Content: smut, p in v, fingering, squirting, alcohol consumption, hookup culture lol
Masterlist❤︎
-
There is nothing better than being fucked completely senseless.
Arguably the best remedy for a chronically overactive mind.
After five straight days of managing passive-aggressive emails and smiling through situations that tested the absolute limits of human sanity, you decided the only cure for this impending mental breakdown was a stiff drink and zero inhibitions on this lovely weekend.
Two shots of whatever was closest, and the company of a man who looked just as desperately in need of a distraction as you, if not more so.
Beautiful was what you initially pegged him as, eyes sweeping along the striking lines of an exhausted face and the stubborn swoop of hair spilling carelessly over his brow. Then you decided he was just prematurely aged. The silver threads catching at his temples and the aggressive shadow of a stubble made him look worn down by a decade of exceptionally bad sleep and even worse stress.
He looked like a man who could fuck good. Looked like he approached sex the exact same way he approached the rest of his miserable life, with unrelenting stamina and a terrifyingly methodical focus designed to dismantle whatever stood before him.
He also looked like an easy target, staring into the amber depths of his glass with a level of sad depression that practically radiated off his shoulders. All it took was you stepping directly into his line of sight, ordering another shot with a dramatic sigh, and offering him a painfully cynical comment about the state of the world (while deliberately showing off your cleavage).
The guarded set of his jaw twitched into the faintest ghost of a smirk.
You offered your name, he offered his (Leon—was it short for Leonard? Leonel?), and he leaned in when you laughed at his terrible attempt at a joke. A genuine chortled laugh because you hadn't expected a dad joke from a man who looked as brooding as he did.
You licked your lips, he followed your tongue.
Hook, line, sinker.
Which explains how you now find yourself trapped in a mating press on a mattress that probably costs more per night than your rent. A dingy, cheap motel would have been your practical choice, but you had noted the expensive gleam of the watch on his wrist within five minutes of sitting next to him. Freaking Hamilton that looked distinctly like a limited edition, judging by the brushed steel and intricate dial.
Frankly, you shouldn't be surprised he carried that much net worth. He’s handsome, weathered beautifully into his age (Late forties? Early fifties?), and clearly paid an exorbitant amount of money to survive whatever horrors are actively ruining his mental health.
What does surprise you is how you’ve underestimated the scope of his physical abilities.
Over the past blurry hour, this complete stranger has effortlessly folded you into positions that defy your understanding of your own flexibility. Knees pressed so securely beside your own ears you start to believe the fee you pay for your weekly reformer pilates class might be a scam.
Apparently what you needed to achieve this level of advanced mobility was the unrelenting dead weight of a very, very capable man. So fucking capable that you’ve genuinely lost count of how many times he’s wrung you out on these expensive sheets.
Four orgasms? Maybe five? Whatever the number is, another one is dangerously crawling up the base of your spine.
Your sanity might be beyond saving at this point. You’re sweating profusely, and the backs of your thighs are screaming in dull protest from being pinned back for god knows how long. Leon pulls out and snaps his hips again with a jarring impact that seems to grow more ruthlessly aggressive with every single grind.
He does it again and again and again until you’re basically screaming from the unavoidable crash of yet another orgasm, toes curling frantically in the suspended air while your nails bite into the heavy muscle of his arms.
This man is something else, obviously nothing akin to the standard parade of disappointing men who talked big but possessed absolutely zero game. They were a flimsy attempt to scratch the very surface of your boredom. Leon, by comparison, is clawing straight down to the bone.
There’s a slowness in his thrusts now, and you blink to find an actual smile breaking through the sweat and exhaustion on his face. The warm puff of a chuckle against your cheek tells you he isn't simply amused. He’s actually entertained.
You huff, making a valiant but entirely useless attempt to mock him, "Stop laughing."
The sweat beading along his heavy brow does absolutely nothing to detract from how devastatingly smug he looks right now. “You’re shaking so much. It’s cute.”
So much for playing the femme fatale act at the bar. He swipes a thumb across your blotchy cheek, courtesy of his rough afternoon shadow.
“You okay?”
You sigh out a harsh breath, blowing a damp strand of hair out of your eyes. “Have you," you manage to wheeze, "even cum yet?”
He shakes his head, blue eyes glinting with unapologetic amusement.
"Are you ever going to?"
His low laughter rumbles warmly in your ears. “Why, you want me to stop already?" he presses a kiss against your jaw. "Thought you were having a good time."
“I’m having a great time.”
“Then what’s with the rush?”
“Maybe we should take a break,” you whine, gasping sharply when the weight of his pelvis rocks aggressively against your lower belly. “I-I need to pee.”
He seems unfazed. Moves like you didn't utter a word to begin with. Instead, what he does is press you even further into the mattress. “Is that right?”
“Fuck—Leon—” You arch your back as he maliciously tilts his hips. “You’re not helping.”
“I actually am,” he argues.
“What—”
“Let's test a theory," he drawls, hot breath ghosting over your pulse. "Do you really think you just need to pee, or are you about to squirt?”
You go completely still for a moment. Considering your track record of thoroughly uninspired hookups and non-lasting relationships, there is absolutely no palpable evidence to suggest you are capable of doing what he’s asking.
“I’m pretty sure I need to pee,” you reason quietly. “I’m not a squirter.”
He pulls back enough to meet your eyes. “You’re telling me you’ve never done that before?”
“I have no prior experience to suggest it's even an option.”
He looks genuinely offended by your answer. “Do you want to try?”
Your head falls back to fully take him in. He really is pretty. Never mind the faint, tired wrinkles bracketing his pale blue eyes, or the harsh features of a man who has clearly seen too much and slept too little. He’s simply too devastatingly gorgeous for his own good.
Even with the fragments of scars you’ve spent the last hour subconsciously counting on his neck, his shoulder, his chest. Scars that make you wonder what kind of terrifying life he leads when he isn't in a hotel room with a stranger, fucking their brains out.
And you’re very much aware you’re one of the few he’s taken to bed.
But is he always this attentive? This generous?
Does he fuck everyone else this hard yet still find the gentle grace to cradle their face and brush the hair out of their eyes?
You instantly hate how territorial you sound. It's wildly hypocritical for someone who values the cheap thrill of a purely physical transaction just as much as he clearly does. He’s just a good lover, you decide. And if tonight is the only night you get to have this man all to yourself, then so be it.
If he thinks he can make you squirt, then who are you to deny?
“You really think I’m about to squirt?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
You frown. “What if it’s just pee?”
He kisses the wrinkled line between your brows. “Make a mess then, I don’t mind.”
Yeah, you’re going to let him absolutely ruin you tonight.
“Then make me squirt, Leon.”
He dips his head, breathing the hot air of his lungs directly into your open mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”
Your pussy tightens reflexively at that, which he obviously catches. He catches on to every desperate tell your body gives him, actually. Probably the sole reason why you've already come an embarrassing number of times.
Not enough, apparently, because he’s already moving his hips in rapid rhythms—not too fast or too slow, but enough to have your eyes sliding shut, focusing on the stretch of his cock driving deep in and out of your cunt.
“Fucking beautiful,” he hums, binding your wrists together above your head. “Just lying there looking all pretty."
“H-harder,” you whine, weakly pushing your hips up to meet him.
“Yeah?” He squeezes your wrists together, leaning even more of his massive frame over you. “You like it when I go hard on you?”
Like it? You thrive on it, nodding frantically as your trembling thighs try to lock around his waist. Try is definitely the word when he’s practically flattened you beneath his crushing weight, effortlessly trapping your body. You can feel your limbs turn gooey and powerless, your stomach contrastingly hard.
“I know, baby, I know,” he rasps, ramming his hips harshly against yours. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Ngh—h—”
“That’s it, give it to me. Make a mess on me.”
The panic hits you first, quickly swallowed by an absolute wave of pure heat. Starts as a buzzing ache in your core before violently spiking into an unbearable sensation. Your belly burns, coils, rattles—and you blink your eyes open, brimming with tears. “Leon—”
He instantly reads the panicked clench of your muscles.
“Don't fight it.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
Your groan is feral. “I can’t—”
“Come on, baby, you’ve got to trust me,” he croons softly. “Do you trust me?”
Surprisingly, you do, even if your only judgment on this man comes from the three hours that have passed since you sat down next to him at the bar. “Yes.”
“Good. Then let it happen.”
Your breath stutters. Your body jerks.
“Breathe through your nose.”
He plunges in with a particularly harsh thrust and you gasp. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Oh, fuck—”
“That’s it.” He closes the last inch of space between you. Foreheads touching. “Let it go.”
You try to follow his words and suck in a sharp breath. Lungs expanding, ribs flaring, and the rush of oxygen pouring into your blood sharpens every sensation to something blinding.
