an aphrodisiac.”

You feel it like lightning, a surge throughout your entire body. Your visual of his situation, based on the noises he’s making, takes a dramatic turn.

“Leon.”

“It’s been six goddamn hours,” he grits out.

“Jesus christ, can’t you just–”

“I’ve tried,” he says. “I’m just goddamn edging myself.”

“Did you call Medical? There’s gotta be something they can–”

“Fucking useless,” Leon says, confirming your hypothesis. “They told me to hire an escort.”

“What?”

“I’m not— fuck— fucking doing that.”

You thump your forehead against your front door, your grip on the doorknob tight enough to crush.

“Leon, if you… there’s no shame. They’re professio–”

“No,” he cuts in. “I don’t…” He breaks off, breath hissing through his teeth, and then fails to elaborate.

That’s alright; you’ve got a pressing question.

“Why’d you call me?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. You just have to listen to him breathe like this.

Your vivid imagination is a fucking curse.

"I trust you,” he finally tells you. “I know how this… I don’t have… I trust you.”

You’re partners.

No, you’re coworkers. What he’s asking is… can he ask this? What happens to your partnership in the aftermath? Can you go back to–

“Please,” he breathes in your ear, and tops it with your name.

You wrench the door open.

Before you hang up, he gives you the code for the garage door, and fair warning.

You’re still not prepared.

As partners, you’ve seen each other in various states of undress. Usually partial. Usually because you’re bleeding somehow. Always clinical.

This doesn’t feel like the far end of the same spectrum. This feels like a g-force journey into a different dimension.

Leon’s on his couch, head back, knees wide. Taut like a bowstring.

Completely, stark, buck-ass naked.

His shoulder looks like a bisected watermelon, his skin dewy and pink, dotted with the dark little toothmarks from the venomous plant.

His chest is heaving, his hips restless.

His cock is flushed dark, painfully engorged, thick and pulsing against his stomach. There’s a wet smear on his skin; when his cock lifts, straining, it trails a sticky little string of precum.

“Christ,” you rasp, tossing your jacket aside.

He lifts his head and his eyes can barely focus on you. He looks on the verge of passing out, but he reaches out, reaches for you. You shove a bottle of lube out of the way on the couch cushions and take his outstretched hand.

“I’m here. What do you–“

“Touch,” he pants, barely coherent. “Touch me.”

And here you are in the deep end, no time to brace, no time to breathe. You’re touching him, chamois soft skin, hot and unyielding. His hips jerk on a gasp, a groan dragging from somewhere deep within as he lets his head fall back on the couch.

The hot, swooping sensation in your stomach physically bends you, punches your breath out.

You’ve never handled a dick this hard in your entire life.

You’ve maybe never handled a dick this big in your entire life. He’s long and thick, the head flared, cerise and glistening. You pass your thumb over his slit, smearing through the precum, and his stomach tautens as he pushes up into your hand, his breath rushing out hot, hissing back in. He’s desperate.

He breathes your name. His ass keeps flexing with the helpless motion of his hips and his eyes are closed, forehead knotted.

It’s intense concentration. His world narrowed down, only as wide as the circle of your fist.

Six goddamn hours.

You tighten your grip, trail your other hand up the lightly furred inside of his thigh, teasing his balls before stacking your fists and starting to pump him in a steady rhythm that answers the flex of his body.

His hand lands on your thigh, searing, his fingertips firm on your flesh and pulling. Your knee presses tighter against his leg.

He’s just grappling for a hold on something, for an anchor. His other hand is doing the same thing to the arm of the couch. You just hope he doesn’t move his hand any further to the left on you or he’s gonna find you a little too slippery to hold onto.

Fuck, you’re only goddamn human.

You jerk him faster, his hips starting to meet you in earnest, his body rolling as he chases his disobliging release.

And why couldn’t he get there himself?

What if… what if you can’t get him there, either? You don’t know anything about the venom, they’re still running tests. Maybe this is the result. Maybe he’s just… stuck like this, heightening, exacerbating, until he, what, pops?

What a fucking epitaph that would be.

No, you’re not scripting headstones. That’s not happening.

You start to twist on the upstroke, a flick of the wrist, and Leon moans loud.

“That’s it. Come on, Leon.”

His balls are tightening, drawing up, his forehead beaded with sweat, his mouth open. He’s right on the edge.

“Look at me.”

He opens his eyes, glassy as they are. You make sure he can see you, and then you bend low.

His skin is velvety soft around the firm rounds of his balls. You fit your lips to one of the shapes, touch your tongue to it, tasting the salt of him.

He cries out, thick ropes of cum hitting his chest, his stomach, spurting and spilling down his shaft, smeared by your hand as you milk him through it, relieved.

You can’t stop your breathy laugh, almost lost under his aereous groans. He just keeps going.

“A little pent up?”

He doesn’t quip back. The situation is dire.

His dick gives one last pulse, the final beads of his release dribbling down the head of his cock. You rub it away with your thumb.

There’s a very noticeable issue.

He’s still incredibly hard.

When you meet his eyes, they’re a little clearer. He’s still sunset pink and breathing hard – messy, now, too – but he can track your face better.

“Do you feel any different?”

“Fuck. Barely.”

"What if you're stuck like this?"

“Don't say that," he says. You’re still stroking him, slow, like an afterthought. He drags his hands through his damp hair, hissing when it stretches the scabs on his chewed shoulder.

"It was venom, do you need some sort of antivenom?"

He doesn’t appear to be listening. His hands grip the back of the couch, his hips rolling, cock pushing through your sticky fist.

You grab his hips and force them down.

“Leon.”

He bucks hard against you, bratty.

"You think I know?”

“Don’t give me an attitude.”

“Don’t fuckin tease me,” he snaps, unwisely.

You move fast.

A whump, a gasp, the silence of breath caught in the shadow of a predator.

His breath fans out over your face; slow, tremulous.

“I’m doing you a favor,” you remind him, low, your face inches from his. “I could just leave.”

He’s not moving, trapped under you.

You’re straddling him, your fist tight at the base of his cock.

“What do you say?”

“Fuck.”

“Leon.”

“I love you.”

It rattles you like a gunshot, strikes you and spreads.

It takes your advantage, crumples it up, and throws it in a trash compactor. And then it lights that trash compactor on fire.

“That’s not fair,” you breathe.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and kisses you.

He’s upgraded your permissions. You kiss him back, heated, and let go of your leash.

He breaks from your mouth to gasp when you sit on his hips, his hands catching your waist and gripping.

“Shit.”

“So we’ve learned that I’m not a monk,” you say, a verbal roll of the eyes.

It’s not just a few tepid inches of water in your basement. At this point, your flood’s halfway up the damn walls.

He rocks his hips, rubbing himself against the soaked fabric of your pajama shorts. You keen and pick up the motion on your own.

God, you’re aching.

“You should have said something,” he says, breathless.

“That wasn’t on the invitation.”

“Aren’t you a saint.”

“Yeah. Because when you said ‘I trust you’, I heard ‘take advantage of my compromising situation’.”

“Fair,” he says, then pulls you down to speak in your ear, his scruff a ticklish rasp against your skin. “Fuck me.”

Well don’t you make the perfect pair. He’s hard as granite and you’re wet enough to sink a dinghy.

Taking off your clothes is too much fucking bother. You just shove the wet fabric to the side.

He doesn't watch where you’re taking his cock into your body, the hot, hard length of him sliding in tight past your pussy lips.

He’s watching your face. You don’t know it until you’ve got him in to the hilt, your mouth falling open on a sigh, your forehead smoothing out as you gyrate your hips, a delicious little circle, fully seated on his lap.

"Oh my god, Leon."

He comes.

Your name is somewhere in the long groan sieved through his clenched teeth before his mouth drops open, diced breaths tumbling free as he pulses inside of you, so deep, so hot and thick.

He’s still looking directly at you.

You watch his eyes clear just a little more; sharpening, focusing. Smoke becoming a mist.

“Can I tease you about premature ejaculation.”

“No.” He starts unbuttoning your pajama top. The fabric is wrinkled at your sides where he’d been gripping, almost hard enough to bruise.

“Why, because you’re still hard?” He is, but it’s different. You couldn’t bend steel around him anymore.

“Yeah,” he says simply, and grips your open collar, pulling you down into a kiss.

You arch your back, easing him to just the tip, bottoming him out again, cycling his affected breath through your own lungs. He runs his hands down your chest, grazing your nipples, his tongue reaching into your mouth to taste your sigh.

His hips press up into you, lifting you, a gentle swell. You ride it; start to rock your hips.

The fabric of your shirt whispers down your arms, chased by the skim of Leon’s palms. Goosebumps raise on your skin.

You brace your arms on the back of the couch, riding him faster. He trails his lips down the column of your neck, his scruff a pleasant scratch, his humid breaths printing your skin.

He runs the fan of his fingers over your nipples.

“Leon.”

“Lean back,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing your shoulder. “Let me see you.”

You sit back on his hips, brushing your hands over the caps of his knees. He scratches lightly down the flex of your thighs as you start slapping down on him harder, dropping your head back, gasping.

“Fuck, gorgeous, just like that.”

“God, Leon.”

Your thighs are burning. He starts meeting you, hips snapping, and you look down.

It almost does you in.

Those broad shoulders, that flushed chest. Muscles rolling and bunching under his glistening skin. Hair sticking to his forehead, wet pink lips, blown eyes hooded, watching you, too.

His hands fall to your hips and he growls, fingers bunching in your pajama shorts. Feral. Like he’s going to tear them.

He hooks his arm around your back and surges up, laying you out on the sofa. You whine when he slips out of you, but he’s lifting your hips to yank your shorts and panties down, surprisingly coordinated for the way he’s wound up.

A small part of you expects them to hit the floor with a wet slap. The rest of you is reaching for Leon, impatient, empty.

He brings your knee up, hooks your leg around his hip and pushes back in, one long thrust, his breath a humid narration. You keen, head falling back against the cushions, feeling his lips at your jaw.

He digs his arms under your shoulders, his body rocking you, fluid motions pushing and pulling as he fucks you slow, deep. You grip his back, obsessed with the animal flex of his body.

You can feel every inch of him, stroking your walls. In, out, a steady tide. You arch your back, your stomach pressing to the rippling heat of his abs.

He’s still sticky. You don’t fucking care.

“Score’s two to zero,” he tells you, breath hot against your cheek. “You gonna catch up?”

“I’m not the medical concern.”

He brings your other leg up onto his hip, adjusting. Seeking.

He finds it. You groan loud, raw, and feel him smile against your neck.

“There you are.”

Your jaw hinges open, your vision glazing over as he rubs the head of his cock against the bundle of nerves inside you. He snaps his hips, jolting a gasp out of you, then goes right back to massaging your g-spot.

“You’re not real,” you pant. He nips your skin, sharp.

“River in Egypt, sweetheart.”

You dig your heels into his glutes, pressing in like spurs, urging him faster.

“Come on, cowboy– ah!”

He pushes up onto his hands, skin slapping loud as he starts pounding into you hard and fast. You were already tightening, coil building, and he’s hit your fucking warp drive.

“Fuck, fuck, like that, Leon!”

“Shit, you better hurry,” he says through gritted teeth. His hips are stuttering, rhythm starting to fall apart.

“I told you–“

His thumb circles your clit, just one rotation, and that’s it. The bastard’s got you. Screaming, even.

You come apart beneath him, your foundation shaking, walls clenching around him, wracked by seismic waves. He gasps your name, watching you climax on his dick, then slams in deep and comes with a long, stuttering groan.

The third time, it seems, is the charm.

When his phone starts ringing, you don’t hear it at first. His head is blocking your nearest ear.

“Leon.”

“Mm.”

“Your phone.”

“Mmph.”

You shift like you’re going to try to reach for it yourself, but he’s beautifully heavy on top of you, so you don’t try very hard.

You nuzzle your face into his hair and bring your arms around him instead, closing your eyes. He hums, content.

The ringtone stops, bending to your private moment.

Five seconds later, it starts up again.

“Fuck.”

You grouse when Leon shifts up, but his reach is longer than yours and he doesn’t go far.

“Huh. Medical,” he says.

“Oh,” you say, with mock optimism.

He hits answer, settling back on top of you. You run your hand up and down his back, petting him.

“Kennedy.”

He doesn’t have his volume turned up very high. You get vague shapes of words, spoken quickly, and then Leon’s short responses, felt as much as heard, his voice thrumming through you.

“Yeah. … No. … Don’t need it. … I know. … I know. … No, I’m fine. … Sure. Bye.”

“Fucking useless,” he mutters, his phone clattering onto the coffee table. “Antivenom’s ready.”

You start giggling.

“They want me in for reassessment in the morning.”

It turns into laughter, smothered into his shoulder, and he rolls into the couch crease so he can look at you.

“What?”

“All their overtime hours,” you say. “No match for your partner’s Magical Healing Vagina.”

He laughs, a real one, his hand pulling at your hip to twist you towards him, pressing you against his body. You’re both a fucking mess, and the couch might be a write-off.

It was an emergency.

“Should get you certified,” he says. You make a skeptical noise.

“There’d be a demand.”

His arm tightens around you, minuscule. Almost imperceptible. Might’ve been completely imperceptible, if his arms weren’t so big.

“Mm. We’re sticking to best-kept-secret.”

“How selfish.”

He nuzzles your mouth with his, sharing breath.

“Yeah.”

“Hey,” you mention, to his invading tongue. He retreats and lets you speak. "Did you mean what you said, or was it just self-defense?"

"What I said?"

"Don't be obtuse.”

He brushes his lips against yours, just a snag of soft, moist skin.

"I've never lied to you," he says.

"There's a first time for everything," you say. "You're skirting the question."

He brushes your hair back, studying your face. Content to take forever, it seems.

"If it helps," you say, "I can put you back under duress."

You slide your hand to the front of his hip, laughing when he flinches away.

"Ass," he says, and rolls you onto your back again, dipping to kiss you.

"Yeah. I love you," he says, and maybe it's a little gruff. "And isn't that just a shitload of complications."

"A metric fuckton," you agree, stroking his cheek. His stubble rasps against your fingertips.

His eyes are completely clear, gaze steady looking back at you.

“But maybe it helps that I love you, too,” you murmur.

It's not a kiss this gets you. He's been dishing out all manner of kisses tonight, their significance has shifted. No.

Instead, he nuzzles his face against your neck, wraps his arms around you, and holds you. Holds you like he intends to for a very long time, like you're the only thing that matters, like your beating hearts need to carry out a close and personal conversation.

Good. They can work out the details. You're just gonna lay here and pet the hair of the man you trust most – the man you can finally admit that you love – glowingly content in his arms.

On AO3

Y'all mind if I just give our man a bad good time real quick

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist when I post these fics 🩷

The anteroom doors hissed as you and Leon stepped in. You awkwardly stood beside each other, both covered in part of Leon’s…genetic material. 

The doors hissed again, on the other side this time and in walked Sherry Birkin, wearing a face mask and latex gloves. 

“I’m honestly glad to see you both in one piece,” she said, placing two stacks of dark grey clothes at a safe distance from you. “We have to cremate your clothes to reduce the risk of contamination. Leave them in the bin over there and put these on.” 

“Underwear too?” you asked. 

“All of it,” she said, clearing her throat, eyes flicking between you and Leon. “Leon, you’ll go straight into quarantine.” 

Leon nodded. 

“Do I quarantine too?” you asked. 

“Depends,” Sherry replied. “We’re gonna swab your…mouth, I think.” She wrinkled her forehead. 

“Yeah, her mouth,” Leon confirmed and Sherry flinched, holding up a hand. 

“You’re like a father to me, Leon. I don’t want to—I really don’t need to—” she broke off. “I didn’t want to know that about you. Like ever.” 

“I know,” Leon said. “I’m really sorry.” 

“I mean it’s kinda my fault,” you murmured. “I made him beg.” 

Sherry and Leon stared at you. 

“And…climax,” you added, barely audible and cleared your throat when you realised that was probably a little too much information. Sherry crinkled her nose, turned on her heel and walked out of the room, a shudder racking through her on the way out. 

“That was unnecessary,” Leon said, turning away and slipping his shirt over his head. Oh, so now you were concerned with giving each other privacy all of a sudden? 

You cleared your throat, turning around as well. “What was I supposed to say?” You slipped your shirt over your head. 

“Not that,” Leon grumbled and you heard the rustling of heavy fabric. 

The tiles covering the walls were sort of reflective and you got a great look at a particular back, a whole lot of muscles dancing under scarred skin with every movement. You swallowed, as your gaze trailed lower and you tore it away at the very last moment, your cheeks becoming hot. 

His taste still lingered on your tongue. The truth was, you couldn’t wait to taste him again. 

You cleared your throat and got rid of your bra, cupping your breasts as you threw your clothes into the bin in the corner, careful not to turn too far so Leon wouldn’t get an eyeful. 

Like you had. You creep. 

You slipped into the shapeless crewneck Sherry had brought with her, the fabric brushing over your already taut nipples. Leon paused in his movements, you saw it from the corner of your eye. 

