♡Leon's Wife♡

You pushed your civilian clothes into the locker and closed the door shut. Behind you, Zora was getting ready too. In her stripper heels she was so tall, you could both use the same mirror and you didn’t even have to move. 

“You’ve been working crazy shifts lately,” she stated, leaning in a little closer to do her eyeliner. 

You paused. 

You had. Because you were scared you wouldn’t be able to work for much longer. And because you needed to keep trying to get a hold of the tapes. Secondly, you needed to keep an eye on the other dancers, to figure out which one of them was the wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

Zora stopped what she was doing and watched you. “You’re picking up every shift there is. Why?”

“I owe somebody money,” you lied and shrugged. 

Zora kept eyeing you. “See, I thought you were pregnant.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you huffed, touching up your lipstick. 

“Am I? Given how close you and that baby cop are. One might even say: madly in love?” 

Before you could deny that defamatory statement, Helena slipped through the door, 

“Do you want a line?” she asked, holding up a small baggy filled with cream coloured powder. “One of my regulars is buying.” 

You shook your head. You were in enough trouble with the law as it was. You didn’t need to add possession of Class A narcotics to the list. 

“What regular?” Zora asked, hands perfectly still as she drew the wing right above her lashline. 

“One of the older guys,” Helena said a tad too sharply and started cutting lines on the table.“Why are you even in here?” she asked, looking at you over her shoulder. “You’re such a money grab lately.” 

You let your lipstick sink down and shot her a dirty look through the mirror. “Put your nose in your baggy instead of my business,” you hissed. 

“Calm down, jeez,” Helena said, snorting not one, but two lines before handing the coke straw to Zora. You watched the tall dancer snort the other line, ruling both her and Helena out from your manhunt. 

As soon as you walked out on the floor, your skin began to itch. It was like your body was already getting ready to get arrested just in case. 

“Have you seen Tony?” you asked Crystal over the bar. 

She shook her head. “He’s not gonna show up any more regularly the more you ask about him. What do you want from him anyway?”  

“Private stuff,” you whispered, gnawing on your fingernails. 

Crystal's gaze trailed down your body. “The baby cop didn’t knock you up, did he?” 

You groaned in annoyance. “Oh my god. Why does everybody think that?” 

“I know you’re not using condoms.” Crystal raised an eyebrow at you. “He so kindly informed me after I caught you two fuckbirds in the private room.” She shuddered demonstratively. “I’m scarred for life you know. Had a nightmare about baby cop cum the other night.” 

“Shut up,” you said, leaning against the bar, taking in the room to get an overview of potential clients. 

“You seem agitated. Trouble in paradise?” Crystal asked, polishing glasses. Not that anybody ever noticed in the dim light of the club, but Crystal liked to do things right. 

“No,” you replied, clipped, narrowing your eyes on two men across the room. 

Crystal sighed. “Thank you for asking Crystal, I appreciate you taking an interest.” 

You ignored her. Those two guys—you had never seen them in here before. Of course there were new clients all the time, like those college kids who had tried to stiff you but these two seemed a little out of place the way they had their heads drawn together, exchanging hushed words. 

“They ordered drinks just now. I messed up one of their orders and they didn’t really seem to care,” Crystal murmured, pointing her chin at the same men you were eyeing. You checked the clock behind the bar. 

“It’s a weird time for guys like that to be in here too. They’d usually be with the earlier ‘don’t tell my wife’ crowd. They’re too old and too sober for the party people.” 

Crystal nodded and like you had jinxed it, one of them walked straight up to you. 

He was handsome, mid forties maybe, well groomed, very fit for his age. 

“Are you free?” 

You wrinkled your forehead. Usually, the dancer approached the client. Unless they had taken an interest in a particular girl after a dance on the pole. But you hadn’t even been on the pole yet. You had just walked in from the dressing room. 

“Sure, baby.” You smiled, running a hand over his unusually broad chest. You wrinkled your forehead. You had never felt a chest like that before. So hard an unyielding. And you had felt plenty of muscular chests up to this point. “It’s a hundred dollars a pop.” 

He took out his wallet and your eyes traced every movement. People didn’t carry their wallets in here, they carried dollar bills. Shit tons of them in their pockets for easy access. Unless it was their first time. But he wasn’t nervous enough for this to be his first time. 

You took the money from his grasp, winked at him and led him to one of the private rooms.

Setting the timer, starting your routine—it was all another day at the office for you. What was new was that you had never had such an unresponsive client before. 

“Do you do any extras?” He asked out of the blue, as you got to the part of your routine where you were grinding on his lap. Why would he ask that? He wasn’t even hard. 

“Absolutely not, big guy. You’re in the wrong club for that,” you replied. 

“Why? Where would I need to go?” he kept pressing. 

You narrowed your eyes, stopping in your movements. “Nowhere because that’s illegal.” 

“Oh come on,” he said, dramatically. “You mean to tell me there’s no one in this club who will at least suck dick?” 

“Tony,” you whispered. “Otherwise there’s no explanation why he’s never here.” 

The timer was still going, so you turned around and ran your hands over his torso. He stiffened, barely noticeable, but he did. You ground your teeth. Just as you thought. 

The timer went off. “See you again soon, baby,” you purred, blowing him a kiss and then getting the fuck out of there.

You rushed into the dancers’ room. 

Helena and Zora were on their break, smoking and eating chips. 

“I’d put the coke away if I were you. There’s an undercover cop on the floor. Bulletproof vest and everything.” 

“Oh shit,” Zora said, frantically clearing everything off the table. 

Helena laughed. “What? Are you serious?” 

You hated the fucking rookie. “Yes, I’m serious I was grinding my ass on him just now,” you hissed, opening your locker and shrugging into the jacket of your pink velvet tracksuit. There was now way in hell you would risk getting caught up in any of that. You knew why he was here. You also knew by the time he continued his investigation, you would be long gone. 

“What the hell even is an undercover cop doing here?” Zora asked, grabbing her stuff just as frantically. The only person who didn’t get a move on was god forsaken Helena. 

Crystal burst into the dancers’ room. “Is this about you and the baby cop?” 

You stilled. 

“Is this why you’ve been asking about Tony every time you come in?” 

“Yes,” you said, grabbing all your stuff. “I’m about to have a prostitution charge dumped on my ass. So if you excuse me, I’m gonna get the fuck outta here.” 

Crystal drew in a sharp breath. “You know this could affect all of us. Not just you.”

“Right, save your breath for that fucking bitch who snitched because I know it was one of you,” you spat, throwing dirty looks at every single one of them—Zora, Crystal, Helena. 

“Snitching on your own club is such a rookie mistake,” Zora huffed. “I don’t know anyone that dumb.” 

“I do,” you said, gaze landing on Helena, who was coked off her head and shifting her weight from one side to the other, unable to stand still. 

Your phone buzzed in your handbag, disrupting the thick silence that had stretched in the dancers’ room. 

And again.

And again.

Crystal pointed at it, one eyebrow raised. You groaned in annoyance and fumbled for your phone in your bag, picking it up. 

“Speaker,” Zora ordered. “No more secrets.” 

“Fine,” you hissed, pressing the button. 

“Hey baby,” Leon’s voice sounded from the other end. Crystal’s other eyebrow shot up as well at the pet name.

You gnawed on your lower lip. “Hey Leon, you’re on speaker.” 

“Oh uh,” he hesitated. 

“Ask her,” a Spanish accent cut in from the background. 

Leon cleared his throat. “Uh, do you want to come to the frat party with us? We can come to the club and pick you up?”

“Not that you dipshit,” Luis interrupted.  

“Can you shut up for a second?” Leon hissed, turned away from the speaker. 

“The other strippers, Leon, ask her about the other strippers.” 

You rubbed your forehead. “Leon, this really isn’t a good time. There’s a–”

Zora took the phone from your hands. “Frat party you say?” 

“Who is this?” Leon asked, followed by a louder “Hey!” 

“Is this a stripper?” Luis asked in a professional tone.

Zora chuckled. “Yes, in the flesh.” 

“Perfecto, do you want to come to a frat party with two stallions in their early twenties?” You could hear his wink without even needing to see it. 

“Oh my god,” Leon breathed in the background. You could also practically hear him burying his face in his hands, cringing. 

“Okay, one of us is taken but I’m not, that’s the main thing,” he went on. 

“How fast can you be here?” Zora asked. 

“Uh, couple of minutes,” Luis said. 

“Pick us up from the club. Don’t be late,” she said and ended the call. 

You stared at her. 

She clicked her fingers in front of your face. “Keep up. A bunch of horny twenty-one year olds with their daddy’s money and shit tons of fireball? No tip out? No house fee? God I swear, I’m the only person with a business mindset around here.” 

“And Lola did screw us out of a full shift tonight,” Helena said, pursing her lips. 

Zora crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Literally.” 

The boys did show up on time. You were all piled into the car, you on Leon’s lap in the backseat. 

“How was Guinevere’s heart ultrasound?” he whispered and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. You leaned against his chest and smiled at him. 

“No visible further increase in size,” you said. 

“That’s great,” he pressed his forehead against yours.

“How was your day?” You cupped his cheek and closed your eyes, breathing in his scent. Ocean Breeze fabric softener and Leon. Your favourite combination.

He shrugged. “I missed you.” 

Helena gagged audibly. You shot her a dirty look. 

Luis chuckled, dabbing off his cigarette through the car window. “This is what I live with. Just in case anybody wants to give me a pity lap dance.” He leaned over the middle console and his gaze landed on Crystal, Zora and Helena. 

“Is this it?” Crystal asked as you approached a very nice looking house that was buzzing with loud music. The front door opened. A guy around Leon’s age ran out and threw up in the bushes. 

“Yep,” all of you said in unison. 

Walking out of the car and into the party, Luis up front, lined by two strippers and Crystal trailing behind you felt like celebrities. Leon’s hand found yours, as everybody stared at you, nearly dropping their solo cups. Why wouldn’t they? You were all in full stripper attire, including 8 inch heels. Especially Zora, who nearly measured 6’7” in heels drew a lot of attention. 

The girls started hustling right away and before you could even so much as blink, Zora was giving lap dances to the varsity football team.

“Holy shit,” Leon breathed and looked past you. You followed his gaze. Crystal was pouring liquor down her tits right into a frat boy’s mouth who was latched onto her nipple like she was breastfeeding him. You chuckled. You hadn’t seen her do that in a long time. 

You gently grasped Leon’a chin and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Do you want to do that some time?” 

“Not with Crystal,” he murmured and captured your lips in a searing kiss. “And maybe lick it off something else.” 

His words sent a wave of hot pleasure through your body. You had an idea what he would love to have in his mouth while you poured liquor down your body. 

“You can work too, you know. Make a bag or however you say at the club.” 

“I’d rather spend time with you,” you whispered, your stomach fluttering. 

“I don’t mind,” he encouraged further, his hand coming to rest on your butt. “Quite the opposite.” 

You leaned back a little and smirked. “What’s up with that anyway?” 

A blush crept into his cheeks. You loved it when he blushed. It was so innocent, so vulnerable. When in fact, he wasn’t innocent at all. 

“I enjoy thinking that all those guys would give everything to sleep with you. But I’m the only one who gets to do it. Only I know what it feels like when you cum on my cock, what you sound like. I’m the only one who knows what you taste like.” 

You nodded. “That’s true. Because I’m yours.” 

He whimpered, the blush in his cheeks intensifying. “Don’t say it like that, now I’m hard and we’re surrounded by people.” 

You giggled. “I love how flustered you get.” 

“Only for you,” he confessed and you pulled him in for another kiss. 

“You’re not helping,” he whispered and pushed himself up against you, all hard and ready to go. 

“I’ll go make some money. After all we’ll both be unemployed bums soon,” you concluded and peeled yourself off him. Stalking off in your heels, you shot a last look over your shoulder, smiling when you saw the obvious tent in his pants and the pink tint of the tips of his ears.

Poor rookie. You really were giving him a hard time. Sometimes literally.

It was surprisingly easy to get one of the frat boys to slip you a hundred dollar bill. They were all so desperate for it. Especially the ones who weren’t old enough to be let into the club yet. 

Instead of dancing, Helena let people snort coke off various of her body parts. Her and the other coke heads were sitting in the corner, talking at each other. Not with, at. Nobody had any idea or interest in what the other was saying.

Somehow the rookie dancer produced another bag of coke. You watched her, wrinkling your forehead. That was a lot of coke to be treated to by a regular.

You pried your gaze away from her and tried to find Leon. You and him had made eye contact while you were dancing on other people a couple times throughout the night and you wanted to see that fiendishly horny look on his face one last time. 

When you found him, he wasn’t looking at you like before. He was smiling at some girl. Auburn hair, cute face, soft cheeks. She was pretty. Very pretty. And Leon obviously knew her.

He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

You froze. You and him weren’t exclusive. Or you hadn’t talked about that rather. Not explicitly. Because you didn’t want that, right? It was better to keep things loose. Not tie each other down.

White hot rage crept into your chest. So because he wasn’t tied down, he was getting all cosy with another girl.

You weren’t jealous by any means. You just felt a little offended. It was a rude thing to do right in front of you, that’s all. But you weren’t jealous.

“Are you okay?” The guy on whose lap you were currently sitting tapped you on the shoulder.”

“No touching,” you hissed and jumped off him, leaving him to sit on the couch. He whined in protest but you couldn’t care less.

You stomped over to Leon and that girl. 

Leon’s face lit up when he saw you. “Oh hey baby,” he said and reached out his hand to you. “That’s uh, Claire.” 

Claire, first time, loss of virginity Claire. 

“Hi,” she chimed and extended a hand toward you. “Nice to meet you.” 

You opened your mouth and stilled. As you were standing in front of Claire, you realised you had stormed over in nothing but a fishnet stripper leotard and platform heels, fuelled by rage and because of a what? A nice looking woman who was thirteen years younger than you and had slept with your—yeah, what was Leon to you? You were keeping things loose right? Labels were overrated.

You cleared your throat and shook her hand. “Likewise.” 

What even had been the plan here? Claw at her face? She was just some girl.

Your cheeks were burning as you realised how much it bothered you. Leon belonged to you. You didn’t want him to give anybody else kisses on the cheek.

“My boyfriend is building a bonfire outside,” Claire said and pointed over her shoulder. “We also have strawberry punch. Leon said you love strawberries. Do you want to come?” 

Boyfriend? Leon told her you loved strawberries? Oh.

“Uh, sure,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around yourself. Oh god, this was o awkward. You really hoped Leon hadn’t noticed you almost making an idiot out of yourself.

Leon, smirked, took your hand and pulled you outside.

“Were you jealous in there?” he asked, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear.

“No,” you said, avoiding his gaze.

He chuckled. “You were. Don’t lie to me.” He pulled you against his chest. “I kinda liked it,” he whispered, gaze trailing down to your lips.

You closed the distance. He smiled into the kiss and you opened your mouth to him, as he softly pushed you back until your thighs hit a table. You let out a surprised gasp when he picked you up and set you on the surface, nudging your knees apart to stand in between your legs. You cupped his cheeks and pulled him closer to you. 

No place like a house party to make out like teenagers.

Red and blue lights flashed behind your eyelids and your eyes flew open. Also no place like a house party to have the cops called on you. Again, like a teenager.

“Oh shit,” Leon cursed. “We better get the hell out of here.” 

“Leon,” You clung to him. “I’m in eight inch platform heels.” 

The fear of god was written all over your face. 

Leon didn’t hesitate, he turned around and patted your thighs. “I’ll give you a piggy back ride and we’ll jump the next fence.”

You pushed yourself up and wrapped you arms around his neck and shoulders. The full teenage experience.

“Hold on tight,” he said and pressed a kiss to your cheek. You tightened your grip and Leon ran out the back of the yard. 

You yelped as he cut a sharp corner and pushed you up a high fence, hands around your waist. “Jump over there.”

You climbed over the fence as best as you could with stripper heels, unfortunately seeing what you were getting yourself into way too late. 

You yelped and fell into the water. Leon followed right after, as surprised as you were as he came up, spitting out water. 

“What the fuck,” he said and swam over to you.

You giggled. He clamped his hand over your mouth, as he caught his breath and listened for the cop car driving past. You took in your surroundings. You were in the backyard of a fucking mansion. Big house, massive pool complete with a pool house on the other side. 

Leon cupped your face. “Are you okay?” 

“Wet but,” you looked at your feet treading water in your heels. “I’m okay.”

Leon’s arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you to him. “We’re trespassing, officer,” you whispered catching his lower lip between your teeth playfully. 

Leon leaned in to whisper in your ear, his hand moving lower and grabbing a handful of your ass. “I’m not an officer anymore,” he whispered and played with the tie on your back that held your top in place.

You smirked. “Are you putting me up to commit public indecency?”

Your lips ghosted over his. Leon smiled and pulled the string loose. Your top slid right off. He threw the wet fabric onto the tiles and pulled you up so you’d wrap your legs around his waist, pressed up against the side of the pool. “I don’t think anyone’s home, so…” 

You gasped in fake shock. “That’s so scandalous, officer,” you purred, rubbing up against his crotch. 

He moaned softly and kissed you. “I don’t have my handcuffs anymore, otherwise I should probably take a naughty little thing like you in.” 

You but your lip, your eyes finding his. “Do you think they left the door to the pool house open?” 

The thrill of doing it in a stranger’s backyard made your entire body tingle with anticipation. You hadn’t done anything like this since your early twenties. You felt like a kid without a worry in the world. 

Leon, unemployed and horny seemed to be very susceptible to the idea. “Only one way to find out,” he said, pushing out of the pool and helping you up, not without giving your tits a gentle squeeze as he did. 

“Oh yeah, you should absolutely be in jail,” he whispered hoarsely, mesmerised by how your soft flesh squished out between his fingers.

He bent down to take one in his mouth, but you reminded him of the pool house.

The door was locked. 

“Ah man,” you whined. “I would have been so down for that.” 

“Are you wearing bobby pins?” Leon asked, undeterred. 

“Uh, yeah,” you replied and pulled one of them out from your tangled wet hair. 

Leon took it from you, pried it apart and broke it in half. You wrinkles your forehead at how experienced that looked.

He crouched down in front of the lock and pushed both ends in. 

“Leon, that works in the movies but—“ 

Leon pressed his ear against the door, listening for a telltale click. The door swung open within seconds.

You stared at him. “Why do you know how to open doors with bobby pins?” 

He smiled, sheepishly, wet strands of hair clinging to his face. “Remember our first date, when you asked me if my parents were cops?” 

You nodded, gaze flicking to the lock in the door. 

“They weren’t,” he murmured. “More like the opposite.” 

What the fuck. How did he hide this from you with his clean cut exterior? 

“And a five year old can do this. I mean, I learned this when I was five years old.” 

You stared at him, a jolt of pleasure pulsing in your lower abdomen. Him picking the lock was so hot. So competent, so skilled. 

“Do you see me in a different light now?” He asked and stood up. 

You nodded again, gaze flicking to his full, glistening lips. 

“Do you think less of me?” He asked, nervously. 

You crashed your lips to his and he let out a surprised sound. You stumbled into the pool house.

It was a nice pool house. Generous layout, lounge chairs, sun bed cushions, a mini bar—but Leon was nicer. Especially as he rid you of your remaining wet stripper attire and fell to his knees to loosen the straps around your ankles.

He kissed the inside of your ankle, looking up at you in pure devotion, as he helped you out of your heels.

“So you do have a thing for feet,” you said, a playful grin tugging at your lips as he came back up, running his hand along the inside of your leg.

“I really don’t” he whispered against your lips, his fingers came to rest at the apex of your thigh. “But it’s hard to find a thing about you that isn’t so god damn kissable.”

You groaned into the kiss as he brushed over your folds as if he needed to ask for entry. 

You slung your arms around his neck, bracing yourself for what he was about to do to you. 

His thumb expertly found your clit, caressing it, while his other fingers spread you open. 

He lowered you down on a bunch of sunbed cushions that were scattered on the floor and you felt like he was bedding you on roses. 

He slipped his fingers in and out of you, your slick juices causing sounds that would make anyone who listened blush. Soft moans of pleasure fell from your lips and Leon watched you the entire time as if he was scared he would miss his favourite thing if he so much as blinked. 

You pulled him into a deep kiss. “Please Leon, I need you inside me,” you whispered, opening your legs wider to invite him in. 

He gently cupped your face and positioned himself, his thick cock lining up with your entrance. He was about to introduce you to pleasure unknown to man, you knew it.

The way he looked at you all mesmerised and—lovesick. You never wanted it to end. It was like everything was happening in slow motion, so you could take in all the details, every freckle dusted onto the bridge of his nose, his perfect, straight nose and every wrinkle forming in his face as he spread your juices over the head of his cock. You smiled at him and he kissed you, so sweetly, you wanted to melt. He tasted like honey on the tip of your tongue. 

He pushed in without warning and your lips fell open in a soft gasp. Leon stared at you, full lips slightly agape too. 

“I know you hate when I say this, but you’re so god damn beautiful,” he whispered, breathlessly and pulled out nearly all the way before pushing back into you to the hilt, slowly, like he had all the time in the world to make you feel good. 

Your fingers threaded through his hair and your eyes didn’t leave his, as he thrust into you again, deep, deliberate and your breath caught in the back of your throat. 

Why did this feel like losing your virginity to him? 

You mewled at the realisation, gripping him tighter. He thrust into you again and tears welled up in your eyes.