It’s like a switch. One moment your muscles are tensed, then a passage of whines pitches upward as your orgasm barrels through you without warning. Strong and gut-wrenching. Body hot in bliss and shame—only for two seconds. Quick as it hits, he abruptly pulls out, instantly replacing his cock with two calloused fingers.
Your mouth gapes in a silent scream. Even more so when his offhand curls around your neck. Fingers pressing against the sides of your throat, palm flat against your windpipe, but exercising barely any pressure all the while his fingers fucks your swollen, dripping cunt.
You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself getting drenched, but you’ve never experienced anything as wild as this.
Speckles of liquid spatter across the sheets the more he drags his hand in an up-and-down motion, its squelching sound rising above the fight of your labored breathing.
He pushes his palm against your clit.
“Oh fuck! fuckfuckfuck—”
A sudden rush spills over him. Soaks the sheets beneath you in dark patches and streams down the inside of his wrist, seeping hot onto his thighs. He continues to pump his fingers while you lie there—crying openly, violently shuddering. It goes on for what feels like forever until he smoothes out his pressure around your throat, kissing the drool glistening on your lips with a disbelief chuckle.
“Should’ve met you sooner,” he laughs into your mouth, easily slipping his cock back in.
Maybe it’s the bliss completely corrupting your nervous system, or perhaps it’s the overwhelming stretch of his thick cock driving back into your overstimulated cunt. Whatever it is, you completely lose your grip on the casual nature of a one night stand, eager words spilling past your wet lips before you can even screen them.
“Can we meet again?” You pant. “Like—after tonight?”
You’re somewhere right on the edge of a pathetic whimper and a helpless laugh, entirely too pleasured to think straight, dangerously too giddy at the possibility of actually getting to know him. To uncover those scars in daylight, to figure out what kind of hell he had to survive to inherit those devastatingly sad yet kind eyes.
To learn his last name. To unearth his middle.
You gasp when he effortlessly flips you over, twisting his fingers in your hair and pulling it back.
Yeah, you’re going to let him absolutely ruin you tonight—and all the days that follow.
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summary: to your chagrin, you get partnered with an irritating DSO agent who happens to take an interest in the case you're working on.
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, re9!leon, fbi!reader, age gap, kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex, blow job, p in v, spanking, choking, finger sucking, brat taming, praise kink
wc: 10k
a/n: obsession's gotten so bad i started having dreams about him <3
also on ao3!
There’s a man sitting at your desk.
You’d arrived at work a little before 9, steaming cup of coffee in hand and a stack of case files tucked under your arm haphazardly. It was only until you’d heard the curious, hushed whispers that you’d realized your desk was currently taken, occupied by an unfamiliar man clad in a leather jacket.
Were you being relocated? Promoted? Demoted?
A barrage of thoughts flits through your mind as you approach your desk slowly, mentally preparing yourself to give the man a piece of your mind. The man doesn’t even flinch when the case files drop onto your desk loudly, your coffee cup following soon after as you set it down roughly before crossing your arms over your chest.
“Can I help you?”
His head tilts towards you, shaggy hair shifting as his gaze travels over you with interest. You stare back at him blankly, brows furrowing when you take in the scruffy stubble covering his jaw and the weathered look to his skin. He had to be at least twice your age, but even you could admit the man was stupidly handsome. You’re only left with more questions than you started with as you continue to stare at him, feeling bewildered. The flex of his gloved fingers catch in your periphery, distracting you as you glance down to find him piecing together a disassembled gun with practiced ease, the parts set out neatly on your desk.
His voice is gruff when he speaks. “You’re younger than I expected.”
“You… were expecting me?” you ask, irritation seeping into your voice, patience growing thin. “Who the fuck are you?”
The man’s brows raise at your blunt question, fingers still moving deftly, his eyes flickering with mirth.
“You know, the FBI promised me a warm welcome,” he says, the chair swiveling as he turns to face you fully. “Can’t exactly say you’re delivering on that promise.”
“Yeah well, I didn’t make any promises,” you retort, giving him a tight smile, watching as he leans forward, sliding his newly assembled gun back into its holster. “Besides, you still haven’t answered my question.”
He sighs, leaning forward, his arm outstretched as he offers you his hand. “Leon–”
He’s interrupted by the Unit Chief calling out your name. Your eyes narrow when you see the case file in his hands, glancing back at Leon before you leave him, stepping inside the Unit Chief’s office, the door clicking shut behind you.
“We’ve got two new bodies,” he says, handing you the case file. “Unsub’s been crossing jurisdictions and the local police department is… well, concerned to say the least. Think you can handle it?”
You nod, flicking through the pages, nose scrunching when you see the images of the crime scene – each more grisly than the last. Mutilated bodies, blood smeared across the walls, messily carved symbols etched into the wooden door of the victims’ home.
“Seems ritualistic,” you murmur, reading through the reports. You glance up at him, clutching the case file to your chest protectively. “You’re letting me take this alone? I’m flattered.”
“Ah,” the Unit Chief shakes his head, nodding towards Leon. “Not exactly.”
“What?” you scoff, looking at Leon who gives you a smile and waves through the glass. You glare at him, yanking the blinds shut. “The old man?” you hiss, “he’ll only slow me down.”
The Unit Chief sighs, taking a seat in his chair. “That man is Leon Kennedy. DSO. It’s only a precaution. He’s more experienced than any team we could put together and after what happened with Agent Ashcroft, the FBI is trying to be more… mindful.”
“Ashcroft?” you echo, remembering the Rhodes Hill incident. “That’s– that’s because they sent an analyst into the field of all things. She must’ve been terrified. I’m a field agent, I can handle myself.”
“Agent Kennedy took an interest in the case,” he replies, hands clasping together. “If there’s bioterrorism involved, he’ll be useful. If there isn’t, use him as an idea board. The Unit Chief peers up at you, his expression stern. “My decision is final.”
Your jaw works irritatedly before you huff out a heavy breath, nodding reluctantly. “Yes, sir.”
Despite your sour mood and the urge to slam the door shut, you carefully close it, making your way back to Leon. You drag a spare chair towards your desk, sinking down onto it. Leon shakes his head when you offer him the case file.
“I’ve already read it.”
“Huh,” you stare at him, lips pursing while your eyes squint in recognition. “Leon Scott Kennedy,” you drawl, jabbing your finger at him, “you’re the Raccoon City cop. I’ve heard stories about you. Shouldn’t you be…” you gesture to him pointedly, “retired?”
“Ouch,” Leon says, his hand moving to press against his chest as he feigns being hurt. “You really don’t want me here, do you?”
“All I know is that you’re some big-shot DSO agent that I don’t need on my case, Leon,” you shoot back, flipping open the file to read the autopsy reports more thoroughly.
“The first case you’ve ever been in charge of,” Leon muses, his leather gloves creaking softly as he picks up a stray pen, putting it back into its place. “I’m impressed. Not everyone gets to be a lead on a case like this. Then again, you’re pretty good at this kinda thing.”
Was he buttering you up? He had to be. You don’t bother looking up as you mark a few things of interest off on the report.
“Thank you,” you murmur, scrawling a few notes down on a notepad before you pause, head turning to find him watching you carefully. “How did you know that?” you ask, a hint of suspicion in your voice, “we’ve never met before.”
Leon shifts, grunting softly as he tries to get more comfortable in your chair. “I took the liberty of reading your file,” he replies flippantly, his expression darkening as he tries to work the chair’s jammed lever. “Fuckin’ chair… how do you sit in this all day?”
“I don’t sit all day!” you snap, “and you read my file? I don’t care if you have the fucking clearance, you can’t just–”
You’re interrupted by a loud snap, teeth gritting together when you realize he’s pushed the lever too hard – or perhaps, underestimated his own strength – the lever cleanly detached and now clutched in Leon’s gloved hand.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmurs, setting the lever down on your desk, patting it awkwardly. “I’ll buy you a new chair.”
You have half a mind to reach over and strangle him. You even consider doing it, until he grumbles under his breath and shrugs off that jacket of his, your murderous intent forgotten as soon as you catch sight of his thick biceps. With those things, Leon could probably strangle you and have no problem doing it.
The sheer size of him renders you incapable of tearing your gaze away, your stare settled firmly on his shoulders, arms and chest – every part of him unfairly thick and muscular – his skin-tight shirt leaving you barely conscious of the way your throat was beginning to dry up.
Your newly broken chair creaks once more under Leon’s weight, the sound piercing through the haze of your shameless staring. You blink uncertainly, taking another lingering peek at his biceps while he’s too busy trying to get comfortable.
“We’d better get going,” you announce, grabbing the file before standing up abruptly. “The local PD is probably waiting for us.”
“We can take my car,” Leon says as he follows you into the elevator.