He wasn’t also looking at the reflection, was he? 

While you waited for the medical staff to come pick you up, Leon and you awkwardly stood at opposite ends of the room. 

“Maybe we should,” Leon started. 

“Totally,” you chimed in without looking at him. 

“Keep this private,” he went on. 

 “And not tell anyone, yeah,” you replied. 

Leon cleared his throat, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You did the same, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, then back again. 

Finally, the doors opened once more and someone from contamination control guided Leon out of the room. You let out a heavy breath and relaxed your shoulders a little. 

Shortly after, one of the doctors came in and  motioned for you to follow them to the infirmary. 

Watching the medical staff from the DSO take turns in microscoping a sample of the mucous membrane from the inside of your cheek was probably one of the more mortifying moments of your life. Because you knew they would see something wiggling around in there. 

Maybe more than one. You had no idea what Leon’s sperm count was. 

Probably a lot. You had never seen this much cum before. Or maybe that was the plant. It had enhanced every sensation for him, so why wouldn’t it affect his sperm? 

If it affected his sperm, maybe you were contaminated after all. Your face anyway. What if you had actually hooked up? Would the plant enhance your senses too? 

An image flashed in your mind. Leon hoisting you up against the walls of the shipping container, the cold metal biting into your back at every thrust. You had your hands buried in his hair as you took him deeper and deeper until you cried out his name and—

“You’re all clear,” the doctor announced, looking at you over his clipboard. You jumped, being awoken from your daydream so crudely. “We couldn’t detect any infectious material, so you’re free to go.”

You blinked. “That can’t be right. Are you sure?” You pressed your thighs together, your folds slick with arousal already. 

“No, you’re good.” He signed off on a document and opened the door for you. 

You shook your head. “No, I-I’m pretty sure I was infected too.” 

“And I’m 100% sure you weren’t,” he replied, smiling at you, softly. “No need to be nervous.” 

Yes need to be nervous. Nervous as hell.

But you echoed his smile and stepped out of the medical examination room. Rubbing your forehead, you walked up to the elevator and frantically pushed the button. You could still hear Leon in your mind. The way he had hissed through his teeth, followed by helpless moans falling from his full lips. You wanted to kiss those lips so badly. Horny spores or not, a guy who was that vocal and filthy during a blowjob knew how to kiss you senseless.

He probably also knew how to do a whole lot of other things expertly. Agent Kennedy was very skilled in general. Granted, he had also had plenty of time to practice. He was what? In his fourties? Fifties maybe?

Old enough to make the blowjob even more problematic than it already was. 

The elevator doors opened. One of the two female agents inside broke off mid-sentence when she saw you. 

“Sorry,” you whispered, squeezing in beside them and pressing the button for the gym in the basement. You needed to get some of this energy out. You really couldn’t live like this. You felt like you were about to burst into flames. 

The agent that had listened to the other one raised an eyebrow and looked over inquisitively. The other woman shot her a warning look. 

You wrinkled your forehead and tore your gaze away from them, staring at the little ball of light dancing from one story to the next. 

“So how big is it?” the one with the raised eyebrow leaned in to whisper in your ear just before you reached the lower levels. 

Your head whipped around. “How big is what?” 

“You know, Agent K–” she stopped as the elevator doors opened again, Leon standing in front of them. 

You did a double take and looked at the buttons in the elevator. Instead of down, you had gone back up for some reason. 

“I thought you were in quarantine,” you squeaked. 

Leon stepped into the elevator. “They cleared me pretty quick.”

“That’s great,” you whimpered, his shoulder just inches away from yours in the tight space. “Where to?” 

“Gym,” Leon replied and pressed the button for the basement again. 

A nervous smile crept onto your lips. 

“Where are you going?” Leon asked. 

“Gym,” you croaked. “But if you’re going to the gym too, maybe I’ll give it a miss this time.”

Leon shrugged. “It’s big enough for the two of us to share.” 

The agent behind you snorted a laugh that turned into a wince, as the other one rammed an elbow into her side. 

The gym absolutely wasn’t big enough for both of you. Whatever Leon did, even if he was at the other end of the room, you were incredibly aware of his presence at all times. No amount of weight, no amount of cardio stopped your fantasies from running wild. What had started with you bent over his desk, had turned into you bouncing on his cock looking down at his blissed out face as he came inside you. Before it had a chance to turn into passionate missionary and breathy moans between whispered sweet nothings, you decided that it was time to clear your head. 

You walked over to the wall and stretched out your hands, bringing yourself into a handstand, eyes closed. You breathed in deeply, feeling your chest expand as you focused on balancing yourself on your palms.

On your next exhale, you shifted your weight onto your left shoulder, carefully lifting up your other hand and stretching one leg out to the side at the same time. Maintaining full concentration was crucial, or else your wrist would wobble and you’d topple over. 

Another inhale. 

No Leon, no dicks, just breathwork. 

Heavy breathing. 

Panting. 

Moaning and panting together. 

Your wrist wobbled and you set your other hand back down, leaning your legs back against the wall. You groaned. This wasn’t an infection, this was a curse. Satanic, evil, from hell. 

“Do you mind if I correct your form?” an annoying, grating voice sounded from beside you. 

Nostrils flaring, you closed your eyes again. “What do you want, Kyle?” 

The young agent tapped at your feet and you lost your balance. Before you face planted, you elegantly brought yourself back up into a standing position, hands propped against your hips. 

“Except for disrupting my training,” you went on, eyebrows raised. 

“Guilty.” He shot you a charming smile. “I came over to ask you something.” 

“Sorry, I don’t know where they keep your balls, Kyle. Haven’t seen ‘em,” you said and extended your arms again, ready to get back into a handstand. 

“You’re so funny,” he replied and nudged you in the side playfully—breaking your concentration. “That’s one of the things I like about you.” 

“Oh god,” you breathed, watching him. Kyle was an attractive guy, dark hair, angular face, tall and broad shouldered like all agents. Eyecandy, if you will. 

“So, uh, I was wondering if you ever wanted to grab dinner? With me?” 

“Why do you want to get dinner with me all of a sudden?” you replied. “We don’t speak outside of meetings.” 

“Well, I want to change that,” he shot back immediately. “Let me take you out.” 

You opened your mouth to ask him what the hell had gotten into him all of a sudden, but you didn’t get a chance to. 

“What she meant was ‘no’.” Leon stepped up behind you, you didn’t even need to look to know exactly where he was. It was like your body had an invisible antenna. Wherever your goose bumps pointed at, that’s where he was. 

Kyle inhaled to say something, then looked between you and Leon and abandoned the thought. 

“Your form’s actually great, there’s nothing for me to correct,” he said and walked off. 

You turned around to Leon. “I didn’t say no.” 

“He calls you agent TG,” Leon said, face stern. “The ‘T’ is for throat. You don’t want to get dinner with him.” So Kyle knew too, for some reason. As did the agents in the elevator. A shudder racked through you, then anger.

“What’s the ‘G’?” you asked and Leon crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

“Goat.” 

You sighed. “Why are they even concerned with contamination control? The only thing that spreads like wildfire around here is gossip.” You furrowed your brows. “And it’s not your decision to make who I have dinner with.” 

“You made the decision. I translated it for him,” Leon said. 

You held up a hand. “This is seriously overreaching. Just because you came in my mouth doesn’t mean you get to be jealous.” 

Leon scoffed, but avoided your gaze. “I’m not jealous.” 

“Good. Because you have no reason to.” 

He shrugged. “Well, I’m not.” 

You stared at each other, none of you moving an inch. Leon should be getting back to his training but he didn’t. A drop of sweat slid over Adam's apple and disappeared into the collar of his shirt. 

“If you wanted to take me out to dinner all you had to do was ask,” you hissed. “Not come over and be all territorial.” 

“I don’t have time to take you out to dinner,” he said without missing a beat like he had already considered that option. “I eat at my desk, I’m married to my job.” He tilted his head. “At least until we find out where they exported those plants to.” 

“And I’m not going to bring you lunch, so there was no need to clarify,” you hissed, not entirely unfazed by him rejecting the implied date. 

Leon cleared his throat. “Good.” 

You nodded. “Fantastic. You’re like a hundred years older than me anyway.” You wiped your hands on your pants and got back into a handstand. 

“Twenty-one,” he murmured absentmindedly, eyes trailing over your body, his jaw tight. “I’m twenty-one years older than you. And seven months.” 

Your breath hitched. “You know when my birthday is?” 

Leon pointed at your left flank. “You’re favouring one side when you do core exercises. You’ll always fall over like that.” 

Your arms gave out and you crashed down. Cursing, you sat against the wall and massaged your wrist. 

Leon had already walked back over to his side of the gym. 

A week went by. A week full of awkward debriefs of what happened between you and Leon in that shipping container and a week full of pretending the other one didn’t exist. So, business as usual. Except this time, it was also a week of you making yourself cum multiple times a night to the thought of you repeating what had happened in that shipping container. And expanding on it, which only made you avoid him more. 

But working together also meant that you sat in a meeting room with him for the nth time this week. They had located another warehouse full of plants and the sooner you destroyed the specimens, the better. So they called in your unit to assign roles for the upcoming field mission. 

You sat in the chair, avoiding looking at one particular agent and waited for your assigned task with Leon. 

K was the eleventh letter of the alphabet. And you had just gotten done with number 10. You sat up a little straighter in your chair, ready for your name to be called out next to Leon’s. 

“Kennedy, you’re with Agent Williams on this.” 

Kyle nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

You nearly jolted out of your chair. “What?” 

“Is there a problem?” one of the senior agents asked. Your stomach sank. 

“What about me? Who’s my mission partner?” you asked, sounding a little more pathetic than you intended. In the shipping container, Leon had told you under—well, duress—that he made sure to be teamed up with you every single time. Because he wanted to protect you. Because he didn’t trust anyone else with keeping you safe during a mission. 

“You’re actually our back-up for this one,” your supervisor said and continued on with the briefing. 

“Back-up?” you mouthed, eyebrows shooting up. Your head whipped around to who you thought was responsible for this. 

But Leon’s face was unreadable, stoic, if it weren’t for the muscle in his jaw twitching as he looked at the slides with the mission information. 

After the meeting, you were absolutely fuming as you walked up the hallway. Your kitten heels clanked over the tiles and you felt utterly ridiculous in your business casual attire, pencil skirt and everything, when what you actually wanted to do was break into a full sprint and barge through Leon’s door. 

Now you had to open it slowly like a civilian. 

“You’re here,” he said, looking up from his reports. 

“Why did you put me in the agent graveyard?” 

He slid a pair of glasses off his nose and tossed them onto the desk, rubbing his eyes. “That’s not what’s happening.” 

You stepped a little closer. “How is that not what’s happening? I’m being quiet fired.” 

“I don’t think we should work together again,” Leon murmured and closed the files on his desk. “So I requested a new partner. I didn’t know they were going to put you in the agent graveyard.” He winced at his own last words. 

You ignored the jolt of pain in your chest. “So, I am in the agent graveyard.” 

“Temporarily, I’ll get you back out of it, I promise.” Leon said and looked at you. 

“But you’ll never work with me again, because I sucked you off?” 

“You know how I feel about you. I told you in the shipping container. And I know how you feel about me,” Leon whispered. “I don’t think either of those feelings are appropriate for the workplace. Or a life or death situation.” 

Your cheeks became hot. Because of how angry you were or because of him admitting his feelings for you without being under the influence of anything, you weren’t sure. 

“It was actually very appropriate for the life or death situation you were in, Kennedy.” 

He gnawed on his lower lip. “Thank you for saving my life. And I’m sorry you had to do that.” 

You shrugged. “I enjoyed it.” 

Leon swallowed, hard. “I enjoyed it too. Which is why it’s so inappropriate. Me being infected made you do it.” 

“I offered,” you said. 

He huffed. “Because you didn’t want to let me die. Not because you wanted to give me a blowjob so badly.” 

“No, I would have let you die,” you said. “I wanted to give you the blowjob.” 

Leon’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re very blunt.” 

“And you’re conflicted.”

Leon watched your every movement as you rounded the corner and leaned your ass against his desk right in front of him. Can you blame me? It’s a good ass. 

“Because you’re twenty years older than me.” 

Leon sighed. “Twenty-one, yeah.” 

You ran a finger over the smooth mahogany of his desk. Your favourite fantasy out of all of them. Being bent over and fucked senseless, right here. It made you cum on your fingers in no time. “And you have no time to take me to dinner because you’re married to your job.”

Leon nodded, still watching you. 

You pushed yourself up onto the desk, kicking off your heels until they clanked on the hardwood floor. Leon leaned forward in his chair ever so slightly. 

“You’re always eating at your desk.” 

You didn’t break eye contact with him as you  reached under the hem of your skirt, pulling your lace thong down, until it hit the floor too. 

Leon’s lips parted, pupils blown wide, as his gaze fell between your legs. 

“What are you doing?” 

You spread your legs wide enough for him to see you, glistening and swollen, inviting him in. 

“Bringing you lunch to your desk.”

Leon’s eyes glazed over. “You said you wouldn’t do that.” 

“Guess we were both lying then,” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribcage. If he rejected you this time, you could never show your face around here again. But you were already a back-up agent, so what did it matter?  

Leon’s breathing became flat. “Are you sure?” His eyebrows were knitted together in pure agony.

You pushed your skirt up a little more and spread your legs wider. “Yes, I’m sure.” 

Leon dropped to his knees and gripped your thighs. You bit back a gasp of relief. 

“Agent Leon Kennedy, folding under no press—” 

Leon yanked you closer to the edge, throwing your legs over his shoulders in one smooth motion. You yelped in surprise and propped yourself up on your elbows, watching his face disappear between your thighs. 

“And you’re very bratty for someone who’s about to beg me for more, junior.” 

You scoffed. “People who are this cocky, usually aren’t good in bed. Oh fuck.” Leon didn’t give you any time. He latched on to your clit with uncanny precision, making you whimper right out of the gate. 

Leon chuckled and you felt like maybe you had bitten off more than you could chew. You hadn’t considered the twenty-one years of sexual experience he had on you. This was not a level playing field. 

Leon let go of your clit and pressed an open mouthed kiss to your labia, licking up and spreading them with his fingers. He eagerly lapped at your centre, hooking his arms under your thighs and pulling you even closer to him. 

A lewd moan fell from your lips and your fingers threaded through Leon’s silky hair. None of your fantasies even came close to the feeling of him pushing into you, curling his tongue, as you felt him exhale in a breathy groan. 

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he whispered and went back to sucking on your clit, flicking his tongue against it. 

Your head fell back and you rolled your hips against his face, silently asking for more. Leon didn’t need to be asked twice. A finger pushed into you, sliding in effortlessly, your silky wetness covering him to the knuckle. 

How did he know this was exactly what you wanted? He had no business reading your body like that the first time he ever touched you. 

You mewled, your nails biting into his scalp, as you desperately tried to hold on to something. Biting back a helpless whimper, you clamped your thighs around your lover’s head, but he pushed your thigh back, opening you up wider to him. 

“Oh fuck, Leon,” you sobbed, breathlessly, desire coiling tighter and tighter in your abdomen with every stroke of his tongue and fingers working in unison. 

Leon shushed you, reaching one of his hands up, sliding under your shirt and pulling the lacy cup of your bra down, exposing your hard nipple to him. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, as you continued to moan like a whore, squirming under his touch, panting, calling out his name so he wouldn’t stop. Never stop. You wanted to experience this until the world ended. 

Your back arched off the desk and Leon didn’t stop you from clenching your thighs around his head this time, answering your moan. 

“That’s it baby, oh fuck, come all over my face.” 

A high pitched moan racked through you and your hips bucked, you were moments away from shattering. “Oh god, Leon.” Another moan, louder than the last one. 

Leon leaned back, the lower half of his face glistening with your juices. He was panting, struggling to regain composure. 

“You’ll have to be quieter, people are already talking.” 

Your head shot up as your orgasm ebbed off and you shimmied closer to him, looking for the tiniest bit of friction to keep you edging closer to pure ecstasy. 

“Why do you give a fuck about other people?” You panted, eyes rolling back in the back of your head, as you tried to catch your breath. “Keep going.” 

Leon chuckled, ran his tongue over his lower lip and dipped his head back between your thighs again, continuing right where he had left off. You softly squeezed his tongue with your inner walls, inching closer and closer. 

“I can’t wait to feel you do that around my cock.” Leon moaned shamelessly, making you clench down on his fingers this time at the finality of that statement. 

“I’ve been thinking about nothing else,” you panted. “You fucking me, it’s all I can think about.” 

Leon groaned, pressing his forehead against your vulva, as if he needed a moment to recalibrate, continuing to work you with his fingers. 

You whimpered, your lower abdomen becoming tight. “Oh god, Leon.”

“Oh fuck yes,” he breathed, licking up your folds and eating you like he was starving for it. The sounds of pleasure filling the office were beyond obscene. You didn’t care who heard. 

Until Leon paused his movements. 

“No,” you whimpered, once again left right at the edge of sanity. “What are you doing? No, don’t stop.” 