It felt like your first time because you had never felt like this before. With anyone. So full of him, physically and emotionally. 

Leon whimpered in your ear as your inner walls squeezed him and it was the sweetest sound. He sounded so entirely enchanted by you, as he pushed in again all the way as if he couldn’t help himself but to go deeper.

You pressed your forehead to his, both of you sharing breath and you closed your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, making sure he knew you weren’t letting him go.

The tears threatened to spill out and you drew your brows together in helpless pleasure. “Leon,” you whimpered. 

“I know, baby,” he breathed, thrusting into you over and over again, until you were a breathy, moaning mess underneath him, clawing at his shoulders, trying to hold on to something, to him, ground yourself as your soul merged with his.

The pleasure in your abdomen coiled tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment. Leon held you so tightly, it was like he wanted to make sure you knew nothing would ever be able to touch you as long as you were with him.

He flipped you over and propped himself up on one elbow, the other arm wrapped around your back, pressing you impossibly closer to him as if he wanted your bodies to become one. Your hands came to rest on his chest and you rolled your hips against him, your clit rubbing deliciously over the hard muscles beneath his skin.

You buried your face in his hair, breathing heavily as he met every single one of your thrusts. his mouth closing around your nipple. 

He closed his lips around your nipple, moaning against your skin and you clenched down on him again, a soft cry of pleasure echoing through the pool house. 

Leon was barely able to hold it together, panting, whimpering and pushing his forehead against your chest. “I need you to come with me, please baby. I want to do this with you.” 

Your inner walls fluttered around him and your muscles went tight, fingernails scratching over his broad shoulders as a loud moan fell from your your open mouth. Leon slammed into you again with a tortured sound, looking up at you watching you as your orgasm came within reach.

Your eyes locked with his. You had never experienced pleasure like this. With anyone. His grip around your waist tightened and you fell over the cliff, diving right into all consuming ecstasy. But it was so much more than that. The thought of him coming inside you, filling you up with his seed made you cry out in pure bliss. as your orgasm washed over you. 

Your inner walls gripped him tightly and you wondered what it must feel like for him. Was it as intense, as life-altering for him too?

Leon was a panting, moaning mess beneath you. His hands were desperately holding on to you as your pussy pulsed around him. Somewhere amidst the crescendo of both of your moans, he slipped off his elbow, both of you sinking down on the sunbed padding.

You rode out your orgasm, hips snapping into his, hands pushed into his chest. Your head fell back and you kept going until all you were left with were breathy whimpers from the both of you.

Leon's hand came up to caress your cheek, brushing off the wet strands of hair clinging to your face and you knew, from the way he looked at you, you were everything. 

For the first time, you didn’t run from it. You allowed yourself to be seen and crashed your lips to his both of you sacrificing your breath for a little longer.

You were lying on your side, Leon behind you, his arm wrapped around your midsection, pulling your back flush against his chest. 

"Don't fall asleep," he murmured, "We can't be caught butt naked in some stranger's pool house."

You giggled. "No chance, I have to be home in a few hours to feed the guinea pigs."

"Caramelo will riot," he said, but his heart started beating hard enough that you could feel it against your back. "Can I ask you something?"

Your heart followed suit. "Sure. What is it?" you replied, casually, desperately trying to hide the shakiness in your voice.

“Are you my girlfriend?” he whispered, barely audible.

You froze. You remembered the second time he had come to the club, all rookie cop and nervous.

I don't have a girlfriend. Never had one.

“Am I? A real girlfriend?” You turned in his grasp, his face inches from yours.

He leaned back a little. His gaze wandered over your face, taking it all in. He nodded. “Yes.”

What's a real girlfriend to you?

Someone I love.

“Are you my real boyfriend?” You were barely able to get the words out.

Leon’s throat bobbed. “I don't know. Am I?” 

You rested your forehead against his, your heart not calming one bit, warmth spreading through your entire body.

“Yes,” you whispered and closed the distance between you. 

------

You shuffled toward the door in pyjamas with guinea pig print and matching slippers. Whoever was at your door this late at night either had no manners or knew you were a dancer. Or both. 

You opened the door and were nearly hit in the face with a bouquet of gas station flowers. 

“For you,” Leon said. 

“Uh…” You took the plastic wrapped flowers from his hands. “Thank you.” You narrowed your eyes on him. He shifted his weight, swaying a little. 

“What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.” 

“I wanted to see you,” he mumbled. 

You leaned forward. “You smell like the bar.” You caught another whiff. “And Snoop Dogg.“ 

“Luis,” he murmured, as if that explained it.

You peered past his broad frame, spotting his jeep sitting in your driveway. Your head snapped back to him. “Did you drive here?” 

Leon shrugged. “‘s not a very long drive.” 

“Oh my god, what the hell are you doing?” You hissed, grabbed his collar and pulled him over the doorstep. He nearly stumbled but caught himself on the doorframe.  

“You’re a cop,“ you reminded him, grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you. “What if someone had pulled you over?”

He crinkled his nose, giggling. “That’s so funny actually.” 

You stared at him, resisting the urge to shake him. He was absolutely fucking wasted. “No Leon, it’s not funny. What the fuck happened?” 

He leaned in a little too close. “I’m suspended without pay.” His breath fanned your ear, making your skin prickle. 

“What?” 

Leon giggled again. “I’m not a cop anymore.” His hands found the fabric of your pyjama top. “You look very cute.” 

You closed your hand around his. “What do you mean you’re not a cop anymore? What the fuck happened with Lieutenant Branagh?” 

Leon shushed you with a finger to his lips. “He thinks you’re a hooker,” he whispered. “So I’m not allowed to pay you for sex.” 

Your blood ran cold. “No, oh no, Leon.” 

If they somehow managed to find grounds to press prostitution charges against you and Leon, you were both in deep shit.

“Yes, oh yes Leon,” he replied, still fumbling with your pyjamas, pulling the fabric taut over your chest. “Is that a guinea pig?” 

You did end up shaking him a little. “Leon, say more words.” 

He blew out a breath and you resisted the urge to flinch. His breath smelled like the inside of a distillery. 

“They’re investigating me because—“ He gestured between you and him. “This is illegal. And my boss is going to watch the CCTV from the club and he’s gonna see me and you. Fucking each other’s brains out.” he slurred. “I think I need a new job. Do you have one?”

“Oh my god,” you whispered and reached into his pants. 

“Whoa, hold on. Buy me dinner first.” He grinned, looking at where your hands were going. You stared at him, deadpan and squealed when you touched something soft and soggy.

“What is that?” You pulled a greasy paper wrapper out of his pocket. 

“Taco.” Leon shrugged. “Luis and I went through the drive-thru.” 

“Before you smoked and emptied out an entire liquor store, I hope,” you murmured and threw the soggy whatever-it-was on the kitchen counter. You reached into his other pocket. Leon watched you struggle, arms lifted up, biting his lip. 

You fished his car keys out of his jeans and threw them into your handbag. 

“I’m glad you’re a happy drunk,” you whispered as you tried to fill a glass of water with Leon clinging to you like a baby monkey. It was like he needed to touch you to breathe. 

“I’m not. I’m actually really sad right now,” he slurred, wrinkling his forehead in thought and huffed a laugh. “But I don’t feel any of it.” 

“And that’s how alcoholism works,” you murmured, forcing him to drink the entire glass in one go. “Always so nice to see the kids discover it.” 

You took his hands. “Come here, big boy. Let’s get you to bed.” 

Leon tried to steal kisses at every step of the way to your bedroom and even in this state, you just couldn’t deny him. When you finally got him to your bed, you slipped his shirt over his head. He got the message and unbuckled his belt. 

“I’m going to leave the bathroom door open. If you need to throw up, it’s right there okay?” You whispered, pointing at the en-suite as you pushed him down onto your bed. 

“I’m not gonna throw up,” Leon said confidently and reached for you. You tucked him in. 

“Bet,” you huffed and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“Do you want to come to a frat party with us? It’s by the lake, one of the guys’ parents have a huge-ass house there,” he went on, undeterred. 

You wrinkled your forehead. “You don’t go to college parties.” 

“I’m unemployed now. What else am I supposed to do?“ 

You cupped his cheek. “Baby, you’re suspended temporarily. We’ll fix this.” 

Leon smiled. “You’ve never called me that before.” 

You stilled. 

“And meant it,” he whispered, leaning into your touch. “Baby,” he breathed, as if he was trying the word on for size, to see how it felt slipping from his own mouth. 

“That’s true,” you realised, eyes trailing over his face that was blissfully smiling up at you. “I‘ll put painkillers by your bedside. I‘ll see you in the morning.”

“Where are you going?” he whined. “Stay.”

“I’m going to the stripclub to fix our lives, baby,” you whispered and captured his lips in a soft kiss. 

Tony, the club owner, wasn’t in. Which in some ways, helped you with your top secret mission. In order to fix both your and Leon’s life, you were currently trying to pick a lock with a bobby pin, while keeping a lookout at the same time. You had to get into Tony’s office somehow—the box with all the CCTV tapes was just sitting in there. He never bothered to file them away properly. He only did the bare minimum of keeping them on file just in case. Which never happened because this was a reputable establishment. 

Until you and the rookie decided to fuck raw on the couch in one of the private rooms and getting accused for illegal prostitution that is.  

You pushed the bobby pin deeper into the lock, wiggling it from side to side. It did exactly nothing. 

You groaned in annoyance. 

This looked a lot easier in the movies. It couldn't be that hard to pick a standard lock in a cheap office door, right? You pushed in further, feeling a bit of resistance this time, so you twisted and wedged the bobby pin against it. 

It broke clean in half. 

“Shit,” you cursed, checking the hallway behind you. You only had a few minutes. If you were gone from the floor too long, Crystal would inevitably come looking for you. And you would be lucky if it was only Crystal. 

Even though you trusted her, this in particular, you rather did on your own. The fewer people knew about this the less rumours would be able to spread. 

You tried to think quickly. Was there any way you could get Tony to let you rifle through the tapes from the CCTV while he was there? Was there any type of story you could come up with? 

If there was one, it didn’t come to you. Besides, if the police were already investigating, you probably didn’t have much time before they showed up here and demanded to be handed out the recordings. 

Maybe you could distract Tony when he was in the office? You let your forehead sink against the door. 

With what? Ironically enough, the owner of the strip club was gay. The only thing you knew how to expertly distract people with momentarily, were your boobs. That wouldn’t work on Tony. Also because as a club owner, naked skin did not faze him at all. 

You squeezed your eyes shut.

So by fucking each other, you and Leon had truly fucked each other. 

If the cops saw him handing you money and the two of you subsequently disappearing into one of the private rooms for a lap dance followed by sex, there was really no explaining to be done. That would look bad. Real bad. 

After terminating Leon's contract for good and possibly arresting you, they would close the club down. At least for a while. On top of that they would hit Tony with a hefty fine, if not more. 

Either way, even if worst didn’t come to worst, you as the culprit could take your ass right over to one of the seedy clubs on the outskirts of town. You were never going to dance here again. 

You liked this club. All your regulars were here. You also had no other form of income. And four dependents that needed vet check-ups regularly. 

You peeled yourself off the door, picking the remnants of the bobby pin out of the lock. If this was one of your last shifts, you’d better shake some ass. 

On your drive home, the sun had already risen, the birds singing as if your life wasn’t in complete shambles. Tired and aching, you dragged yourself toward your bedroom, throwing your tip bag onto the kitchen island in passing. You had hustled like crazy. Like it was your last shift. 

Maybe it was, it was impossible to know. 

You didn’t even stop to count, but from the way your bag was nearly bursting at the seams from all the dollar bills, a whole bunch of hundreds and twenties in there, you knew you had made a small fortune. You were all sweaty and gross too. The signs of a successful shift. 

You bent over your indoor guinea pig enclosure, all four piggies safely tucked in for the night until you opened their door to roam freely again in the morning. Their heads immediately lifted up and they came running as soon as they heard you. 

“Hey piggerinos,” you whispered, reaching into the enclosure, watching as Guinevere turned around her own axis to sniff your fingers. You smiled, letting them ground you and come down from your intense night. 

Your gaze snagged on a whole bunch of lettuce, parsley and peppers, sitting by the haystack, half-eaten.

“Did Leon feed you?” you whispered, knowing full well they wouldn’t answer. But they didn’t need to. You could tell he did. Drunk, probably on the verge of passing out, he had fed your babies. Properly. At least five different types of vegetables, most of them leafy greens, and bell peppers and parsley for added vitamin C. 

You couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. Tiptoeing to your bedroom with another glass of water you decided you should probably do a wellness check on the man. 

Leon shifted when he heard you come in. “I’m alive,” he murmured with a raspy voice. He sounded like he had been chainsmoking since he was eight years old.

You placed the water on his bedside table. “Did you throw up?” 

Leon lifted up two fingers. “Twice.” 

“Told you,” you whispered. “How are you feeling now?” 

“Half drunk, half hungover,” he crinkled his nose. “Half dead.” 

“That’s three halves.” You slipped out of your tracksuit and your stripper wear. 

“Correct,” he whispered, reaching for you just as needily as when you had left. “I brushed my teeth, can I kiss you?” 

“I’m all gross from the club,” you whined and he clicked his tongue in annoyance before pulling you into bed with him. 

Caged in by his arms, your breathing became flat. The rookie was so god damn handsome and his weight on top of you was your favourite blanket by far. He marvelled at your face for a moment, leaned in and kissed you, lips moving softly against yours. 

“I’m sorry for showing up piss-drunk at your doorstep,” he whispered, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "I'm so embarrassed."

All you heard was that he came to you when his life was in shambles. A warm feeling spread through your body at the thought, that he trusted you like that. That you were a safe place for him to go to when it all became too much to bear. When he had fucked up. 

“Piss-drunk with gas station flowers. And you still remembered to feed my guinea pigs,” you replied, pressing your cheek against his, softly caressing his scalp with your fingernails. 

“I would never forget about them,” he murmured, voice muffled by your skin. 

You blew out a heavy breath. “I wasn’t able to fix anything. The tape is still in Tony’s office.” 

Leon sighed against your sensitive skin. “I don’t regret it. Even if it will cost me my job, I don’t regret a single second of what we did in that private room.” 

You kissed the top of his head. “Don’t tell any of the dancers that. They’re about to lose their income when your boys shut the club down until further notice.” 

“Including you,” he said. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry. What if you get arrested for this?” 

You shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.” You meant it. Somewhere between failing to pick the lock and flinging your body around the pole you had gotten exhausted enough to surrender to the catastrophe that was bound to unfold. At least for now.

“How are you so calm about this?” he asked, his head lifting up. 

“I’m a woman in my thirties, Leon. This is not the first time my life changes because of something out of my control,” you whispered. “And we can’t just turn back time, right?”

“I’ve never felt too young for you before, until now,” he whispered, staring at you. 

“That’s the hangover,” you retorted, caressing his cheek. “Who filed the report? Do you know?”

He shook his head. “One of the dancers confirmed it also.” 

You wrinkled your forehead. “I’d put money on Brian filing the report. He has been up my ass about me having a ‘side business’ for weeks.” 

Leon grinned. “Can I be up your ass some time?” 

You pinched his nipple and twisted. He squealed pathetically. “I’ll put this down to you still being half drunk, rookie.”

“Understood,” he whispered, rubbing his chest.

------

The sounds coming from your mouth are as vile as the gentle smacks and squelches that fill your shared bedroom with Leon. Clinging to his pillar-like body, you press your face to his, feeling the prickly scratch of his stubble against your cheek, lips, and chin. Large and rugged, his hands cup your ass with your legs hooked over the crook of his elbows. The unfamiliar position maddens Leon, driving him to handle you with a roughness he isn’t used to using on you. You’re forced to take the girth that splits you wide, the stretch more intense in this position. Your body jostles with his muscular frame, breasts pressing into his hard pecs. He’s hot against you, barely breaking a sweat while he’s carrying you and sinking into you with soft grunts. Every thrust pulls on your heart; the pleasure he delivers encompasses your mind, body, and soul. You’re like a melted candle in his big, firm arms, shaking while he’s sturdy as can be. He’s so strong; he can handle the powerful recoil from Requiem after all. 

“Too much, princess?” Leon checks in with you, the grip on your ass creating handprints.

“N-no,” you shakily respond, toes curling from their position at his lower back. “Can you do it h-harder,” you stutter, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. “Please,” you whimper out, your voice sweeter than candy as his glossy cock glides through your taut walls.

Leon’s hips stutter, only for a second before they begin smacking against you at a faster, harder pace. The request, paired with your hips trying to meet his pelvis, is downright explicit coming from you. 

“Thought you were my good girl,” he grunts, swiftly smacking your ass.

“I am,” you pathetically and eagerly moan, the sting on your cheek ringing through your skin.

Leon scoffs playfully, his bangs tickling your ear. “Good girls don’t moan like you’re moaning, and they definitely don’t try to ride their old boyfriend’s cock like this.”

Your hips pause their movements, tightening your arms around his neck and burying your face into his neck. “You’re not old.”

The way you said it in a hushed tone makes him chuckle. 

“Too old for you.”

“Just right for me,” you correct, walls clamping down on him.

“Fuck, you’re perfect for me,” Leon growls, delivering a single, harder slap over the same spot he smacked you earlier.

You squeal and dig your nails into his skin, drawing vibrant red marks over old scratches on his trapezius muscle.

“Let me look at you, baby,” he rasps.

You straighten your back so he can see your face, his thrusts slowing but still deep. Sharp and dark, his eyes lay their wonderment over your pretty features, taking in how divine you look. Your hair’s a mess, your eyes are watery, your mouth is agape; you’re in awe. 

“Mmm,” he hums, inspecting the obscene expression you wear, voice deeper than the vast ocean. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

Leon often gets lost in how pretty you are, and right now is no exception, seeing you so fucked out is ruining any self-control he has left.

“My baby girl wants it rough, hm?” Leon’s question is punctuated with a brutal slam, resuming the speed he was at.

You can tell he’s far gone as his tongue drips with lewd words like honey.

“Y-yeess,” your stutter grows into a drawn-out moan, feeling the fat end of his cock push into a sweet spot that makes your heart flip, and your eyes roll back.

Leon’s pale blues observe your lips, traversing upward to your eyes, lost in thought, as if he’s thinking whether or not he should ask what he’s about to ask.

“Want me to ruin you?”

The million-dollar question sets the atmosphere ablaze. 

You nod, tears threatening to spill past your lash line. “Ruin me, Leon.”

Hissing through gritting teeth, Leon’s last threads of restraint snap. If you want him to break you, he will, just for his princess. 

The sharp jut of his pelvis catches you off guard, and you choke on your breath. Leon’s thick tip reaches deeper than ever before, a bulge threatening to show itself in your lower belly as he grows ruthless. You never felt him be this rough before, and it’s something else compared to his usual gentle yet dominant demeanor. There have been many times he wanted to be rough with you, but you were his fragile princess who couldn’t take too much. To finally feel his force, the one he uses during training and missions, is making your entire body vibrate. 

Your hands slip down to his firm pectorals from the impact, making Leon pause to make sure you have a good grip on him.

“Make sure you hold on tight, princess,” he rumbles, kissing your cheek sweetly.

Leon lets go of your ass to wrap a hand around your wrist, pulling it over his neck, his touch soft and gentle. You secure your hands together around his neck, your arms bending around his wide shoulders as you become flush to his body, your heart pounding against the hard planes of his chest. His steely fingers slowly skim down your arm, following it down to your ribs, waist, and hips until he’s cradling your ass with both hands.

“Gonna need it,” he grumbles, squeezing your cheeks. 

Leon’s hips pull back before pushing back in, renewing the tempo. He uses your ass as leverage to hoist you onto his cock while his pelvis meets you halfway for a hard smack. The whimpers that hit his ear as he fucks you nasty drive him crazy. You’re so incredibly wet, dripping down his balls as they smack against you with appalling squelches. 

“So fuckin’ wet,” he grunts, the force of his savage drives breaking up his words.

Leon’s mouth falls open with pants, savoring your heat that’s stretched over him like a glove.

“Makin’ a mess on the floor,” he says, grunting at the end of each strike of his ravenous hips. 

Sliding through your constricting walls, his cock pulses with a need to smear your insides with his semen.

“Let me see that pretty face of yours,” he asks you again, unable to help himself as he needs to see your face unravel. 

You shift back, but only enough to be a couple of centimeters away from his face. Seeing his handsome face causes you to moan aloud. With his bangs messy against his cheeks, his eyes are intense, mimicking the expression he has when a zombie is in his gunsight. The peppery stubble across his handsome face accentuates his features, and his charming wrinkles make you want to kiss every inch of them. He’s all yours, this beast of a man that’s capable of unimaginable feats, and he’s fucking you like his life depends on it.  

“Leon,” you whine, your heart skipping several beats as your fingers dig into his muscular back.

You almost want to tell him it’s too much, because it is, too much in terms of how good he’s fucking you. By now, he’s sure you’ve made him bleed from the scratches that sting his back, shoulders, and trapezius. 

“Feels good, baby?” 

Leon’s eyes falter to your lips, watching you chew on your bottom lip as you try not to scream from the overwhelming amount of pleasure shooting through you when he bottoms out. 

“None of that.”

Leon’s authoritative tone makes you snap out of it, and you leave your poor lip alone. Breathless gasps start escaping you every time his taut balls press up into you after he bottoms out. 