“I’m not in the habit of getting into cars with strange men,” you say testily, pressing a button before turning to face him.
“And I’m not in the habit of babysitting FBI agents,” Leon drawls, leaning against the wall of the elevator, his arms crossing over his chest.
The movement makes his shirt stretch tighter if anything, the fabric clinging to his broad forearms stubbornly, his watch glinting softly in the lighting. Your head tilts, eyes narrowing with irritation when you register his insult.
“No one asked you to babysit,” you say, shaking your head. “I have a gun,” you take it out of the holster attached to your hip, pointing it at him, “and I’m smart. I’ll have this case wrapped up in a day or two, so stay the fuck outta my way.”
A smile pulls at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he lifts his hands in mock-surrender. The amusement in his eyes makes him look a little younger, your heart fluttering with delight for a moment before you tamp it down violently.
When the elevator comes to a stop, Leon takes your bag before you can protest, his gloved fingers brushing yours briefly. You step after him, brows raising with begrudging respect when you see his car. Big-shot DSO agent, your mind supplies as he puts your bag into the backseat, gesturing for you to get in. You sigh heavily, opening your mouth to argue but Leon’s already disappeared inside his car, the engine rumbling to life. Muttering a curse under your breath, you get in his car, pulling the door shut firmly.
–
“What do you mean there’s only one room available?”
“What’s there to understand?” Leon asks, dangling the singular key in front of your face. “Rooms are all booked out. They’re celebrating some special harvest festival according to the receptionist.”
“Harvest festival?” you echo, peering up at him. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. That’s like the perfect cover for our unsub.”
“I would help,” he murmurs, nudging your shoulder gently to get you to step aside, “but you wanted me to, what was it?” you roll your eyes when he snaps his fingers, pretending to think. “Ah yes, stay the fuck outta your way.”
You snatch the key hanging from Leon’s finger, ignoring his aggrieved sigh as you push past him and stomp back down the stairs to the reception, ready to demand another room. All the receptionist does is give you an apologetic smile and offer you a discount. You swallow your pride as you trudge back up the stairs, doing your best to avoid Leon’s eyes when you find him leaning beside the room’s door, his brows raising amusedly.
“I don’t want to hear it,” you mutter, slotting the key into the lock.
Leon shrugs non-committally. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
The door is heavy as you push it open, Leon’s hand moving to keep it open for you as you step inside. You fumble in the darkness for the light switch at the same time Leon does, his strong, calloused fingers brushing over yours. It’s enough to have an unwanted shiver running down your spine, warmth blooming in your chest and a flush settling high on your cheeks despite your stubborn annoyance with him.
“Fuck me.”
You follow his gaze when he swears, taking in the lit room. There’s a shitty couch in one corner, a tiny area with a coffee machine and table, and… a bed.
“Okay,” you say slowly, staring at the one, pitiful bed you had been afforded. “Great! So I think you should go and chew out the receptionist.”
“I’m not doing that,” Leon scoffs, bending down to take off his boots, his gun clattering against the table as he sets it down. “I can take the couch.”
You look back at the couch, brows furrowing. “That’s really nice of you and all, Leon,” you begin, stepping further inside the small room, “but I don’t think you’re exactly going to fit.”
“You care about me or something?” he drawls, looking over at you with a smile as he opens his duffle bag to pull out a towel and a set of clothes.
“Get over yourself. I’m just worried about your…” you gesture towards him vaguely, “potentially geriatric bones.”
Leon chokes on a laugh, his brows shooting up. “Geriatric? I’m 49. My bones are in perfect working order.”
“Right, nevermind. You did break my chair.”
“I did you a favor,” he retorts, slinging the towel around the back of his neck. “It was a hunk of junk.”
“It was in perfect working condition!” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Do you always defend inanimate objects with such passion?” Leon muses, stepping closer until he’s only a few inches away, head cocking to the side.
“When they’re close to my heart, yes.”
“A chair is close to your heart?”
You decide to double down. “Yes, Leon.”
“Huh,” he nods slowly, clicking his tongue. “You got attachment issues?”
“Did my file not tell you that?” you smile up at him snarkily.
Leon grins, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I skipped over your psych eval.”
He turns, disappearing into the bathroom. You glare at the door and huff out a sigh, removing your shoes before grabbing the case file and flopping down on the bed tiredly. You flick through the pages absentmindedly, settling on the symbols carved onto the door. You hadn’t seen anything remotely like it before and the database search you’d done earlier in the car had come up empty.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, glancing towards the bathroom.
You’d exhausted all your options save for one. A reluctant groan leaves you as you stand, approaching the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe.
“Hey, Leon?” you call out when you hear the spray of water come to a stop. “I… might have been a little difficult earlier,” your voice sounds strained, “but if you could maybe take another look at the file, then I would… you know, probably appreciate it or whatever.” You swallow, face twisting with discomfort. “Please?”
Leon laughs, the rich, deep sound seeping through the crevices. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he says, sounding entirely too entertained by your attempt to ask him for help. “I’ll take a look for you.”
You frown at the door, jolting when it swings open suddenly. A few wisps of steam escape, and you blink owlishly, finding yourself face-to-face with his bare chest. It’s hard to keep your gaze from wandering over his exposed skin, a light dusting of hair covering his chest coupled with a few scars. A strange, gurgling noise escapes you when he shifts back to grab his towel, his broad, muscled back now visible to you. You sway, moving to grip the doorframe, knees feeling weak.
“You okay?” Leon murmurs, glancing over at you as he ruffles his damp hair, brows furrowing.
“Yes!”
Your voice is shrill, pitching up awkwardly until you clear your throat and give him an equally awkward smile.
“Perfectly fine,” you clarify, this time sounding breathless as you try and fail to not look down, inhaling sharply when you see his defined abdomen and the dark, coarse hair below his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants.
“It’s just that you look…” you trail off, fingers itching to reach out and squeeze and touch. Hot. Attractive. Fuckable. Really fucking fuckable for a 49-year-old man. “Like shit,” you settle on, the words tumbling out of you in a strained manner as you force yourself to meet his eyes. “You– you look like shit, Leon.” You pat his shoulder jerkily. “Unfortunately.”
“Right, sure,” he says, his head tilting as he stares down at you, unconvinced. “You really know how to flatter a man.”
“I’m charming like that,” you say, hands clasping behind your back.
Leon hums, and you stare back up at him, gaze flitting away for one moment to get a glimpse of his left hand. No ring. Perfect. You pinch yourself as soon as the thought comes.
“You gonna let me out?”
“What?”
When Leon gestures towards you, you realize you’re still standing in front of him, blocking the way out. You move to the side sheepishly, pushing the case file into his chest quickly before locking yourself in the bathroom.
You let out an embarrassed groan once you’re in the shower, burying your face into your hands. What the fuck was wrong with you? There was no way that all it took was some dorky, attractive, older man to have you feeling out of sorts. A dull ache flares between your thighs at the thought of Leon, fingers sneaking past your folds to rub at your traitorously swollen clit. It doesn’t take much, just the image of his body pressed against yours, his arms wrapped around you, mouth pressed against your ear while he grunts–
You cum with a muffled whine. Scrubbing the rest of your mortification off of your skin with soap, you dry off, slipping into a pair of sleep shorts and a hoodie. You pad out of the bathroom to find Leon sitting at the table – thankfully with a shirt on – a few containers of food littered across its surface while he’s hunched over his laptop.
“Hey,” he greets when he sees you, gaze travelling over you briefly before turning his laptop towards you. “I had a look. Your guy might be part of a cult,” Leon brings up another image, showing it to you, “they’re not the exact same, but similar enough. Might be worth looking into.”
“Cult? That’s fun,” you murmur, dropping into the chair beside him, watching as he runs his hair through his hair. “Thank you for taking a look, and the food.”
His brows raise. “Those might be the most sincere words to come out of you today.”
“Shut up,” you say, although a small smile pulls at your lips.
Dinner is quick as you both make a plan for tomorrow – visit the local PD, check out the crime scene and investigate a few related areas of interest. Leon settles down on the couch soon after, adjusting his pillow a few times before grunting as he tries to get comfortable. You were right, he doesn’t fit. He looks so awfully crammed, knees bent and back hunched at an awkward angle that even you feel bad about it.
“Leon,” you say exasperatedly, “we can both fit on the bed. That can’t be good for your back.”
“This is fine,” he replies stubbornly, shifting onto his back uncomfortably, arm hanging off the edge. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
“I can’t deal with you complaining about your back tomorrow,” you say, gesturing towards the bed. You lay down, squirming to the side to make space. “See? You can have the other side.”
“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind?”