Leon bit back a laugh and your brows knitted together in fear as you realised he did this on purpose. He was toying with you. 

“I thought you should know what that feels like.”

You whined, tugging at his hair, but he leaned back, looking at you with a smug grin. “If I were you, I would make you beg. But I’m a lot nicer than that.” 

You helplessly kicked your feet, desperately trying to make him come back to you, getting the job done. “Fuck you, Kennedy.” 

He clicked his tongue, scoldingly. “I think you can do better.” 

“Don’t do this to me.” 

He raised an eyebrow at you, rolling his thumb over your clit agonisingly slowly, watching you suffer. “I’m being very nice to you right now.” 

“Fuck, Leon, please,” you whimpered, “Please don’t stop, I’m sorry, please, I need you.” 

“Yeah, that’s more like it,” he murmured, biting his lip, taking his sweet time observing your wet flesh as he dragged his thumb over it again, rubbing your clit in tight circles. 

Somewhere between Leon being the nicest person and him being the meanest person alive, you had sunken down to lay flat on the desk, squirming, thrashing under his touch, at the overstimulation without release. 

His mouth found your centre again, fully making out with your pussy and a shiver racked through you, the tiny hairs on your skin standing to attention. You were so close. 

Leon moved away from your clit and you sobbed. 

“If you stop again, I’ll kill you with my bare hands,” you whined, stretching out your hand, white knuckling the other end of the desk, your breath coming ragged, a single drop of sweat trailing down your knitted forehead. 

But Leon didn’t stop. He knew exactly what he was doing as he pushed two fingers deep into you, caressing your clit with his thumb. He hoisted your hips up higher, his mouth moving lower, tracing over your taut skin and you nearly blacked out. 

A gasp turned into a high-pitched moan as he teased your rim with the tip of his tongue. 

“Oh god, Leon, I–” You started pulsing around his fingers, gripping the edge of the desk tighter, chest heaving. “Oh my god,” you choked out as he licked you in broad strokes. 

With the next skilled stroke of his tongue, you were gone. 

Crying out his name, you clamped your thighs around his head, your heels digging into his back. Leon moaned against your hot flesh, continuing to eat your ass you through every wave of electricity coursing through you, rubbing yout clit, making you last longer, intensifying every sensation. 

“Oh holy fuck, oh my god.” A string of curses fell from your lips, as you came harder than you had ever before, panting, barely able to process the multitude of stimulation. 

You pressed your head against your arm, squeezing your eyes shut, mouth agape, probably letting the entire DSO know what Leon was doing to you, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was Leon making you see God. 

Leon pulled you back up into a seated position and pulled you to lean against him. Weakly locking your arms around his shoulders, you sank against his chest, your entire body shaking. 

You were still trying to catch your breath as Leon rubbed gentle circles over the small of your back. 

“We still haven’t kissed,” you whispered breathlessly. 

“First kisses are for first dates,” Leon panted. “What are you doing Saturday?” 

“Going on a date with you?” you breathed, burying your forehead in the crook of his neck.

Leon nodded. “Yeah.”

-----

“That’s funny,” he replied. “Because that’s exactly what partners usually do.” The tension settled in the room almost instantly—two people already deciding they weren’t going to like working together.

Leon dropped into the chair across from you, the metal legs scraping softly against the floor. He flipped open the folder in front of him, scanning the pages with quick, practiced movements. For a moment the room was quiet except for the rustle of paper. Then he glanced up again, blue eyes sharp.

“So what’s your deal?” he asked. “They don’t usually stick agents on my assignments unless something’s already gone sideways.”

His tone wasn’t exactly hostile—but it wasn’t friendly either. It was the kind of guarded curiosity that came from someone who had learned the hard way not to trust a situation, or the people in it.

You tilted your head slightly, unimpressed by the interrogation. 

“Intel division,” you said, tapping the edge of the file in front of him. 

“Bioweapons trafficking investigation. Which means I’ve been tracking this operation for months.” 

Leon leaned back in his chair, crossing one arm over the other as he studied you like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. “Right,” he said slowly. 

“And now they want the guy who kicks down doors and the person who actually knows what’s going on in the same room.” 

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

Leon closed the folder with a quiet snap and pushed it back across the table. For a moment he just watched you, like he was measuring something—skill, patience, maybe whether you’d break under pressure. 

Finally he leaned back in the chair, resting his elbows on the armrests.

“Look,” he said, voice lower now, more serious than before.

“When this goes bad—and it will—people hesitate. Partners hesitate. That’s when things fall apart.” His gaze didn’t waver. “So if you’re expecting someone to cover you every second, you should probably ask for a different assignment.”

You held his stare without blinking. “Funny,” you replied evenly. “I was about to say the same thing.” 

Leon’s brow twitched slightly at that, the smallest flicker of surprise crossing his face before it disappeared again. You tapped the folder lightly. “I’ve been following this network for months. Supply routes, contacts, funding. If you charge in without thinking, you’ll blow the whole operation.” 

You leaned forward a little, voice calm but firm. “So if you’re planning to play the lone hero, you should probably get used to the idea that someone’s going to tell you no.”

For a second the room went completely quiet. Then Leon huffed out a short laugh under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “Great,” he muttered, standing up and grabbing the folder again. “A partner who argues.” 

But when he looked back at you, there was something different in his expression now—less dismissal, more interest. Like maybe you weren’t exactly what he expected. He gestured toward the door with the folder.

“Come on,” he said. “If we’re going to prove the suits wrong, we might as well start now.”

You pushed your chair back and stood, grabbing your jacket from the backrest. Leon was already halfway to the door, moving with that easy confidence of someone used to being in control of a situation. You followed him into the hallway, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. He slowed just enough for you to walk beside him, glancing sideways for a second. 

“So,” he said casually, like the argument in the briefing room hadn’t just happened, “intel division, huh? That means you’re the one who’s been buried in reports while I’ve been chasing ghosts.”

“Someone has to figure out where the ghosts are coming from,” you replied. 

Leon let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as the two of you reached the elevator. When the doors slid open, he stepped inside and leaned back against the wall, eyes drifting to the glowing floor numbers as they started descending. For a moment neither of you spoke. Then he glanced over again, studying you with that same careful look from earlier.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said, voice quieter now, “I don’t do babysitting.”

The elevator slowed with a soft jolt at the ground floor. The doors slid open, revealing the dim parking garage beyond. You stepped out first, turning slightly to face him as he followed. 

“Good,” you said simply. “Because I don’t need one.”

Leon paused for a second, then gave a small, almost reluctant smirk. It vanished just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual guarded expression. 

“We’ll see about that,” he said, heading toward the row of government vehicles. Even so, something about the way he glanced back at you suggested he wasn’t quite as convinced anymore that this partnership was going to be a mistake.

Several hours later, the quiet hum of the engine filled the space between you as the government sedan cut through a long stretch of empty highway. Night had settled in fully, the road ahead lit only by the sweep of the headlights and the occasional flicker of distant street lamps. Beside you in the driver’s seat, Leon had one hand loosely on the steering wheel, the other resting near the gearshift. He’d barely spoken for most of the drive, his attention fixed on the road while the file from the briefing sat folded in the centre console.

The town you were heading toward barely existed on most maps—a quiet rural place that had recently started showing up in reports connected to suspicious shipments and missing persons… per usual you thought to yourself. According to the intel you’d gathered, something was moving through the area that shouldn’t have been there. Bioweapons, most likely. Leon had read through your notes earlier, silent the entire time, his expression growing more serious with every page. Now, as the highway sign for the town flickered past in the darkness, he finally broke the silence.

“So this is the place,” he said, voice calm but edged with focus. He slowed the car slightly as the road narrowed, trees closing in on either side like dark walls. Leon glanced toward you for a moment before returning his eyes to the road.

“Your intel says shipments started coming through about three weeks ago.” His grip on the wheel tightened just a little. “Tell me something,” he added quietly. “Does any of it remind you of the cases that end with everyone in town turning into something they shouldn’t?”

You glanced out the window at the dark tree line rushing past, the faint glow of the dashboard lighting the inside of the car. “Not exactly,” you said after a moment. 

“Those cases usually leave a mess behind—hospital reports, unexplained deaths, something that raises alarms.” You tapped the edge of the file in the console. 

“This one’s quiet. Too quiet. People disappear, shipments move through the area, and nobody local reports anything.” 

Your eyes shifted back to Leon. “Which usually means someone is making sure they don’t.”

Leon nodded slightly, like that answer confirmed something he was already thinking. The car slowed as the first scattered buildings of the town came into view—dark storefronts, a single gas station still lit under buzzing fluorescent lights, and a long empty street stretching ahead. He pulled the car to the side of the road just before the main intersection and cut the engine. The sudden silence felt heavier than the drive had been. Leon rested his forearms on the steering wheel, staring out through the windshield for a second.

“Place looks dead,” he muttered. Then he glanced toward you again, that focused, calculating look back in his eyes. “First rule in situations like this..?” he said, reaching into the back seat for a small tactical bag. 

“Assume it isn’t.” 

He unzipped it and pulled out a handgun, checking the magazine with practiced ease before sliding it into a holster under his jacket.

He shut the car door quietly when you both stepped out, the cool night air settling around the empty street. Leon scanned the area automatically, eyes moving across rooftops, alleyways, shadows—every possible place someone could be watching. After a second he looked back at you. 

“You said the shipments were coming through an old warehouse near the rail line, right?” he asked. Then he gave a small nod toward the darker part of town. “Guess we’re about to find out if your intel’s as good as you say it is.”

You fell into step beside him as the two of you moved down the quiet street, boots echoing faintly against the pavement. The town felt wrong in a way that was hard to explain—too still, too silent. Even small places usually had something: a television glowing in a window, a dog barking somewhere in the distance, the low rumble of a passing truck. Here there was nothing. Just the wind brushing through the trees and the creak of an old sign swinging outside a closed diner. You noticed Leon noticing it too; his gaze swept across every doorway and alley like he expected something to jump out of them.

“Rail line should be about half a mile that way,” you said quietly, pointing toward the darker edge of town where the streetlights thinned out. Leon nodded once in acknowledgment, though his pace slowed slightly. He tilted his head just a little, listening. For a second you thought you imagined it too—but then you heard it. A faint metallic clatter somewhere in the distance, like something heavy being dragged across concrete.

Leon’s hand moved instinctively to the grip of his handgun under his jacket. He didn’t draw it yet, but his posture shifted immediately, shoulders tightening as he scanned the darkness ahead. 

“Please tell me that’s normal small-town activity,” he muttered under his breath. His eyes flicked briefly toward you, the hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth despite the tension. 

“Because if it’s not, your ‘quiet investigation’ just got a lot less quiet.”

The sound came again—louder this time. From somewhere past the next block, near where the faint outline of an old warehouse roof could be seen above the trees. Leon stopped walking, listening carefully, then exhaled slowly through his nose. 

“Yeah,” he said, finally pulling the handgun free and checking the street one more time. “Something tells me we’re not the only ones working tonight.” 

He glanced toward you, giving a small nod toward the direction of the noise. “Stay close.”

You didn’t move closer like he suggested. Instead, you stepped ahead of him slightly, already pulling your own handgun from the holster at your side. The motion was smooth and confident, like you’d done it a thousand times before. 

“Relax,” you said quietly, checking the magazine before sliding it back in with a sharp click. 

“I didn’t come all the way out here to hide behind you.” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Leon pause for half a second, clearly not expecting you to take the lead.

Leon watched as you moved toward the corner of the next building, your steps careful but quick. The faint smirk he’d been wearing earlier returned, though this time it carried a hint of something closer to respect. 

“Didn’t say you had to,” he muttered, falling into step beside you again. His eyes flicked briefly toward the gun in your hand before returning to the dark street ahead. 

“Just making sure you’re still alive when this mission’s over.”

You reached the edge of the block first, pressing your shoulder lightly against the brick wall before peeking around the corner. The source of the noise was clearer now—a wide, rusted warehouse sitting near the rail line exactly where the intel had said it would be. One of the large side doors was partially open, dim light spilling out onto the cracked pavement outside. And just inside, silhouettes were moving. Not many. Maybe three or four.

You leaned back from the corner and looked at Leon. “Looks like a delivery,” you said quietly. 

“Crates, truck parked out back, a couple guys inside.” Your voice stayed calm and controlled, like you were giving a routine report rather than standing a block away from a potential bioweapons exchange. 

“So either we sit here and watch them move the product… or we stop it before it leaves.”

Leon studied you for a moment, clearly weighing the situation. Normally he’d be the one making the call. But the fact that you’d already scoped the building and counted the people inside without hesitation didn’t go unnoticed. He exhaled slowly, glancing back toward the warehouse again. 

“You always this eager to start trouble?” he asked under his breath.

You gave a small shrug, already stepping away from the wall and checking the safety on your weapon. 

“Only when it’s deserved.” Then you looked back at him, a sharp, confident expression settling on your face. 

“You coming, Kennedy? Or are you planning to stand out here all night while the evidence drives away?”

Leon let out a quiet breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly as he followed after you. 

“You know,” said Leon under his breath, “most people wait for a plan before walking straight into trouble.” 

But he still moved with you, stepping lightly across the cracked pavement toward the warehouse. His eyes scanned the area automatically, covering angles you hadn’t looked at yet, the two of you falling into a rhythm without needing to say it out loud.

You slowed near the side of the building, crouching beside a stack of rusted barrels just outside the open door. From here you could see more clearly inside: wooden crates stacked against the far wall, a truck backed halfway into the loading bay, and three men arguing quietly over something near the cargo. You tilted your head slightly, studying the markings stamped on the side of one crate. 

“Biotech company label,” you whispered. “Front corporation. Definitely illegal.”

Leon leaned down beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours for half a second. He followed your gaze toward the crates, his expression tightening slightly. 

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s the kind of logo that usually shows up right before something starts trying to eat people.” His voice was calm, but there was a sharp focus in it now—the same focus that had carried him through worse situations than this.

For a moment the two of you stayed there in the shadows, watching the men move the crates toward the truck. Then Leon glanced sideways at you. 

“Alright, intel,” he said quietly. “Your call. You spotted it first.” The words were casual, but the meaning behind them was clear—he was trusting your read on the situation.

You didn’t hesitate. “We stop the shipment,” you said simply. Then you pointed toward the back corner of the warehouse. 

“You take the two near the truck. I’ll handle the one by the crates.” Your eyes flicked toward him briefly. “Unless you think you can’t keep up.”

Leon’s mouth twitched at that, a small amused smile appearing despite the tension. He adjusted his grip on his handgun and gave a slight nod. “Careful,” he replied quietly. 

“You keep talking like that and I might start thinking you actually like working with me.” Then he glanced back toward the warehouse entrance. 

“Lets go.”

The warehouse was quiet now, the last of the men unconscious on the floor, crates overturned, and the truck left in ruin. Outside, the first light of dawn was beginning to streak across the sky, pale and gray over the small town. You sat against the curb, breathing slowly, letting the tension drain from your muscles. Leon came up beside you, wiping a thin layer of sweat and dust from his forehead. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, just listening to the faint hum of early morning life returning to the streets.

He sank down beside you with a soft thud, close enough that your knees nearly touched. 

“Not bad,” Leon said quietly, glancing at you with that mix of respect and his usual guarded expression. “You handled yourself… better than I expected.” You gave a small shrug, trying to hide the warmth in your chest at the compliment. 

“It’s just a job,” you said, though the smirk tugging at your lips gave you away. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be the hero.”

Leon let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well… heroes don’t usually argue with their partners while crouched behind barrels in a warehouse.” He leaned back, one arm propped on his knee, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“I’ve got to admit,” he continued after a beat, softer this time, “I’m glad you were there. Didn’t think I’d say that by the end of tonight.”

You turned slightly to meet his gaze, the faint light catching the edge of his sharp features. 

“I think we make a decent team,” you said, voice calm but firm. “Even if you don’t want to admit it.” Leon’s lips twitched at the corner again, this time a little more obvious. 

“Decent,” he echoed, eyes flicking toward the horizon. Then, after a pause, he added quietly, almost to himself, “I could get used to this… working with you.”

The silence stretched comfortably between the two of you, the quiet aftermath of the mission settling around you like a soft blanket. Leon leaned back a little more, letting out a slow exhale, and for the first time that night, you saw him relax. Just a little. Enough that it wasn’t only the adrenaline keeping him on edge. You could feel it too—a subtle shift, the sense that maybe this partnership wasn’t just about survival or completing a mission.

You nudged him lightly with your shoulder, teasing, “You know, Kennedy, if you keep staring off like that, people might start thinking you actually enjoy my company.”

He gave a low chuckle, eyes finally meeting yours fully. “Don’t get used to it,” he said, but there was something in the way he said it, a softness under the warning that made you think he already was.

A month later, the two of you were back in a safe house after another mission, crates cleared, files sorted, and the hum of the air conditioning filling the silence. Leon leaned against the edge of the table, cleaning his gun with methodical precision, but there was something different in the way he glanced at you now. Small things had changed over the past weeks—how he’d make an almost imperceptible comment when you handled a tricky situation flawlessly, or how his smirk lingered a little longer when you disagreed with him. The tension that had defined your first meeting had softened into something sharper, teasing, almost playful.