“Wanna hear you, baby,” Leon hums.

As if he wasn’t already ruining you enough, Leon’s thrusts quickly evolve into rapid successions. He knocks the air out of you, your voice reducing to short, broken cries as you try to breathe normally. Clapping skin rings through the room like dynamite, inciting a frenzy within Leon. 

“Pretty little pussy swallowing daddy’s cock like a good girl,” he snarls, a scowl painting his face.

The sudden drop of ‘daddy’ makes you cum instantly. Leon lets out a fierce growl that complements your scream as he bludgeons you with blinding pleasure. Your hips jitter uncontrollably against his pelvis, your pussy trying to close in around him. Small droplets leak out of you and around his gliding cock as his girth fights your walls from closing in on him. Clutching his muscled back, your hips' involuntary roll makes Leon’s rhythm stutter. 

“God damn, baby,” he laments, watching you cum harder than ever before.

Shaking like a leaf in the ample muscle of his arms, you whimper from the aftershocks of a mind-numbing orgasm.

“Leon,” you blubber out, tears rolling down your cheeks as you hide your face from him. 

“Sweetheart,” he coos, rushing to cradle your cheek with a hand he frees from clutching your ass. “Are you okay?”

With tears glittering across your eyelashes, you look at him helplessly, nestling into his large hand. 

“Mhm.”

Leon scans your face for any pain or regret you might have after he treated you roughly for the first time. “Why the tears, hm?”

His tender tone of voice makes your pussy quiver all over again, and he feels it. You catch one of his eyebrows perking up, and his mouth growing into a lop-sided grin.

“You fuck me so good,” you utter, eyes glossy and far gone.

Leon whistles to himself, chuckling darkly as he shakes his head. You usually don’t say things like that, but you’re completely dazed and drunk off him that you don’t care.

Though his reaction wakes you from your trance, and you soon realize the weight of your words, making you recoil in his arms. 

“Uh-uh,” he scolds you for trying to hide from him after all that, returning his hand to your ass and spanking you.

You gasp, clutching to his shoulders as he steps over the little mess of droplets on the floor. Leon lays you in a sea of sheets on the bed, and he doesn’t wait until your back hits the bed before he’s driving into you again. Such explicit whines fall from your lips, and his groans turn guttural and frequent as your sensitive pussy sucks him in. While embedding his cock into you, he maneuvers you into a position he wants you in. Sliding his palms up the bed, he pulls your legs up with his arms and plants his hands beside your ribs. Your legs are stretched out like your pussy is, allowing him absolute dominion over your body. 

You go silent for a few seconds, turning your head away as his cock burrows itself inside of you at a different, more pleasurable angle. Encircling the expanse of his vast shoulders, your nails rake his skin into new scratches, and it only pushes him further into you. Tears fall past your temples as he planks his body above you, putting his delicious weight on you. Leaning into your neck, his grunts vividly hit your ear with each slam of his hips.

“My dirty girl,” he whispers in your ear, the plump of his lips pressing against the shell of it. “Wanting this old man to fuck you like he hates your guts.”

You squeal in delight from his words, the tension in your core already building as it had no time to dissipate from your last orgasm. The mattress shifts off the bed frame with every merciless blow to your body, Leon fucking you like a complete animal. He’s never done you like this before, and it’s destroyed your state of mind. Your hips begin to shrink into the mattress, wanting to get away from the stunning pleasure as it amounts to something so intense that it’s scary. Your face contorts, and your eyebrows furrow severely, your permanently open mouth gasping for air as another orgasm starts to blur your vision. You shift your gaze to his face, and the two of you maintain explicit eye contact. His fine, but aged features harden into a smoldering expression that makes your heart swoon. 

“C’mon, baby, cum on daddy’s cock,” he thunders, voice cracking through the air, feeling your pussy constrict him in repeated pulses.

Your eyelashes flutter, and the world around you pauses, and you wail out. Sobbing as Leon fucks bliss into you, your pussy chokes his cock in unyielding convulsions. The ebb and flow washes over you like nirvana, splitting you into two and putting you back together again, leaving you changed. Leon lets out a groan that is damn near a moan, his cock spasming within your blistering walls. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he roars, kissing you madly and sending a series of groans into your disjointed mouth. 

Goosebumps prick his agitated body while torrents of semen spurt from his tip and through your cervix. You moan with delight, your womb accepting his seed with utter joy. Possessively, Leon pumps in and out of you, his swollen cock throbbing in tandem with his erratic pulse. His breath stutters across your lips, stubble grazing your mouth and chin as you milk every lost drop of him like you were made for him.

As your respective heart rates calm, the two of you are lost in each other’s eyes, swimming in the shared afterglow. He’s looking down at you with reverence, his messy hair curtaining around his face, tickling you. Leaking out of you in thick globs, his cum drops down his balls and onto the bed as he stays buried in your delightful pussy. 

“Maybe I can get you to call me daddy next time,” he huffs, looking down at your body like it’s a work of art.

You sigh, panting with your breasts heaving under his gaze. “Whatever you say, daddy.”

Leon’s sharp eyes roll across your body and up to your face, and you feel him stiffen inside you.

“You keep that up, n’ I’ll put a baby in you.”

Your glossy eyes widen, and your heart rises to your throat, your pussy squeezing him.

“Leon,” you chide, your cheeks growing hot. 

You sat in the waiting room of the police station, gnawing on your fingernails.

Lieutenant Branagh wasn't in. A certain rookie cop with dark blue puppy eyes was sent off to do a wellness check. Who you were left with to report the mugging to, much to your dismay, was Brian.

He called you in, fishing a stack of forms out of a folder as you sat down across the table from him.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking at you over your ID as he copied all your personal details onto the form. You shuddered. Something about Brian knowing your full government name and address made you a little uneasy.

You nodded. "Yeah, just a bit shaken is all."

"What did he take?" he continued to ask in a very professional tone.

"Two and a half grand, give or take," you replied, hugging yourself.

Brian's eyebrows shot up. "In cash? Why in god's name were you carrying this much cash?"

You shrugged. "That's normal. They were my earnings from the club tonight."

"Two thousand five hundred US-Dollars?" he asked again, his pen halting on the paper. "Come on, now."

"That's what I make," you insisted, a little annoyed at his judgy tone.

Brian paused, sighed, pushed the paper to the side and leaned in close. "Listen, nobody is going to believe that you made this much money stripping. And you and I both know your side business is very much illegal," he whispered.

"I do not have a side business, Brian," you hissed through gritted teeth, accentuating every word.

"I can help you out," he murmured. "We can put it as part of your inheritance from your grandma or whatever. But if you insist on claiming it was your earnings, that's your decision."

"It was my earnings," you pressed.

Brian sighed. "Okay." He wrote down the number on the form, filling in a few more sections. "Did you get a good look at him?"

You shook your head. "No, he threatened to shoot me if I turned around."

Brian clicked his tongue. "That is unfortunate."

No shit Sherlock, you thought, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

"Listen, we'll do what we can, but I assume," he paused and looked ay the form again, "nothing will come of it."

You nodded, your fingernails finding their way between your teeth again. "Yeah, I figured."

"Maybe it's time for a different job," he suggested. "One with less ... exposure to this kind of stuff."

You drew in a resigned breath. "Do people ever tell you that?"

You adjusted the hair ties on your pigtails and fluffed up your hair. Leaning closer to the mirror, you applied another layer of cherry flavoured, extra shiny lipgloss and smacked your lips. This should do. You were a professional after all. 

Walking out of the dancers’ area, you leaned against the bar. 

Crystal took one look at you and snorted a laugh. “Are you trying to make the two grand back in one night? Or what is this supposed to be?” 

You batted your eyelashes at her, opening your eyes extra wide. “No?” You reached behind your back, unwrapped the lollipop you had brought for the occasion—actually more than one to last your entire shift—and popped it into your mouth. “Now I am.” 

Crystal shook her head. “You’re a menace.”

You grinned. “Thank you.” 

“Oh shit,” Crystal cussed and leaned in close. “You’re about to be in so much trouble.” 

You followed her line of sight over your shoulder and saw the rookie push past the bouncer and scanning the crowd for you. He looked … agitated, at best. Fucking raging, at worst. 

“Oh no,” you mouthed, and released your lolly with a loud popping sound, right as he spotted you, the crowd parting for him as soon as they got a whiff of his pissed-off aura. 

He called you by your real name and you weren’t sure if you should try and hide or jut out your chin in defiance. Either way, you felt like you were about to be reprimanded by your father coming home from work. Maybe that was the outfit and the lollipop, too.

You stood a little straighter. “Leon, what are you doing here?” 

He came to a halt inches from you, close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you got mugged?” 

You swallowed. “Why would I? I haven’t spoken to you in like a week.” 

“Yeah,” he hissed. “I noticed. And I don’t get that either.” 

Crystal drew in a sharp breath, grabbed a bottle off the rack and walked out behind the bar. “Tequila mouth shots, on the house,” she called out, earning a good few heads shooting up and cheering, giving you and Leon some privacy. 

“I'm at work today and I see your name on a form about a mugging right outside of this club on Brian’s desk,” he shouted over the music. “I try to call you but you don’t pick up. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

You flinched at him raising his voice at you, even if it was only over the loud atmosphere of the club. He noticed and leaned away, giving you some space. 

You shrugged. “I’m not yours to worry about, rookie.” 

“I swear to god, if you call me that one more time,” he growled through gritted teeth. “My name’s Leon, you should know that, you scream it when you cum.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What do you want?” 

“I want to talk to you. Properly. And I want you to cut this hot and cold bullshit, I am so sick of it.” He looked you up and down, a deep wrinkle appearing between his brows. “You look like a middle-schooler. What the hell is going on?” 

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. “That’s kinda the idea,” you murmured, going back to sucking your lollipop, undeterred. 

“Okay, you know what?” Leon shook his head, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill. “I want a dance, Lola.” 

You turned your head to him, blinking slowly. “I don’t service angry clients.” 

He blew out a breath, loosening his shoulders. “It’s me.” 

You sighed, took the money from his grasp and pulled him with you to the private area. The sooner you got this over with, the sooner he would go home and leave you alone and you could go back to your life without him.

To your surprise, Leon sat down on the couch without even looking at you, arms spread out all along the backrest. You wrinkled your forehead. 

“Can you put your hands behind your back? I’m scared you might get handsy.” 

He looked at you like a puppy you had just kicked, but clasped his hands behind his lower back.

You set the timer. 

“You get rid of the pigtails then, they’re creepy,” he hissed and you felt a little offended that he didn’t like your plan to impersonate the girl next door that needed a babysitter still.

But the customer was always right, so you loosened the hair ties, wiped the lipgloss off your mouth and started your private dance. Probably the last private dance the rookie would ever receive, let’s not kid yourselves. 

“Why are you so far away?” Leon asked, but his eyes weren’t inquisitive. They were determined almost. Domineering. It made you shiver a little. 

“What are you talking about? I always stay at a distance with clients,” you retorted, running through your typical routine at about a foot’s distance from the couch. 

“No, you don't.” He chuckled. “You’re scared.” 

“I’m not,” you hissed. 

“It's a lap dance,” he said. “Unless you’re scared your façade will crumble if you come that close to me.” 

You drew in a long breath, trying to keep your anger at bay. Who the hell did he think he was? 

He didn’t give you time to figure out your next move, he grabbed you, pulling you into his lap.

“Come sit, babygirl,” he whispered into your ear, making your skin prickle. 

“No touching,” you breathed and he held up his hands in defense, putting them behind his back again. 

“Sorry, I forgot.” He smiled. “It won’t happen again.” 

Now straddling him, you held on to the backrest of the couch to peel yourself off his crotch. Too little space in between your pussy and his cock right now for your liking. 

“I know you think about me,” he went on, staring at you. You avoided his gaze. 

“And I know you miss me,” he whispered. “You’re just too proud to ever admit it.” 

You bit your lip and looked at him, regretting it instantly. Leon Kennedy was so damn beautiful. Especially with his cheeks a little flushed when he was horny. Like now. 

“You know I think about you too,” he whispered, pushing his hips up, pressing his hard-on against your centre, catching you off guard. “All the time. I know you enjoy that. To have me absolutely addicted to you.” 

You let out a shaky breath, rolling your hips for your dance but there was no hovering anymore. You were full on grinding on Leon’s cock. 

“The worst thing about it is, I get rock hard every time I do. Doesn’t matter if I’m at work, at the gym, with friends.” He shook his head, biting back a moan at your next movement. “You drive me absolutely crazy. I can’t get enough of you.” 

You reached between you to adjust yourself, the seam of his jeans pushed up by his raging boner and rubbing against your barely clothed clit was too much to handle.

Your fingers didn’t find fabric, no. They found silky slickness that had seeped through to the outside of your thong.

Leon’s eyes followed your fingers. “If it’s like that for me, I know it’s the same for you. You get soaking wet anytime you think about me, I know it.” 

“Leon, stop,” you said but he cut you off. 

“Oh, so it is Leon now, is it?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “Tell me I’m lying. Tell me it isn’t true and I’ll stop.” 

Where was this coming from? What the hell even was this? Him thinking he had the upper hand while being an absolute slave to his own pleasure? 

You didn’t have an answer for him. Your pussy did, though. That traitorous little bitch clenched around nothing, making your breath hitch in the back of your throat. 

Leon watched you, the shadow of a smile tugging at his lips and you propped yourself up on his shoulders to lean back a little more, to bring some distance between you two. 

It didn’t work. The minute your fingers felt the thick strains of muscle playing under his skin, your pussy found his crotch again, rubbing herself all along him of her own accord.

"I love when you think you have the upper hand. Like when you ride me, fucking yourself on my cock, setting the pace?" His eyes glinted with amusement, following your every move. "I know you think you have me completely at your mercy, but the truth is, you can barely handle how big my cock is."

Your nipples betrayed you too. Hardened and all sensitive, they slipping out from under your low cut lace top. Because you propping yourself up on Leon’s shoulders pressed your tits together and they were barely held in place as it was, by two minuscule strings in the front.

“The way I fill you up so completely? How I reach deeper than anyone you ever had? It drives you absolutely insane. Most of the time I’m not even halfway in and your pretty pussy is already squeezing me, gripping me so tight it feels like you’re about to cum just from a fraction of what I can give you."

You involuntarily pushed your tits closer to his face, silently begging him to crack and slip one of them in his mouth.

Leon leaned back, breathing heavily, his head falling on the backrest of the couch. 

“You’re so desperate for me to touch you. I don’t even have to do anything. Being close to you is enough and you’re fucking dripping,” he panted, swallowing hard. “You taste so good, too. It’s my favourite way to make you cum, did you know that? Because I can listen to you getting louder and louder until you scream my name. I don’t think you realise how loud you are half the time. You’re too lost in how good I fuck you with my mouth and fingers. I love it.” 

"Stop," you whimpered, rubbing yourself all over his crotch, seeking friction.

"Stop?" Leon chuckled. "I'll stop when you do."

He pushed up again and you bit back another moan, your head helplessly falling forward.

"That's it baby, work yourself up on my cock. I know you're so wet for me right now," Leon purred.

"You know what," you hissed, pulling yourself together and pressing your knees into the couch. "I've been playing this game a lot longer than you have." You pulled your top down, your tits spilling out completely, before putting everything you had into continuing your dance on him. He had nearly cum in his pants because of you before, right? If he actually did it this time, that would put him in his place.

“Touch me,” you crooned softly, burying your face in his neck as if to stifle a moan. “Feel how wet I am.” 

You felt him grin against your cheek. “That’s not allowed in here, babygirl.” Another thrust of his hips to rub against you. “You didn’t forget that, did you? You told me.” 

“Fuck you,” you panted, not entirely sure where Lola ended and you began, as you became unable to stop pressing yourself against him. His hard body was like a magnet to your soft one. 

“Oh, I’d love to. I’d love to show you how I touch myself when I think of you. But I don’t think I would get very far the way you’re always begging for my cock,” he whispered, his breath fanning the shell of your ear, only heightening the sensation. “I want to fuck you in front of a mirror. So you can watch how greedy you are while I absolutely ruin you and fill you up with my cum. I fucking loved watching it leak out of you, I think I’m addicted to that too.” 

You chuckled, ignoring how breathless it sounded. "As much as I loved the feeling of you dripping out of me, those are some big words from someone who lasted about three seconds when he fucked raw for the first time."

Leon gritted his teeth, eyes fluttering shut. "Do you wanna know why?" he breathed, swallowing hard. "It felt like I could get you pregnant if I wanted to and I fucking loved that. The idea of it, of making you mine like that? Sent me right over the edge."

A traitorous moan slipped past your lips at his confession and you felt your own arousal drip out of you. The rookie wanted to get you pregnant? Holy shit.

"You and me is an illusion, it's a fantasy. It isn’t real," you whimpered, your breath coming out ragged.

“Is it?” He choked out and you knew he was hanging by a thread. “I’m too young, right? You keep saying that?”

You nodded, agreeing with him for once.

“So teach me. Teach me how to be yours,” he whispered. “Because you’re already mine."

You brows knitted together in pure bliss as he thrust up against you, you and him practically dry humping each other, pleasure coiling tighter in your abdomen. “I’m not, Leon. And I never will be.”

His gaze fell to your lips. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

He crashed his lips to yours and you let out a relieved sigh. You couldn't take this anymore.

"You’re mine," he murmured against your lips. "You can pretend you're not all you like, that doesn't make it any less true."

You whimpered in response and his fingers dipped below the waistline of your thong, finding you throbbing and soaking wet. 

“I fucking told you,” Leon muttered under his breath, kissing down your neck as he circled your clit. "Fucking dripping for me like a good girl should."

You moaned, your chest heaving. “We can’t do that in here. Someone will come in.” You threw a glance at the timer that had already gone off. When? You had no idea. 

Leon shook his head, pushing two fingers into you, making you bite back a moan. “They won’t. We’ll be quick.”

He slipped out of you to unbuckle his belt and you tugged at his hair as he sucked on your neck, no doubt marking you up for everyone to see. Marking you as his.

“There’s no condoms in here,” you whined, rutting against him until he put his fingers back where they belonged. 

“You love the feeling of me dripping out of you, right?” he panted, already pulling the front of his boxers down, his cock springing free, the reddened tip glistening with precum. 

“Oh fuck,” you breathed, pulling your thong to the side, jerking forward, grabbing him and sinking down on his cock in one swift motion. You let out a shaky whimper, as he stretched you out. You had never taken him with this little preparation before. It didn't matter. It was like you were fucking made for him.

Leon gasped, burying his face in your chest. “You feel so fucking good,” he panted, already thrusting up into you.

You moaned, pulling his head back by his hair, forcing him to look at you. “We have to be quiet,” you whimpered, failing to hold in your next moan. 

Leon flipped you over until you were wedged in between his body and the couch. He threw your legs over his shoulders, clawed at your underwear, trying to pull it off fully, failing and pushing it to the side before sinking into you again with one smooth glide.

You cried out. How the fuck did he even fit into you that deeply? “Oh my god, oh fuck Leon,” you whined. “Fuck yes.” 

He thrust into you hard and deep, bending you all the way until he was laying flush against the back of your thighs. “You’re so flexible, my god,” he moaned, pressing a kiss to your knee, fucking up into you like a man possessed. 

You clenched around him, massaging his cock with your inner walls and his pace faltered, his forehead coming down to rest against yours. A moan racked through him and you clawed at his shoulders, trying to hold on to something as he fucked you hard enough to see stars. 

“You’re mine,” he moaned, his hand finding your clit. “And I’m gonna make you cum all over my cock. Fuck, baby.” 

“Yes, Leon, oh fuck yes, make me cum,” you panted, your pussy squeezing his cock again as he called you his.

He propped himself up, staring at the space between you, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. His thumb found your clit again and you squeezed your eyes shut. It was all too much. Him, you, everything.

“Leon, oh fuck, oh my god.” You fluttered around him, moments from losing it. 

Leon let out a strangled moan, twitching inside you. 

“Oh fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum. Cum with me, please baby, oh fuck.” One of his hands closed around the front of your top, holding on to it, as he picked up his pace, your tits bouncing in sync with his forceful thrusts.

You cried out, back arching off the couch, pushing your head deep into the leather as you rippled around him, gripping his cock even tighter, massaging him up and down his entire length. 

“Oh fuck yes, that’s it, oh my god,” he groaned. “You feel so fucking good.” He let out a low, animalistic grunt and thrust into you with deep, sloppy thrusts, filling you up.

You had no choice but to take it all, as he sputtered into you and you milked him dry. Him having let you in on his little breeding kink secret only heightened every sensation. He gave you all he had until it leaked out of you, only to fill you up with more, both of you whimpering, mewling, completely losing yourselves.

Leon collapsed on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck. 

“Oh fuck, Leon,” you panted. “I—oh my god.” Your hand flew to your forehead as you found your way back into reality. 

“Oh my god,” you shrieked, as you did, remembering where you were, pushing at Leon’s shoulders to get him off you. “Leon, get dressed.” 

Leon was still breathing hard and looked at you, completely sex hazed. 

You reached down to shove his now soft dick back into his boxers, buttoning up his jeans, all while your ankles were still close to your ears.

“Get the fuck off me, security’s gonna come in any second,” you shrieked and he finally pushed himself off of you. You sat up, leaking cum on to the leather immediately. 

“Oh shit,” you cursed, reaching between your legs to stop it. “Give me a baby wipe.” 