“What?” you ask confusedly, sitting up on your elbows. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Leon grunts as he gets to his feet, dropping down onto the bed without further protests. It’s a tight fit, but you both manage, a sliver of space left between your bodies. You stare up at the ceiling, lips pursing, feeling antsy.
“Did you…” you glance over at him, feeling entirely too bold for your own good, “did you ask because you were interested?”
He stares back, brows raising. “Interested in what?”
“In what?” you repeat irritably, “are you seriously playing dumb?”
Leon smiles back at you, shrugging lazily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Maybe if you clarified what it was you wanted from me–”
“I don’t want anything from you!” you sputter, flushing hot. The bed creaks as you flop onto your side, facing away from him. “You’re old and weird and infuriating and–”
“I feel like you’re avoiding my better qualities.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, I know you want to, baby.”
It’s a miracle your neck doesn’t snap with how fast you turn to look at him.
“May I remind you that this,” you gesture between your bodies wildly, “is a professional relationship?”
“Yeah?” Leon murmurs, raising his brows, “is that why you got off in the shower? Rubbed one out to make yourself feel better ‘bout liking me?” He looks unfazed when your jaw slackens, tapping the wall behind his head. “Thin walls.”
“That is none of your business.” You lean closer, eyes narrowing in an attempt to hide your growing embarrassment. “HR is going to have a fucking field day with you.”
You flop back onto your side, trying to put some distance between you, but there’s such a little space on the bed that you end up half-dangling over the edge. Leon doesn’t say anything, the silence between you thick and stretching on uncomfortably until you sit up, turning to face him.
He stares back at you, the bed creaking softly as he shifts, folding an arm under his head. His shirt stretches tight, thick bicep flexed and the sight is enough to make you lose your last nerve.
Your hand cups his jaw, head dipping to press a kiss to his lips. It’s meant to be quick, fleeting, to get whatever the fuck you have bottled up inside of you. Leon doesn’t seem to agree as he returns your kiss roughly, stubble scratching against your skin, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, blocking your escape.
“Where’re you going?” he murmurs, lips brushing over yours.
“This–” you whine softly when he kisses the underside of your jaw, fingers tightening into his shirt. “This is a bad idea.”
“I happen to be full of those.”
“You’re so fucking corny,” you groan, mouth dropping open as he trails kisses along your jaw lazily.
His lips are soft, calloused fingers massaging your scalp whilst an arm slides around your waist to pull you into his side. Another whine escapes you, head tipping towards him as his hand wanders under the hem of your hoodie, hot skin drifting over your waist and higher, his thumb grazing the curve of your breast.
“And you’re a fucking brat,” Leon says, watching your expressions closely as you whine and pant, pulling him towards you for another kiss, arms wrapping around his neck tightly.
He groans into your mouth, lips slotting over yours feverishly, his hand squeezing at the back of your neck. You squirm, throwing your leg over his hip, mewling when he licks into your mouth. Leon’s a good kisser, you think dazedly as his tongue strokes against yours in a filthy motion that has heat blistering in your stomach. His hand moves, circling around the front of your throat, squeezing gently.
You blink up at him hazily when he pulls away, lips slick with spit and pupils blown out. A smile spreads across your lips as you arch into him, hands sliding up over his strong forearm, fingers wrapping around his wrist.
“You can squeeze harder,” you whisper, pressing his fingers into your skin harder, gasping when he grants your request, eyes rolling back as the pressure around your throat constricts.
“That’s a little fucked up, baby,” Leon breathes out, watching as you writhe and suck in a ragged breath, his brows furrowing.
His brows raise when you glare at him, leaning over you to let his nose nudge against yours, kissing you gently before he tightens his grip a little more, drawing out a choked noise from you. There’s a heady fog settling over your mind the more he keeps you from barely breathing, something slow and syrupy creeping into the crevices of your brain as he presses a kiss to your cheek. He’s letting go before long though, brushing the pad of his thumb over your lips roughly.
“I can handle it,” you mumble hoarsely, head tipping as he massages your throat, huffing out a breath when he laughs against your cheek.
“Yeah?” Leon rasps, his gaze darkening when you suck his thumb into your mouth, tongue swirling around the digit needily, head lifting as you feign bobbing your head. “What, you want me to put you in your place or something? Is that what you need?”
The idea is appealing. You’ve been strung tight for months, between work and the never-ending cases that were stacking up on your desk, you hadn’t exactly gotten much time to yourself, to wind-down from the constant wear and tear brought about by the commitments demanded from you by the FBI.
“Maybe,” you say slowly, looking away. “I don’t know. I guess I just want some… attention or whatever.”
“From me?” Leon says, his fingers sliding over your jaw to guide your gaze back to him. “Your way of asking for attention is acting bratty?”
“I don’t know!” you sputter, pushing at his chest, feeling shy.
“Oh, that’s cute,” he coos, smiling down at you. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll give you all the attention you fuckin’ need.”
You squeak when he moves suddenly, sitting up before he’s dragging you towards him, maneuvering you until you're bent over his lap. A whimper is punched out of you when he squeezes the fat of your ass through your shorts, lashes fluttering when each consecutive grope grows rougher until it stings lightly.
“Guess if you’re into choking, you should be into something like this,” Leon murmurs thoughtfully, squeezing your ass greedily. “‘s been a while since I’ve done this with someone.”
“Since you’ve– ah– groped someone?” you ask, hips wiggling when his touches disappear, ass lifting involuntarily to chase after his touch.
“Kissed, touched,” he sucks in a sharp breath, “groped… fucked.”
You glance at him over your shoulder, brows raising curiously. “Can you still get it up?”
A sharp yelp escapes you when his hand comes down on your ass, hard and punishing. It stings, the pain spreading out over your ass unforgivingly. You try and glare at him but his hand is coming down again, landing another heavy spank to your other ass cheek.
“It was just a question!” you protest, squeaking when he spanks you again and again, eyes squeezing shut as the red-hot pain spreads over your ass, the ache in your pussy beginning to burrow deeper.
“I know,” Leon murmurs, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “Do you want me to stop?”
You pout into the sheets, voice quiet. “No.”
He huffs out a soft laugh, tapping your hip. You lift them, letting him tug your shorts down, mewling softly when he squeezes your ass, his fingers dipping past your panties, stretching them before letting them snap back against your skin.
“Cute panties,” he says, his hand rubbing over your stinging ass, fingers sneaking between your thighs, brushing over the drenched, ruined fabric. “Too bad you’ve made them all messy, baby. So fucking wet for me. You like my hand on your ass?”
“Yes,” you grumble, glaring at the wall. “Stop asking stupid questions, you jerk.”
You jolt when he spanks you, letting out an agitated breath when his hand palms over ass before coming down again in several repeated motions. A whimper escapes you when pleasure bleeds through your body, teeth sinking into your lower lip when the pace of Leon’s slaps quicken. It hurts but feels so good all the same, your thighs trying to squeeze together with how uncomfortably wet your pussy is becoming.
“Don’t– fuck! Don’t stop,” you mewl, arching your back, tears prickling at your eyes. “Leon– please ah–”
“Please?” Leon echoes, “look at that, you’re back to being polite. Good fuckin’ girl.”
You whine in agreement, nodding dazedly as you look back at him, unfocused eyes finding his lopsided smile, heart fluttering in your chest. You reach back for him, hand fighting his shirt, lips parting, eyes slipping shut when he leans towards you, head dropping to kiss you deeply, his fingers squeezing at your ass gently.
“You gonna stop being a brat? Hm? You wanna be my good girl, baby?” Leon rasps against your lips, stealing another soft kiss, his hands still palming at the blistering flesh of your ass, squeezing every now and again to force a pitiful whine out of you. He clicks his tongue when you slur, nose nudging against yours gently. “I asked you a question, sweetheart. Use your words for me.”
“Yes,” you manage out, pushing your ass back into his greedy, awaiting palm, a few stray tears dripping down your cheeks. “‘m gonna be– nghh– ‘m gonna be your good girl, Leon.”
“Yeah?” he breathes out, voice sounding rough as his thumb strokes over your cheek, wiping away the tears. “My sweet, pretty girl.”
“It– it hurts,” you babble, jerking in his lap when he rains an unsuspecting slap down onto your ass, teary eyes rolling back when his fingers slip between your thighs suddenly, rubbing at your swollen, aching clit through the dampened fabric of your panties. “Leon– ah fuck!”
“I know it does,” he soothes, pressing harder against your clit until your legs kick up, “but you asked for this, baby. Remember? You came up to me all pretty and said you wanted attention.”
“Stop being mean,” you hiccup, leaning into his palm when he offers it to you, nuzzling into the warm, rough skin.
“Mean?” Leon whispers, “‘m taking care of you, sweetheart.” He hums as he wipes away the saliva beading at the corner of your mouth, spreading it over your lips before his thumb presses down more firmly, a grunt of satisfaction leaving him when your lips part obediently. “There you go,” he breathes out, “suck on my thumb while I play with this needy, little pussy, baby.”