“You know,” he started, glancing up from the handgun in his hands, “I think the intel division might owe me a favor for putting up with your… creative problem-solving today.” His tone was light, but the way his eyes flicked toward yours carried a spark that hadn’t been there before. 

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the wall and folding your arms. “Creative problem-solving, huh?” you said, smirking. 

“You mean the part where I saved your ass while you were staring at the wrong crate?”

Leon’s smirk widened just slightly. “I might’ve been distracted,” he said smoothly, eyes never leaving yours. “But I didn’t mind being saved… not entirely.” The pause after the words was deliberate, charged in a way that made your stomach tighten just a little.

You shook your head, trying to hide the small smile tugging at your lips. 

“Careful, Kennedy,” you teased. “You’re starting to sound like you enjoy my company again.”

He gave a short laugh, leaning just a little closer across the table. 

“Maybe I do,” he said quietly, voice low, almost casual, but his gaze lingered. “Maybe it’s growing on me—working with someone who can keep up.”

You caught the subtle tilt of his head, the way his eyes traced your movements with more attention than necessary. It was slow, quiet flirting—never outright, always just enough to make you aware that the man who’d once rolled his eyes at being partnered with you now wanted to be near you, and for the first time, it wasn’t just about survival or missions.

The next mission came a few days later, a surveillance job in another quiet town that looked just as ordinary as the last one—until you knew what to look for. Night had settled over the street as you and Leon sat inside a parked car across from a small warehouse, the engine off and the windows cracked just enough to let in the cool air. The place you were watching had been quiet for hours, which meant there was nothing to do except wait.

Leon sat back in the driver’s seat, one arm resting casually on the steering wheel while the other drummed lightly against the door. 

“You know,” he said after a while, glancing sideways at you, “most partners would’ve fallen asleep by now.” His voice carried that familiar dry tone, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

You didn’t look away from the binoculars you were using to watch the building. “Most partners probably wouldn’t trust you not to miss something,” you replied calmly.

Leon huffed a quiet laugh at that, shifting a little in his seat. “Wow,” he muttered. “You wound me.” His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary before he looked back toward the warehouse.

“Though I guess I should be used to it by now.”

You lowered the binoculars and glanced at him. “Used to what?”

He met your eyes, that small smirk returning. “You giving me a hard time.” He tilted his head slightly, studying you in the dim light of the dashboard. “It’s kind of becoming your thing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you keep coming back for more.”

Leon didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned back in the seat again, eyes drifting toward the windshield like he was thinking something over. Then he looked back at you, the smirk softening into something quieter. 

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “I guess I do.”

The next morning at the agency building was already busy when you stepped into the operations floor, reports being passed between desks and the low hum of conversations filling the room. You had barely set your file down when a familiar voice spoke from behind you.

“Careful,” Leon said casually, leaning one shoulder against the edge of your desk. “If you keep showing up early like this, people are going to start thinking you actually like the job.”

You glanced up to see him holding two coffees. One of them slid across the desk toward you before you could even ask. You raised an eyebrow. 

“You bribing me now?”

Leon shrugged lightly, taking a sip from his own cup. “Not bribing,” he said. “Just making sure my partner stays functional.” His blue eyes flicked down briefly to the report you’d been reading before returning to your face. 

“Would be a shame if the best agent on my missions collapsed from caffeine withdrawal.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “The best agent?” you repeated. “Pretty bold statement coming from the guy who walked into the wrong room during the last raid.”

Leon smirked immediately. “Yeah, well,” he said, leaning a little closer over your desk, lowering his voice just enough that the surrounding agents couldn’t hear, “if I didn’t do that, you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to dramatically save the day.” 

His eyes lingered on yours for a second longer than necessary. “And I know how much you like showing off.”

You scoffed softly, though you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” Leon replied easily. Then he straightened up, pushing himself off the desk. As he walked past you toward the briefing room, he paused just long enough to add over his shoulder, “But you keep agreeing to be my partner, so I must be doing something right.”

About an hour later the office had quieted a little, the earlier rush fading into the usual rhythm of typing keyboards and low conversations. Papers were spread across your desk as you worked through another report, highlighter tapping lightly against the page while you reread a line of intel. You didn’t notice someone approaching until a shadow fell across the desk.

“Still working on that?” Leon asked, his voice amused.

You didn’t look up immediately. “Some of us actually read the reports before missions,” you replied calmly.

Leon pulled out the chair next to your desk and sat down sideways in it, one arm resting across the back like he planned to stay a while. 

“Hey, I read them,” he said. 

“Eventually.”

You finally glanced at him, unimpressed. “Eventually.”

He grinned at that, clearly entertained. “What can I say? I prefer the fieldwork part.” His eyes flicked down to the notes in front of you, then back up again. “Besides… I’ve got you for the detailed stuff.”

You leaned back slightly in your chair, crossing your arms. “So that’s the plan? Let me do all the work?”

Leon tilted his head, studying you for a second like he was considering his answer. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on your desk. 

“Not all the work,” he said, voice lower now. “Just the parts you’re better at.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “And what parts would those be?”

His smirk returned instantly. “Outsmarting people,” he said. Then, after a small pause, his gaze softened just a little. “Keeping me alive.”

The comment hung in the air for a moment longer than expected. You shook your head, trying to hide the smile threatening to appear. 

“Your survival rate was pretty good before I showed up, Kennedy.”

Leon shrugged lightly. “Sure.” His eyes stayed on yours, relaxed but focused. “But it got better.”

He leaned back in the chair again, stretching his arms over his head briefly before standing. As he started to walk away, he paused and glanced back at you.

“Don’t work too hard,” he added casually. “I’d hate for my favourite partner to burn out.” And then he kept walking.

A little later, the office had thinned out even more. A few agents were still at their desks, but most had moved to meetings or headed out for lunch. You were still working through a stack of intel when someone leaned against the edge of your desk again—familiar enough now that you didn’t even look up right away.

“Starting to think you live here,” Leon said casually.

You sighed, finally glancing up from the papers. “Starting to think you don’t have anything better to do than hover around my desk.”

Leon placed a hand dramatically against his chest. “Wow. After I brought you coffee this morning?” he said. “That’s cold.”

“You brought yourself coffee,” you corrected.

He laughed softly at that, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. Instead of leaving like he usually did, he slid into the chair next to your desk again, spinning it slightly so he faced you. “So what are we looking at now?” he asked, nodding toward the files.

You tapped one page with your pen. “Shipments of an item of some sort.. someone’s moving something through three different ports.”

Leon leaned closer to look at the map you’d drawn across the paper, his shoulder brushing yours again. This time neither of you moved away. He studied the page for a moment before pointing lazily at one of the locations. “That one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And your evidence is…?”

He shrugged. “Gut feeling.”

You stared at him for a second. “Your investigative method is incredible.”

“Thank you,” he said immediately.

You shook your head, turning the paper back toward yourself. “You’re impossible.”

Leon rested his elbow on your desk, watching you work instead of leaving. After a moment he said, quieter now, “You know… you say that a lot.”

“That you’re impossible?”

“Yeah.” His lips curved slightly. “But you never actually sound annoyed.”

You paused, pen hovering over the page.

When you looked up again, he was already watching you—relaxed, amused, and just a little too aware of the way the conversation had shifted.

“You flirting with me at work now, Kennedy?” you asked.

Leon didn’t even hesitate.

“Maybe,” he said lightly.

Then his eyes flicked down to the report again, tapping the paper where you’d marked the port.

“But if it helps,” he added, smirk returning, “my gut still says that one.”

The afternoon dragged on, the office quieter now except for the steady tapping of keyboards and the occasional shuffle of papers. You were halfway through organising the shipment reports when someone set another coffee down beside your elbow.

You didn’t even have to look up this time. “Kennedy,” you said flatly.

“I’m impressed,” he said sounding amused as he leaned one hip against your desk. 

“Didn’t even turn around and you already knew it was me.”

You finally looked up at him, eyeing the coffee. “You keep bringing me these like you’re trying to bribe me into liking you.”

Leon raised an eyebrow. “Trying?” he said, feigning surprise. “I thought that part was already going pretty well.”

You stared at him for a second. “Your confidence is concerning.”

“Confidence?” he repeated, crossing his arms casually. “No, that’s observation.” His gaze dropped briefly to the report you were holding before returning to your face. “You don’t roll your eyes nearly as much when I’m around anymore.”

“That’s because I’ve accepted you’re not going away.”

Leon grinned at that. “Exactly.”

You took a sip of your water just to hide the small smile threatening to show, but he clearly caught it anyway. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice just a bit.

“You know,” he said, “most partners I’ve had try to avoid me once the mission’s over.”

You tilted your head. “Maybe they had better instincts.”

“Or,” Leon replied smoothly, “maybe they just weren’t as interesting to work with.”

The words hung there for a second.

You set the coffee down slowly. “You calling me interesting now?”

Leon didn’t look away. If anything, he leaned a little closer across the desk.

“I’ve been calling you interesting for weeks,” he said. “You’re just finally noticing.”

You blinked once, clearly not expecting him to be that direct.

He straightened again like he hadn’t just said something bold in the middle of the office, but the smirk on his face gave him away.

“Don’t worry,” he added casually. “I’m pacing myself.”

Your eyebrow lifted. “Pacing yourself for what?”

Leon pushed himself off the desk, starting to walk backward toward the hallway.

“For the day you finally admit you like working with me.”

And then he flashed that annoying, confident grin, before he begun to walk off. 

You called out “You know I don’t even like coffee??” 

Over the next few weeks the routine at the office barely changed—missions, reports, late nights under harsh fluorescent lights. The only thing that slowly shifted was the dynamic between you and Leon S. Kennedy. The flirting never really stopped; if anything, it became easier. More natural. At some point it wasn’t just teasing in passing anymore—he’d stop by your desk just to talk, lean against the doorframe during briefings, find excuses to work through reports with you instead of alone.

The one thing that did stay consistent was the shitty office coffee.

Leon kept bringing it to your desk every morning like clockwork, setting it down with that same smug little smirk like he was doing you a favour. And every morning you pushed it back toward him.

“Still don’t like coffee,” you said one day as he started walking away.

Leon paused mid-step.

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “I’ve told you that, like, five times now.”

He turned around slowly, looking at the cup like it had personally betrayed him. Then he glanced back at you, squinting slightly. “You’re serious.”

“I hate it.”

There was a short pause.

“Well,” Leon muttered, grabbing the cup back off your desk, “that explains a lot.”

After that the coffee stopped showing up. A few days later he started dropping other things on your desk instead—water bottles, iced tea, sometimes a random snack from the vending machine. He never made a big deal about it, but you noticed.

A few hours later, Leon dropped by your desk… again.

“Your still here?” he asked.

“Your still here,” you replied.

Leon shrugged lightly, glancing around the mostly empty office. “Yeah, well… someone’s got to keep an eye on you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

He shifted his weight slightly, which immediately caught your attention. Leon didn’t usually look unsure about anything.

He rubbed the back of his neck briefly before speaking again. “So… there’s a diner a couple blocks from here that’s still open.”

You waited.

“And before you say anything,” he added quickly, pointing a finger at you, “they don’t serve coffee. Or at least you don’t have to order it.”

That earned the smallest smile from you.

Leon noticed it immediately.

He exhaled slowly, like he’d just committed to something. “What I’m saying is… maybe you could come with me.” His eyes met yours, a little more serious now. 

“Not for a mission. Just… dinner.”

The office was quiet around you.

Leon gave a small shrug, trying to play it casual even though the tension was obvious.

“So,” he said, “what do you think?”

You studied him for a second, leaning back slightly in your chair. Leon was trying very hard to look casual—hands still in his jacket pockets, shoulders relaxed—but you could tell he was waiting for your answer a little more carefully than he wanted to admit.

“You’re asking me out,” you said plainly.

Across the desk, Leon exhaled through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Wow,” he muttered. “You make it sound way more intimidating when you say it like that.”

You tilted your head slightly, watching him. “Just making sure we’re on the same page.”

Leon shifted his weight, but he didn’t backtrack. If anything, he looked more certain now. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I’m asking you out.” Then he added, a little more lightly, “Figured I’d try doing it the normal way for once.”

You tapped your pen lightly against the desk, pretending to think it over longer than you needed to.

Leon caught that immediately. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you admitted.

He huffed out a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You know, most people don’t make a guy wait this long after he works up the nerve to ask.”

Your lips curved slightly. “Kennedy, you’ve been flirting with me in this office for two months.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding once. “And look where that got me.” His eyes flicked toward the hallway. “Standing here awkwardly waiting for an answer.”

The small smile on your face finally widened just a little. “Alright,” you said, pushing your chair back and standing up.

Leon blinked once, clearly not expecting you to stand up immediately.

“You coming,” you added, grabbing your jacket from the back of the chair, “or were you planning to keep hovering around my desk all night?”For a second he just watched you, then that familiar confident grin slowly spread across his face.

“See,” he said, falling into step beside you as you walked toward the elevator, “I knew you liked working with me.”

K was the eleventh letter of the alphabet. You knew because you had been counting down ever since you had started working with the DSO. K like Kennedy. 

“Kennedy, you’re with the junior.” Of course. Every single time you got paired up with fucking Kennedy. 

“The junior has a name,” you murmured, shaking your head, shooting a look at the senior agent.

He looked pissed. Like being teamed up with you was the worst thing that could have ever happened to him. 

You had no idea what you had done to deserve this level of hatred but ever since you had walked through the doors of the DSO, it burned bright like a fire in him, apparently. He couldn’t even stand looking at you most days. Like now, grinding his teeth, avoiding your gaze at all costs. 

You and me both, old man, you thought.

At first you had tried to be friendly with him. He was kind of your superior after all. Not directly, but all junior agents answered to the more experienced ones, especially if they were a founding member. 

But lo and behold it became clear that he thought you were less than capable. At first you thought he was nothing but a misogynistic asshole. But then you realised he wasn’t like that with the other female agents. Only you. It seemed personal. Like he thought specifically you had no idea what you were doing, which pissed you off even more.

It hurt a little, if you were being honest. Leon Kennedy was well regarded by everyone. You wanted him to think highly of you, too. 

And you weren't a rookie by any means. Actually you were the most competent agent in your field, but something about working on a mission with Agent Kennedy made you feel like you didn't even know how to do the basics. Probably because he never let you do anything on your own and was always there to take the load off your shoulders. As if you were a damsel in distress. You hated it. 

It was dangerous as well. You were supposed to cover for him too. But he never let you. You had tried plenty of times. 

The mission at hand was retrieving some biochemically altered plants from an underground Umbrella facility. Ones that were suspected to spread airborne pathogens, infecting whoever was unlucky enough to breathe them in. 

“Let’s go then,” Kennedy growled, pushing out of his chair, already walking off to the armory without so much as looking at you. You involuntarily sank deeper into your seat. Something about Kennedy made you feel smaller than you actually were, younger too, less experienced. Incompetent.

You drew in a determined breath and followed him down the hallway.

This was the mission to change that. You were going to show him how capable you were, once and for all. And finally Leon Kennedy would tell you that you were doing a good job.

After a whole bunch of briefings because of the high risk of contamination on your mission, you and Kennedy were in the field, Sherry Birkin on your earpiece. 

“Sherry, we're in the warehouse.” Kennedy murmured, walking in ahead of you as if you weren’t even there. Why didn‘t he just go on these missions alone? He was so shit with other people, and especially you. 

Your determination to prove yourself to him had disappeared as soon as he had once again, come between you and your first target, eliminating it for you. It was an unarmed janitor. As if he could make it any more clear that he thought you had absolutely no idea what you were doing.

Kennedy didn't only walk in ahead of you, no. He held the door open for you as well, as if he suddenly remembered the liability he was constantly dragging around.

“I can open doors myself, you know,” you hissed.

“You’re slow. You need to keep up or you’ll get yourself killed.” 

“If you didn't run ahead like that all the time, I wouldn’t have to.” You asshole, you wanted to add but you remembered he was your superior after all. Not your direct one, but still. 

“Check the boxes,” Sherry said over your earpiece. “I need to know the serial number to find the one we’re looking for.” 

You nodded, grabbing one of them immediately. Too slow, you were going to show him 'too slow'. 

Kennedy did a double take. "Don't touch that." 

“She said check the boxes. Do you need a hearing aid?“ you hissed, getting out your knife and slipping it under the lid. 

“She said she needs the serial number,” he retorted, rushing to your side, his hands closing around yours, halting your movements. You ignored the way your heartbeat kicked up at his touch. Kennedy always made you nervous whenever he was near, that was nothing new. 

“If you had listened during the briefings you would know that they printed false serial numbers on the outside to lead us astray,” you spat, struggling against him.

It was pointless. The man was pure muscle, his grip like a vice. But you tried anyway because you were full of rage. He wouldn’t let you do anything. Not even what you were being paid to do. Not even checking a god damn label.

Because of your little tussle with Kennedy your knife got wedged deeper into the box than you intended.