Leon, suddenly thinking with his upstairs brain again, grabbed the wipes, handing you one and wiping down the couch with another. 

“Where are my clothes?” You frantically scanned your surroundings for your lacy outfit. 

“I think I ripped it,” Leon confessed, holding up a sad looking piece that used to be your top. 

You snatched it from his grasp, shrugging into it, going to tie it in the front but half of what was supposed to be covering your tit was missing. You sucked in a breath, adjusted your breasts to sit up a little higher and tied the whole thing together somehow. The straps were cutting into your skin but it would do.

“Bouncy,” Leon commented, an amused glint in his eyes as he stared at your tits. 

“You’ll buy me a new one, you animal,” you said, face stern. 

"Yes, ma'am." Leon chuckled. “Fucking worth it.” 

You slapped his chest, grabbed his chin and brought his face down to yours. “Snap out of it. This isn’t funny. If anyone finds out we had sex in here, the whole—” 

“Lola, are you okay in there?” Crystal’s voice sounded from the hallway. She was walking up to the private room, ready to barge in. 

“Fuck,” you cursed, leaking cum again, pressing the baby wipe against your vulva to catch it, pulling up your thong, as Leon closed his belt buckle and smoothed out his shirt. 

You stared at him, a cum stain illuminated brightly by the UV lighting of the club glaring back at you from the seam of his shirt.

“Tuck in your shirt,” you ordered, frantically feeling for the rest of your outfit under the pillows on the couch. “And fix your face, you look like you just came all over someone.” 

Leon chuckled. “Well—” 

“Shut up,” you hissed, softly cupping his cheeks to look at you. “Focus, Leon. Focus.”

He cleared his throat, the dumb, fucked out smile falling from his face and he combed his fingers through his hair. You finally found the bottom piece of your outfit, a fishnet skirt. Also ripped to shreds. 

When did he—? 

Crystal pushed through the door, looking between you and Leon, crinkling her nose. “It smells like fuckfest in here,” she hissed, opening the door wide. “Are you out of your mind? Helena is on her way with a client, a fucking cop no less.”

You grabbed Leon’s hand and pulled him out of the room. Crystal threw one last scrutinizing look inside.

“You didn’t leave the condom in there, did you?” she whispered.

“No,” you squeaked, another glob of cum slipping past your labia. 

Leon leaned against the wall adjacent to the private room, taking a deep breath to collect himself. "We did it without one."

Crystal grimaced, pinching the bridge of her nose. "In that case you owe her two and a half grand, rookie" she hissed, walking past him.

"What?" Leon stared after her, puzzled. "Why would I owe her money?"

“Because I can’t dance like that,” you concluded, absolutely not wanting to rub your cum soaked pussy and thong over someone’s dress pants in UV lighting. Not even talking about the smell or the way that you flung your entire body around a pole for a living. “I need to go home and take a shower.” 

“Can I join?” Leon asked, biting his lip and interlacing his fingers with yours.

You dodged his attempt at kissing down your neck. "Did I fuck your brains out or something? Is this what this is?"

"Yeah, you did, holy fuck," he said, pulling you in for a kiss.

"Leon," you whispered. "We're at the stripclub, you can't do that."

"No one's here," he murmured, nuzzling your neck. "And you're mine, remember?"

You tilted your head, a blush creeping into your cheeks. 

You’re mine. 

“You too, you know,” you whispered, avoiding his gaze. “If I’m yours, you’re mine too.” 

A smile lit up Leon’s face. 

“Lola?” 

You both jumped, letting go of each other.

“Holy shit, the rookie?” Brian’s voice sounded through the hallway over the music. You both froze, as Brian, in full uniform, stared at you, letting his gaze wander.

"Brian, what are you doing here?" you asked.

"I came to offer to walk you to your car after your shift."

"You don't need to do that," Leon said, taking a step toward his superior and you shot him a wide-eyed look to shut him up.

He cleared his throat. "Because she's not done with her shift yet. She just told me. During the private ... dance."

“Thanks for the tip,” you murmured, grasping his cleft chin. “See you around?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Leon whispered, slipping into the role fully. “Evening, Sergeant.” He nodded politely as he passed Brian and slipped back into the main client area.

Brian wrinkled his forehead, looking after him, watching you as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other under his scrutiny. 

“Excuse me,” you whispered, pushing yourself past him toward the dancers' locker rooms.

------

When you first got the call from your realtor, and you finagled your way out of your twelve month lease, you made a very detailed, very organized plan to move. You purchased the boxes, the storage containers, the tape, and the packing peanuts, and made a list of what items were going where, planning to label each one with a strip of blue painter’s tape and a thick sharpie. You made it through two of your kitchen cabinets, gingerly wrapping each dish and mug, branding the side of each box with the details of its contents. Then, you gave up  and decided that if the stuff ends up in a box, it’s a win. That’s how you got here, carrying loads of junk into your new home, without any idea where to put them. 

You justified your laziness by thinking it will be like opening presents on Christmas morning. 

He chuckles, the sound deep and baritone. “Just through here, then?” He nudges the box like it weighs nothing, gesturing to the front door, propped open by a plastic storage container filled to the brim with random household articles. You really should have labeled them. 

“I’m (Y/N), by the way.” 

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N),” he says, scanning the empty living room, eyes trickling down from the bare walls to the polished hardwood planks. “Where would you like me to put this?” 

“On the floor is fine…with the other hundred boxes,” you say, pointing to the sea of beige cardboard littering the otherwise sparse floor. “You never realize just how much crap you have until it’s time to move.”

He doesn’t respond to your comment, just stares past you, through the open front door. 

“How much is left in the truck?” 

Your old place was by no means big, just a two-bedroom you shared with an old college friend, but in the last year, you had taken up a penchant for antique shopping, fueled by the home improvement channel and your new Pinterest account. In planning and saving up for this next step, you started collecting pieces for your new home, having to rent an external unit to store it all in because you ran out of square footage in your apartment. 

Crazy enough, you didn’t think to pick up any actual furniture, just decorations that go on top of furniture.

“Nothing crazy. Just a bunch of boxes. My old place was already furnished when I got it so I don’t have any big pieces to move.” 

He nods, placing his hands on his hips, taking a look around the space. The house beside his hadn’t been on the market for very long, and with the charm it holds in its historic walls, he knew it would get snatched up quickly. He expected a newly married couple or a small family to move in, maybe even a single guy with a dog. Not…you. 

Your new home was one of the smaller houses in the neighborhood: a one-story cottage with whitewashed wood siding and a pillared front porch with a bench swing. It was cozy and within your price range. You don’t care that it is completely smurfed by the other homes that sprawl up and down the avenue, especially Leon’s old colonial next door. It’s tiny and perfect and yours. No more roommates. No more bad landlords. 

“I’ll help you bring the rest inside.” 

“No, you don’t have to do that, Leon. There’s not that much left, I swear. I can do it. Thank you, though.”  

The man shakes his head, dismissing your bashful refusal of his assistance, and grins. “Come on, show me what I’m up against.” 

“Fine. If you insist.” 

“I insist.”

He follows you out to the moving truck parked in your driveway, the metal wall at the back slid all the way up to reveal a cab nearly full of boxes. You bite your lip as Leon’s eyes grow wide. 

How much crap did this chick have, he thinks to himself. 

“Not that much left, huh?” 

The buttery afternoon slowly simmered into night before you knew it, and you and Leon had unloaded the entirety of the boxes left in the truck, until your living room resembled the back room of a post office, cardboard stacked from floor to ceiling. 

Leon was sitting on one of the larger boxes, his legs stretched out before him, dark wash denim clinging to thick quads. His shoulders are sunken, previously impeccable posture now faltering. The man is probably worn out. You know you are. 

“I should really treat you to a drink or something,” you say, sliding your hands into the back pockets of your cutoffs. “Thank you for helping, I really appreciate it.” 

He nods one and the corner of his mouth twitches as he presses himself up to standing. “You’re welcome. Is it just you?” 

“Yep, just me.” 

“ It would have taken twice as long if not longer if you did all that by yourself. Aren't you glad you let me help?” 

“Yes, I’m glad I let you help. Thank you again.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

As he moves toward the door, your eyes can’t help but fall across his wide back, the shoulders so large they almost seem inhuman, more like the concoction of a sculpture chiseling the ideal man into marble. Your chest tightens and you feel an impending flush threatening to rise to your cheeks.

“I owe you a drink,” you say, taking a few steps in his tracks toward the door, not totally ready for him to leave you alone in your home yet. You’ve never lived on your own before, and as excited and ready as you thought you were, the reality that you will be by yourself once Leon shuts that door is a little daunting. 

Over one of those massive shoulders, Leon steals a glance at you. He tries to keep his eyes locked on yours, not wanting to come across as the pervy, old neighbor who stares at your body, but fuck, if he doesn’t want to, especially when it is so visible to him. 

You seem so kind, so genuine. So eager. 

“I said don’t mention it.” 

There’s a little more heat to his voice as he shuts down your proposal. “Oh, okay. Sure,” is all you’re able to muster. 

He stalls by the door, giving you a moment to think about what to say next, if anything at all. That moment is cut short by Leon’s voice, taking over the conversation for you.

"Do you have a security system?" He asks, turning around to study your face as your head tilts to the side. "Like an alarm, or a camera you could put on your front door?" 

"No, but I have pepper spray in my purse."  

He shakes his head as a deep huff is pushed from his chest. You watch it rise and fall, the taut muscles stretching the fabric pulled tight over them. 

"What? It’s a safe neighborhood,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. 

“You should get one.”

“I wouldn’t know how to install it if I did.” 

“I’ll do it.”

September

The last time you saw Leon was last month, when he came over to set up the security alarm, a little speck of metal that he drilled into the threshold that chirps every time you open the door. A sensor connected to a keypad installed on the wall beside the frame. He told you to pick out a four-digit code that you had to enter into it every night to activate the alarm, every morning to deactivate. 

“(MM/YY).” You told him your birthday, the month and year, and he made a face, nose crinkling, eyes narrowed. He told you to pick another one, not tell him, and enter it into the keypad. He looked away when you did.

His car wasn’t in his driveway when you woke up this morning. You would assume he went to work, like you were getting ready to do, but you saw him load it up with a black duffel bag last night. It wasn’t like you were looking out for him, necessarily. It just so happens that your living room window looks out to his driveway, and while you were folding your laundry, eyes unfocused on the television playing in front of you, you heard a card door open. Right after that is when you saw him, a dark figure chopped up by the wooden slats of the blinds, putting a bag into the backseat of his SUV. He slammed the door shut and sulked back into his house. 

His car didn’t return for days after that. 

But when it did, wheels turning over gravel, you peered through that same window, and studied the figure behind the tinted driver’s side window as it stalled long after the ignition cut out, just waiting and waiting. He tipped his neck back until his head hit the headrest, the shadowy silhouette of his profile stagnant as he waited and waited.

Your eyes flicker to the kitchen counter, where a batch of freshly baked cookies rests beneath a glass cloche. Hands moving without any conscious direction, you place the cookies in a plastic container, slip into your sandals, and make a break for the front door. As it closes behind you, Leon’s car door slams shut, the two sounds creating a symphony loud enough to alert you of one another’s presence. 

“Hi there,” he says with a wave. You hold up the container of cookies, stepping toward his house, an old Georgian. 

“A thank-you. For helping me…stay safe, I guess.” 

“It hasn’t been giving you any trouble, has it?” 

As you draw closer to him, still standing by his car door, bag in hand, you notice the exhaustion awash across his face. Lines seem deeper. The purple moons under his eyes have darkened. 

“No sir.”

The look on your face. Those words coming from your mouth. Leon’s jaw tenses as he looks down at you, wearing cotton pajama shorts and a ratty t-shirt, holding a box of treats.  

“Thank you, again, really. It’s made me feel a lot better about living alone.” 

“Anytime. I’ll–uh–see you around.” He flashes you a quick smile, taking the tupperware from the hands that offered them, and turns around to walk toward his front door. 

October

The doorbell rang twice and your stupid hairdryer was too damn loud in your ear for you to have heard it. It was only when you switched it off that the lingering echo of the twinkling sound bounced off the hallway walls and into your ears. 

Leon? 

It’s not always Leon. Sometimes it’s the mailman, asking for a signature. Other times, it’s a salesperson asking if you’re interested in a new air conditioning unit. But you always, always hope it’s Leon. 

Freshly-showered body clad in nothing but a haphazardly tied robe, you pad down the hall and into the living room, opening the front door just in time to see Leon’s black SUV pull out of his driveway and head down the road, passing right in front of your house. You barely have time to raise your arm, let alone wave your hand at him. 

The tupperware container you gave him the cookies in, now empty and clean, rests on your doormat. Stuck to it, a note with a smiling doodle and Leon’s name in black ink. 

November

For the past two months, you and Leon found yourselves talking more. Sometimes, in the warmth of your own home. Other times, standing in his driveway or yours, until he bitches about his back or his knee and the two of you move to your front porch, sitting on the swing or the steps.

He would ask about your job, your friends, your family, and you would happily tell him stories about college and your crazy, old roommate who you still keep in touch with, and silly reiterations of your younger brother’s shenanigans. He still lives at home, not yet graduated from high school, and takes every opportunity to drive your parents crazy. 

“He sounds like a handful,” Leon confesses with a laugh. Gosh, you love his laugh, it’s addictive. If you could, you would bottle it up and huff it to get high. That along with his scent. What a rush you would get if you could grind it into a powder and snort it up your nose. 

Good grief.

“He is. They’re counting down the days until he moves out for his first year of school. Geez,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose at the thought of Ethan going off to college. Does he even know how to turn on the dishwasher? “I can’t believe he’ll be a freshman in college. I worry about him. The kid is such a mess.” 

“He’ll be fine. If he’s anything like his…like you, I’m sure he’ll be fine. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders.” 

“Ha,” you huff, flattered. The two of you are sitting on the brick step of his stoop, feet flat on the blacktop driveway. It’s warm outside, even for a late autumn afternoon in the DMV. Seventy degrees and still bright. Sunlight wanes, the butterball dipping behind near-naked trees. 

It casts you in a glow that Leon cannot deny. You’re breathtaking, practically disheveled from a hectic day in the office. Your hair tousled, makeup nearly worn off, lips swollen from constant torture at the hands of your two front teeth. Strands billow down the back of your jacket as you lean to place your folded arms over bent knees, hugging yourself. He wishes he was the one with his arms around your legs. He could hit himself for letting that thought slip past the guard in his mind that guns down any inappropriate thought about his young neighbor. He’s distracted, eyelids heavy from weeks of interrupted sleep, body sore from eighty hours of back-breaking work. 

“You seem to know a lot about me,” you say, your soft voice luring Leon back into the conversation, away from his mental self-flaggelation. “But I don't know that much about you.”

“Really?” He scoffs. “I’m an open book.” 

That’s funny. “No you’re not,” you quip back and he nods beneath the fair assessment. 

“So, can I ask you a question?” 

“Shoot.”

“What do you do for work?” 

It’s a simple enough question, right?

“Why that question?” 

“I don’t know. You said you travel for work a lot and you always seem…” What’s the word you’re searching for? Different? Sad? Burdened? “...distracted when you come back.”

He hates that you’ve noticed that. “I work for the government. Security work.” 

“Are you a spy or something?” 

He chuckles, his baritone laugh filling the car and you with a warm buzz. “No, nothing like that. I work for the DSO.” 

“Never heard of it.” 

Good. That’s good. 

“Like I said, security work.” 

“Do you like it?” 

Does he like it? What a loaded question spoken in so few words. He wishes you had asked him his favorite color instead. He had a much simpler, cut-and-dry response to give.

“No. Sometimes.” 

“No? Sometimes?” You parrot him in the hope that he will hear the duplicity in his words and will elaborate further. 

“I can’t give you a straight answer to that, I’m sorry. You’ll just have to believe me when I say that it’s complicated.” He sucks in a breath, then leans back to recline on his palms. The dark blue quarter-zip he’s sporting looks as though it’s just one size too small and the seams might rip beneath the tension of his bulging muscles. “I like saving lives,” he continues. “That’s why I got into this mess in the first place. But it’s tough work and it hasn’t left me with much room to do anything else with my life.” 

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know.” He does know. “Having a family, hobbies, traveling.” 

“Really? I feel like you’re always gone somewhere.” 

“I should have clarified. Traveling, not for work purposes.” 

“If you could go anywhere–not for work–where would you go?” 

He takes a moment to really ponder your question. “I wouldn’t want to go anywhere I’ve had to go for work, that’s for sure.” Your eyebrows crease as you look up at him. You make a mental note to research what exactly employees of the DSO do when you get back home. “How about Japan? Or Greece? I think I’d like Greece. All those blue and white buildings overlooking the Mediterranean.” 

“I’ve always wanted to go to Greece, too,” you squeak, face aglow. “You’ll have to let me tag along when you go.” 

January

“He’s taking you to a ballet?” 

“Yep,” you chirp into the receiver, placing the phone between your cheek and your shoulder so your two hands are free to hold up the dresses to your frame. Option one is a strong contender, a black tea-length fit-and-flare with an Old Hollywood silhouette à la Audrey Hepburn that shows off your waist. Option two is a bit edgier. Strapless with a square neckline that doesn’t give too much away, the red satin clings to your waist, your hips, all the way down to your calves. The only con is you can barely walk in it, the skirt is so restricted, straight as a pencil. But it looks great. 

Standing in front of the mirror in just your bra and panties as a blank slate, you hold up the first option against your body. It’s pretty and conservative. The shiny taffeta can easily be paired with your mother’s strand of pearls and a pair of kitten heels. But option two is sexy. It’s provocative. 

Would Jackson like it? He seems so reserved and straightlaced, you think it might scare him off. 

But he is a man…

“I didn’t know people still went to those,” Diana huffs on the other end. Poor thing thinks guys only take girls out to sports bars and football games. She needs to get out of your hometown. “Is he old?”

“People do still go to those, especially in D.C. The company here is incredible, or so I’ve heard.” 

“The company? He’s got you talking like an old person. Wait. Is he old?” 

You giggle. “No, he’s my age.”

“Is he rich?” 

“Who?”

“The man who’s taking you out on a date, tonight. Who else would we be talking about?”

“Oh, right, duh. Um, getting there. He’s still just a junior associate at the firm. His parents are, though. They have, like, two houses.” 

“Ah,” she clicks her tongue. “That’ll do it. Well, in that case, you have my approval.” 

“Heads or tails?” You ask, changing the subject, heads being option one. 

“Eenie meenie–”

“Just pick one,” you groan. 

“Okay, fine. Tails.” 

Of course the dress Diane psychically picked is the more daring of the two. 

“Okay, thanks for picking out a dress for me. I’ll send you a pic when I’m all dressed up.” 

“Wait, I didn’t know that’s what I was choosing for you. I want to see the options. Not fair.”

“Perfectly fair, that’s kind of the point of flipping a coin. Plus, I don’t have time. He’s picking me up in T-minus…” you glance at the glowing alarm clock on your bedside table. “Ten minutes.” 

She groans dramatically. “Okay, fine, but I want to see the fit and you’ll have to tell me all the details after, okay? And I mean all the details, you hear me? Not the PG version either. Got it? Got it?” 

“Yes, yes, yes. Photo and details. Copy that. Now, I really do have to go.” 

The two of you spit out rushed “goodbyes” and “I love you’s” and you hang up the call and throw option one onto your bed, shimmying option two’s hanger straps off the wooden arms of the hanger, and toss that aside too. 

It takes you a minute to shimmy into the unforgiving satin, but once you do, you begin the fight with the zipper. You get the tiny metal piece pulled all the way up your hips and half-way up your spine until it begins to rub a blister on the pads of your fingers and you feel yourself start to sweat. 

And the doorbell rings. Ten minutes before he’s supposed to get here and he’s already at the door. 

You hiss out a swear, slide into the heels you bought especially for the occasion, and grab the clutch that barely holds your phone and a tube of lipstick. 

Swinging the door open, you whole-heartedly expect to see Jackson standing, a bouquet of flowers in tow, with the big, toothy grin he always wears warming up his face. 

“You’re ear—” 

It’s not your date, but your next door neighbor. Leon stands on your front porch, hands in the front pockets of his dark jeans, sporting the orthopedic sneakers he always has on, along with a sweet grin that slowly melts off his face once he sees you. 

He can’t control it. His jaw went completely slack when he saw you standing in the doorway, illuminated by the dim backlight of the glowing kitchen behind you. You’re wearing a dress that is far too flattering, looking like a Barbie doll behind the plastic sheen of a display case. 

“Oh, Leon,” you say, not expecting to see him on your doorstep. “Hi. What are you doing here?” 

He was there to ask you to go out to dinner with him, but it looks like someone already beat him to the chase. You certainly aren’t wearing a dress like that to lounge around in your living room. You didn’t spend all that time tying up your hair just to get pizza with a friend. 

“I–uh–came by to–uh–”

“Oh wait, hold that thought. Do you mind zipping me up all the way? I can’t reach.” You turn around and put your hands on your hips, not giving him time to refuse. 

He wants to say “no”. A sick, jealous part of him wants to refuse having any part in readying you for another man, helping you into a dress he would never get the chance to take off. But, the hero in him wants to save the day, to come to your rescue. 