You whine, fingers clinging to his wrist as you suck lazily, tongue swirling around his thumb. His fingers rub against your wet panties, drawing out a soft mewl from you as he pets your clothed pussy.
“You can take them off,” you mumble around his thumb, biting gently before sucking again, happy to have your mouth occupied. “Want you to touch me.”
“I kinda like ‘em on,” Leon murmurs, his fingers grabbing at your thighs before they move, slipping past the waistband. “Besides, I can touch you like this.”
Your eyes flutter shut when his fingers glide through your sticky, puffy folds, breath hitching while Leon groans when he feels your wet pussy. His fingers are thicker than yours, slipping over the soft skin before the calloused pads find your clit. Your thighs twitch, toes curling when he starts to rub your clit using slow, measured circles.
“Is this how you do it?” he asks, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Did you play with your clit til you came in the shower?”
“Mhm,” you nod, peering up at him, lashes fluttering. You lap at his thumb, tongue flicking against the tip playfully, letting him watch.
“Fuck,” Leon rumbles, his thumb brushing over your bottom teeth before rubbing against your tongue. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart. Look at you.”
You smile, lips wrapping back around his thumb soon after, eyes rolling back when his fingers leave your clit to play with your fluttering hole. A long whine leaves you when he circles your hole teasingly, the tip of a finger pressing in briefly before he draws them back out to rub at your clit.
“Put ‘em in,” you mewl, hips beginning to roll against his hand, one of your hands squirming underneath you to try and move his wrist. “Leon,” you grumble, pulling his thumb out of your mouth when he tries to press against your tongue again. “Put ‘em in.”
“What happened to being polite?” he muses, dipping his finger in again and then pulling it out.
“If you put ‘em in, I’ll be polite,” you reply, blinking up at him sweetly, a smug smile on your face.
Leon laughs, watching as your mouth drops open when he finally inches one finger inside of your clenching pussy, beginning to slowly fuck it in and out of you.
“Go on then,” he coaxes, “beg all pretty for me, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”
“P– nghh– please fuck me with your fingers,” you whimper, fingers moving to rub at your throbbing clit. “Please, Leon? Want– fuck– want another finger.”
He doesn’t make you beg any further, sinking another finger into you. You shove your face into the sheets, hips wiggling back to meet the thrust of his fingers, your fingers quickening their pace against your clit.
“Taking me so good,” Leon murmurs, using his other hand to spread you open. You flush, feeling entirely too exposed as he stares down at your pussy stretching around his fingers. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy just sucking my fingers in.”
Your walls flutter around his fingers at that, hand reaching out for him blindly, fingers managing to curl into his shirt. You yank him down, mumbling something incoherent around his lips before dragging him down further, lips pressing against his. You moan into his mouth when he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you harder, curling them just right.
“Leon,” you pant against his mouth, biting his lower lip before tugging it. Leon groans, his fingers scissoring before you moan again, lapping at his lips. His eyes roll back when your lips find his neck, head tipping to bare more of it to you until you manage to move, crawling up onto his lap, his fingers slipping out of you momentarily.
His back hits the bed when you push at his chest, his fingers finding your pussy again, thumb rubbing at your clit while his fingers sink back inside. You shove your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in with a mewl, pawing at his firm chest as you let your hips drop, fucking yourself on his fingers.
“You gonna do that on my cock?” Leon moans, his fingers tangling in your hair when you kiss his neck feverishly, teeth scraping against his throat, the action enough to draw a hoarse growl from him. “Gonna ride my cock like you’re riding my fingers, gorgeous?”
“Yeah,” you murmur against his neck, latching onto his skin and sucking, all with the intent of leaving a mark of your own, like he had done on your ass. “Wanna– ahhh– wanna ride your cock, Leon.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, an arm clamping around your waist to hold you flush against him, his thumb pressing against your clit harder, the lewd noises of your pussy growing louder with every snap of his wrist. “You’re gonna drive me fucking insane.”
You smile against his throat, kissing the underside of his jaw when his throat bobs uncertainly.
“We haven’t even fucked yet,” you whisper, fingers slipping into his hair, pulling at the strands to make him expose his neck further, drawing out a pretty whine from his lips. “Think you can handle me?”
Your smile fades when his fingers pull out of you suddenly, a sharp yelp leaving you when he grabs your hips and manhandles you onto your stomach, the fabric of your panties tearing loudly as he rips them off of you and pulls your ass into the air.
“Those were comfy!” you protest, glaring at him. “Leon?” you jolt when he slaps your ass hard, pulling your asscheeks apart. “Leon, wait– ah fuck!”
You squeal when he buries his face between your thighs, lurching forward unsteadily on your knees, hands grabbing out for the pillows. He’s ruthless, tongue gliding through your warm folds, drinking down your slick with a rough growl, his hands squeezing at your hips, tugging you back onto his mouth when you try and squirm away. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw isn’t helping, scratching against your skin deliciously as he nips and spits onto your cunt.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he snaps lowly, biting punishingly into your thigh when you try kicking at his chest. “Huh?”
“I didn’t–” your leg jerks when Leon bites the back of your thigh, fingers curling into the pillows tightly when he bites the fat of your ass soon after, tongue laving over the bite.
“You didn’t what?” Leon asks, thumb finding your swollen bud, his tongue drifting over the inner crease of your thigh, barely shy of your aching pussy. “You didn’t mean it, is that it, baby?” he drawls, wet fingers rubbing over your pussy.
“Yes!” you choke out, hand slapping against the pillow when he sucks your clit into his mouth lazily, his nose pressing into your pussy, rough hands massaging your ass. “I– nghhhh– I didn’t mean it, Leon.”
“Oh, I think you did,” he sighs heavily, feigning disappointment. He clicks his tongue condescendingly. “I thought you were being my sweet girl, but turns out you’ve just got one hell of a mean streak. Just can’t help being a bit bratty, can you, pretty baby?”
“I’m not a brat,” you wail, shoving your face into the pillows the same time he presses his face into your pussy.
You don’t think anyone’s touched you like this before, let alone used their mouth like this. Leon’s strong, his hands clamping down onto you to keep you in place as he flicks his tongue over your clit, teeth scraping over the sensitive bud. You drool messily, whimpering and whining as he laps at your cunt, his tongue prodding against your hole.
“Oh fuck,” you whisper, glancing behind you, eyes wide to find Leon looking at you hungrily, his gaze dark and feral. You swallow nervously, thighs twitching when he kisses the curve of your ass. “Leon, Leon– oh fuck!”
A squeal escapes you when he presses his tongue into your clenching cunt, eyes squeezing shut so tightly that you feel dizzy, hips pressing back needily to meet the movements of his tongue. He fucks it into you, head tilting as he holds you against his mouth, a hand moving under your hoodie to stroke over the length of your back.
You arch, mewling, hips swaying dazedly as he caresses your pussy with his tongue. A soft, ragged moan leaves you when his mouth moves, returning to your clit, toes curling when he presses his fingers back into you.
“You sound so pretty falling apart on my tongue,” Leon murmurs, rubbing his tongue over your clit with a groan, his fingers crooking inside of you. “You gonna cum, baby? Pretty pussy’s clenching around my fingers.”
“Nghhh–” you slur into the pillows, trying and failing to keep your eyes open, your lids drooping shut when his fingers press against that spot inside of you, his fingers rubbing over it with just the right amount of pressure.
His stubble brushes against the backs of your thighs, lips soft as he trails hot kisses all over your skin. Your hips jerk when he fucks his fingers into you harder and faster, the pressure in your lower stomach growing greater. When his mouth latches back onto you, you moan loudly, knees beginning to buckle.
“Fuck! ‘m gonna cum– ‘m gonna fucking cum, Leon,” you whine, hugging the pillow to your chest, a sharp breath of air leaving you.
“Cum then, sweetheart,” he whispers, “be a good girl and cum for me.”
You cry out when he sucks harder on your clit, his face pressing harder into you, nose buried into your pussy. Leon groans loudly, the vibration shooting up through you, making your pussy clench around his fingers tightly. Your body trembles, knees giving out finally when his tongue flicks at your clit, another moan tearing its way out of your throat as you cum.
“That’s it,” Leon snarls, managing to hold you up despite your arms feeling rubber. “Cum just like that. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”
You whimper, still twitching as he laps at your cunt gently, tongue sweeping over your folds as he slurps down your slick, his thumb rubbing against your clit to draw out the final waves of your orgasm while his fingers slow their pace inside of you before pulling out completely.
Leon’s body is hot when he hovers above you, his hands brushing away the sweaty hair clinging to your skin, head dipping to press soft kisses to your cheek, his stubble oddly soothing as it rubs along your skin.