“Let go,” you hissed through gritted teeth. 

“You let go, junior,” Kennedy growled in return. 

“Whatever you do,” Sherry’s voice sounded over your earpiece. “Do not puncture the—” 

Kennedy pushed down on your wrist too hard and you yowled, your hand slipping off the hilt. “You’re breaking my wrist, asshole.” 

Without you to counter his movement, Kennedy pried the lid open in one swift motion, a cloud of greenish yellow pollen erupting from the box, coating his entire face. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

“—plastic inside. As far as we know, they’re probably trying to contain some sort of highly infectious microspores.” 

Under all the pollen you still saw a muscle tick in Kennedy’s jaw. He wiped the dust off his face. “I said don‘t touch it.”

"Sorry," you stammered, cheeks hot, realising you had called a senior agent an asshole to his face. You wanted to disappear off the face of the earth. 

Kennedy sneezed. “Sherry, what if we did? And got the plant shit all over our face?” He sneezed again.  

“Wash it off with water immediately and check inside the box for the serial number. I‘ll try and find out what it is,” she replied. “But be careful not to get any more of that stuff on you.” 

Leon sneezed a third time and fumbled for his canteen, unscrewing the top and dousing himself with water. He shook his head like a dog, droplets flying everywhere. 

“I seriously hope for you this isn’t poisonous,” he hissed, taking a sip of water for good measure. 

You held up a hand. “If you had just let me do what I needed to do, you wouldn’t be covered in chemically fucked up plant right now,” you snapped, slipping on a pair of gloves and lifting the front of your compression shirt over your nose and mouth, before approaching the box. You had enough of him babysitting you. This was ridiculous.

“Excuse me, what?” He whipped around. “I’m a senior agent, you should listen to me and not think you know better all the time. Look where that got us both.” 

You carefully lifted the lid, dodging another whiff of pollen escaping, scanning the plastic inside for the serial number. 

He blamed you for this. If you ever had a chance of Kennedy respecting you, there it went. And with his standing in the DSO, you would never be able to get a foot on the ground in the organisation. You’d better update your CV asap. They would absolutely sack you for this.

You closed the lid as soon as you found it, sealing it shut with duct tape to be safe. “Sherry, the serial number is AV-4/B.” You slipped off your gloves and tossed them to the side. 

“Alright,” she said. “Are you both contaminated or just Leon?” 

“Just Agent Kennedy,” you replied. You would also call him Leon like every other person in the DSO but he insisted on keeping you on a last name basis. So you never dared. 

“I’m fine, Sherry,” Kennedy cut in, splashing some more water on his face and rubbing it onto the back of his neck too. You didn’t miss the way he propped himself up against the wall with his hands. “Besides, we have to keep going.” 

“Leon, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Sherry said. “We have no idea what this might do to you. It’s too dangerous.” 

Agent Kennedy was breathing heavily and you looked him up and down. He didn’t seem changed, but you agreed with Sherry. You stepped closer to him, feeling his forehead. 

He flinched like the touch pained him. “Don’t touch me.” 

“Holy shit,” you breathed. “Sherry, he’s burning up.” 

“Get him somewhere you’re both safe. I’ll try and figure out what he was infected with.” 

Kennedy shook his head, little droplets still slipping from his hair.

“You heard her,” you said, grabbing his shoulder, but he shrugged you off. 

“I said don’t touch me, junior” he hissed. 

You scanned your surroundings for a safe place where you could hunker down until you got the all-clear from your dispatcher. 

“In here,” you said, opening the door to the nearest shipping container, trying to push Agent Kennedy inside. 

He whimpered at your touch. The invincible agent Kennedy whimpered. This was bad. 

“Oh shit,” you hissed, barring the door from the inside.

“No, no, no,” Leon protested. “Don’t lock yourself in here with me.” 

You huffed. “Shut up, Leon.” Another inappropriate way of speaking to a senior agent, and first name basis as well. But you were done for anyway. “I’m not a damsel in distress, I know what I’m doing.” 

He winced, lowering himself down to sit against the wall. “I never said you didn’t.” 

You whipped around to face him. “You didn’t have to, you’re always on my ass, no matter what I do.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, ridding himself of his weapons and harness, tossing them to the side. “Can you blame me? It's a good ass.” 

You did a double take. Kennedy was seriously unwell. He coughed, clearly trying to cover up what he had just said.

You crouched down beside him and he flinched again. 

“Don’t come so close,” he panted. “I can smell you.” 

“What do you mean, you can smell me? I don’t stink, I showered before we went out on this mission,” you said, offended.

Leon’s brow knitted together in helplessness and he leaned his head against the wall. “I’m serious, back off.”

“No way,” you insisted, fumbling for the canteen on your belt, screwing the top off and offering it to him. 

He eagerly grabbed it, drinking the water inside, some of it spilling down his prominent Adam's apple as he did.

Despite him being old enough to be your father—and an absolute asshole to be around—you couldn’t deny that Leon Kennedy was an exceptionally handsome man. Hot even. 

Right now, literally. He was sweating so much, wet patches had formed all the way down the back of his tactical shirt. 

“Take it off,” you ordered, as you began to unlace his boots. 

He shook his head, lips pressed together, like he was fighting something invisible inside his own body. 

You slipped off both his boots, tossing them to the side, grabbing where his shirt was tucked into his tactical pants. “I said, take it off, Leon. Don’t be so stubborn.” 

He struggled against you, trying to get a hold of your hands, but you managed to pull his shirt out of his pants at least, grazing his crotch when he tried to stop you. 

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

You had just touched your superior's dick.

Not your direct superior, but that didn’t matter. Because you also hadn’t touched his flaccid dick. No, no. Leon Kennedy was rock hard beneath those tactical pants. 

“I’m sorry,” he whined, squirming, desperately trying to get comfortable. 

You stared at him. “So when you said you could smell me you meant—” 

“Don’t say it,” he pleaded, swallowing hard, his throat bobbing. He looked like he was in agony. 

“My vagina,” you concluded. 

Leon bit back a moan and you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “It’s the plant,” he whispered. 

“So it’s what? Some kind of super potent viagra?” you said, still tugging at his shirt. 

“Stop, what are you doing?” He tried to push away your hand but as soon as your skin touched his, a groan slipped past his lips and he clasped his hands behind his back. 

“Leon, I know you’re incapable of listening to me in any situation, but this is serious. You’re burning up and I don’t care that you have a boner right now,” you hissed. “You were infected with some kind of chemically altered shit. Take your fucking shirt off.”

He finally caved, letting you slip his shirt over his head. You drew in a sharp breath. Leon Kennedy shirtless was a sight to see. Taut skin stretching over chiselled abs, beefy pectorals, perfect for propping yourself up on while you were riding him. 

You touched your chest, feeling for your heartbeat and breathing. Were you contaminated too? 

Oh. No, you were just horny for a man old enough to be your father. 

Leon’s nose crinkled and he turned his head away from you. “Stop that.” 

“Stop what?” you asked. 

“Getting wet, I can smell it.” 

You rubbed your forehead. This was going to make for one awkward as hell debrief. “I hope we don’t have to write a report on this,” you murmured and pressed your earpiece, calling for Sherry. No one answered. 

You took out your knife and cut off a piece of your shirt, exposing a sliver of your belly. 

“What are you doing?” Leon rasped. 

“Relax,” you shushed him, folding the fabric carefully and wetting it with water from your canteen. You scooted closer to Leon, dabbing his forehead with your makeshift cloth. His eyes fluttered shut. "I hate to break it to you, but you're in no state right now. You're going to have to let me take over."

“You hate me,” he huffed. 

“You hated me first,” you countered, flipping the cloth over so the new, cool side was pressed against his forehead. 

“I don’t though,” he rasped. “I think you’re one of the best agents we have.” 

You shook your head. “You’re delirious. We’ll talk about that when you’re less animalistic.” 

He chuckled and you joined in. 

A hand shot forward, grabbing your wrist. “Stop that.” 

“What?” 

“Laughing. Smiling, everything.” He writhed, palming his cock with his other hand, desperately trying to get comfortable.

Your breath hitched in your throat. It was the plant, you reminded yourself. This wasn’t really him. 

“Anytime you laugh in a meeting it’s torture for me,” he whispered. 

“Is that why you never talk to me?” you breathed, continuing to dab his forehead, the fact that his hand was still clamped around your wrist not escaping you. 

He gave a shy nod. 

“So when you say you don’t hate me…” you went on. 

“The second you set foot in the DSO headquarters I knew you were going to be my downfall,” he rasped. 

You paused, watching the way he was leaning into your touch involuntarily, like he couldn’t help himself. “Did you request to be partnered up with me? Is that why I’m on missions with you every single time?” 

He nodded again and you leaned closer to him. “I needed to ensure your safety myself. I don’t trust anyone else with it.” 

You bit back another comment about how you didn’t need anyone to take care of you. You had a feeling your capacity of knocking a grown man out cold had nothing to do with his instinct to protect you. 

“Leon, if this is some kind of enhanced viagra, I can help you.” 

He shook his head, his jaw working. “I would never ask that of you.” 

“I’m offering. And in a way this is … necessary,” you whispered. “But if you’d rather do it yourself, I can look the other way and make sure you’re okay while you do it.” 

"Fuck no, that’s way worse," he grunted, a rosy blush creeping up on his cheeks. "I'm not gonna let you watch me jack off."

“Alright, it’s settled then,” you said, hands moving down to the buttons of his tactical pants, undoing them one by one. Your mouth watered with anticipation. 

You would be lying if you said you had never imagined what Leon S. Kennedy looked like naked. Or what he would be like in bed. Matter of fact, the second you had seen him, walking into the DSO on your very first day you thought he was the most attractive man you had ever set eyes on. The fact that he was so much older, making it all the more forbidden and enticing. 

Leon’s hand shot forward again in an attempt to keep your hands from doing what they were doing. “Don’t. This is so unprofessional,” he pleaded and you felt him twitch beneath your palm. He was hanging by a thread. 

You sighed. “Yes, it is. Very much so. But do you not want me to?”

He bit his lower lip and his restraint finally snapped. His hands fell down to his sides and he let himself sink lower against the wall, giving in.

Your hands became shaky when you pushed his pants off his hips. What would this be like at the office? 

Avoiding each other at all costs? Not looking when the other person spoke? So business as usual. 

His cock sprang free and you gasped. It was the most beautiful cock you had ever seen: thick, long and just as veiny as Leon's forearms. 

"Oh fuck," you breathed. How was he the one under the spell of those damn plants when you could feel yourself grow wetter by the second? 

Leon whimpered again, covering his eyes with his arm. Right. Heightened sense of smell. 

You closed your hand around his base, squeezing him. That was already enough to draw a breathy moan out of him. 

The great Leon S. Kennedy. Putty in your hands. 

You gently spread the pre-cum that had gathered on the tip with your thumb, giving him a tentative pump. 

“Oh fuck,” Leon groaned. “I’m so sensitive. It’s not usually like that.” 

A grin tugged at your lips. Was he now? No time like the present to take a little revenge for all those times he had made you feel like a child during your missions. It was too easy. 

You leaned down, gently running your full lips along the underside of his cock, as you slowly pumped him, gripping him tightly. 

His breath hitched and his head shot up, staring at you with half-lidded eyes, brows drawn together. “You don’t have to do that, you can just ah—” 

You shut him up with an open mouthed kiss to the tip of his cock and a hand slipped into your hair. 

“I always exceed expectations, Agent Kennedy,” you whispered, breath fanning over his most sensitive body part. “If you ever let me do what I’m being paid to do on our missions, you would know that already.” 

Leon whimpered and you licked up his entire length in one broad stroke. His hips bucked and the grip on your scalp tightened. 

“Please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,” he whined and you chuckled, looking up at him. 

“Oh, I will make it harder,” you promised, closing your lips around his tip, hollowing your cheeks. 

Leon growled, drawing in a sharp breath. 

You hummed in response, swirling your tongue around his tip, continuing to work him with your hand, as you french-kissed his cock. 

“Oh fuck, that feels so good,” Leon breathed, his cock twitching in your mouth. You released him with a lewd popping sound, looking at him with lustful eyes. 

He stared at you, mesmerised, his other hand coming down to cup your cheek, running his thumb over your lower lip, all wet and glistening with your saliva and his pre-cum.

You grinned. “Do you want it sloppy or neat?” 

He chuckled, dipping his thumb into your mouth for you to suck on. “Has anyone ever said neat?” 

You shook your head. “Never happened.” 

Leon grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed you back down on his cock, thrusting his hips up. You eagerly took him deeper into your mouth, saliva running down the sides, gathering at the base of his cock. 

“Fuck yes, just like that,” he groaned, hitting the back of your throat. You gagged, but that only meant more saliva to lubricate for a softer glide.

“I’ve been thinking about this in meetings all the fucking time,” he confessed, moaning loudly. “That’s why I couldn’t look at you. Because I kept thinking about what you’d look like choking on my cock.” 

A moan racked through you at his confession, sending vibrations through his entire body, making him draw in a sharp breath. You came back up to catch your breath.

“What else were you thinking about?” you asked, puffy lips spreading your saliva all over his length. “Because when I first saw you, I thought about how I wanted you to bend me over your desk and fuck me.” 

Leon groaned. “Don’t say that. I’m old enough to be your father.” 

You shot him a fiendish grin. “Daddy.” 

You sank down on him again. 

“Holy shit,” Leon panted, squirming underneath you, cock twitching. You swallowed around him, raking your fingernails over his abs. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he moaned, his breathing coming ragged, his fingers in your hair tightening, pulling at it ever so slightly. 

Tongue pressed to the underside of his cock, you moved up, sucking him into a vacuum for the grand finale, spit leaking past your lips. 

"Oh fuck, just like that." He gritted his teeth, moments from losing it. "Don't st—"

You pulled your mouth off him.

Leon's eyes flew open and he let out most pathetic sound you had ever heard. His hips bucked, cock thrusting up at—nothing.

You chuckled. "You didn't think I'd let you cum that easily, did you?"

He whimpered, brows knitting together. "What are you doing?"

You shook your head. "This whole time, you make me feel like I'm a good for nothing rookie and now you think I'm just gonna suck you off like nothing happened?"

He swallowed, trying to catch his breath. "This is serious, I could die from this."

A smirk tugged at your lips. This was too good.

You shrugged. "See, if I were in your situation, I would ask nicely."

"Junior..."

You clicked your tongue, scoldingly wagging your finger in front of his face.

He let out a laboured breath, fists clenching at his sides. Oh, he hated this. For a moment, you almost backed down.

But you were going to have to look for a new job anyway, so fuck it.

"Say 'please'," you purred, sticking out your tongue, almost close enough to reach, close enough to run over his length, tracing every vein.

"This is very unprofessional," he whined, eyes never leaving you. "We are supposed to work together to ensure mission success."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Unprofessional? Leon, you have your dick in my face." You licked his tip and he let out another broken moan. He was at the very edge of sanity. "Besides, I feel like it's not me who needs a lesson in cooperating with my assigned mission partner."

He thrust his hips upward again, desperately pushing himself against your face. You leaned back.

"Say it." You leaned in closer, watching his muscles ripple underneath his skin, a sheen glint of sweat coating his entire chest. "Fucking beg for it, Leon."

"Please, okay? Please make me cum, I'm fucking begging you, I can't take this anymore," Leon whined. "Please let me cum in your mouth."

You closed your lips around him, making eye contact as you did. Leon looked like he was about to die. Because of the plant or because of you was hard to tell.

Hollowing your cheeks, you picked up right where you had left off, sucking, licking, lapping up every bit of precum and restraint he had left in him. Every single muscle in his body was taut like a bowstring, ready to snap at any moment.

His lips fell open and he let out a strangled moan, cock twitching inside your mouth. Your hand moved down to cup his balls, tight and ready to release all he had into you and you pushed down on his length, swallowing around him.

He cried out, grabbing the back of your head and pushed himself impossibly deeper into your throat, making your eyes water.

"Oh fuck," he panted and you tried to relax your throat, failing, gagging on his cock.

Leon came with a moan loud enough to echo through the entire shipping container and you desperately tried to come back up for air, thick ropes of white coating your tongue, some of it spilling out the corners of your mouth.

This was sloppy as hell. Cum dripped all over his tactical pants and down your chin as you kept sucking him through his orgasm. 

“Fuck, you look so beautiful like that,” Leon breathed, cock twitching, giving you one last bit of cum to lap up. Your eyes fluttered shut at the salty taste. Why did he taste so good? 

Despite the state of you, you licked him clean and pressed a parting kiss to his now softened tip. You sat up, both your breaths coming out ragged. Cum trickled down the collar of your compression shirt and tears were beginning to dry on your cheeks.

Oh, this debrief was going to be hell for everyone involved.

Leon’s chest was heaving, as he came down from his high and—his infection. 

"I don't know what to say," he panted, staring straight ahead.

"Me neither," you replied, shyly backing away, sinking down against the wall next to him, wiping your mouth and chin with your sleeve. Fuck it. This was a whole mess anyway. And you weren't talking about the shirt.