“Going out?” He asks shortly, the timbre of his voice reaching a new low as he steps toward you. The top half of the dress is open, revealing a soft swatch of skin beneath the gaping fabric. With the grip of a man whose job description is to be dexterous with small, moving parts like the ribbed safety of a handgun or the inner walls of a rifle, he locates the coated metal of the zipper. As he pulls it upward, the knuckle of his pointer finger grazes the warmth of your back, the patch just across your spine. He pretends not to notice the bumps that rise across your skin, and you pretend not to feel the heat stirring in your lower belly. 

How can the feather-light touch of a man you hardly know bring on such a strong physical reaction? You feel as if your limbs might turn to jelly, your heart being so fast you can hear it reverberating against the cavern of your ear canal. 

“Thank you,” you squeak, turning around so Leon can take in the sight of you once more. 

“Anytime.” 

“I’m sorry I interrupted before. Did you say you needed something?” 

“No.” He doesn’t even bother to spin a lie or make up an excuse, just wanting to get out before your date shows up and he has to come face-to-face with the man who will reflect all of his own shortcomings. He’s probably your age, still sprite and wide-eyed like you. Enthusiastic with a lust for life Leon lost a long time ago. “Have fun tonight. You look great.” 

That’s all he says before he dips out of your door and you don’t see him for weeks.

March

“What in the world are you doing out there? It’s raining cats and dogs.” His voice is nearly shouting, carried across the few feet of grass between the sides of your homes, through the wet slosh of the downpour, and onto your porch. 

You shudder, wholly unsure if it was from the giggle in your throat or the shiver creeping up across your skin. Either way, you’re practically buzzing, watching as Leon peers down at you from beneath the cover of his own porch. The concern on his face is borderline amusing. He’s looking at you from beneath furrowed brows, frowning with such worry as though you’re caught in the crossfire of a battlefield, not curled up, taking refuge from a thunderstorm. 

“I like the sound of the rain,” you lie. “Just came out—to hear it—better.” Your teeth are chattering, and you didn’t realize just how cold you were until you needed to muster up enough warmth to oil up your pipes. 

Before you know it, you hear footsteps sinking into the soggy grass of your front yard. Leon has walked over, in the rain, to your front porch. He was tired of yelling through the downpour, and decided it wasn’t going to let up any time soon so why wait? Plus your well-being is worth getting drenched. 

Blonde strands, streaked with gray, cling to his temples, and with them are raindrops that trail down the skin there. 

“You’re completely soaked.” 

You blush only because you imagine him saying that under different circumstances. His hand down your pants, for example. 

He’s right. Your dress is drenched through, the thin chiffon clinging to your goose-pimpled skin, sopping wet and—you look down at the black fabric molded to your thighs—incredibly sheer. If only you could dip into your house and grab your robe. 

“And you’re shivering.” He holds out two open palms for you to take. You do, and he pulls you up to meet him, realizing how close he brought you to his own face, and he takes a step back, not sure he could control himself if he was so close to you. 

Maybe having you farther away was a mistake, because now he can see the entirety of your body, clad in what he assumes was once a flowy dress, now completely soaked through and clinging to your every dip and curve. He can tell that you’re not wearing a bra, maybe one without much padding…or any underwear? No, you’re definitely wearing underwear because he sees the outline of the fabric jutting beneath your dress. It must be very thin, however, because it doesn’t do much to hide the outline of your—

Stop, Leon, he says internally. Do not look at her…there.

“Was the date so bad you had to wash it off in the rain?” He asks to distract himself, clearing his throat. It’s a futile attempt because the idea of you having dinner with another man does little to calm his nerves. The boy picked you up earlier, gave you his elbow as he walked you down from your front porch to his car, a sporty BMW. The kid held the door open as you sunk down into the seat, and he made sure the skirt of your dress was out of the way before he gently shut you inside. 

He knows you went on a date. That means he saw you with Jackson, either when he picked you up, when the sky was still clear of the rumbling clouds that made an appearance during dinner. Or when he dropped you off, sheets of rain already tumbling down, when he spun you around in his arms and kissed you in the middle of the torrential deluge. At that moment, you thought it was romantic. Kissing the boy you like as the rain soaked you both, tangled in a wet embrace. It was romantic. Jackson was romantic. But he sure as hell wasn’t Leon, who saw the bookends of your night out on the town with another man. Now the memory makes your stomach sour. 

“No, nothing like that,” you say with a sigh, holding up the small beaded clutch in your hand for him to see. “I changed out my purse for tonight, and forgot my keys in my other bag like an idiot.” You shake your head again. “Didn’t forget three different tubes of lipgloss though. Priorities, I guess.” 

You even open up the lips of the bag to show Leon your collection of shimmering makeup products. He doesn’t quite know what he’s looking at but he chuckles anyway because you find it amusing. It snaps to a close and you place it under your arm. An arm glistening with crystal droplets. 

Damp strands that once fell loose from your low bun now stick to your temples. One thick clump worms its way to the corner of your mouth. You use the tip of your tongue to push it away in an obscenely childish maneuver. What are you going to do next? Rub your runny nose with your sleeve? As much as you want to chide yourself for such a grossly immature act, Leon finds it utterly endearing. He doesn’t comment on it, though, compliment or not, because he sees the look in your eyes as you realize what you did and the immediate flush of your cheeks that followed. He’d rather not cause you any further embarrassment. 

“You didn’t want to call your boyfriend?” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you answer quickly, chomping at the bit to shut down Leon’s accusation. 

“Ah.” He looks past you to the doormat shedding scratchy fibers onto the terracotta tiles beneath it. Then to the potted plants on either side of the door, the dry leaves soaking up the mist that the wind thrusts at them. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare key hidden somewhere, would you?”

“No,” you say, and he looks at you before shaking his head in disappointment. “But I gave one to my friend when I moved in. I called her thirty minutes ago and she said she’ll be by in the next hour or two when she gets off work.” 

“So you just plan on waiting out here?”

“I guess,” you say, uncommitted to an answer. 

He clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Come on, you can dry off at my place.” 

Your arm brushes against his once on the short walk over to his front door, and your skin is still burning when he opens it, letting you in for the first time. 

The space is a lot cozier than you imagined it would be. You’re not sure why, but you pictured Leon living in a more sterile environment, void of warmth and comfort—something utilitarian, shred of all the frills so that only the absolute necessities remain. He seems very Spartan in that way. But this—his home puts all of those prejudiced assumptions to shame, showing you a completely different side of the man. 

Across from the crackling fireplace, there is an overstuffed couch, upholstered in a smooth linen fabric that peeks out beneath a couple blankets thrown haphazardly over the back. It looks inviting and for a moment, the image of you and Leon curled up on the seat cushions flashes across your mind. Your knees are tucked into your chest, his body is turned toward yours, close enough for him to read out and touch your knee. The still is so vivid that you can almost feel the warmth of his palm on your flesh. 

The image disappears, leaving you, once again, to take in the details of the room around you. Tucked into a corner of two tall bookcases, is a brown leather wing-back chair that looks well-loved, worn at the arms and the seat. It stands regally, tucked between the fireplace and a wooden side table that holds a tall lamp and a stack of paperback books. 

“Nice place,” you say sweetly, kicking off your shoes by the door. He smirks down at you, suddenly shorter than the man without your heels on to bolster you up to his height. He’s not spectacularly tall by any means, standing at five-foot-eleven.

“Thanks,” is all he says as he shuts the front door behind you, turning not one but three different locks. The metal of each one clinks. If he were any other man, that might be creepy, but after you heard snippets about his work, the paranoia makes sense. “Let me go get you a towel.” 

Your eyes follow his gaze down to the hem of your dress. It’s dripping. Actual drops fall from the fabric onto the floor, pooling around your bare feet. 

“Oh, Leon, I’m sorry. I’m dripping everywhere.” 

He’s not looking at the puddle now dampening his floor. No, he’s looking at the dress. The one that is so damp, it clings to your thighs. Your pretty, fleshy thighs. Yeah, you’re dripping alright. 

Get a grip, Leon. 

“Do you want to change? I’ll get you some clothes and you can get ready in the guest bedroom. I can even hang up your dress in the shower, so it’ll dry.” 

“Sure,” you oblige, and you follow him up the stairs and down the upstairs hallway, careful not to drip too much onto the polished hardwood. “Your house is really nice. Kind of big for just a single guy.” Why did you say that? You idiot freak. “Sorry, that came out wrong.” 

He just shrugs, stopping you in front of a closed door before taking a few more steps down the hall. “I’ll be back,” he promises, opening the door to what you assume is his bedroom, giving you just a peek into the suite before shutting it behind him. All you were able to see is a headboard and an unmade bed. Crisp, white sheets crumpled across the mattress. A grey comforter sliding off the foot of the bed. He must thrash in his sleep for the dressings to be strewn about like that. Or he’s had someone over. 

You imagine sleeping there with him, your naked bodies tangled together, twisted up in those sheets. His hands roaming your bare flesh, kneading and grabbing your hips as he had his way with you. 

He returns quickly and you avert your gaze from the door, hoping he isn’t a vampire or alien that can read your mind and learns that you’ve been fantasizing about him.

“Here,” he says, holding a stack of folded clothing: black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt. It seems to be his uniform. 

Both of you linger silently in the hallway, just standing opposite of one another. Leon’s hands are in the pockets of his lounge pants, the t-shirt he’s wearing doing all but hiding the muscles of his chest and abdomen, not to mention the veiny biceps outstretched from the sleeves. You’re just standing there, dumb, waiting on him to say something. 

He’s just so handsome, you’re completely caught up in the beauty of his face, his form. Those eyes that stare so intently. The dimple of his chin. The softness of his jaw, marked with stubble that is patchy in some places, gray in most. You want to kiss him there, feel the hair tickling your lips. You need to stop thinking about him in that way. It’s not going to happen. 

“The guest bedroom is behind you.” He cuts his eyes to the side, then immediately back to you, waiting. 

Duh. 

“Oh, right,” you cough up a nervous breath. “Yeah. Of course. I’ll change in here.” You just keep pumping out weightless words to combat the awkwardness of the last few seconds. You hope you weren’t staring or doing anything weird with your face.

“Hand me your dress when you're changed and I can hang it up, like I said.” 

“Yeah, of course,” you repeat, as if it’s the only phrase you know. 

The guest bedroom is small and neat, but relatively unadorned, housing only a queen-sized mattress, two nightstands on either side of the made bed, and a dresser opposing the wooden headboard. In the corner, there is a standing mirror, also wooden, definitely old. 

Your fingers struggle with the zipper, huffing and puffing until you find the right angle and grab onto the miniscule metal tongue with one hand, yanking it down with the other. Sliding the sleeves down your arms, the fabric unglued itself from your body. The tiny bra you were wearing is damp in some spots, but you’d rather not pass that on to Leon for him to hang up in his bathroom, so you keep it on, alongside the lace panties on your hips. With the towel he gave you, you dry off, starting with your neck, shuffling the cloth down to your feet, drying off every inch of skin.

Before redressing, you patter toward the door with your dress in hand and open it just a crack. 

Leon turns around at the sound of the door creaking open, and he approaches to grab the garment from you as you slide it through the opening. He notices the bra strap on your shoulder and behind that, the mirror angled toward the door, giving him a perfectly good view of your bare thighs, and lace-clad cheeks. 

He nearly chokes on air. 

“You okay?” You ask. 

“Yeah,” he nods. “I’ll go hang this up.” he skidattles before you can notice the erection straining the thin pajama pants he’s wearing. 

Back in the guest room, you throw on the t-shirt and pants he provided, pattering to the hallway. 

“Leon?” 

He hears your voice through the bathroom door, busying himself with an empty hanger he grabbed from his closet, sliding the capped sleeves of your dress onto the wood before hanging it on the curtain rod. 

“Fuck,” he hisses to himself, looking down to see how stiff he had gotten. He didn’t think he had it in him anymore, and if it were any other time, he would be pleasantly surprised to see that his body still somewhat functions in that department. But now? He needs it to go away. 

His hand reaches into his pants. He palms the stiff shaft, praying the touch brings him some relief. 

“I’ll just wait in the living room.” Your voice clears as he opens the door half-way through the sentence that comes from those pretty lips. Don’t think about her pretty lips, Leon, he commands himself. 

“Hi,” you chirp as Leon’s bare feet bring him down the stairs and into the living room. You’re standing near the fireplace. 

“Hey. Do you want anything to drink?” He asks, lingering in the portal between the living room and the kitchen, his hand resting on the painted wood frame. “I have water and whiskey, and maybe a beer or two, but that’s about it.”  

There is an unidentifiable tone in his voice that weakens it. He sounds disappointed or ashamed of himself. 

“Water is fine, thank you, Leon.”

You’re such a sweet girl, he thinks before dipping into the kitchen, leaving you to your own devices in his living room. You take the opportunity to give yourself a tour of the space, padding onto a red oriental rug that spans nearly the entirety of the hardwood slats making up the floor. Each vibrant, colored thread is woven into geometric shapes and motifs beneath your bare feet. 

You turn back around to the fireplace. The mantle is dripping with mis-matched frames, each one filled with pictures of Leon of all different ages, of scenic landscapes that portray him as a well-traveled man. 

One photo in particular stands out to you. A younger version of your neighbor in his late twenties, early thirties at most, stands between a girl around the same age and a man with similar features to hers. Their arms are all interwoven behind each other’s backs, all flashing bright, genuine smiles at the camera. He looks less…burdened here.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Leon standing once more in the doorway, watching you intently. His piercing blue eyes scan your body, stopping at the photo in your hands. He smirks when he realizes which picture rests inside the painted wood frame. 

“Those are the Redfields.” Leon’s voice draws closer as he meets you at the fireplace. His footsteps are light, graceful, which is funny considering they belong to a man with such an obscene amount of muscle. A glass of ice water in his hand, he looks again at the frame in yours. “Claire and Chris. I met Claire when I was a rookie cop in Racoon City. She was there when everything went to shit.” He waits to see the look of recognition come across your face, but it never does. God, you are young, he thinks. Sweet summer child, so innocent and unaware of the kinds of horrors he has seen. “Before your time, I guess,” he shuckles deeply. “And that’s Chris, her brother. We go way back.” He points to the brunette man beside him. 

“You look so young in this picture.” It’s just an observation on your part, nothing more, and Leon knows that, but the remark hits him where it hurts. He was probably your age, maybe a little bit older, when that photo was taken. It was captured during a time when he truly thought his life would amount to something, that among the smoke and blood and gunpowder, he would still be able to have it all, despite the job, despite the world he was so hastily thrown into. Oh, how wrong he was. You still get to have what he couldn’t. Maybe you’ll get married one day and have a family. Maybe you’ll get a dog. Maybe, in ten years, you’ll still be living in that house next door and he’ll get to watch you enjoy the life you created for yourself. 

He’s not sure he could stick around and see you build the life he never got to have with someone else. He’d have to move if he even lived long enough to see the day. 

If only he met you then, maybe things could have worked out for him. He shakes that thought out of his head, distracting himself from the idea of being with you by reverting back to the photo. 

“We took a trip up to the mountains one summer with a couple other friends.” 

You nod, still looking at the picture. “You never told me that you were so handsome.” 

He has the same haircut, the same dimple in his chin. He just looks more weathered now, fine lines across his forehead, around his eyes and mouth. Deeper ones cut across the pebbled skin of his neck. He’s still breathtakingly beautiful. 

“Maybe I forgot. That was a long time ago.” 

“Sorry,” you apologize quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re still very handsome.” 

You blush, so pretty and pink beneath the low light. “Sorry,” you repeat. “Was that a weird thing to say?” 

Is she flirting with me, he thinks. No, of course not, he’s too old. She’s just being polite because she thought he had offended him. 

“No, not weird at all.” He smirks and it goes straight to your clit, now throbbing so hard you have to cinch your thighs together to keep yourself from becoming a pile of jelly on the floor. 

You’re not sure how to fill the silence that falls over the room. Leon’s smile falters and he’s just staring down at you, the rise and fall of his chest struggling to keep up with his now labored breath. 

“You know you’re good-looking.” Fuel to the fire. “Not sure why you look so surprised.” 

You’ve caught him off guard. He doesn’t know how to respond to that assessment. 

“Maybe I just haven’t heard it in a while. Not from a beautiful woman like you.” 

Now it’s your turn to be speechless. You regroup, finding your bearings again. You need to sit down before your knees give out and you melt into a puddle of nerves on the floor, staining his run. Stepping over toward the couch, Leon follows you, taking a seat on the cushion at the opposite end of the one you chose to settle on, criss-crossing your legs.

Gosh, he’s so gorgeous. Rugged and weathered, sure, that comes with his age, but gorgeous is still the first word you’d use to describe him. The slight bump at the bridge of his knows. Pretty lips that part slightly whenever you’re in his presence. 

He could say the same thing about you, the absolutely stunning woman who can’t seem to leave him alone no matter how awkward, tense, or avoidant he seems. You’re always there with a smile or an offering of beer or cookies, trying to drag him out of the hole he’s created for himself. 

“Can I ask you a question, Leon?”

“Sure.” 

“Why do you have such a big house if it’s just you living here?” 

You’re not accusing him of anything, you just want to know why a single, older man lives in such a large home all by himself. Heavy-lidded and low, his eyes flicker upward from the comfort of his lap to meet yours. The contact sends a tittering chill down your spine and lightning bolts between your thighs. 

As soon as you think he’s about to answer through parted lips, Leon closes his mouth and chooses a physical response instead of a verbal one. He shrugs the shoulder not dug into the back of the sofa. 

“I bought it a couple years back, thinking I might get married and have a family. Never happened.”

What do you say to that? 

Oh, damn.

Woof, that sucks. 

Sorry for the loss of your imaginary family. 

“You still have time,” is what you settle on instead, instantly regretting it. Leon is obviously not getting any younger, and you might have just stuck the knife in deeper with that comment. He really doesn’t still have time, and he knows it. 

“No,” is all he says, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t. ‘Ts why I’m selling the place.” 

Like a slap to the face. Saliva pools beneath your stupefied tongue as your jaw drops open in awe. 

“What? You’re moving?” 

“Yeah, ‘gonna put it on the market soon. Just need to talk to a realtor.” 

“Wha—where are you going to go? Are you leaving town?” 

“Oh, no,” he chuckles deeply. “I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to. My job is here. I just want to close this chapter and get something smaller, less work to keep up. I don’t need all this space and I’m getting older. I don’t want to have to maintain it all. Plus, someone else will need it more than I do anyway.” Someone else with a family to care for, a dog that can run around in the backyard, children that can fill the rooms with toys and laughter. 

He wanted to have that more than anything. He wanted colorful letter magnets on the fridge, ballet lessons, soccer practices. He wanted to trip over toy cars left out on the floor, and begrudgingly (but not really) play house with dolls. He wanted to be chased around with sticky, syrup-coated fingers and attend school plays. 

Maybe if he was twenty-eight again, just like he was in that photo, and if you were his neighbor, as sweet and willing as you are now, he would have asked you to do it all with him. 

Okay, he’s not leaving town. That knowledge calms your nerves, but the pit in your stomach is still gaping wide like a canyon. 

“I’m going to miss seeing you, though,” he admits quietly, regretting the words as soon as they come out of his mouth, especially when he sees the look on your face beneath them. You’re wearing an expression he can’t quite decipher. Did he frighten you? Did he disgust you by saying such a perverse thing? 

It’s borderline uncomfortable being in Leon’s presence. He’s older and stronger and could easily pounce and have his way with you in a split second. That idea should probably scare you, but no, the discomfort comes from the desire you feel pooling in your belly, the rope you feel pulling you to him as your seat comes unglued from the sofa cushion. You raise yourself slowly so as not to scare him off, and before his reflexes can react and tug him away, you move into his space and plant a kiss on his cheek.

His face is warm and soft under your pursed lips as they linger for a second too long. In those moments, you debate cupping his face, running your fingers through his hair, planting a palm or two on his chest. He backs up an inch, pulling himself from your touch before you can do any of those things. 

“Leon, I’m sorry. Was that too much?” 

He closes his eyes, putting up a hand between the two of you. 

“You–I–we can’t do this, (Y/N).” The words feel like a kick in the face. The flame of embarrassment rises to the apples of your cheeks, lighting them up with a fierce blush. “My job is dangerous. It takes me away all the time, and I rarely know how long I’ll be gone or if I’m coming back. Sometimes, I don’t think I will. It’s part of the reason why I’m selling this place, why I never got to share it with anyone. I’m not going to drag you into that.”

Throat dry and scratchy, you swallow the lump stuck behind your tongue. “You’re not dragging me into anything, Leon.” 

He gives you a weak smile and huffs. “You say that now, kid.” They all do. When the courtship is still in its beginning phases, Leon introduces the woman to his lifestyle, piece by piece, softly bringing up the intricacies of his job. While she’s still entranced by his heroic position or his good looks or the money or the car, she’s all on board. She promises to stay with him, come hell or high water, but once the threads are worn thin and she’s tired of the waiting, the worrying, she leaves. He hasn’t known you for very long, so he trusts that you will be no different. Plus, you’re young and naive. Even if you seemed one-hundred percent confident in what you wanted, Leon doubts he’d believe you enough to open up his heart to destruction again. 

“I mean it–”

“No, stop. Shh,” he says, tilting his head, eyes squinted as he cuts them around the sofa. “Is that your phone vibrating?” 

You almost missed it beneath the ringing in your ears, but sure enough, Cecilia is calling. 

“It’s the friend I have my key to,” is all you have time to say before picking up the phone and answering. The conversation doesn’t last long. She’s parked outside, in your driveway. 