“You okay?” he asks softly, hands drifting down over your back, squeezing your waist soothingly, hands petting at your still reddened and slightly bruised ass. “I guess I’ve been a little pent up.”
“A little?” you murmur, fingers sliding into his hair when he kisses your neck. “I think you’re more than a little pent up, Leon.”
He grunts in agreement, dropping another kiss to your neck before laying down on his back, letting out a heavy breath.
“I haven’t exactly had time to relax,” he sighs, “too many fucking responsibilities ever since Raccoon City.”
You hum, sitting up, arms still a little wobbly. Leon watches you, his eyes tracking your every movement. You smile at him, eyes twinkling, fingers hooking into the hem of your hoodie before you pull it up over your head, tossing it to the side. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees your breasts, hand reaching out before he pauses mid-reach. You take his hand, pulling it toward your breast, smile growing wider when he squeezes.
“Are my tits helping you relax?” you ask innocently, hands landing on his chest as you swing a leg over his hip, straddling him.
“Guess so,” Leon says, his other hand joining the fray, squeezing your untouched breast. “Pretty fuckin’ tits, sweetheart.”
Your eyes flutter shut as you let him play with your tits, distracted momentarily by the way his fingers move – pinching and tugging, thumb sweeping over your hardened nipples. It’s when you shift on his lap that you become aware of how hard his cock is, hips rolling against the clothed length.
“To answer your question,” he murmurs, tracing the curve of your breast, gently cupping one in his hand, thumb stroking over the soft flesh. “I can, in fact, still get it up.”
You snort, unable to stop the laugh that bubbles out of you. Leon grins back, his head tilting as he peers up at you, hands sliding down over your sides to grab your waist.
“I didn’t doubt you for a second,” you breathe out, voice laced with amusement, your hands beginning to pull at his shirt. He helps you, lifting his arms so that you’re able to pull it up over his head easily. “You do look pretty good for a 49-year-old.”
You lean forward, kissing him gently before you trail kisses down his neck and over his chest, lips brushing over his thick pecs. Leon sighs, his eyes slipping shut, a hand cupping the back of your head as you continue to lay his skin with kisses. You kiss his scars tentatively, squirming lower to kiss his abdomen, tongue darting out to trace the defined ridges of his abdomen.
“You tryna make me cum?” Leon rasps, half-lidded eyes watching you as you bite at his side playfully.
“That is a priority, yes,” you say, following the trail of coarse hair that lies under his navel and the thick bulge laying further down.
His hands in your hair tighten when you nuzzle into his sweatpants, nose brushing against the fabric. When you breathe in, you can smell him, all heady and musky and arousal is seeping into your bones once more, mouth sucking at his clothed cock.
“As much fuck– I would like that,” he grumbles, hips bucking when you mouth at him again, spit dampening his sweatpants, “I’ll cum if you put your mouth on me, baby.”
“Just one suck,” you mumble stubbornly, pulling his sweatpants and boxers down.
Your eyes widen when his cock bobs heavily, struggling with its own weight. You swallow, blinking dazedly as you take in the length and the thickness and the heavy balls that sit underneath. The tip is flushed angrily, darkened and dripping with globs of pre-cum that don’t seem to stop, his cock twitching when you lean towards it slowly.
“It’s big,” you whisper, glancing up at Leon before your eyes find his cock again, pussy beginning to throb as you imagine the stretch. “Really fucking big. You’re– you’re that hard for me?”
Leon grunts, his hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a quick pump. “Yeah, just for you, sweet girl.” He pumps it again, holding his cock towards you. “You said you wanted a taste, go ‘head, pretty baby.”
You don’t need any further invitation, licking your lips hungrily, tongue lolling out. You drag your tongue along the hot length of his cock, feeling the smooth skin and saltiness of his pre-cum. Leon groans, his hips bucking again, another glob of pre-cum dribbling out. You lean forward just in time, catching it on your tongue before your lips wrap around his thick cock.
“Fuck– fuck, baby,” Leon moans, twitching underneath you as you bob your head, beginning to suck. “Your mouth– hah– fuckkk.”
You peer up at him, eyes glittering as you let your tongue swirl around the head before you pull off, pressing a wet, sticky kiss to the tip of his cock.
“Don’t do that,” he mutters hoarsely, shaking his head, “don’t fucking kiss my cock like you’re fucking in love with it.”
You do it again, brows raising when his cock twitches, looking over to find his hand clenched into the sheets, knuckles nearly white.
“I think you like it,” you tease, moving to wrap your hand around his cock, stroking it slowly. “And… I think your cock likes it too.”
“Fuck me,” he growls, head tipping back when you take his cock back into your mouth, sucking and slurping lewdly. He groans and grunts through it, eyes peeling open to watch you swallow around his cock, your pupils blown wide with lust.
When his head lolls to the side, you take your chance, head dipping before he can stop you to suck one of his balls into your mouth. He tastes so dizzyingly nice, spit beginning to leak from the corners of your mouth. Leon’s cock kicks and you land one last kiss to the tip before he’s pulling you up towards him, muffling your whine with a messy kiss.
“Wanna ride it,” you mumble against his lips, worming closer, breasts squishing up against his firm chest.
Leon doesn’t answer, too busy tipping your head up by your chin to kiss you again, stealing your breath. You paw at his chest, fingers finally latching onto his thick biceps. Squeezing, you moan into his mouth when his tongue strokes against yours, arms wrapping around his neck as he pulls back up onto his lap.
Your hips roll, bare pussy gliding along the length of his cock, the tip catching on your newly swollen clit, making you twitch. He refuses to let up with the kisses, groaning into your mouth when you pull at his hair, feverishly swallowing up every little noise that bleeds from your throat.
“Yeah?” he breathes out finally, head tipping back for a moment as he catches his breath, calloused hands squeezing at your hips. “You wanna bounce on it? Hm? This needy pussy of yours need a fat cock to keep it happy, baby?”
“Mhm,” you nod, biting your lip, arousal blistering over your skin, lust beginning to cloud your thoughts once more. You press closer, lips brushing against his ear as though telling him a secret. “It needs your fat cock, Leon.”
“C’mere,” he mutters roughly, moving you up onto your knees, hand grasping the base of his cock to hold it steady for you. “Sink down on it, sweetheart.”
You shift, lowering yourself slowly, letting out a muffled gasp when you start to take his cock, the head of it already beginning to stretch out your pussy as it bullies its way past your entrance.
“‘s just so fucking thick,” you moan softly, peering up at him.
Leon hums, his thumb stroking over your lower lip while his other hand strokes over your hip soothingly.
“You got it, baby,” he smiles, dropping a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You took my fingers and my mouth so fucking good. Only got a few inches left, yeah?”
Your brows furrow as you bite your lip harder, gasping when you finally take all of him, pussy fluttering around his cock wildly in an attempt to adjust to his sheer size. You feel so full, so much so that you think you can feel him in your stomach.
“Good fuckin’ girl,” Leon whispers, his arms wrapping around your waist as he leans against the headboard of the bed. “Take what you need from me, sweetheart. ‘s all yours.”
“Leon,” you mewl, dragging out the syllables of his name, whimpering against his mouth when he kisses your cheek. “I… I can’t,” you say, flushing hot, “it’s too big, I don’t–”
“Good girls don’t give up,” he breathes out, hands moving to squeeze at your waist, “not to mention you were so headstrong earlier. Where’s that attitude now, baby?”
“You fucked it outta me,” you retort poutily, shoving your face into the crook of his neck.
“And to think you said I was old and weird– shit, baby–”
You relish in the loud, guttural groan he lets out when the walls of your pussy squeeze around him. Nuzzling closer, you kiss the spot under his ear before your hips move, rocking and rolling in a lazy rhythm as you get used to his size.
“I’m not giving up,” you murmur, glancing up at him as he watches you, head tipping back when his hand moves up over your breasts, slipping between them to wrap around your throat.
“Atta girl.”
Leon squeezes and you moan, grabbing his wrist as your knees dig into the bedding, hips beginning to rise and fall. He pulls you into a sloppy kiss, growling into your mouth, panting as his tongue slips over yours messily, his thumb prying your mouth open. You pant, tongue lolling out as you ride his cock, the bed creaking from your motions as you fuck yourself on his cock needily.
“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Leon rasps, watching you with dark eyes, his hair messy and hanging over one side of his face. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart.”
You smile at him dopily, breath slowing when his hand tightens, starting to cut off your intake of oxygen. His nose nudges against yours, breath hot as he kisses you, lips working against yours eagerly until his grip loosens, letting you suck in a breath.