“I..." Leon started, pausing. "Good job, agent."

You chuckled dryly. What the hell were you thinking? Playing with him like that in a life or death situation? This was bad. What had gotten into you? You could drag your ass straight to HR after this, cum stained shirt and everything.

"I feel like I owe you dinner,” Leon murmured, wrinkling his forehead.

Your eyebrows shot up. “Thanks, but I just ate,” you whispered, mechanically.

You and Kennedy looked at each other from the corner of your eyes, waiting for each other's reaction.

“Agents? Agents are you there?” Sherry’s voice over your earpieces made you both jump. Leon frantically pulled up his pants. “Leon? Are you okay?”

“Sherry,” you rasped. “Please tell me you didn’t hear any of that.”

“Nobody heard a thing,” she replied, voice a little shaky.  

Leon grabbed his earpiece. “What do you mean nobody? Sherry, who else is there?”

a/n: this is holy water

-----

Also happened with liquor, and an excessive streak of the punishing hours at the gym—build as much solid mass on his arms, he persisted.

So yeah, sensible, given the circumstances.

Rational, even, when his capacity for obsession started to redirect itself the moment a new target is acquired. Barreling straight towards you.

Or your panties, specifically.

Although the entirety of you is a perfectly justifiable thing to lose his mind over. It just so happens that your own little habit for pretty underwear has easily rubbed off on him. From silk to lace to whatever impractical mesh he happily bleeds his bank accounts for. Numbers he quickly discovered ran obscenely high for a few measly inches of thread.

Not that he minds. You like to call him your sugar daddy whenever he catches you hesitating over a ridiculously expensive set, and he’d simply shrug and slide you his card in return. Maybe he is. Kind of. He’s your boyfriend above all else, but if his urge to keep you spoiled rotten qualifies him for the role, then maybe the title isn’t so wrong.

Also doesn’t hurt that every dime spent ultimately works in his favor. Every purchase is perfectly rational when he gets to peel his money's worth right off your skin. Gets to appreciate how a splash of color and fabric can accentuate every curve of your body.

He views red as undeniably sexy. Blue as soft and sweet, and thinks black is a staple that never fails. You always look gorgeous in every color of the rainbow. Divine charm, very easy on the eyes.

But this purple. This damn bruised shade of plum hugging your hips has him crossing the room to haul you onto his desk before he’s even made a conscious decision to move. The stack of reports he’s already been neglecting for a week goes completely shoved aside. Now he’s got you sprawled on your back, looking entirely too satisfied with yourself for finally breaking his focus.

Smart girl, weaponizing his own money to sabotage his productivity.

It doesn’t take much prompting for him to map the familiar lines of your body, dragging his fingers over the delicate lace until his thumb pushes over your sheer-clad breast, pinching a tight nipple.

“This new?”

He smiles when you squirm, watching the way your eyes slant over him. “Mhm. D’you like it?”

His mouth quirks higher. What a redundant question to even entertain, as if being asked whether he prefers a clear line of sight, or if he's happy to find a fully loaded rifle when he’s backed into a corner. It’s basically a fundamental law of nature for him at this point. Lacking appreciation for the way the thin stretch of fabric barely covers your crotch isn't even a possibility.

And that little triangle is downright taunting him, doing absolutely nothing but draw his attention. He finds himself taking a sufficient moment to fully appraise what’s in front of him, letting out a rough breath through his nostrils as he grips the edge of the lace. Pulls it up snugly between your folds.

Fuck if it doesn’t make his cock stir.

You’re awfully wet and swollen and he finds guilt gnawing at him for not tending to you much sooner. An idiot, really, can be too blind when he gets caught up in his own head. Quite the irony when he’s typically so attuned to your moods.

When you’re hungry for affection, you’re quick to cling your arms around his neck while settling on his lap. Yearning for comfort, you bury yourself against his chest to chase the solid thud of his heartbeat.

Desperation runs in your blood when you’re fully aroused.

Like what you’re doing now, he acknowledges. With that impatient heat in your eyes and thighs spread wide apart, openly offering yourself on a silver platter like a five-star meal.

He slacks comfortably back in his chair. Ask and you shall receive, because Leon is inherently a selfless person, hardwired to assist any person in distress with a reflex so deeply ingrained in his bones. You’re writhing so restlessly towards his open mouth that his only instinct is to give in.

The first kiss has you shuddering. The second draws a weak gasp from your throat. For the third, your fingers tangle into his hair.

There’s no gentle fourth kiss that follows because he starts making out with your pussy. Drinks you in to quench his parched taste buds. Devours the taste of intoxicating musk and damp skin, of warm arousal and delicate salt, rich flavors that continuously drool into his mouth as he grinds his tongue flat against your panties.

Can’t even be bothered to peel the thing away. Sure, the fabric scratches right along his jaw, but it does absolutely nothing to stop him from finding your clit. Sweet little thing growing desperately hard with the greedy pull of his lips.

Your nails bite sharply into his scalp. “Fuck, b-baby, I’m gonna—”

He quickly draws back, and your hands immediately clench tight against his roots.

“Babe.”

His amused laughter lingers on your skin as he gently unwinds your grip. Brings your hand down to his lips to press a kiss into your palm. “I know, honey. Promise I'll give it to you.”

You let out a keening whine. “This is not the right time to edge me.”

Leon huffs out another chuckle.

He begs to differ, actually. Not because he genuinely enjoys being a sadist. No, of course not. Ignoring you for the better part of the day already has him feeling awful enough. By way of making amends, the least he can do is be generous—selfless, as he likes to consider himself. Put you out of your goddamn misery.

But a little dragging out couldn’t possibly hurt. He couldn’t touch you all day, couldn’t even look at you properly, so why not take his time now?

Just an extra minute to be greedy, he insists. A few more seconds to admire the state he’s left you in. From the perky jut of your tits behind the see-through mesh to the dark, soaked fabric caught between your dripping pussy. Gooey honey he can still taste on the back of his tongue.

He presses his mouth to your belly, under your heart, over it. Then stands to his full height, tugs the waistband of his sweats down an inch and lets his heavy length spring free.

“Baby, come on.” You track the thick line of him, then mewl when he gives himself a stroke. “Just fuck me already.”

He pushes into you over the flimsy lace. “Like this?”

“Fuck—fuck.” Your hips grind back, partially trying to swallow him right through the damp material. “Take it off.”

“I will."

He does, by pulling the material aside, smoothly sliding back the rich purple that compliments your bare skin. It brings out the natural glow of your damp thighs, highlights the slickness coating your exposed pussy. Swollen folds so thoroughly glazed he adds his own spit, driven by another stubborn compulsion of his to see you absolutely drenched.

You can do it, right? Wet his cock to the point he barely has to put in any effort to slide in?

He starts by giving your sensitive opening a rhythmic taptaptap with his tip. Settles with rubbing the blunt length of it through the wetness he spent so much time admiring. He admires the way you submit to him, too, letting him manhandle your thighs a fraction wider. Takes whatever scraps of friction he decides to give with a soft grace.

A lot of patience, he decides. And the kissing cousin to patience is tenacity.

Your hips give a tiny roll. He smiles—grins, even. It’s hard not to when you’re strung out and teetering so precariously on the edge of the desk, fighting gravity itself to grind against him. He rewards your effort with a slow thrust, finally letting the thick crown sink into your hole.

Slowly, steadily. Watches the way he’s splitting you open, barely, before letting himself savor the sensation of you clenching around the little inch of him buried inside. Incredibly warm, so fucking tight.

His eyes travel along your body, comes to a stop to watch the distortion of your pretty face. Eyes heavy and drooping as if you’re barely conscious, your lips parted in a breathless sigh.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls in a gravelly purr. “You’re trying to swallow me.”

An incoherent noise of pure desperation spills past your lips.

“You want all of it?” Your head jerks in a nod, he does the same. “Okay, okay. You'll get it, honey, don’t worry.”

Later, he adds to himself. Later, when you’re drenching his thighs in so much slick. He settles with rutting against your tightest ring of muscle, instead, relishing the sloppy sound that blends with your high-pitched whines and the destructive crinkle of whatever document you’re currently crushing in your fist.

“I—shit," you whimper. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, tosses a damp piece of hair across his brow. “Ruin everything for all I care.”

You huff out a small, thin laugh. “But you’ve worked so hard on it.”

“I can work hard on it again.”

Your smile is sweet and soft as your hands blindly paw into the empty air, searching for some leverage that doesn’t end in shredding the rest of his papers. He groans when they find purchase on your chest. Moans even louder when you unceremoniously yank the cups down, holding greedy handfuls in your palms.

“That’s it, play with ‘em,” he rasps. “Show me.”

You do, and it takes a huge amount of effort for him not to blow his load right there and then. He could. He would. Yeah, he definitely would. It’s become an ingrained habit for him to empty himself while being buried deep inside you. Stopped buying condoms the first time you guided him bare.

He’s never looked back since then. Might be a kink of his, come to think of it. The sensation of becoming entirely one with you, of leaving a warm part of his very soul that it feels like the ultimate culmination of a hundred different overlapping obsessions. Your immaculate taste in underwear, the very intoxicating taste of you.

Your voice. The deliberate way you pronounce his name. Your restless, wandering hands now gripping your chest, hard nipples peaking between keen fingers.

The sound your body is making. Squelching and sloshing and spilling and dripping as you openly drown in your own pleasure.

You’re wet enough, he decides. Although it doesn’t stop him from gathering a thick pool of saliva behind his teeth again. Lets the string of drool land directly onto your clit before his thumb lands right on top of it. Swirls the little nub with eager eyes as he visibly drinks in another spill of arousal leaking right through the desperate clench of your cunt.

Clench, unclench. Suck, squeeze, hold. You’re practically making a mess on his desk, squirming erratically against the wood in your own puddle the second he quickens the pressure of his thumb.

He wonders if you can cum with just the tip of his cock and the focused burn on your clit.

You show him that you can. Easily. With a tremor that forcefully smears your slickness further across the polished mahogany while your back bows sharply and your eyes roll back in absolute delirium. Watching you swim in a mindless haze is enough to shatter whatever control he had left.

He cums easily, too. Does so by dropping his head with a wildly heaving chest as he quickly strokes the remaining inches of his cock. Pleasure melts right into his bones, as does his cum, spilling hot and thick inside you before letting it overflow across your stretched folds, along the quivering juncture of your legs.

He makes sure it seeps into the edge of your panties. White on purple. Like a painter aggressively smearing his living canvas by swirling your arousal and his cum and his trail of hot saliva into one glob of a creamy mess.

He spits again. Because he can't help himself.

And you laugh. Weak and fond and amused while you lean back on your elbows to watch him obsess over his art.

“You’re such a perv, you know that?”

He does, there’s no point in denying it. But admittedly, he's your perv. And you are his, considering you’re already trying to swallow him whole the moment he tries to nudge back in. Sure, his obsessive streak can be a little overwhelming for polite society, a definite negative for most people to handle. But it’s a good thing two distinct negatives have always made a positive.

Reasonable, then, when it's both of you in the equation.

You’ve dealt with your fair share of speed-boosted infected; limbs windmilling, clawing and careening, all bursting energy and no finesse.

These aren’t blisterheads. They have stamina. They’re keeping up.

You twist and shoot one whose fingers are uncomfortably close to swiping the back of Leon’s shirt. The nearby white paneled wall goes bright, splotchy red.

“Intel’s getting a new one ripped if we make it out of this,” you pant, breath dry and ragged in your throat. Your lungs are burning.

“We’re making it out,” Leon tells you. Conclusive, no room for argument. He dodges left, hand once again grazing your arm to pull you with, but you’re already there, a perfect shadow.

This hall is wider, brightly lit with glass cases set in between the wall panels.

You’ve only got eyes on one thing as you run.

EXIT

It’s a final sprint.

You grit your teeth, breath loud in your ears, arms and legs pumping hard, trying to build a gap that allows for a sudden smack into the double doors, a loss of momentum and reversal of motion to slam the barrier closed.

‘Slam’ turns out to be optimistic. It’s a hydraulic close. Glacially fucking slow.

“Fuck! Force it!”

You almost bash heads with Leon, throwing your combined weight against the doors as the calamitous wall of infected catch up, arms reaching through the diminishing gap, scratching and clawing at you.

With a roar of effort, the doors finally give way under pressure and close with a crunch. An arm, hand, and various fingers fall onto the concrete.

“Bar it! Bar it!” Leon’s braced against both doors, his body a wedge, jarred by the furious thumping from the other side.

There are massive pneumatic rod locks on either side of the door. The control panel is dark.

“There’s no power!”

“You’re armed!”

Oh, right.

BANG T-SHUNK

Smoke curls from the barrel of your gun. The blasted hole in the control panel sparks weakly, fizzes, then goes dark.

Leon pushes away from the secured doors, rubbing at his ear. Your head’s ringing like a struck bell and you’d been back at arm’s length, not parallel with the barrel.

“Say something?”

“Something.”

“Yeah, can’t hear shit.”

"You only look like it.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

He’s flipping you off.

You grab it like a pinky promise, linking middle fingers, and he rolls his eyes.

“Alright. Let’s bounce,” you say.

He pulls you back. Urgent, abrupt. It bumps you against him.

“Wait.”

You’re in a greenhouse.

Rows and rows of lush, overgrown plants stretch unfamiliar leaves towards a glass-paneled sky. The walkways between rows are made of industrial metal grating, a stale funk rising from the darkness underneath.

No breeze is stirring the air. The back of your neck starts prickling; your animal brain tugging on your metaphorical hem and pointing.

The plants are rustling lightly.

Leon half-turns his head towards you, keeping his eyes on the jungle ahead.

“What’s the sitrep on the door?”

It’s still thumping against the locks, battered by the relentless undead. You glance at the panel you’d shot, burst and gutted, the wall above it blackened.

“Fucked.”

“Other doors?”

It’s just wall. Wall, and wall, and wall, smooth and inhospitable.

“Negative.”

“How long can you hold your breath?”

“I don’t think that’s the concern.”

You’re playing back the last hallway. White walls broken by glass panels, streaking by as you run. Behind every glass panel, a bright orange suit, thick like leather.

Bite-proof.

“Fuck.”

“So you tried to bypass it underground.”

“So we tried to bypass it underground,” you confirm. You watch the man nod, taking notes. He’s a leftie.

“Good thinking.”

“Yeah, well. Apparently not.”

The metal grating isn’t light. Thankfully, you and Leon aren’t weak.

The daylight sits like oil on top of water, only greasing weakly off of the reflective metal of more walkways below; descending levels disappearing into the dark.

“Oh, good. Can’t see the bottom.”

“Endless possibilities,” Leon says. “Cover me.”

The first level is an eight foot drop. Leon swings his legs into the gap, scoots forward, and eases himself down slowly, like he’s waiting for something to file a violent complaint. When nothing does, he drops onto the walkway, the metal clanging despite his rubber soles.

He shines his flashlight forward.

“Ugh.”

“What?”

“Love what they’ve done with the space.” He pockets the flashlight, reaching up to you. “It’s a charm you have to see in person.”

His hands are firm on your sides, your shirt riding up a little as he supports you down onto the platform with him. He absently fixes your rucked hem as you shine your flashlight into the gloom.

“Ugh,” you agree.

Roots.

Long, white, spidery roots hang from the ceiling in lengthy clumps and bundles, like massive, cobwebby chandeliers.

Leon’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing.

“Hey. Look.”

He steps forward, reaching into the nearest nest of gauzy filaments. He pulls his hand out, fingers curled around a narrow, dark plastic tube.

You come closer with the flashlight.

The dark color is red.

“It’s warm,” Leon adds, horribly.

The tube snakes off into the darkness below. You point your flashlight down and catch a glint off of something flat, circular, and shiny.

Leon’s separating more tubes from the leggy mass of roots. Only the one is red, but the others don’t look any less… organic.

“God. Which way do you think they run?”

He glances at you. “Three guesses.”

“Plants don’t bleed red.”

“Not typically.”

You share a resigned look, then he brushes past you, face set.

You turn to find him making quick work of the stairs down to the lower levels, hand on his gun.

You check your pistol's chamber and follow.

“A line of tanks.”

“Life support tanks, yes. Dozens.”

“Which way were the tubes running?”

“Both ways.”

“So…”

“The tanks were feeding the plants, and the plants were feeding the tanks.”

“Life support, you said. So there were … humans? Inside the tanks?”

“Yeah,” you say, looking away. “Used to be.”

There’s a thick film of slime on the tank, like growing snot. Your flashlight can’t make out anything coherent inside.

Leon shines his flashlight down the row; cylinder after cylinder, standing like a row of human-sized batteries, all mucky with slime and tickled by the trailing ends of roots from the massive bundles overhead.

Somewhere ahead, a steady dripping, echoing. You don’t appreciate the cliche.

“When was the initial outbreak?” Now that you’re on solid ground, your voice seems to suck right into the floor.

“All the lab logs and entries stop around six months ago.”

“So no one’s been down here for half a year.”

“Yeah.”

Leon shares a long look with you, mouth tight. Then, hesitant, he wipes a window through the muck on the nearest tank.