“She’s here to unlock my door.” Your voice trails off into a hum as you stand up and collect your purse from the table behind the sofa. His bright blue eyes look up at you, awash with an expression you can’t quite name. “Can we finish this conversation tomorrow?” 

He nods, bringing himself to standing so he can walk you to the door. Though he led you to believe tomorrow’s planned conversation would be possible, Leon knew he would be long gone to Rio before you woke up. 

That night, when he’s lying in bed, on the second hour of trying to force himself to sleep, Leon thinks about you. He thinks about what you’re doing. He wonders if you’re awake like he is, if you’re thinking about him like he’s thinking about you. Of course, you’re not awake. You’re normal, probably fast asleep for hours by now. Maybe you’re dreaming about him. He wants to dream about you. 

That photo. Why did you have to look at that photo?

He pictures himself at twenty-eight, around your age. His skin, smooth and mostly unscarred, untainted by twenty years of fighting. He isn’t graying. No wrinkles or joint pain. His back doesn’t yell out at him when he bends the wrong way, or lifts something heavy without first laying into his knees. You said he was handsome, so maybe you would have accepted the proposition of a date if he had asked. He would have made a reservation at a fancy restaurant and put on a suit, slicked his hair back so it didn’t flop in your face when he tried to kiss you. Would you have let him kiss you then? Would you let him now? The old, wrinkled, tired version of the boy you saw in that picture?  

Leon knows the answer to that already. You tried to kiss him tonight and he didn’t let you. Why was he so stupid as to not let you kiss him? It’s one of the only things he’s been able to think about when he has a spare moment to himself. The smooth curve of your lips on his. 

He hasn’t gotten hard in a while. He hasn’t tried. But the images his brain is conjuring up right now send a twinge between his thighs and he feels the fabric of his briefs stretch across his growing arousal.

“Stop it,” he berates himself aloud, rolling over to stuff his face in the pillow. He shouldn’t think of you in that way. He has to let you go. 

May

The doorbell rings, and there’s only one person you hope to see on your doorstep. You say a quick prayer that it’s not Jackson, come to try and convince you to take him back after your break-up. It wasn’t messy, per se, but it was your idea, and Jackson isn’t the type of guy who just gives up on things he wants. Hopefully he doesn’t want you badly enough to show up unsolicited at your front door. 

Thankfully, your prayer was answered and then some. Leon is on your front porch, standing with his shoulders rolled back, his hands clasped behind him. 

“Hi,” is all he says when you swing open the door and lay eyes on him. He never fails to steep your breath, whether it’s his face or the mass of muscle that seems to be one flex away from bursting out of his clothing. The way his chest presses against the fabric of his compression shirt is enough to make your vision go blurry. “I’ve been holding your dress hostage, apparently. Totally forgot I had it.” 

Both of those things are technically true. Once the dress had somewhat dried hanging up in his bathroom, the night before he left for South America, Leon had held it in his arms as he tried to go to sleep. He also might have smelled it. A few times.  

After he returned from the mission, he did forget about it, the dress just hanging in his closet to only be remembered when he was looking for that shirt you once said looked good on him. He wanted to wear it when he randomly stopped by your house today, and then, to his surprise, he found the dress and a perfectly good excuse to see you along with it.

He brings an arm forward, a folded square of chiffon in his grasp. Leon’s large hand makes the dress look like a handkerchief. The sight of the thick, blue veins beneath his knuckles makes your knees weak. 

“Oh right,” is all you say, the smile plastered on your face not allowing for any other words to be formed. “Thanks, Leon.” 

He nearly groans when he hears his name so sweet on your lips. A quick clearing of his throat covers it up. “Yeah, of course.” 

“Would you like to come in? I made cookies earlier, if you’d like one.” You open the door slightly, gesturing for him to come inside.

He saunters inside, a large arm brushing past yours as he walks past you. 

“I give you permission to shoot me if I ever say ‘no’ to that invitation.” 

That makes you giggle. Either the goofy quips he constantly pulls out of his pocket are actually funny, or he’s just so ridiculously handsome that anything he says can make you laugh. The latter is probably true. 

He’s just so damn handsome. Is he even real? Maybe you should reach out and touch him just to make sure. 

You grab a plate from the cabinet and serve Leon one of your signature chocolate chip cookies, just shy of fresh from the oven. 

“Seriously, I think you put crack in these, they’re so good.” He takes another bite. You’re both leaning over your kitchen counter, across from one another. 

His wide smile dwindles slightly, but he’s still looking at you with those sharp blue eyes as they flicker to each feature on your face, lingering on your mouth, your cheeks, your eyes. 

“Thank you. Glad to know I’ve perfected the recipe. My grandmother would be very proud.”

June

Leon had been gone for over a month. He left the morning after he returned your dress to you. The one you wore the night you tried to lunge at him and plant your mouth all over his face. The night after he told you things would never work between you both. When he stopped by, he didn’t mention it once, which somehow made it worse. 

You gave him one hour between hearing his car pull into his driveway and stomping across the patch of grass separating your homes to knock on his door. Apparently, that was more than enough time for him to clean up and start drinking. 

“You’re back.” Then, “What happened?” 

He’s fresh from a shower, still somewhat damp and smelling like the soap he uses, citrus and pine. The scent radiates from the warm skin exposed beneath his black v-neck t-shirt: strong, pale arms and a collarbone peppered with hair. He holds himself up with a crooked arm resting on the door frame, displaying a bulging bicep and shallow cuts across his skin. In his other hand, a sweating beer. 

Staying silent, Leon just glares at you before backing out of the doorway to step aside, gesturing for you to enter his home. You kick off your shoes and pad into the living room. He follows sluggishly, catching up with you. 

You hiss when the cold bottle is pressed to the bare flesh of your upper arm, snapping around to see Leon smirking down at you. He just wanted to hear you squeal. He regretted the act as soon as he did it, but your little yelp was gratifying nonetheless. 

“Want a drink?” That’s all he says. You’ve been worried out of your mind for the past month and all he does is ask if you want some alcohol. Truly, you want to be mad at him, but you can’t find the anger under the relief you feel. The sight of him, living and breathing, glides over your skin like a salve. 

“No, thanks. I’m so sorry to intrude.” You look around the living room, eyes immediately finding a gaggle of empty beer bottles at the foot of his chair. “I just–I saw your car in the driveway. I figured you got back from work finally, and thought I’d come by to check up on you.” 

“That’s very sweet of you,” he says, stepping across you to the leather wingback chain in the corner of the living room. He sinks into it, groaning on his way down, stretching out his legs onto the rug. Bare feet splay across the geometric pattern. 

You wait, still only a couple feet from the door where he left you, watching as he does nothing but drink his beer and gaze back at you. 

“So how was it?” You just want to hear his voice. You want to know that he’s alright. A month is a long time for things to go awry, and from what little information you were able to glean about the work the DSO does, you’re sure a month is far too long for him to have gotten away without taking some sort of damage. Whether it’s above or below the surface, you’d like to find out so you can make it better. 

“Fine.” He grunts at you. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You were gone for a long–”

“I’m fine. If you’re going to keep asking silly questions, you can go.” 

His heartless words are like suckerpunch to the gut, leaving your stomach contorting itself into a knot–a raggedy nest made from twine and rags and discarded trash. You’re not even sure which emotion is at the forefront of the battle marching on inside of you. Maybe it’s sorrow for the mean, old man in front of you. Regret for ever putting your lips on him and letting him feel the softness you have for him through your skin. Shame for mentally labeling him as “mean” and “old”, because he truly is neither. Sympathy for a human being who is obviously being worked to death, the life milked out of him by the greedy fist of a vengeful, uncaring government. Maybe it’s a concoction of all those ugly, festering diseases. Or maybe it’s something altogether more primal and unwavering, something that has clawed its way into your skin like a tick, burrowing deeper and deeper until it latches itself to you, its host, and never lets go. 

You might love the man. Why else would a perfectly rational grown woman have worried herself sick over her neighbor who she has spent a collective twenty hours in the presence of?

“What? I wanted to see if you were alright–”

“I said you can go. I don’t need a nurse or some woman hovering over me right now. Just leave me alone.” 

You must love him. Why else would you let yourself be spoken to with such disgust and condescension and still want to kiss and caress and take care of the inductor of the pain now simmering in your chest?

Eyes stinging and tears threatening to fall, you bite your lip to keep the messy emotions at bay, fully confident that a wet tantrum would not help your case. Some woman.

He sees your face fall and sighs deeply, his shoulders drooping. “Shit, I’m sorry, (Y/N). My assignment was shitty and I’m tired and I’ve had too much to drink. I’m sorry. Don’t let me be an ass to you, okay?” He sets his beer down on the table beside him. 

“It’s okay, really. I get it. I should have waited until you settled in–I shouldn’t have–” 

Even though he has already apologized, the tears come anyway, welling up on your lashes, stringing as they drip down your cheeks ruthlessly. He jumps up like the seat is on fire, lunging toward you, tugging your body into his arms. Booze and wood strong on his neck as he pulls you closer, rocking you gently from side to side. 

“Fuck,” he swears with a bite, moving to lock his jaw on the crown of your head. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I don’t feel like myself today.” 

Baby. He just called you ‘baby’. He doesn’t notice, but you do. 

You cry out into his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso, hiccuping. Gosh, you probably look so pathetic and childish right now, sobbing into this man’s shirt, but you can’t help it. 

“I’m just glad you’re alive, Leon. You scared me. You said you might not come back one day, and I was so worried when I didn’t see you for so long.” 

“I know, I’m so sorry. Don’t worry about me, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” 

But he is. He’s moving, and soon at that. One day in the near future, you’ll be separated by a lot more than a patch of grass and a retaining wall that does nothing but help you step into his yard. 

Maybe you can convince him to stay. Maybe your love will convince him that he is worthy of a home, of space, of beauty in his life. That’s why you kiss him, because you think your touch will keep him here. 

His lips are softer than you had imagined, and his mouth tastes like the bitter tang of liquor. The touch riles up a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. 

He pulls away, hands coming up to your upper arms. 

“I’ve had a few drinks.” 

August

“Leon, is that you?” 

You know it is. 

The sound of his sneaker-clad feet–the sound you have practically memorized–cut through the late summer sounds of chirping crickets and heat waves. The hot day melted into a swarthy evening, a bright yellow sun slowly dipping into the horizon, painting the sky with pink and purple clouds. The streetlamps have already turned on, and children have returned from dinner to continue their outdoor activities. A couple of kids from across the street play hopscotch on the sidewalk they painted with chalk earlier. 

“Hey.” He doesn’t say anything more as he takes a seat next to you on the porch swing, the wood creaking beneath the additional weight. It swings back and forth an inch.

“It’s been a while,” you admit, already blushing beneath his gaze. Regret blooms in your chest. You really could have gone without divulging to him that you’ve practically been marking the time he’s been gone like a prisoner counting down the days until his release by scratching chalky lines into the walls of his cell.  

“Yeah,” he says. His voice is low and rough, like he’s been sick or coughing a lot, at least. “I was gone for work.” 

“I assumed so.” 

The two of you share an understanding glance and he smirks at you. It’s a small tug at the corner of his lips, but you feel as though the ground has shifted beneath you. A tectonic shift. 

You’ve gotten used to Leon’s schedule. It’s predictably unpredictable. By now, you know that if you don’t see him for days–or weeks–on end, he’s saving the world from some nasty beast, and you will be at home, on your knees, praying to whichever god will listen that he returns home safely. Sometimes, he tells you. Sometimes, you just have to wait for his car to return by nightfall and if it doesn’t, you know he’s away. 

“Are you okay?” He looks particularly tortured today, shoulders heavy, the bags under his eyes more purple than normal 

He nods. “Yeah, I’m okay.” 

“Where were you this time?” You shouldn’t have even said it, but it just slips out before you can stop yourself, knowing good and well he can rarely divulge details like where he was or what he did.

“Classified,” you both say in unison, and that earns you a chuckle. 

“Right. I know better than to ask.” 

Pivoting on the swing until your back meets the armrest, you bend your knees to bring your legs up to the wooden slats. Leon looks down at your bare feet, slender and soft, your toenails painted a pretty pink color. And then your shins, shiny. Smooth. You have a scar on your right knee, a translucent crescent in the skin just below the cap. 

“I missed you while you were gone. I had to start taking cookies over to the Anderson kids across the street.” 

“Bet they loved that.” 

“Yeah. Not sure their parents did, though. I put a lot of sugar in those things. They were probably bouncing off the walls.” 

He just smiles, flashing a set of imperfect teeth. Crows’ feet deepen, the lines around his mouth crease. You love how real he is, even if he seems damaged or burdened, even if he sometimes only gives you one-word responses, or sulks off when you feel like he’s starting to let you in, he’s real. 

“I want to be straight forward for a sec.” 

He crooks a brow, turning his face toward you, and clears his throat. “Okay.” He says it like it’s a question.

“What are we doing here?” 

A smile appears on his face, and you brace yourself for some joke to come slithering off his tongue. 

“We’re sitting on your porch, talking about you poisoning Mr. and Mrs. Anderson’s kids with sugar.” 

You can tell he thought he’d get a laugh out of you, but you’re sorry to disappoint when your face stays still. 

“I’m serious.” You swing your legs around so you’re sitting up straight, toes grazing the clay tiles beneath you. He swallows, watching you adjust your hips on the wooden slats, the hips not covered nearly enough by your cotton shorts. “You’re so nice to me, and forgive me if I’m wrong and…I don’t know, maybe I’ll seem stupid and immature for saying this, but I thought you wanted something to come from this. I know I did. I–” 

He shuts you up with a kiss. A real one this time. Not on the cheek. Not blurred by the fuzz of liquor or sadness in need of comfort. His hands are on your upper arms, pulling you closer to him. He tastes even better than you imagined. His lips feel better. Everything is better because it’s actually happening. 

Leon Kennedy, your neighbor, the man you have been pining over like a schoolgirl for the past year, is kissing you, finally, and it’s electric. Shocks buzz beneath your skin, butterflies flutter in your low belly. Hot plasma runs through your veins. Nerve endings fire off on all cylinders. 

It’s magic, and as quickly as it happened, it ends. 

“Miss (Y/N)?” 

You and Leon pull away from each other at the sound of Richy Anderson approaching your porch with his little sister in tow not far behind him. One of Leon’s hands falls down until it’s flush to your back as you turn to look at the pair of hooligans. Richy’s shirt is covered in what you hope is chocolate ice cream. Mia’s white-blonde hair is sticking up in all directions, loose from the braid trailing down her back. Oh to be a child drinking up the last days of summer vacation.

“Hi there,” is all you say, a fat smile plastered on your face. 

“The chalk washed off and we don’t know how to draw it again.” 

You glance over at Leon, still touching the small of your back as you lean forward slightly to talk to the kids. His thumb draws circles there, felt through the thin fabric of your tank top. Warmth blossoms in your chest and your stomach wobbles. 

“Sure thing. Do you still have the chalk?”

“Yes ma’am,” Richy says. Mia nods in agreement behind him, the flesh beneath her jaw more pronounced as she tucks her chin into her neck, lips pressed into a pucker like she just took a bite out of a lemon wedge. 

“I’m being summoned,” you say, glancing back at Leon.

He smiles wide, removing his hand from the small of your back to place both palms on his knees. “Look, I have a meeting tomorrow that might run late, but the day after, I’m going to take you out for dinner. How does that sound?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Sounds amazing.” 

With a kiss to your temple, Leon retreats back into his house, leaving you with the Anderson kids as they drag you by the hand to their side of the street, leading you toward a patch of concrete left soaked by a nearby sprinkler. The phantom whisper of your mouth still tingles on his lips as he watches you through his living room window while you play hopscotch with the children, jumping from one sneaker-clad foot to the other, closing your legs then parting them as you make your way down the line of numbers you helped them redraw with chalk. 

The sight makes his heart swell with desire, his chest tighten with fear. For the first time in a while, Leon Kennedy is really, truly afraid. Before, he felt comfortable admiring you from a distance. He would catch himself daydreaming about you when he was stuck in the office, writing reports under buzzing fluorescence. 

He would think about the warmth of the cozy home you made yours with decorative lamps and artwork clung to the walls, the warmth of your smile, your hands. In meetings, when the lights were turned down low and the hum of the projector harmonized with the drone of whoever was presenting, he would let his mind drift to make-believe images of you in his bed next to him or sitting in his chair, on his lap as he read out loud to you from whichever book was first on the rotation. He could conjure up the smell of your hair if he focused hard enough. Jasmine and honeysuckle, like the first day of spring after a dry, decrepit winter. You smelled like the break of dawn and hope and the promise of a rainbow after a storm. 

When on missions, when faced with death and all sorts of rotten things, he would picture your face–a pinprick of beauty amid the tumult and destruction–and it reinvigorated in him the desire to keep pressing forward. Your eyes, your lips, the little bump of your nose, all the light at the end of the dark, lonely tunnel that has been his life. 

But now? Now, he has touched you. Even worse, he has kissed you. He felt the same electricity you did when your mouths finally collided, a testament to the chemistry between you both. He’s tried so hard to ignore it, to distance himself from the feelings that keep scratching their way to the surface, because for things to work out leaves him a lot more vulnerable to hurt than if nothing came of it, than if the kiss meant nothing.

You’ve changed him. Even Sherry had noticed a difference. She had heard him humming in his office one day. It stopped her in the tracks of her clicky high heels, but she didn’t prod or poke at him. She didn’t have to ask. She just knew. Leon was happy. Happier. 

But he was also scared out of his mind. It had happened so many times before. He would find someone, open his heart to them, build with them a trust that they wouldn’t abandon him, even if things got hard. Even if he had to leave for an indefinite amount of time. Even if he got hurt. Even if he retreated so far within himself it was hard to crawl back up to the surface. They would promise him patience, promise him undying affection, long-enduring love. But those promises always ended up broken, shattered, and it would leave him hollow once more. 

That’s why he has given up. That’s why he’s selling his house. That’s why he’s been taking on more missions, fully prepared for one to be his last, waiting for the final blow. That is, before he met you. Now, he’s counting down the days until he can retire. He’d do that for you. They probably won’t let him, not for another ten years, but he’d try. For you. 

Leon thinks about you for the rest of the evening as he scurries around, a newfound pep in his step, as he showers, as he cracks open a chilled beer, as he settles into his chair and opens the next book in his queue. 

He’s barely two pages in when there’s a knock at his door. God, he hopes it’s you. 

“Leon,” you say as he opens the door, letting in a warm swath of air. It smells sweet, or maybe that’s just you. 

“Hi.” Your heart is racing. You can practically hear it thumping in your ears. It only speeds up when you see Leon, shirtless, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants low on his hips. There’s a pair of wiry reading glasses sitting on the straight line of his nose. His hair is damp. 

If you weren’t originally planning on jumping him when he opened the door, you definitely are now. 

He is perfectly sculpted, nothing to hide the peaks and valleys of his abdomen, feathered with a light dusting of hair. Scars run up and down his chest, some translucent, blending into the shimmering paleness of his skin. Others are red and angry, fresh. Your fingertips ache to touch them, to run up and down the vein that bulges beneath the skin of his arm, his broad chest and even broader shoulders. You’ve always been a tactile being, but seeing so much of Leon’s uncharted body has you chomping at the bit to get your hands on him. 

He can see that you’re flustered. Inflamed cheeks. Your hands are shaking. Breath unsteady.

“Hey. Everything alright?” He looks out at the street behind you, eyes surveilling the darkness that had fallen over the neighborhood since he lips had last been on yours. 

He’s so sweet. You’re so horny your skin is itching and your ears are ringing and he’s asking if you’re okay. Fuck, you might actually love the man. No, you’re sure you do. Head over heels type of love. That’s what you feel, all the way from your feet to the top of your head. 

“Yeah, I–I’m okay,” you choke. You’re tweaking like an addict on the side of the road waiting for the next hit. Withdrawal. You’re going through withdrawal. “I just…you kissed me earlier and we didn’t really get to talk about it, and I–I–we didn’t get to finish…I wanna finish–ugh, not like that. Geez, I’m so sorry. I sound like such a pervert, but I…” Leon just smiles down at you, chuckling, amused at the blubbering girl in front of him. “I just want you to kiss me again. Please.” 

Leon has always been good at following orders. He pulls you into the house by your wrist, gently closing the door behind you until it clicks shut. His hands come to cup your cheeks and he presses you against the wall, but he doesn’t make a move yet. He just looks at you. 

“Can I?” 

You open your mouth to speak but no sound comes out, and the only response you’re able to muster is a nod. A very eager nod. With his finger still crooked beneath your chin, Leon pulls your lips up to his and the instant your mouths collide, your world is thrown upside down. It’s a chaste kiss, but it rocked you regardless. When he pulls away, you feel empty, needy for his lips to return to yours.

“I–I want—”

“What is it you want? Just tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything,” he promises in a whisper that tickles the sensitive skin at your ear. 

“I want you, Leon, in any way you’ll give yourself to me. I just want you.” Your palm presses against his bare chest, his skin hot to the touch. Fingertips trail down his abdomen, to the waistband of his sweatpants. He grabs your wrist, stopping your hand in its tracks. “I want you to make love to me.” 

Not fuck. Not screw. You want him to make love to you. And suddenly, this seems like less of a hook-up and more of…a promise of something more. He wants something more than taking you up against the wall of his foyer. 