“You trust me that much?” Leon asks, smiling back at you with a feral look in his eyes when your hand wraps around his throat. “You think that’s a good idea, sweetheart? You wanna choke me out while you ride my cock?”
“Oh, you can take it,” you whisper, tightening your grip. Your movements don’t slow, thighs smacking against his as you bounce on his lap, your hand landing on his shoulder for leverage as you drop yourself down on his cock harder, setting a firmer rhythm. “Heard you– ahh– kicked ass back at Rhodes Hill.”
He grins, eyes glinting, a ragged noise leaving him when you pant into his mouth, licking at his lips.
“Yeah, I still hah– got it,” Leon muses, hands squeezing at your ass.
Your brows furrow when his grip tightens, a moan punched out of you when he grips your hips starting to lift you, using you as he fucks you on his cock.
“That’s it,” he drawls, controlling the rhythm and you, his forehead pressing against yours as he jerks you up and down his thick, throbbing cock. “Take my fat fuckin’ cock, baby. Cute, little pussy’s just swallowing me up.”
You whimper, hand sliding to cup the nape of his neck, your bodies moving together as his cock carves its way through your pussy, nestling against that spot before it glides out and drives back in. His chest is pressed against yours, firm muscle pressed against your soft breasts, the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing along your clit.
“Harder,” you whisper, eyes finding his, hips starting to sway back to meet his thrusts when he plants his feet into the bed, knees bending as he fucks his cock up into you. “Want it– nghh– harder, Leon.”
“That might strain my joints, baby,” he says softly, smiling up at you when you huff out an annoyed breath. “What? You were concerned about my bones.”
“Fuck your bones,” you groan, pushing at his chest, squirming off of his lap onto your hands and knees, ass swaying up into the air. You look back at him over your shoulder, hand worming between your thighs to spread yourself open for him, wet, dripping pussy all on display for him. “‘m so empty,” you whisper, voice lilting. “Fill me up?” You bat your lashes, “please?”
Leon mutters a low curse, his chest heaving as he rises up onto his knees, using your ankle to pull you toward him, his hand stroking his cock with uneven motions, knuckles tightening when he sees the slick webbing between your puffy folds and clinging to your thighs.
You’re half-expecting some witty remark, but all Leon does is brush a rough kiss to your shoulder, grunting into your ear before he’s notching the head of his cock against your aching pussy and driving his cock into you.
“Too– fuck! Too fast!” you squeal when he starts thrusting hard and fast, the bed beginning to rock with every snap of his hips.
“But you said you were empty,” Leon rumbles into your ear, “‘m just filling up this needy, pretty fucking cunt for you, sweetheart. So stop squirming,” his hand clamps down on your hips, “and fucking take it.”
You wail into the room, thrashing under him when his hips smack into your ass, balls slapping against your throbbing clit, the lewd noises echoing through the small space. He draws moan after moan out of you, his cock pounding into your pussy unforgivingly. You think you can feel it in your throat, his fat cock sliding through your gripping, fluttering walls.
Leon’s body is draping over your back, his mouth settling right next to your ear as he grunts and groans. Your toes curl, back arching when he pushes down on the small of your back, his breathing ragged as he grinds his impossibly thick cock into you.
“Fuck,” you mewl, spying his flexed bicep near your head, drool pooling into your mouth. Your head tilts as the muscle bulges, all inhibitions lost when you follow the line of his arm to stare hazily at his veiny forearm. You lean towards his bicep, teeth sinking into the thick muscle with a moan.
Leon’s breath hitches, his hips stuttering for a moment when he realizes you’ve bit him before his thrusts start up again, his hot, heavy cock pounding back into your needy pussy. You lick his bicep, tongue laving over his warm skin, eyes rolling back when his arm moves, wrapping around your throat, his bicep pressed up against the side of your neck.
“You keep– fuck– staring at my arms, sweetheart,” Leon rasps, grinning against your cheek when you let out a choked moan, his breath cut off by a low moan of his own. “Is this what you need? A strong arm wrapped around your throat, fat cock pounding into your needy cunt and sweet, little kisses?” He punctuates his question by kissing your temple.
“I– nghhh– need you,” you whine, feeling dazed as he drops his weight onto you a little more, enough so that you can feel every inch of him against your back.
You can’t really do anything but take it, his skin slapping against yours and breath rough in your ear. When his fingers move, finding your clit to rub the swollen bud, you whimper, clutching the sheets, nails raking against the fabric as the string of pleasure draws tighter.
“‘m gonna cum,” you say hoarsely, cunt clenching around his cock desperately. “Leon– Leon, Leon, Leon!”
“‘m right here, baby,” Leon whispers, kissing your cheek, “taking my cock so well. Doing so– fuck– good for me, yeah? Cum whenever you want, sweet girl, I’ve got you.”
Your body jerks when his fingers rub against your clit faster, a ragged scream erupting from you as you cum violently. Leon swears, his grip on you faltering, the arm on your throat drawing away as you twitch on his cock, grasping at the sheets, at the pillows until Leon offers you his hand.
Your fingers lace together with his and you squeeze tightly, gasping uncontrollably until his mouth finds yours, capturing your lips in a kiss. You whimper into his mouth, knees weak and thighs tired, your death-grip on his hand loosening when he soothes you with soft kisses. Your pussy clenches and Leon groans into your mouth, his hips jerking forward unevenly.
“‘m gonna cum too, pretty baby,” he grunts, fingers pushing at your ass gently, hips beginning to pull away. “Greedy, little pussy’s clenching around me too tight, I can’t–”
“Inside,” you mumble, letting your hips sway back tiredly, trying to swallow down the length of his cock. “Cum inside.”
“That’s– shittt– a bad idea, baby,” Leon groans, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder as his hips rock into you, pace stuttering.
You can feel his cock throb and twitch, a soft mewl escaping you. “You said you were full of bad ideas.”
Leon lets out a startled laugh, his breath coming out in short, choppy bursts. “I did– hahhh– I did say that. Take my cum then, sweetheart, gonna flood this perfect fuckin’ cunt with cum.”
He grips your hips, thrusting forward with a hard drive of his cock. Leon swears under his breath, his hips jerking into your ass as he cums, cock kicking and throbbing as hot, thick cum floods your pussy.
You let out a contented noise when he moans into your ear, low and guttural, the sound making you feel warm. His softening cock slips out after a few moments and Leon pulls himself away from you, the bed protesting under the weight of you both. You curl up into his side, head dropping over his chest, eyes drooping when you feel the steady beat of his heart.
Leon’s hand settles on your head, stroking over your hair lazily as he pants, chest rising and falling.
“Do you feel relaxed?” you murmur, peering up at him with a sleepy smile.
“I feel fucked out,” Leon mutters, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek, rubbing at the spot of drool that had pooled at the corner of your mouth. “You did a number on me, sweetheart.”
“I aim to please.”
He laughs, hauling you closer and you smile, kissing the underside of his jaw. “You went above and beyond, I can tell you that much.”
You snort, arms wrapping around his neck. “Am I gonna get that in writing?”
“I’ll think about it,” Leon murmurs, his fingers slipping under your chin to tip your head, lips pressing against yours. You hum into the kiss, fingers tangling in his soft hair, a quiet noise leaving you as he squeezes your ass.
When Leon pulls away, you chase after his lips, eyes fluttering shut when he returns your kiss just as eagerly, your thigh hooking over his hip, brows furrowing when you feel his cock against your thigh.
You look down, cheeks flushing when you find his spent cock beginning to harden, the fat length bobbing gently as it fills out.
“Already?” you murmur, sighing softly when he leaves stubbly kisses along your jaw.
“What can I say?” Leon whispers, his hips bucking when your hand wraps around his hardening cock. “You uh… bring out the best in me, I guess.”
You raise your brows, unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across your face. “Your best attribute is your cock? That’s a little disappointing.”
He grins, groaning when you kiss his pec.
“You didn’t seem to think it was disappointing when I fucked you with it.”
“It is nice,” you acquiesce, head tipping back as he leans into you, trailing hot kisses down your neck, his hips beginning to rock lazily, meeting the strokes of your hand.
“I do have other nice, non-sexual attributes,” Leon says, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb stroking over your skin gently. There’s a light flush settled on his cheeks and he clears his throat, sucking in a soft breath when you squeeze his cock. “Maybe you’d like to find out sometime?”
Your smile softens, affection beginning to creep in through the cracks of your ribs. Leaning forward, you kiss him gently.
a mission goes awry when you're infected with a fever virus...and there's only one way to cure you.
warnings: smut, fem!reader, sometime after re4!leon, sex pollen (kind of), possible dubious consent 'cause it's fuck or die but really everyone here wants to be there and consents heartily, feelings realization, confessions, desperate sex turned tender sex, dry humping, fingering, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), leon kennedy one liners, canon-typical violence, a few sneaky references to other re games/movies, fake science i made up
a/n: picture your favorite leon for this. it was just sex pollen but became lots of plot with sex pollen and mush in the second half. what can i say, i'm a lover at heart. just like leon!