The beam of his flashlight illuminates the chamber. You can see a vague shadow suspended inside, like a bug in rough, raw amber.

He steps back, jaw tight.

“Dare I even ask?”

He shakes his head. “It’ll put you off soup.”

You shine your flashlight upwards; the root balls catch it and glow, high overhead.

“What was so wrong with good ol’ hydroponics?”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Leon says, heading off down the line of tanks.

“Twist my arm.”

“You didn't see it?”

“It was behind one of the tanks. In the dark.”

“You didn't hear it?”

“It was a little noisy at the time,” you say, annoyed.

Third tank from the last, everything goes spectacularly tits up.

Glass shatters outward, slimy and wet as it ricochets off your defensively raised arms. The body in the tank falls forward and swipes for Leon’s legs.

It’s not like the infected you’re used to, desiccated and dry as jerky.

This one is wet. This one is dissolving, skin sloughing from muscle sloughing from bone. Entrails spill from its body cavity, slippery, spreading across the hoary concrete as the disgusting thing writhes for a claim on your partner’s ankle.

Leon stumbles out of reach, gun aiming at the mucky skull. It explodes like a sixpack in a hot car and you’re shouting, ducking behind your arm again—

That’s when the other thing strikes.

Leon shouts in pain and tries to tear free. The pale, rubbery thing keeps hold of his shoulder like an overexcited dog with a rope toy.

“Leon!”

It’s too close to his head and he’s thrashing, you don’t have a clear shot. Something glints in the shadows behind his hip.

The hatchet. He’s already grabbed it.

A roar, a swing, the song of a sharp blade slicing clean through something organic.

The pale thing hits the ground with a sound like a rotting squash, the vine swinging empty into the darkness behind the tanks.

Leon falls to one knee with a grunt, the hatchet clattering onto the concrete.

“Leon! Leon,” you’re touching his back, crouching down with him. He’s breathing hard through his nose, clutching his shoulder. The fabric is darkening under his hand.

“Let me see. Leon.”

You shove his hand clear, unzipping his collar and yanking it aside.

His skin is patterned with circular rows of bleeding dashes. Lots of them.

“What the fuck.”

The pale, rubbery thing lies flaccid on the floor behind Leon. At first glance, it looks like a starfish collapsed on itself.

At second glance, you start to see the teeth, fine and triangular, in diminishing rows like a shark.

Pink with blood.

“Shit. Hey.”

Leon’s still on one knee, head down. You push his hair back, leaving a bloody streak on his skin, and tip his face up. There’s sweat on his forehead.

It takes him a moment to focus on you.

“Tell me what you’re feeling.”

He grunts. His pupils are a little too big, even for the dim lighting, and they’re not reacting right when you pass your flashlight closer.

You’re trying not to panic.

“Can you get up? Can you walk?”

He lets you haul him to his feet but shoves you off when you go to duck under his arm. You don’t take offense; it’s a good sign. He’s steady enough on his own.

“Grab that,” he tells you, voice rough. He’s holding his shoulder again, pointing down at the beheaded plant. You pick it up by the little stem of vine, grab his hatchet, and follow him close, ascending fast while he calls for extraction.

You don’t wait for your debrief to finish writing.

“What did the labs say?”

“They’re still running tests.”

“What did Medical say?”

“They’re still running tests.”

“What, with a potato? Where's the sense of urgency, here?”

“At last report, Mr. Kennedy was stable,” he says, capping his pen.

“He was half delirious coming off that chopper!”

“They’ve determined he’s in no immediate danger.”

“How can they know if they’re still running fucking tests?”

You get your name in an admonishing tone. You stand up, your chair screeching against the floor.

“I wanna see him.”

“He’s in precautionary isolation.”

“I was exposed to the same bullshit he was. I wanna see him.”

“You weren't bitten.”

“What, you think he’s gonna bite me?”

Your debrief just looks back at you, calm and level, his hands folded prim over the closed folder containing your account of the whole goddamn shit-spackled mission.

“He’s in precautionary isolation,” he repeats.

Your teeth grind, a muscle in your jaw jumping.

“Are we done here?”

“Yes. You are free to go.”

Medical stops you at the door. They aren’t fooled by your purposeful stride, your bored but intent expression. They hook your arm and yank you away like it’s goddamn Looney Tunes.

“We were told you might try that.”

Fucking debrief.

So now you’re sitting at home, dialing the Medical desk every fifteen minutes, certain from the complete non-activity of the past four hours that they’ve filtered your number as spam.

Assholes.

You should go to bed. Medical’s kept you both alive thus far, through hell and high water. Leon’s in good hands. Stable. No immediate danger, they said.

You rotate your phone in your hand, over and over. Upside-down, rightside-up. Staring at nothing.

You call the labs.

Some poor idiot actually picks up.

“I-I-I can’t give you that information,” he stammers, when you demand an update on Leon. On the biting plant. On fucking anything.

“I’m his partner! I was ground zero when it happened!”

“I-I can’t verify that over the phone.”

“Then I’m coming in,” you say, prim. You hang up on more panicked stammering, tossing your phone aside on the couch.

You’ve barely made it to your feet when your phone starts ringing.

Incoming Call Leonnedy

You stub your toe on the couch in your scramble to pick up.

“Leon! Are you okay?”

Immediately you can tell he’s not.

“I need help,” he says. Croaks.

Cold sweat breaks on your skin.

“Where are you? What’s wrong?”

“I’m… I can’t…” He gasps.

You’re a whirl of activity. You’re grabbing your wallet, your keys, pulling a jacket on over your pajamas. There’s no fucking time to change.

“Leon, where are you.”

“Home.”

“What?” You stop cold in your mad dashing, gripping the phone too hard. “They sent you home like this?”

“They said I could take care of it.”

“Take care of what? They won’t tell me fucking anything, Leon–“

He groans through clenched teeth and oh boy, Medical’s gonna find out just how creative you can be when it comes to revenge. You shove your feet ungracefully into some shoes and grab for the door handle.

“The venom,” Leon’s panting in your ear, and then he gets to the zinger. “It’s an aphrodisiac.”

You feel it like lightning, a surge throughout your entire body. Your visual of his situation, based on the noises he’s making, takes a dramatic turn.

“Leon.”

“It’s been six goddamn hours,” he grits out.

“Jesus christ, can’t you just–”

“I’ve tried,” he says. “I’m just goddamn edging myself.”

“Did you call Medical? There’s gotta be something they can–”

“Fucking useless,” Leon says, confirming your hypothesis. “They told me to hire an escort.”

“What?”

“I’m not— fuck— fucking doing that.”

You thump your forehead against your front door, your grip on the doorknob tight enough to crush.

“Leon, if you… there’s no shame. They’re professio–”

“No,” he cuts in. “I don’t…” He breaks off, breath hissing through his teeth, and then fails to elaborate.

That’s alright; you’ve got a pressing question.

“Why’d you call me?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. You just have to listen to him breathe like this.

Your vivid imagination is a fucking curse.

"I trust you,” he finally tells you. “I know how this… I don’t have… I trust you.”

You’re partners.

No, you’re coworkers. What he’s asking is… can he ask this? What happens to your partnership in the aftermath? Can you go back to–

“Please,” he breathes in your ear, and tops it with your name.

You wrench the door open.

Before you hang up, he gives you the code for the garage door, and fair warning.

You’re still not prepared.

As partners, you’ve seen each other in various states of undress. Usually partial. Usually because you’re bleeding somehow. Always clinical.

This doesn’t feel like the far end of the same spectrum. This feels like a g-force journey into a different dimension.

Leon’s on his couch, head back, knees wide. Taut like a bowstring.

Completely, stark, buck-ass naked.

His shoulder looks like a bisected watermelon, his skin dewy and pink, dotted with the dark little toothmarks from the venomous plant.

His chest is heaving, his hips restless.

His cock is flushed dark, painfully engorged, thick and pulsing against his stomach. There’s a wet smear on his skin; when his cock lifts, straining, it trails a sticky little string of precum.

“Christ,” you rasp, tossing your jacket aside.

He lifts his head and his eyes can barely focus on you. He looks on the verge of passing out, but he reaches out, reaches for you. You shove a bottle of lube out of the way on the couch cushions and take his outstretched hand.

“I’m here. What do you–“

“Touch,” he pants, barely coherent. “Touch me.”

And here you are in the deep end, no time to brace, no time to breathe. You’re touching him, chamois soft skin, hot and unyielding. His hips jerk on a gasp, a groan dragging from somewhere deep within as he lets his head fall back on the couch.

The hot, swooping sensation in your stomach physically bends you, punches your breath out.

You’ve never handled a dick this hard in your entire life.

You’ve maybe never handled a dick this big in your entire life. He’s long and thick, the head flared, cerise and glistening. You pass your thumb over his slit, smearing through the precum, and his stomach tautens as he pushes up into your hand, his breath rushing out hot, hissing back in. He’s desperate.

He breathes your name. His ass keeps flexing with the helpless motion of his hips and his eyes are closed, forehead knotted.

It’s intense concentration. His world narrowed down, only as wide as the circle of your fist.

Six goddamn hours.

You tighten your grip, trail your other hand up the lightly furred inside of his thigh, teasing his balls before stacking your fists and starting to pump him in a steady rhythm that answers the flex of his body.

His hand lands on your thigh, searing, his fingertips firm on your flesh and pulling. Your knee presses tighter against his leg.

He’s just grappling for a hold on something, for an anchor. His other hand is doing the same thing to the arm of the couch. You just hope he doesn’t move his hand any further to the left on you or he’s gonna find you a little too slippery to hold onto.

Fuck, you’re only goddamn human.

You jerk him faster, his hips starting to meet you in earnest, his body rolling as he chases his disobliging release.

And why couldn’t he get there himself?

What if… what if you can’t get him there, either? You don’t know anything about the venom, they’re still running tests. Maybe this is the result. Maybe he’s just… stuck like this, heightening, exacerbating, until he, what, pops?

What a fucking epitaph that would be.

No, you’re not scripting headstones. That’s not happening.

You start to twist on the upstroke, a flick of the wrist, and Leon moans loud.

“That’s it. Come on, Leon.”

His balls are tightening, drawing up, his forehead beaded with sweat, his mouth open. He’s right on the edge.

“Look at me.”

He opens his eyes, glassy as they are. You make sure he can see you, and then you bend low.

His skin is velvety soft around the firm rounds of his balls. You fit your lips to one of the shapes, touch your tongue to it, tasting the salt of him.

He cries out, thick ropes of cum hitting his chest, his stomach, spurting and spilling down his shaft, smeared by your hand as you milk him through it, relieved.

You can’t stop your breathy laugh, almost lost under his aereous groans. He just keeps going.

“A little pent up?”

He doesn’t quip back. The situation is dire.

His dick gives one last pulse, the final beads of his release dribbling down the head of his cock. You rub it away with your thumb.

There’s a very noticeable issue.

He’s still incredibly hard.

When you meet his eyes, they’re a little clearer. He’s still sunset pink and breathing hard – messy, now, too – but he can track your face better.

“Do you feel any different?”

“Fuck. Barely.”

"What if you're stuck like this?"

“Don't say that," he says. You’re still stroking him, slow, like an afterthought. He drags his hands through his damp hair, hissing when it stretches the scabs on his chewed shoulder.

"It was venom, do you need some sort of antivenom?"

He doesn’t appear to be listening. His hands grip the back of the couch, his hips rolling, cock pushing through your sticky fist.

You grab his hips and force them down.

“Leon.”

He bucks hard against you, bratty.

"You think I know?”

“Don’t give me an attitude.”

“Don’t fuckin tease me,” he snaps, unwisely.

You move fast.

A whump, a gasp, the silence of breath caught in the shadow of a predator.

His breath fans out over your face; slow, tremulous.

“I’m doing you a favor,” you remind him, low, your face inches from his. “I could just leave.”

He’s not moving, trapped under you.

You’re straddling him, your fist tight at the base of his cock.

“What do you say?”

“Fuck.”

“Leon.”

“I love you.”

It rattles you like a gunshot, strikes you and spreads.

It takes your advantage, crumples it up, and throws it in a trash compactor. And then it lights that trash compactor on fire.

“That’s not fair,” you breathe.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and kisses you.

He’s upgraded your permissions. You kiss him back, heated, and let go of your leash.

He breaks from your mouth to gasp when you sit on his hips, his hands catching your waist and gripping.

“Shit.”

“So we’ve learned that I’m not a monk,” you say, a verbal roll of the eyes.

It’s not just a few tepid inches of water in your basement. At this point, your flood’s halfway up the damn walls.

He rocks his hips, rubbing himself against the soaked fabric of your pajama shorts. You keen and pick up the motion on your own.

God, you’re aching.

“You should have said something,” he says, breathless.

“That wasn’t on the invitation.”

“Aren’t you a saint.”

“Yeah. Because when you said ‘I trust you’, I heard ‘take advantage of my compromising situation’.”

“Fair,” he says, then pulls you down to speak in your ear, his scruff a ticklish rasp against your skin. “Fuck me.”

Well don’t you make the perfect pair. He’s hard as granite and you’re wet enough to sink a dinghy.

Taking off your clothes is too much fucking bother. You just shove the wet fabric to the side.

He doesn't watch where you’re taking his cock into your body, the hot, hard length of him sliding in tight past your pussy lips.

He’s watching your face. You don’t know it until you’ve got him in to the hilt, your mouth falling open on a sigh, your forehead smoothing out as you gyrate your hips, a delicious little circle, fully seated on his lap.

"Oh my god, Leon."

He comes.

Your name is somewhere in the long groan sieved through his clenched teeth before his mouth drops open, diced breaths tumbling free as he pulses inside of you, so deep, so hot and thick.

He’s still looking directly at you.

You watch his eyes clear just a little more; sharpening, focusing. Smoke becoming a mist.

“Can I tease you about premature ejaculation.”

“No.” He starts unbuttoning your pajama top. The fabric is wrinkled at your sides where he’d been gripping, almost hard enough to bruise.

“Why, because you’re still hard?” He is, but it’s different. You couldn’t bend steel around him anymore.

“Yeah,” he says simply, and grips your open collar, pulling you down into a kiss.

You arch your back, easing him to just the tip, bottoming him out again, cycling his affected breath through your own lungs. He runs his hands down your chest, grazing your nipples, his tongue reaching into your mouth to taste your sigh.

His hips press up into you, lifting you, a gentle swell. You ride it; start to rock your hips.

The fabric of your shirt whispers down your arms, chased by the skim of Leon’s palms. Goosebumps raise on your skin.

You brace your arms on the back of the couch, riding him faster. He trails his lips down the column of your neck, his scruff a pleasant scratch, his humid breaths printing your skin.

He runs the fan of his fingers over your nipples.

“Leon.”

“Lean back,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing your shoulder. “Let me see you.”

You sit back on his hips, brushing your hands over the caps of his knees. He scratches lightly down the flex of your thighs as you start slapping down on him harder, dropping your head back, gasping.

“Fuck, gorgeous, just like that.”

“God, Leon.”

Your thighs are burning. He starts meeting you, hips snapping, and you look down.

It almost does you in.

Those broad shoulders, that flushed chest. Muscles rolling and bunching under his glistening skin. Hair sticking to his forehead, wet pink lips, blown eyes hooded, watching you, too.

His hands fall to your hips and he growls, fingers bunching in your pajama shorts. Feral. Like he’s going to tear them.

He hooks his arm around your back and surges up, laying you out on the sofa. You whine when he slips out of you, but he’s lifting your hips to yank your shorts and panties down, surprisingly coordinated for the way he’s wound up.

A small part of you expects them to hit the floor with a wet slap. The rest of you is reaching for Leon, impatient, empty.

He brings your knee up, hooks your leg around his hip and pushes back in, one long thrust, his breath a humid narration. You keen, head falling back against the cushions, feeling his lips at your jaw.

He digs his arms under your shoulders, his body rocking you, fluid motions pushing and pulling as he fucks you slow, deep. You grip his back, obsessed with the animal flex of his body.

You can feel every inch of him, stroking your walls. In, out, a steady tide. You arch your back, your stomach pressing to the rippling heat of his abs.

He’s still sticky. You don’t fucking care.

“Score’s two to zero,” he tells you, breath hot against your cheek. “You gonna catch up?”

“I’m not the medical concern.”

He brings your other leg up onto his hip, adjusting. Seeking.

He finds it. You groan loud, raw, and feel him smile against your neck.

“There you are.”

Your jaw hinges open, your vision glazing over as he rubs the head of his cock against the bundle of nerves inside you. He snaps his hips, jolting a gasp out of you, then goes right back to massaging your g-spot.

“You’re not real,” you pant. He nips your skin, sharp.

“River in Egypt, sweetheart.”

You dig your heels into his glutes, pressing in like spurs, urging him faster.

“Come on, cowboy– ah!”

He pushes up onto his hands, skin slapping loud as he starts pounding into you hard and fast. You were already tightening, coil building, and he’s hit your fucking warp drive.

“Fuck, fuck, like that, Leon!”

“Shit, you better hurry,” he says through gritted teeth. His hips are stuttering, rhythm starting to fall apart.