He pulls away, hands retreating from your body. Your hips scream at the sudden withdrawal of his touch. “We should stop. I should take you out on a proper date before we do this.” 

“Leon?” 

He sobers up at his name short and curt on your tongue, looking down at you with wide eyes. 

“Do you know how long I’ve been thinking about this?” You don’t give him time to answer that question, taking his hands in yours, leading them back to your body where they belong. “Since you helped me move in last year. It’s been that long, I am not stopping now. And I don’t want to hear any more bullshit about being too young for you or too happy or innocent. I know what I’m doing.” 

Leon sighs, relenting. It isn’t hard to convince him to take things further with the girl he has been dreaming about…also for a year. “But not here. Let’s go to the bedroom.” He takes your hand in his and guides you toward the stairs, glancing back to take a look at you every couple of steps as if he’s scared you’ll disappear or run away from him. 

His bedroom. 

You pull off your tank top and tug down your shorts, leaving yourself in nothing but a pair of white lace panties and a matching bra. He nearly chokes on air, bringing a cupped hand to his mouth as he takes in the sight of you. The sight of his beautiful, sweet, young neighbor who is standing two steps from bare in front of him—in front of the bed the two of you are about to share.  

With your hair tied up at the nape of your neck, your lacquered lips, the white lingerie hugging your body…you look almost bridal and the thought of you as his wife steals the breath from his lungs. 

“Please take them off,” you say in a low, hushed voice, taking a step back until the backs of your knees meet the edge of the mattress. “I wore them for you, but I want them off now.” 

“You wore these for me?” His eyes are sharp with incredulity. He can’t believe that you wore these for him, that you thought ahead. That you thought about doing this with him and you dressed up for it. That you want him as badly as he wants you. 

“Yes,” you say with a shy nod, taking your lower lip between your teeth. “I changed into them before I came over. I thought you might like them.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, sinking down to his knees right before you without a second thought. For a moment, you worry about his poor joints on the wood planks, but from the very few details he has told you about his job, you’re sure it requires him to go up against bigger enemies than a hard floor. “I do. I really do.”

“Good.”

“Can I taste you?” He looks up into your eyes with such yearning, you could never refuse him. He could ask you to bite your own hand off and you sink your teeth in, eagerly. 

“You don’t have to ask, Leon. Take whatever you want from me. It’s yours to have.” 

He mewls deep in his throat, eyes flickering back down to your panties. His fingers stay drilled into your thighs. Thick, calloused pads dig into your flesh, holding you still as he presses his nose into the drenched crotch of the garment, inhaling the scent of your arousal. A groan reverberates against your clit, sending shock waves through your veins. His lips begin kissing you through the lace. Your name is repeated on his tongue like a holy prayer. 

“Will you lie back for me, baby?” He pats your thighs like a jockey giving a horse a command. You shouldn’t find that as hot as you do, but you’ll have to reschedule that psychoanalysis for another time. “And lift your hips.”

You happily oblige under his command, scooting your seat onto the mattress until you’re in the perfect position for him to guide the scratchy lace underwear down your thighs. The sudden chill of the air conditioned room slaps your wet, bare clit and it makes you shiver. 

“Can I have these?” He asks, holding up the crumpled lump of lace in his fist, sincerity glassy in his eyes. No man has ever asked to keep your panties before. Then again, no other man has been like Leon. “I’ll buy you more.”

“Um, sure,” you reply with a stifled giggle and he just nods, once, with all the seriousness in the world, and stuffs the underwear into the pocket of his sweatpants before flickering his eyes back up at you. 

“Thank you.” He has a ravenous look in his eyes as he stares at the flesh between your legs. “Beautiful,” he murmurs to himself before gazing back up at you. “You’re perfect, you know that? Absolutely perfect.” 

He begins by kissing your clit sweetly, gradually building the tempo, licking and lapping up your wetness like he’s been wandering in the desert for days, starved and thirsty, and you’re a well of water with his name carved into it. The tip of his tongue enters you and it sends your back off the mattress as if you’ve been possessed. You instinctively try to close your legs, but the heels of his palms keep them open.

“Leon,” you whine, digging your fingers in his hair, then working your way down to his clothed shoulders.  

He grins smugly against your pussy, continuing his movements in the same combination and rhythm that elicited that sound from you. If he ever fell deaf, that is the only sound he would miss, that moan and the way you say his name, so sweet and sincere. Like the song of a heavenly being. 

“Don’t stop,” you beg with the most strength you can muster. It still comes out weakly, carried by a hitched breath.

He wouldn’t dream of it. In fact, he is so caught up in the way you feel on his face, your pussy wet and warm on his chin, that he doesn’t think he could stop if the house was burning around him. 

“Leon, I’m so close. Please.” 

You peel yourself off the mattress, pushing up onto your elbows to get a better view at the man between your thighs. His dark blonde hair, streaked with a few strands of sand and salt, flops down his temples as he worships your clit with his tongue, licking and sucking. The sounds coming from below are disgustingly explicit. Your fingers find his hair, pressing his head further into your pussy. He groans beneath the commanding touch, the vibration pushing you closer toward the edge. 

A coil tightens in your belly. The muscles of your abdomen begin to tense and release. The walls of your cunt pulsate, contracting around nothing. 

“I–I’m–fuck.”

The sound of his muffled groans harmonizes with your obscene cries as you huff and puff and yelp through your orgasm. 

He leans back from between your legs, wiping your glistening arousal off his mouth and chin before he jumps up onto the bed, pulling you further onto the mattress on his way to you. 

The next thing you know, his mouth is on yours, the taste of you still pungent on his tongue, sweet and wet. His hand dances down between your bodies to cup your sullied cunt, to grab what he has now branded as his. 

“You want me here?” His eyes flicker down to where his hand has latched onto his cock as he strokes himself to fill stiffness, then glances back up at you. “Tell me if you don’t, and I’ll stop.”

You want him everywhere, but you don’t say that aloud. You don’t say anything, too dumb to speak. 

“Tell me if this is okay.” 

Finding the strength to speak, you finally mumble a confirmation. “Yes, yes, it’s okay, Leon. Please. I want to feel you inside.” You sound so desperate. It’s jarring hearing your own voice bending into such an indecent prayer. 

He lines himself up with your entrance, which is now throbbing in anticipation of the impending stretch, and with your additional permission, this time in the form of a gasping plea, he trusts inside, not wasting another moment of not feeling you around him. Cursing under his breath, he pulls out just an inch before pumping back into you, the sound of your sappy arousal sloshing against him with every slap of his pelvis against yours, is lewd and borderline pornographic against the walls of his bedroom. 

“I’ve wanted this—fuck—for so long, you have no idea,” he growls into the crook of your neck, labored breath hot on your skin. “Ever since you came over to my house that night you got locked—mhm—you got locked out—” Another bellow. “When you kissed me on the cheek.” 

He continues. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that. Honestly–mhm–I was thinking about you before that. Fuck.” 

“I know, Leon,” you gasp as he bottoms out, filling you with the complete length of his cock. You didn’t even know he wasn’t fully inside you yet. The stretch is earth-shattering. You fist the sheets beneath you, and when that isn’t enough release, you grab onto Leon’s lats, burying your fingers into the thick planks of muscle there, digging your nails into his skin until they leave half-moon indentations. “I’ve–I’ve been wanting this too. For so, so long.” You’re stuttering, voice cracking each time he thrusts himself inside. 

“Use me, Leon. Use me to feel good. I want you to feel good.” 

He mewls at the sound of every single honeyed word dripping from your tongue, and you mean each one with your whole heart. You want to lighten the burden that weighs down on him in any way you can, whether it’s cookies or company, or your wet pussy squeezing his cock. Anything. You would do anything to make him feel better. 

“So good, baby,” he mumbles in your ear, breath foggy on the skin of your neck. “You’re so good to me, always so good. You take care of me. I don’t deserve you.” 

Tears stream down your cheeks and into your hairline. You almost didn’t realize you were crying at first. You have wanted him since the day you met him, since he lifted that box off your arms and helped you move into your home. You want to do the same for him. You want to take away all the heavy things in his life, or at least help carry them. 

As you wrap your legs tighter around his hips to pull him further into you, he bellows out your name. “I’m not gonna last long at this rate, sweetheart.” His breath is labored. 

“That’s okay, go ahead,” you whisper. Then, “I’m safe. I want you to cum inside me.” 

He retreats just an inch to look into your eyes, and you give him an assuring nod in return. Leon picks up the pace. With a final few thrusts, he reaches his climax, filling you to the brim with the gush of his orgasm, before collapsing on top of you, your name cascading from his lips on the way down.

A sliver of pale moonlight seeps through the windows, reflecting off the sheen of slick sweat coating Leon’s chest as he rolls over. He pants, his chest rising and falling. As he regains his strength, his palm comes up to your thigh, and he looks over at you. The tears you shed earlier have since dried down into sticky patches of salt beneath your eyes and at your temples. Your hair is messy, strands falling into your face. Lips, blushed and plump. 

You roll over at the touch, lying on your side to get a better look at him, locking his palm between your legs. His hair is also messy. Dark blonde strands stick up at the crown of his head, at his temples, anywhere your fingers had mussed it during the act. Funny enough, he almost looks younger. The wrinkles at his forehead, between his brows, the fine lines beneath his eyes. They’re smoother. The whites of his eyes have won the battle against the purple circles beneath them–the bitter crescents born from stress and poor sleep hygiene. 

He looks over at you and grins a big, toothless grin that climbs all the way up to his eyes–eyes that, for the first time since you’ve known him, look completely full of light. 

If someone had asked you what an ideal Sunday looked like to you this time last year, you probably wouldn’t have come up with "a police officer ten years younger than you feeding you strawberries in bed after absolutely rocking your world with his mouth and cock". But here you were. Life was unpredictable sometimes. 

You were sprawled out on Leon’s chest, taking a bite from the juiciest strawberry of all time, eyes fluttering shut with a content sigh. 

Leon chuckled, his chest vibrating under your palm and cheek. He grabbed another strawberry and brought his arm down beside the bed. 

Guinevere’s head shot up and she balanced on her hind legs to snatch the treat from Leon’s hands. You had placed a little mat beside your bed for her. She just liked to hang out there sometimes, be close to you. Especially if she was being spoiled like that by the man in your bed. 

“You know how they say people and their pets mirror each other and become alike?” he said and you smiled. 

“We were always alike, me and her.” You opened your mouth, looking at him from the corner of your eye, silently asking for another strawberry. 

He chuckled again, doing as you asked. “That was the last one. I’m all out.” 

You savoured the last taste of strawberry, humming softly before moving up on Leon’s chest, pressing a kiss to his full lips. 

“Mh, strawberry,” he murmured.  

You smiled, kissing him again, open mouthed and a little more heated this time. He sighed into the kiss, tongue brushing against yours. You propped yourself up beside his head, legs either side of his hips, grinding your bare pussy over his cock.

He let out a content groan, grabbing your ass and pressing you down on him. Your breath hitched and you deepened the kiss, feeling him get hard again between your folds, right where you wanted him to be. 

Leon pressed his forehead against yours. “I think we’re all out of condoms, too.” 

You chuckled. You and the rookie really tore through packets of them like there was no tomorrow. 

“I’m on birth control,” you whispered, trailing kisses along his jawline and bringing yourself up into a seated position. 

Leon moaned softly, holding on to your hips, watching your chest rise and fall with your breaths. “Are you sure?” 

You bit your lip, rolling your hips against him, nodding. His mouth fell open ever so slightly and you lifted yourself up a little higher, lining him up with your entrance. You were still wet from the rounds before, spreading your slickness all over the thick head of his cock, before sinking down slowly.

Leon drew in a sharp breath. “Oh fuck, that feels so good.” 

You mewled softly, feeling your walls stretch around him. You really fit him like a glove, it was perfect. 

Palming your tits, you started rolling your hips, grinding your clit against him, the friction so delicious, it made you flutter around his cock.

“Oh shit, that’s almost too good,” Leon breathed, his brows knitting together in helpless pleasure. “Oh my god.” 

You agreed. Taking the rookie without anything separating you was an almost transcendental experience. 

He thrust up to meet you at the next roll of your hips and you gasped as the tip of him kissed your cervix. 

“Oh fuck,” he panted, his fingers digging deep into the soft flesh of your hips. 

You leaned back, propping yourself up on his thighs, gliding your pussy all over the entire length of him until he almost slipped out all the way, circling your hips slowly around the tip of his cock, throwing your head back in pure bliss. 

Leon whined and his thumb found your clit, caressing it. 

You let out a low moan, bringing your head forward to watch the way he slid in and out of you, his cock glistening with your juices. The sight of it was even more obscene than the feeling of it. He was so god damn big.

“Holy shit,” Leon groaned, breath coming ragged. “Wait, slow down, oh fuck.” He whimpered and wrapped an arm around you, halting your movements.

He sat up, burying his head in the crook of your neck, desperately trying to catch his breath. 

“Are you okay?” you asked, running a hand through his hair. 

He nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed, swallowing hard. 

You rutted against him, desperate for more, holding on to his shoulders as you started bouncing on his cock, obscene squelching sounds filling the bedroom. 

Little feet raced over the hardwood floor back into the living room and you chuckled.

Thank you, Guinevere, for giving us some privacy, you thought, as a lewd moan slipped past your lips.

“Oh fuck, yes, oh my god, yes,” Leon panted, his mouth finding your nipples, sucking on them, as he pressed his forehead against your chest. “Mh.” He let out a strangled whimper, gripping your waist tighter, biceps flexing. 

"Leon," you moaned, knowing he fucking adored it when you said his name like that. He groaned into your chest and you felt yourself clench down on him as you took him deeper, harder, feeling him press into your cervix, rubbing along it. 

“Ah, fuck, oh my god,” Leon whined, letting out a high pitched moan and twitching inside you. “Ah, no, wait, slow down, no, I don’t wanna, ah—” He shuddered beneath you, pushing up into you with sloppy thrusts accompanied by a deep guttural groan, his cheek pressed against your tits. “Oh fuck, oh no.” 

He cried out, gripping you tightly, rutting into you like a man possessed, before he stilled, his cheeks becoming red hot. 

“Leon?” you asked and he avoided your gaze. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, trying to regain composure. “I don’t know what— oh fuck, I’m so sorry. Without a condom, it’s just— you feel way too good.” 

You chuckled softly, cupping his cheeks and forced him to look up at you, his blue puppy eyes full of shame. 

“I— that was my first time, I didn’t know it was gonna be like that. I wasn’t prepared,” he whined, a pained expression on his face. 

You captured his lips in a soft kiss, a warm fuzzy feeling spreading through you. 

“So I did pop your cherry after all,” you murmured, nudging his nose with yours. 

“Kinda,” he confessed. “I’ve never done it without a condom until now.” 

You kissed him again and he hummed against your lips. “Why did nobody ever tell me how much better that feels? Oh my god. Your pussy is from heaven,” he murmured and you chuckled. 

“I don’t think anyone has called my vagina celestial before,” you said, biting back a grin. 

“I find that hard to believe,” Leon replied, looking up at you. “And you’re so fucking beautiful.” 

You went rigid and shook your head. “Don’t.” 

“What?” he asked, clearly puzzled. 

“Every guy at the club calls me beautiful all day. It’s like that’s the only thing they can come up with. It makes me feel like I’m at work.” 

Leon nodded, silence stretching between you both. 

“You’re also really gentle, even though you pretend to be mean sometimes,” he whispered and you stared at him, his chin resting on your breasts, blue eyes wide and honest. “And you’re really funny.” 

Your breath caught in your throat, lips parting. 

“And you crinkle your nose when you’re thinking really hard about something. Guinea pigs most of the time.” 

You blinked, an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. 

“And you smack your lips when you eat strawberries. I don’t think you notice. But it’s like you can’t help it, you just like the taste of them so much.” 

You caught yourself playing with his hair and pulled away, patting his head instead, suddenly painfully aware that you were leaking his cum onto both of your thighs. This was about as close as you could get to the rookie. There weren't that many boundaries left after this.

“I really need to go pee,” you murmured, climbing off him, adhering to Crystal’s advice.

"Can I make it up to you, when you get back?" he asked, sinking down into the pillows, watching you. You let out a shaky breath, desperately trying to keep the walls you had built to protect yourself from crumbling with your bare hands.

You clenched your legs together, his cum dripping out of you. Leon followed it with his eyes, mesmerised.

A dirty, dirty freak. And so, so hot.

You bit your lip and shrugged. "I guess."

His eyebrows shot up. "You guess?"

You rushed into the bathroom, burying your face in your hands, watching helplessly as the walls collapsed one by one.

Technically you wouldn’t come in on a Tuesday, but Crystal had called you, letting you know that the club was packed after Raccon City had lost in the varsity football game. Which meant that it might be a good day to make a shit ton of money.

Disappointed football fans were typically a little tipsy, desperate to turn the night around and on the hunt for a quick dopamine fix. In other words, a whole lot of good and easy to handle customers that wouldn’t stick around longer than they needed to.

So you, already in your pyjamas and with your skincare on, got yourself all dolled up and put on something naughty, ready to hit the club. 

You were in a weird mood. After the strawberry day spent in your bed, you and Leon had barely spoken.

Barely spoken was an overstatement. Radio silence was more like it. 

Not on his end.

On your end. Entirely.

But that was a good thing. This had gone way too far. You and him had gotten way too close, way too comfortable with one another. You had let him fuck you raw, for Christ’s sakes. Like you were a couple or something. This had to end now.

At the same time, you felt kind of empty. Like you were missing something. You didn’t know what it was, but your body was absolutely screaming for it. You felt a little … vulnerable without it. Like you wanted the ... thing to hold you close and gently stroke your hair, kiss you on the forehead, maybe. 

This was probably because you were in luteal phase. You always were in a strange mood then. Also because strippers made the least amount of money during that point in their cycle and you really enjoyed raking in the dollar bills. It was the best part of your job after all.

“Ah shit,” you cursed, trying to find a place for your truck in the parking lot in front of the club. Because you were so late and the club was so packed, there just wasn’t any space.

Groaning in annoyance, you drove a couple streets down to park in a small alleyway. You took in your surroundings. It looked a little sketchy maybe. But you were only going to stay here for a couple of hours, tops. The night was nearly over. You wouldn't be long.

To your surprise, the club wasn’t only packed with regular football dads and uncles, but with college students too.

They didn't come here. There was the odd group every once in a while, but college students really weren’t your usual clientele. 

To even more of your surprise, one of them immediately came up to you before you even had time to walk past the bar and into the actual client area. 

“Sorry, are you Lola?” 

You looked at him, trying to figure out if you had seen him before and maybe that was where he knew you from. 

“Yes, I am,” you replied. 

“Great,” he said. “Listen, uh, how much is a private dance?” 

“A hundred.” You leaned against the bar. There was a reason college students didn’t come here often. The fact that they were only old enough to get in in their final year for one. The other reason was that they were perpetually skint. 

“Oh, okay. Uhm, could me and my friend split the dance fifty-fifty? We only have a hundred between us.” 

You smiled, pinching his cheek. “No.”

Bartering at the strip club like that was insanely disrespectful. Didn’t stop them from trying every once in a while regardless.

You rolled your eyes and stalked off, trying to find some actual paying customers.

Despite the stingy college students, it ended up being a successful shift for you and you were positively raking in the hundreds, despite the short amount of time until closing time.

But that was a good thing, too. You probably only had one last dance in you before your muscles got too sore. Maybe you could find a fun one. Someone really pretty. Treat yourself, why didn’t you?

It would take your mind off this awful empty feeling that you couldn’t place. 

That feeling that definitely wasn’t related to anyone. Especially not someone blonde and broad shouldered. Why did that image even pop up in your head?

You brushed it off and got up on stage, flinging your body around the pole, raking in the tips. This one Spanish guy was especially generous. 

“I get how someone would fall in love in here. Fuck me, I get it,” he purred as you let him slip a twenty into the waistband of your thong on either side of your hip bone. 

“Oh really?” you crooned, leaning in a little closer. He was kind of cute. He would be a fun one to dance on.  

You tilted your head, examining him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” 

He chuckled. “You’re right. This is my first time.” 

You smiled. “Well,” you said, “Do you want a welcome dance?” 

He grinned. “I don’t know. Girl like you probably has some love sick boyfriend waiting for her at home. I don’t want to interfere.” 

“Matter of fact, I don’t,” you whispered into his ear and he was putty in your hands. He bargained with himself for a second, then muttered a foreign curse under his breath and slipped you a hundred. 

You had to wait a little while for a private room to become available, that’s how packed the club was. But when you did, the Spanish guy plopped right down on the couch, arms stretched out wide on the backrest. 

You chuckled, setting the timer. “So, you have done this before, huh? Just not here.” 

“Let’s just say I appreciate the finer things in life, señorita,” he said and you grinned. He was funny. You liked that. 

“Can I smoke in here?” 

“Sure,” you murmured, hearing the telltale sound of a lighter igniting a cigarette. He took in his surroundings, blowing out the smoke.

“It’s not really a private room if there’s CCTV in here,” he observed, gaze snagging on where the camera was carefully hidden in a dark corner above the door.

The whole place was riddled with them. Even though the owner, Tony, prided himself with his establishment being safe, it was still a stripclub. You could never be too careful.

Anything that was going on in the club, be it at the bar, by the poles or even in the private rooms, was recorded and stored in Tony’s office when the tape was full.

People typically didn’t notice because they had their eyes on other things.

“Smart cookie,” you praised, sauntering over to your client, tantalisingly running your hands all along your torso, unclasping the back of your stripper attire, letting it fall to the ground. “So, what’s your name sweetheart?” 

“Dios mío,” the guy said, gulping, staring at your tits.

You clicked your tongue. “I don’t think that’s a name, honey.” You lowered yourself down onto his lap, playing with the collar of his shirt. 

“Luis,” he said. 

You hummed, rolling your hips. He drew in a sharp breath and took a drag from his cigarette to calm himself down. 

“Luis is a lovely name,” you whispered, letting your tits bounce a little more than necessary with every movement. “What do you do, Luis? Do you want to tell me or should I guess?”

“I’m a researcher. A biologist.”

“You know, my father was a biologist,” you purred, biting your lip. 

His eyebrows shot up. “Really?"

You nodded, biting back a grin. Cop, researcher, whatever. Your daddy had a lot of professions these days. All of them coming to a tragic end towards the grand finale of your dance for extra tips.

"You know, I wasn't quite sure how good this place was going to be. But my roommate loves it here, so I thought I'd see it for myself," he murmured, his hands twitching, itching to touch your bare skin.

"Who's your roommate?" you asked, turning around so he could get a good eyeful of your ass, as you dropped down low, hovering over his crotch oh so enticingly.

"He's a cop," Luis breathed, visibly distracted.

You chuckled, feeling the tip of his hard-on press into your backside. "That really narrows it down."

"He's a really nice guy. Too nice for his own good," he said, taking another drag from his cigarette. "He fell in love with one of the girls here but she treats him like shit."

You halted your movements, looking at him over your shoulder. "What?"

He blew out a waft of smoke. "Oh yeah, she's a real bitch. Proper toying with him. I get that she's probably super hot, but he deserves so much better if you ask me."

You continued gyrating your hips, lowering your chin so you could look up at him through your eyelashes. They all loved that.

"Is that what he says? That she's a bitch?"

Luis clicked his tongue. "He would never say it like that. But I know he thinks it sometimes."

You nodded, a sinking feeling spreading through your stomach.

Luis bit back a groan. Oh right. His dick. You were kinda grinding on it out of habit. You lifted yourself back up.

"Just out of curiosity, what's your roommate's name?" you asked, your heart nearly jumping out of your chest.

"Leon," Luis murmured and his eyes flew open, as if he just realised something. "Wait, what's your name?"

You paused. "Helena."

Luis let out a relieved sigh. "Oh, thank god. Leon would kill me if I got a dance with Lola. Because that's his girl, you see. I think he loves her."

You swallowed, turning around to face him again, holding on to his shoulders. They were too small. Not muscular enough. "I think so, too."

Luis wrinkled his forehead. "Wait, how do you know?"

You shrugged. "Just locker room talk amongst the girls between shifts. Lola is a real talker."

Luis let out a strangled breath, his head falling back onto the sofa. "So how does she feel about him? If she's such a talker, I'm sure she's told you."

You sighed. "She's scared of him, Luis."

"What?" His head came back up, a puzzled look on his face. "Scared of Leon? That's ridiculous."

"Why is that ridiculous?" You snapped, clearing your throat when you realised that wasn't very Helena of you. "He clearly has the upper hand."

Luis burst into laughter. "You're kidding."

You stared at him, softly shaking your head.

"He's on his fucking knees, Helena." He huffed. "I get why she's scared. The whole keeping up the façade kinda stuff, right? Don't let anyone penetrate your walls in fear of rejection? Or that they might hurt you? I get it. I'm a lot like that myself. Mi mamá always used to say that too. But you see—"

"You talk a lot, has anyone ever told you that?"

He cleared his throat. "Leon would never hurt her."

"Oh, that's really interesting, because the way I see it, he doesn't have the maturity it takes to actually be in love with someone like her. And the fantasy is always amazing, right? But that's far from an actual relationship with a woman in my field of work."

Luis watched you intently. "You talk a lot, yourself, has anyone ever told you that?"

You cleared your throat.

The timer went off, saving you.

You smiled, climbing off his lap. "Time's up. Please come again, Luis, baby."

He narrowed his eyes on you, but reached into his pocket and left you a generous tip. His mamá clearly had raised a boy with manners.

"I'll see you around, Helena."

You nodded, a smile plastered onto your face. "Bye."

Luis winked at you, as he slipped through the door, his cigarette lazily hanging from the corner of his mouth.

He was charming, you had to give him that. You were glad Leon lived with someone like him. Someone loyal, who watched out for him.

You slapped your forehead. "No, no, no, no, no. Lola, fucking stop it, get a grip. The rookie is none of your concern."

Then why did you miss him so badly? You wanted nothing more than to run to Leon right now, feeling all safe and protected in his arms and for him to tuck your head under his chin. Maybe feed you strawberries while he was at it.

Actually not only right now. You wanted to run to him all the time. After a tiring shift. After bad news at the vet. Whenever Francesca was losing weight despite you feeding her a special diet of pumpkin and sunflower seeds to bulk up.

But this was only safe in theory. In reality, all of this was so fucking unsafe. Giving him access to you like that? How would that even work?

He would get jealous eventually. They all did. He would give you an ultimatum: me or your job. Choose. You slut. Dancing half naked in front of strangers, grinding down on other men's cocks.

It had happened before. Multiple times.

If it even came to that. Most of the time, they rejected you, making it more than clear that they would never consider anything serious with someone like you. Even though they had pursued you like crazy at first.

Unlovable. The big bad word that sent you spiralling.

You let out a long breath, hugging yourself. Alright, time to call it a night and go home. Time to get back to Guinevere, Arwen, Caramelo and your sweet girl Francesca.

You picked up Luis' dollar bills and put them in your separate tip bag. In the locker room, you slipped out of your sweaty stripper attire and into your Juicy Couture tracksuit. Barely anyone knew of the brand yet, but you were convinced this would soon be desperately sought after.

You didn't bother to take off your jewellery, or fix your hair. You were only going home anyways. No more pit stops.

Your make up was a mess. Your eyeliner was smudged, your foundation caky because of the sweat separating it from your skin. You looked like you had had a rough night.

When you got to the parking lot, you groaned, remembering you had needed to park a couple streets down from the club. Your muscles ached with every step. But honestly, knowing there were close to two and a half grand of cold hard cash in your bag right now, you felt pretty accomplished.

Stopping in front of your car, you rummaged through your purse for your keys, when you felt a sudden surge of unease come over you. You stilled and checked your surroundings. There was nobody there.

You rubbed your forehead. Alright Lola, let's get you home. You're seeing things already.

“Give me your tip bag. Now.” 

Something hard and cold pressed into the space right in between your shoulder blades. You didn't need to turn around to know what it was.

Your blood ran cold. There was no way this was happening. Absolutely not.

When you didn’t react straight away, the person standing behind you pushed the cold metal harder into your back, shoving you forward. 

“Now, bitch.” 

You winced, rummaging through your bag, trying to figure out if there was any way you could maybe toss him something else.

The person cocked the gun and you let go of that idea, frantically pulling out your tip bag full of cash.

They snatched it from your grasp.

“Don’t turn around. You better believe I'll shoot.” 

Your whole body was shaking. All your earnings. Close to two and a half thousand dollars. 

The gun was removed from your back and you heard the person that had mugged you speed off into the darkness. 

"Leon?" you whimpered, because it was the only name you could remember in that moment.

You didn't dare move, unsure if they were gone or not. Eventually, you slowly turned around, a shiver racking through you. 

Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. Fucking shit. 

You fumbled for your car keys, nearly dropping them with how sweaty your palms were. You needed to get out of here as fast as you could. You weren’t too keen on finding out if there would be any back-up coming. 

You unlocked your car and pulled out of the parking space, breathing heavily and speeding down the main road on auto pilot, coming to a halt in front of the RPD.

Why did you drive straight here? You didn't trust cops. They were all your clients and freely spilled all their secrets to you while they stared at your tits and called you by the pet names of their daughters.

You pressed your forehead against the steering wheel, trying to calm your breathing.

You hoped Lieutenant Marvin Branagh was on duty right now. He was gentle and reliable. He also had a daughter, but he didn't come to see you. Out of everyone in the RPD he was the only one who you would trust with filing a report.

You braced yourself, nearly forgetting to lock your car in your absentmindedness and walked straight into the Raccoon City police station.

------

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself, both feet planted firmly onto the ground. You were a soldier. You could do this. You had done it many times before. This one wasn’t any different. 

Why you had ended up in this situation in the first place? Against better judgement no less? Excellent question, you were going to bring that up with upper management next time you had a chance. 

You let go and winced, hearing the trickle in the ceramic bowl. 

“Are you okay in there?” Crystal asked through the door of the bathroom stall. 

You drew in a sharp breath. Razorblades, liquid fire passing through your urethra. “No, I haven’t gotten any antibiotics yet.” 

Crystal sighed. “Does it hurt enough to make you stop hooking up with a twenty-one year old?” 

“I’m not hooking up with him, I hooked up with him once,” you hissed, pulling your underwear back up. 

Crystal chuckled. “Once? I thought you did the dirty like a hundred times because of his god given stamina?” 

You stepped out of the stall. “Not that many.” 

“Enough times to give you a UTI from hell.” Crystal followed you to the sink and you washed your hands. “I know you’re texting him.” 

“I’m not texting him,” you lied, a small blush creeping into your cheeks. 

“Your phone is buzzing more than my vibrator,” Crystal huffed. 

“That’s my mom.”

Crystal raised an eyebrow at you in the mirror. “You don’t talk to your mom.” 

You opened your mouth, trying to make up a better lie. 

Crystal shook her head. “Well whatever you do, pee after sex, girl. I’m begging you.” 

She didn’t have to tell you that. You weren’t going to make peeing razorblades a habit. Just like you weren’t going to make sleeping with the rookie a habit. 

Even though Leon was very sweet. He texted you in the morning before he went to work. A message you usually opened around noon, when you woke up for the day. On your days off, at night, you talked to each other on the phone until you fell asleep. 

Well, for the past two days you had. It wasn’t like this was a long term thing. Or was ever going to be. You had to figure out a way to let him down gently eventually, but for now, might as well enjoy it, right? You felt a little like you had gotten your early twenties self back through him. Like you were in the queue for tickets to a Nirvana concert and you were living in Seattle. 

But you lived in Raccoon City and you weren’t in your early twenties anymore. In fact, you were quite a long ways from your early twenties.

You adjusted the straps on your stripper attire. Today you were wearing a particularly risky little number. All straps and naked skin in between. Perfect for a Friday to make most of your income for the week. 

Your first dance certainly had been a success. You had gotten a lot of tips. You also spotted Brian out there somewhere, looking at you from behind the curtain of dollar bills as they rained down on you. 

Now that the razorblades were done you were ready to seek him out and get your first private dance secured. The earlier you gave him one, the likelier he was to come back for seconds later. Successful stripping was all strategy and timing. Skill was important, sure. But understanding the hustle got you paid more than the average girl. 

“Hey, hot stuff,” Brian greeted you as you approached him. 

“I’ve been looking for you.” you purred.

His eyebrows shot up and he got the hundred dollar bill out of his pocket so fast, you didn’t even have time to blink. 

You bit back a smile and took it from him. “So generous,” you whispered into his ear, a strategic hand placed on his hard chest. Brian liked the idea of being the one guy that afforded your lifestyle. That didn’t even come close but you wouldn’t tell him that. Fantasy was everything. Creating it was one part of your core skill set. 

The other part of your core skillset was being more flexible than any of them had ever seen outside the club. It made their imagination run wild.

“You know, I need to ask you something,” Brian murmured, as you shook your ass close enough to his face that he could take a bite out of it if he weren't restricted by club rules.

“Go ahead,” you said, your head somewhere close to your calves. 

“Did you lie to me about your side business because I’m a cop or because you don’t trust me as a person?” 

You wrinkled your forehead, coming back up and sitting on his lap. “I don’t follow.” 

“The clients you see ‘off the books’ so to speak. Did you not offer it to me because you think being the sergeant I would report you or is it because it’s personal?”

You chuckled. Not the prostitution talk again. This was so boring. “What clients do I see ‘off the books’?” 

“The rookie for one.” 

Your movements stuttered for a second, but not that Brian would notice. He was clearly preoccupied with one of your nipples slipping out between the straps. 

“What rookie?” You shrugged softly, palming your tits, as you rolled your hips over his half-hard cock. 

“Lola, come on. As if a woman like you would have sex with a dork like that for free,” he pressed, clearly distracted by your body. 

“See, so I obviously didn’t sleep with him, Brian baby.” You held onto his shoulders and put a little more effort into it to end this conversation. 

“That’s not what he says,” he murmured and your face fell. You turned away from Brian so he wouldn’t notice. What the fuck. So he did talk? Like Crystal predicted. 

No, he wasn’t like that. That was so unlike him. That was locker room talk in the RPD. Someone’s imagination was a little too vivid. 

You scoffed, pursing your lips. “And you believe him but not me? Disappointing.” You playfully ran a finger along the collar of his shirt. He was still in uniform. “Besides, the rookie is Helena’s regular. Maybe he’s confusing me with her.” 

“You were wearing his jacket when I saw you at the hardware store. Not Helena.” You stumbled in your movements again, a little more noticeable this time. “He’s parading around the office like he owns you, I hate it.” Brian looked at you with puppy eyes, which was a ridiculous sight to see on a middle aged police sergeant. 

“Does he really?” you whispered and Brian squeezed his eyes shut. 

“So it’s true then? Why don’t you trust me, Lola? I’ve known you for years.” 

You shook your head, trying to defuse the situation. Brian clearly was having a lot more of an emotional investment in this than he should have. 

“Brian, if I had a side business, you’d be the first to know about it,” you said, smiling at him, but it didn’t reach your eyes. Brian liked to feel special, maybe you could hook him with that. 

“Really?” He asked, leaning in a little too close for comfort.

The timer going off saved you. 

“Your time’s up, baby,” you crooned, climbing off him, clasping your shaky hands behind your back. This had been very uncomfortable. On so many levels. 

Brian got up off the couch, reaching into his pants, adjusting his boner for comfort while your heart was nearly beating out of your chest. What did he mean the rookie was parading around the RPD like he owned you? There was no way you misread him like that. 

You winked at Brian. “I’ll see you later. Okay, baby?” 

Brian blew you a kiss and you felt a little sick. On top of that you felt the need to pee again, knowing full well barely anything would come out. The UTI was a constant reminder of your stupidity. Of course all the rookie wanted was fuck the stripper. This wasn’t about you. 

You leaned against your locker, breathing out, remembering how you had told Crystal that the power imbalance between you and Leon with him being a cop wouldn’t be flipped just because you were playing with him for one night. You had played with him for two now.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You opened your locker and grabbed your make up to touch up. Your phone buzzed. A new text.

Have a great shift. 

From Leon. Of course.

Another one.

I can’t stop thinking about you. 

Another. 

Does Guinevere like strawberries?

You smiled. 

She does. So do I, you typed back, biting back a grin and putting your phone back into your bag. He wasn’t like that. A guy that checked in to see if your guinea pig liked strawberries? No way was he talking. Brian probably just put two and two together about the jacket. 

After touching up your make up, you went back out on the hunt, but not without stopping by the bar. 

“Do you have Cranberry juice?” you asked Crystal. 

“We have cosmopolitans?” Crystal yelled over the music.

You pressed your lips together. “You know what, sure. Give me a cosmo.” 

“That’s terrible for a UTI,” Crystal warned but you smiled at her. 

“I know.” You needed something a little stronger to shake off the encounter you just had with Brian. A little something to take the edge off. 

“Why are you looking at rats on company time?” 

Lieutenant Branagh’s words rang in his ears long after his shift at the RPD was over. He had explained to him that they weren’t rats and that in fact, guinea pigs were the one rodent species with the single most refined verbal communication system. They were so community oriented that it was actually illegal to keep them by themselves in some countries. 

“Really?” Branagh had asked. “That is fascinating. As is the report I asked you to complete about two hours ago.” 

Leon had jumped and frantically searched for the correct stack of papers, much to Brian’s amusement, who snickered at him from across the room. 

He was absolutely cooked. He didn’t care if he was your favourite toy. After feeling the snug, warm fit of your pussy around his cock, he was absolutely done for. He would be on his knees, begging for more if he had to. He had never met anyone like you. 

Walking through the door of the apartment, the unmistakable smell of weed hit him square in the face. 

“Hey, hermano. Qué pasa?” his roommate greeted him. 

Leon coughed. “Would you not open a window? There’s no oxygen in here.” 

“That’s kinda the appeal,” Luis said, taking another hit from his bong. 

Leon raised an eyebrow at him, slipping off his shoes and shrugging off his jacket. “What? Hotboxing our entire apartment?” 

Luis grinned. “Yes.” 

Leon cracked open a window regardless. 

“Do you wanna go out tonight?” Luis leaned over the backrest of the cream coloured couch. “The girls from the Alpha Kappa Delta sorority are throwing a party.” 

Leon lifted a slice of pizza from the carton on the kitchen counter, figuring out if it was fresh or not. “What does that even mean? Do you know what that means?” 

“It means they’re really hot,” Luis countered. “And I need a wingman.” 

Leon stared at him. “You need to write your dissertation and not hang out with undergrad sorority girls whose papers you’re grading.” 

Luis clicked his tongue. “You’re such a cop sometimes, you know.” 

Leon rolled his eyes and shook his head, throwing the slice of pizza onto a plate and plopping down on the couch next to Luis. 

“I did laundry today,” he said.  

Leon chuckled. “Congratulations?” 

A cheeky grin split Luis’ face straight in half. “But of course because you left your clothes in the dryer, I had to take them out to use it. And when I did, I found this.” 

Luis held up a delicate lace thong, measuring exactly two square inches of surface area in line with regulations for all strip clubs in the country. Leon flinched and frantically snatched it from his grasp. 

“I assume it’s not you wearing that.” His gaze dropped down to Leon’s crotch. “Unless I severely misjudged your character when we met on craigslist.” 

A blush crept into Leon’s cheeks, your underwear still clutched in his fist. 

“I mean, not that it would be a problem if you did. You yanquis are way too uptight.” He tapped his hand on the backrest of the couch, waiting for Leon to spill the beans. “On top of that, I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t come home the other night. Like at all. I was worried sick. Tried to stay up. You can’t do that to me, Leon. I was so tired in class all day. I could hardly concentrate. That’s how worried I was.”

Leon sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Okay, I met someone. She’s really nice.” 

Luis chuckled. “Nice girls don’t wear underwear like that. Trust me, I know.” 

Leon’s brows knitted together. “You know what, that's kinda offensive actually. And yes they do.” 

Luis prepared his bong for another hit. “Alright, how did you meet her?”

Leon opened his mouth, trying to come up with something that wasn’t ‘during a lap dance that my superior paid for’. “At the club.” 

Luis shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut in amusement. “You don’t go to the club.” 

“Well, that one time I went, I met her.” Leon shrugged, thinking this conversation was over. 

“So what’s she like?” Luis kept asking. 

“She’s…” Leon paused, trying to come up with words that adequately described you. “Really kind. I don’t think she thinks she is. She puts on this whole façade, but she fosters guinea pigs. You know, the rodents? And when they’re sick, she has this little inhaler that she puts in front of them so their airways clear up?” 

Luis looked at Leon, deadpan. 

“And she’s so talented, my god,” Leon went on, waxing fucking lyrical about you. 

“I bet she is,” Luis said, smirking

“That’s not what I mean,” Leon scrambled. “I mean, yes the sex was amazing. I think my soul left my body for a second but I mean her dancing. When she gets up on the pole, it’s like the world stops and everybody is under her spell.” 

Luis coughed. “The pole?” 

Leon grimaced, avoiding his gaze. 

“Are you fucking a stripper? Holy shit.” He broke into a whole coughing fit. “Leon, that is, wow, that is quite something. Wait, she’s not charging you extra, is she? For, you know?” 

Leon chewed on his lower lip. “Don’t talk about her like that.” 

Luis held up his hands in defense. “Hey, again with the uptight yanqui. Oldest trade in the world. There’s no shame in it. Just want to make sure you’re not reading more into this than it actually is.” 

“She’s not charging me,” Leon hissed. 

Luis nodded, taking another hit from his bong. “Can I meet her?” he asked nasally through the smoke. 

“We’re not quite in the ‘let’s get to know people in each other’s lives’ stage,” Leon said, getting up to get another slice of pizza. 

"I see." Luis nodded, clicked his fingers and whipped around. "Can you ask her if she's available for dances outside of the club?"

Leon grimaced. “What? No, what am I? Her pimp?” 

“I'm just thinking, if we showed up to a college party with a bunch of strippers, all the girls would flock to us. Come on, you have to take advantage of this once in a lifetime opportunity.” 

Leon sighed. “I have no desire to impress college girls, Luis. And I don't want this to be a once in a lifetime opportunity actually," he murmured, a lot quieter.

Luis held his right hand up to his heart. “Should I prepare my best man speech now or can that wait until next week? I have a paper due.” 

Leon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who the hell let you into grad school, Luis? I'm being so serious.” 

Luis flashed him a pearly white smile. “Dr. Luis.”

"You don't have your PhD yet. You're not even close." Leon huffed.

"And you don't have your stripper girlfriend yet. You're not even close."

As much as Leon hated to admit it, Luis was right for once in his life.

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