“I told you–“

His thumb circles your clit, just one rotation, and that’s it. The bastard’s got you. Screaming, even.

You come apart beneath him, your foundation shaking, walls clenching around him, wracked by seismic waves. He gasps your name, watching you climax on his dick, then slams in deep and comes with a long, stuttering groan.

The third time, it seems, is the charm.

When his phone starts ringing, you don’t hear it at first. His head is blocking your nearest ear.

“Leon.”

“Mm.”

“Your phone.”

“Mmph.”

You shift like you’re going to try to reach for it yourself, but he’s beautifully heavy on top of you, so you don’t try very hard.

You nuzzle your face into his hair and bring your arms around him instead, closing your eyes. He hums, content.

The ringtone stops, bending to your private moment.

Five seconds later, it starts up again.

“Fuck.”

You grouse when Leon shifts up, but his reach is longer than yours and he doesn’t go far.

“Huh. Medical,” he says.

“Oh,” you say, with mock optimism.

He hits answer, settling back on top of you. You run your hand up and down his back, petting him.

“Kennedy.”

He doesn’t have his volume turned up very high. You get vague shapes of words, spoken quickly, and then Leon’s short responses, felt as much as heard, his voice thrumming through you.

“Yeah. … No. … Don’t need it. … I know. … I know. … No, I’m fine. … Sure. Bye.”

“Fucking useless,” he mutters, his phone clattering onto the coffee table. “Antivenom’s ready.”

You start giggling.

“They want me in for reassessment in the morning.”

It turns into laughter, smothered into his shoulder, and he rolls into the couch crease so he can look at you.

“What?”

“All their overtime hours,” you say. “No match for your partner’s Magical Healing Vagina.”

He laughs, a real one, his hand pulling at your hip to twist you towards him, pressing you against his body. You’re both a fucking mess, and the couch might be a write-off.

It was an emergency.

“Should get you certified,” he says. You make a skeptical noise.

“There’d be a demand.”

His arm tightens around you, minuscule. Almost imperceptible. Might’ve been completely imperceptible, if his arms weren’t so big.

“Mm. We’re sticking to best-kept-secret.”

“How selfish.”

He nuzzles your mouth with his, sharing breath.

“Yeah.”

“Hey,” you mention, to his invading tongue. He retreats and lets you speak. "Did you mean what you said, or was it just self-defense?"

"What I said?"

"Don't be obtuse.”

He brushes his lips against yours, just a snag of soft, moist skin.

"I've never lied to you," he says.

"There's a first time for everything," you say. "You're skirting the question."

He brushes your hair back, studying your face. Content to take forever, it seems.

"If it helps," you say, "I can put you back under duress."

You slide your hand to the front of his hip, laughing when he flinches away.

"Ass," he says, and rolls you onto your back again, dipping to kiss you. "Yeah. I love you."

You stroke his cheek, his stubble rasping against your fingertips. His eyes are completely clear, gaze steady looking back at you.

You don't take forever to say it. The forever you want to take is the one that opens up on the other side of it: four words, a door.

“I love you, too.”

On AO3

Y'all mind if I just give our man a bad good time real quick

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist when I post these fics 🩷

The spoonful of sickly sweet vanilla ice cream in your mouth practically sizzles against your tongue upon contact. It's disgustingly humid and the heat is sweltering - you're desperate to cool down, and there's no better way of doing that than taking a dip in the ocean. Unfortunately, you and Leon were supposed to have a weekend trip to the West Coast, but that was abruptly canned since his work called him in for an urgent mission, despite Leon already lodging his leave well in advance.

The whole situation vexes you - on one hand, you know you signed up for this when you began dating him; the life of a government agent isn't exactly predictable and work hours aren't always fair. But on the other hand, Leon still deserved to relax and use his leave like any other employee should - so why is this now the third time they've disrespected his leave request? You chew the inside of your cheek absentmindedly, your eyes staying glued to the TV screen as you try to focus your eyes on the scene of Mr Darcy confessing to Elizabeth in the rain, but your irritation was still simmering beneath the surface, despite your mental attempts to slam the lid on it and hope it doesn't overflow.

Your eyes dart to the handle of the front door pressing down while your hands are still under the cold running water of the tap, rinsing your ice cream spoon. Leon's tired figure trudges into the living space, purplish dark circles hanging under his eyes, chapped lips, and a dullness to his skin that isn't usually there. Your heart clenches at the sight of him - it's clear the mission he just went on did an absolute number on him. But it's what made you all the more irritated and upset; he's a human outside of his work, yet he's being treated like he's a power tool getting yanked out of a shed whenever he's needed. The most frustrating part is that it seems as if he just lets them do it as they please too.

"Hey." Leon is the first one to break the silence, his bag still dangling from his arm.

"Hey." You reply, popping the spoon on the drying rack.

"I'm sorry I had to leave suddenly again." Leon purses his lips, walking towards you slowly as if he were approaching a skittish animal.

"It's okay." Your reply is a little too quick, and your gaze is anywhere but his eyes. You're afraid that you'll take one look at him and say something you don't mean out of sheer annoyance for the situation.

Leon drags a hand over his weary face before placing his bag on the floor, leaning it against the kitchen island as he takes a seat at the kitchen stool. "It's not… I'm sorry. I know we had it all planned and I had to cancel everything."

"…Yup, for the third time." You sigh. "Leon, I know work is important, but they have hundreds of other capable agents they could send off. You only lodged leave for four days, with three month's notice too. They really couldn't find anyone else? They really had to cancel your leave two days before you were meant to go?"

"The situation was urgent and there was a limited pool of agents they could deploy for it. The consequences if nobody were there to contain it would have been catastrophic." Leon explains.

"But they could have called other agents. I know global threats don't respect leave requests, but the DSO still has plenty of capable agents that would have held the fort just fine until you got there. How are you meant to go through all these harrowing missions without having proper downtime? You're not a tool they can just pull out at their disposal, you're a human." You cross your arms.

Leon pauses; there's no anger or irritation in his eyes. He simply nods. "It's hard to say no." You can hear the fatigue in his voice, but it only serves as proof that he shouldn't keep saying yes to more work.

"Of course it is. It's the literal United States government asking you to do something. But by never saying no, you're setting a precedent for them to do it again. And besides… I also booked leave on Monday. I don't mind lounging around, but it is a shame I wasted a day of annual leave, especially when I was really looking forward to our trip. It's not fair to me either." You chide him.

"I was looking forward to it too." Leon's sentences remain short; a telltale sign of his exhaustion.

You approach Leon slowly. "I know… I didn't mean to tell you off the moment you walked through the door. I know it was tough on you, but this is the third time it's happened now, and I've been keeping my frustrations bottled up." Kissing his cheek, you give his bicep a short and gentle reassuring squeeze. "I'm gonna wind down for bed. There's some leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry." You notify him, turning to leave. Before you can even begin to take a step, you feel Leon gently grab your hand. You let out a soft "huh?" as Leon hops off the kitchen stool, kneeling down as he wraps his arms around your hips, his face pressed against your torso as he looks up at you.

"L-Leon, you look exhausted. You know if you fall asleep down there I won't be able to lug you up the stairs, right?" You chuckle, your fingers threading through his blonde silky strands. He leans into your touch, staring up at you with soft puppy eyes.

Leon is rarely like this. The only other time he's grovelled like this is when you saw someone from his past try to reach out once more; and while he didn't have her number saved, it wasn't blocked at the time, which really pissed you off. Clearly ditching three planned holidays in a row has made him feel guilty.

"I'm sorry for abandoning the third holiday we've tried to go on. But you're being so patient with me anyway. I'm so sorry." His voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey, it's fine. I'm just feeling frustrated, and it's upsetting to see you burn the candle at both ends. We're good, okay?" You murmur.

Leon shakes his head with a sigh. "It's not fine. I've abandoned our plans in favour of work three times now. I'm sorry… I want to make it up to you. I'll do anything." He looks up at you, his arms tightening around your hips.

"Anything?" You raise a brow.

"Anything." He nods.

"Okay. I want you to get up from the floor, eat the leftovers, take a nice hot shower, and get an early rest." You chuckle, knowing that he was planning on trying to apologise through sex. But as much as you'd like that, all you really want is for him to just get some rest.

"Really? You don't want me to eat y-"

"Nope. Get up from the floor, drama queen."

You're sitting on the bed, legs sprawled on top of the French flax linen sheets with a book in your hand. The amber glow of your bedside table illuminates the words, as you try to wind down and take your mind off things. Despite being peeved about the last minute cancellation of the holiday, your thoughts were mostly fixed on how burnt out Leon has been looking lately.

As you flip the page, you hear the bedroom door open, the smell of aldehydes and sandalwood flooding your nostrils. Your eyes dart to the sight of Leon - he's only wearing a pair of loose grey sweatpants, the water droplets from his damp hair sprinkled onto his muscular chest. He shakes his head twice, like a dog shaking its coat after being drenched in water, and you smile to yourself.

"Hey." He greets you, shuffling into his spot next to you.

"Hey. Feeling better?" You ask him as he settles close to you.

"Yeah. Much better." Leon nods, before clearing this throat. "I also, uh, lodged my leave again and managed to get an even nicer hotel to stay at for next weekend. I know you need to lodge that extra day of leave, so the entire trip is on me. It was my bad for cancelling in the first place. And if they ask me to come in, this time I'm saying no." He adds. You glance over and give him a small smile.

"Good. If you're exhausted then it's pointless throwing yourself in a dangerous situation. You need to take care of yourself." You hum, going back to your book.

"But nobody is taking care of you. That's meant to be my job." You catch a rare pout from Leon, which earns him a giggle from your lips.

"Hey, I'm holding up just fine, even when you have those missions that last for like two weeks." You respond, as Leon repositions himself on the bed between your legs, his calloused palms gently rubbing the side of your thighs.

"That's part of what I meant." He responds, dipping his head down and kissing your inner thigh. You peer at him from your book before setting it down, then lifting your hips up as he drags your shorts and panties off in one go. "Just let me take care of you. Go back to reading your book, baby." Leon whispers, pressing a kiss on your hip before he spreads your legs a little further.

"Missed this view so much." He murmurs in appreciation, before sticking his tongue out to lick a long, flat stripe against your cunt. Your body already begins to twitch at the sensation, your fingertips digging into your book so tightly you're already beginning to make little crescent-shaped divots in the soft cover of your novel. "Missed you so much." Leon adds, the very tip of his tongue flicking at your clit.

"I… Fuck…" You're already losing composure. The words on the page seem to jumble and swirl around as if you're looking into a bowl of alphabet spaghetti.

"You're not gonna turn the page?" Leon asks, his mouth separating from your pussy for a moment as his thumb moves against your pussy in slow but firm strokes, causing you to roll your hips.

"Forgive me, it's a little challenging to read right now." You bite your lip, staring at him. He's staring up at you with a soft gaze and parted lips, glossy with your own pussy juice. Fucking hell, he's so pretty.

"That means I'm doing my job right. Go on baby, get back to your book." Leon responds with a ghost of a grin, before dipping his head back down between your legs, sinking his tongue into your folds. You try your best to focus on the sentence before you.

'But joy soon effaced every other feeling; and loud as the wind blew, and deep as the thunder crashed, fierce and frequent as the-' …You can't fucking focus like this. But you pretend you're reading anyway, despite your breaths turning staccato as you feel the repeated flicks of his tongue against your clit with just the right amount of pressure. The crisp sound of a page flipping happens just a little too suddenly, and it's so clear your eyes are anywhere but on the words. Leon knows, but he doesn't say anything. He just looks up at you with an adoring gaze as he hums a low groan of pleasure while he continues to fuck you with his mouth. Just as you attempt to read another sentence - or at least try to, you feel Leon sink his index and middle fingers inside of you slowly, causing you to let out a breathy whine.

"F-fuck, oh my god." You gasp at the sensation of his fingers now slowly pumping in and out of you, watching as his fingers disappear into your folds and pull out, covered in your slick, syrupy pussy juice. You don't even remember what page you're on anymore.

"Atta girl." Leon whispers, kissing your inner thigh as he curls his fingers upwards, hitting that spot that makes your eyelids flutter. His mouth returns to your pussy, continuing to relentlessly lick and suck at your clit, as he keeps an almost mechanically perfect pace and pressure with his fingers hitting that perfect spot, over and over again. Your legs are now shaking, and your book is now teetering on the edge of the bed as your body pulls taut.

"I'm, hah… I'm gonna cum… Fuck…" The flesh of your lower lip is pinned under your teeth as you feel that familiar warmth pool in your stomach, your hips bucking into Leon's face as you grind your sopping wet cunt against his mouth. It earns you a deep, guttural groan of pleasure from Leon, as your body finally lets go, your orgasm completely shattering you as his name loudly falls from your lips.

Leon moves from his elbows to his knees, caging your body with his as he kisses you deeply. You realise that since he walked through the door, the two of you hadn't shared a proper kiss, and it made your heart clench a little. Breaking the kiss momentarily, you look up at him with a soft, doe-eyed gaze, your lips glossy with the mix of his saliva and your arousal. "Hm?" Leon hums; it's a gentle and caring tone with a carnal undercurrent - as if he's asking you what he can do for you next. Your hand finds the back of his neck as you pull him in once more, giving him another kiss. Leon softly moans, his lips parting as your tongues meet. You feel yourself pouring all of your love and tenderness into every stroke of your tongue against his, and he returns with equal fervor.

"Lay down. I don't want you undoing a stitch." You instruct him with a soft chuckle.

"Yes ma'am." Leon gives you a lazy smile as you hitch your leg over his thigh, his cock already hard and weeping with precum. Your hand moves from his lower stomach, tracing over his muscular abdomen as it finally rests at his jaw gently. You study his face for a moment - his eyes are locked onto yours with a soft fondness, and you can't help but smile. "What is it?" Leon asks, tilting his head in question.

"Nothing." You hum, grabbing his cock and sinking down on it slowly. You take him inch by inch, until he bottoms out inside of you. Leon lets out a soft groan of pleasure, your name echoing from his lips as you slowly begin to move your hips. The feeling of him is a toothsome stretch, his cock filling you up as if he was made just for you.

"Oh, fuck… Just like that." Leon huffs out, his calloused hands instinctively reaching for your hips as you begin to ride him a little faster. The sound of your own juices mixing with his makes an obscene wet slap with every downwards jut of your hips. Peering down, you watch as your cunt greedily swallows his cock whole, the lewd visual of your wet folds sinking down on his dick driving you insane. Leon removes one of his hands from his hip to briefly wet the pad of his thumb, before placing it on your clit and making frantic little strokes on it.

"G-gonna cum so fast if you keep doing that." You manage to say through breathy whines.

"Good, because I don't know how much longer I can last when you're riding me like this…" Leon lets out a strained grunt of pleasure as your hips burn with your quickening pace. Your breathing becomes more ragged as the tip of his dick continues to slam into that perfect, sweet spot, while his thumb relentlessly drags over your clit.

"Oh, shit…" A loud moan leaves your mouth.

"Yeah, yeah. That's it baby, ride it out for me." Leon coos in that deep, teasing voice, before a moan leaves his own mouth too. And that's all it took. Between whimpers, his name falls from your lips as you cum, your body shuddering with pleasure. As your walls grip onto Leon's cock tightly, it causes him to spill hot, white ropes of cum inside of your pussy, his hand on your hip gripping just a little tighter. Your hips slowly grind as you ride out your high, your eyelids fluttering in pleasure before you finally pull yourself off of him.

"You distracted me from my book." You pout as you roll over onto your side of the bed.

"Sorry baby, maybe you can read the rest by the beach next weekend?" Leon smiles softly at you, giving you a tender kiss on the forehead.

The sun glows a striking amber against the stripes of pale cornflower blue and magenta twilight as you turn the final page of your book. You hear the faint shuffling of feet in the sand, and you look up to see Leon standing over you with a grin. A part of you wishes you could take a photo of what you're seeing right now - the sea water clings like crystalline droplets onto his skin and damp blonde hair, the vibrant sunset behind him illuminating every peak and valley of his muscles. You watch as he shakes his head and arm twice to rid himself of the water, much like a dog shaking its coat after a bath.

"So, was the book good?" Leon asks, his knees sinking down onto your sailor blue and white terry cloth beach towel as he sprawls himself next to you, one heavy, muscular arm draping over your waist.

"It was, actually. Have you had enough of a swim?" You smile at him.

"Almost. You got dry from sitting out in the sun. You want one last dip before the sun fully sets?" Leon asks.

"Hmm, sure. I should make the most of the ocean." You nod in response. Before you can do anything else other than placing your book to the side, Leon rises from his position and scoops you into his arms, carrying you princess style in one easy, fell swoop. You yelp in surprise, but your yelp quickly turns into a giggle as he kisses the crown of your head as the icy ocean water touches your body.

"Oh my god, it's freezing!" You whine.

"That's because you were out of the water for so long." Leon lets out a small laugh, pulling you into his arms, holding you flush against him as you both watched the sun set below the horizon.

He really does love to take care of you.