--
It starts with bad intel.
The facility is supposed to be abandoned. No bio signatures on the initial recon scan, no movement from hostiles after an extended stakeout, nothing. An abandoned underground lab for an experimental arm of Umbrella, potentially full of important documents on bioweapons research.
Your mission is to gather as much information as possible, should any of the viruses created there pop up on the black market or worse.
Easy, compared to the shit you're usually assigned.
Leon agrees.
Well, you think he agrees. He treats every mission as seriously as the last. You've grown to appreciate his consistency. It makes him easy to trust, which is essential in this line of work.
He's the best partner you've ever had. Thorough, direct, and smart. He never questions your abilities and relies on you just as much as you rely on him.
And, god. He's kind. Funny, too, when he wants to be. One time on a weeklong stakeout in the middle of nowhere, Argentina, he explained to you, in detail, the plot of The Count of Monte Cristo, all because you said you'd never read it. You hadn't even known he liked to read.
He's hard to crack, though. Professional to a fault, more dedicated to the cause than anyone you've ever met. And he's handsome.
How could you not fall in love with him?
You keep your ever-growing feelings to yourself. Asking him if he feels the same isn't worth ruining your partnership, isn't worth being someone else who wants something from him that he maybe can't give. Not when you can have him this way -- at your side with your life in his hands, his in yours.
In some ways, this is more intimate than any regular relationship you've ever had.
You'd spent the chopper ride here watching him as he looked out the window, even though you knew he felt your gaze. He's always doing that, always taking in everything around him with militant attention. You wonder what he sees that most people don't. Connections, patterns, maybe even beauty. You've never asked. Whatever it is has kept him alive this long. It's kept you alive, too.
And so, the mission.
You drop from a very long hatch into dark, stale air. The ladder leaves your hands aching and your shoulders tight, but there's no time for recovery.
Training takes over. Leon leads, with you at his right flank. Flashlights on, service weapon at the ready.
"Stay sharp," he says.
Sometimes you tease him about it, his constant readiness for a threat. But you feel it this time. Something's not right here, scans be damned.
Flecks of dust and grime float through your bright beams. The corridor ends maybe 15 meters in front of you in a set of metal doors, no windows. The security pad on the left side blinks a dull red.
"Emergency power," you say.
It was in the brief as a possibility but not a guarantee. Leon approaches, and you follow, digging into one of your belt pockets for the access card some other agent had to steal last week for this purpose.
"You want to do the honors?" you ask.
Leon shakes his head. "Be my guest."
The red light blinks green with a hover of your hand, and the unlocking mechanisms creak to life. The doors open slowly with a hiss. You're greeted with a dark lobby, dull yellowish lights lining the base of the walls.
"Must be on throughout," Leon says. Sometimes these places are zoned, or some other needlessly complicated system of power distribution. "Hopefully that means doors will keep opening."
He's still tense, arms outstretched to shine his light into the new space, shoulders taut. You feel it too, a prickle at the base of your neck.
"If not, I'm sure the power systems will be super easy to find with no issues," you say lightly.
He huffs, as close to a laugh as you can hope for at the start of a mission, but it's a win.
"Ready?" he asks.
You dip your chin. He glides into the room, clearing one side as you clear the other. There aren't any signs of disturbance, but that's how it goes with these places. The closer you get to the exit, the more normal it seems -- because all of the horrible things happen behind closed doors.
And no one makes it out.
"Clear," Leon calls. You echo it.
There are two single doors that reveal a bathroom hallway and the security office, as well as a set of double doors that resemble the locked entrance, another keypad glowing red at one side. Leon finds a map of the facility in the office and spreads it on the desk.
"That locked door will take us to an elevator that goes down to the labs," he says, tracing the path with a finger under the beam of his flashlight. "Three of them, all on different levels, connected by staircases instead of the elevator shaft, only accessible by keycard and on the other side of an anti-contamination corridor."
"Isolated," you observe. "In case of an outbreak?"
"It's bare bones compared to the other Umbrella stuff we've seen. This must be really out-there shit. Less resources, less of a footprint, less of an issue when it goes wrong."
You try to commit the map to memory. Leon will undoubtedly fold it into one of his pockets, but it's hard to consult a piece of paper when you're running from a B.O.W..
"Greek," Leon mutters. "More creative than T-virus, that's for sure."
This is just like him, surprising you after countless missions as your partner.
"Do you speak Greek, Leon?"
He shrugs.
"Not really." He tightens the strap on his glove, a cue that he's frustrated. You know most of his tells by now. "I don't know the last one. Fire, maybe?"
"Not really, he says," you tease. "What else are you hiding, Kennedy?"
He rolls his eyes at you, but if the lights were on, you're sure you'd see some pink in his cheeks. Battle-hardened agent he may be, Leon S. Kennedy still blushes for you.
If only...
No. You swallow the pang in your chest and roll your shoulders. "Start with B1 and go down, then loop back up?"
It wouldn't be out of the question to divide and conquer, but the slimy unease dripping down your spine prevents you from suggesting it.
He grunts his agreement, eyes still on the map, frowning.
As a pair, you work so well together because of your communication. It took practice, sure, but now you know each other across a crowded room, through the heat of a fight, in the dark. You don't let things go unsaid.
Well, most things, your traitorous heart says.
"Leon," you say. "It feels off, right? We're missing something."
Blue eyes meet yours. He sighs.
"Yeah," he says. "Guess we just have to find out what."
You can't help it -- you put your hand on his bicep and squeeze just a little, holding his gaze. His fringe hangs in his eyes. In another life, you'd push it back.
"Be careful, okay?" you ask him, faces so close you can feel his breath.
Leon got shot on your second ever mission together. It was a clean wound, through and through, except for the fact that he'd already been shot in that shoulder back in Raccoon City. The bullet fucked up the already fragile joint, so he needed surgery and was benched for six weeks (he was back at your side in four).
There was nothing you could have done. It was nobody's fault. But you felt responsible for waylaying your new partner, who was one of the most well-known agents in the whole damn place, so you went to see him in the hospital to alleviate your guilt.
"They have you with anyone while I'm out?" he asked you.
They did, actually, but hadn't told you who. Leon was troubled by it.
"Well, be careful," he said, as if he didn't trust anyone else to watch your back, even then.
"Only as careful as you," you replied, pointing at his shoulder.
That was the first time you made Leon Kennedy laugh.
Now, it's something you say to each other in the field. A mantra, a reminder, a promise.
Leon gives you a small smile.
"Only as careful as you," he replies, like he always does. We keep each other safe.
You release him and busy your hand at your belt immediately, god forbid you touch him more.
He rolls his shoulders back and checks the chamber of his sidearm.
"Into the depths, huh?"
"Into the depths."
--
Level B1: MENIS
The elevator opens to a dead contamination chamber. Nothing happens as you walk through the three zones where you'd expect to be scanned, doused, and dried. Another set of metal doors opens with a hiss when you tap the keycard. The smell of death hits your nose and makes your eyes water.
There are at least 10 bodies piled on the other side, most of them in pieces.
"Fuck," you curse, sidestepping a caved-in head.
"Looks like the party started without us," Leon says quietly.
"Great," you mutter. "God, that's nasty."
There aren't any claw marks or avid stains or other tell-tale signs of B.O.W.'s you see with this caliber of violence. One look at Leon and you know he's realized the same thing. You tilt your head down the hall. He nods, following your lead deeper into the floor.
Red emergency lights pulse along the base of the walls, illuminating the blood splattered pretty much everywhere. You pass the occasional corpse, most of them so horribly disfigured it's hard to tell if they were staff or test subjects or something else.
There are so many things you want to say, but you keep them to yourself until Leon leads you to the floor's main office. You slide in but don't relax.
"They look like they were torn apart," you say as soon as the door is closed. Leon frowns at you, since you didn't clear the room first, but it's a square office. You can see all the corners from where you're standing.
"I know," he replies. "But no sign of what did it."
You sigh. "So, are you going to tell Hunnigan the location survey was wrong, or should I?"
"I think I've run out of my 'bad news' calls for the year," he says. "That one's all yours once we get topside."
"How generous of you."
Leon smirks. "I'm a giver."
The office is small and the computers are dead. There are papers scattered around, so you divide and conquer.
You find an official logbook. Mostly in-the-weeds science stuff, but you skim until you find a change in handwriting.
LOG #57:
Development continues under new staff. Blood transmission remains the only method that carries enough sample to infect a host; airborne tests were unsuccessful. Vaccine/suppressant formulas abandoned for the time being after we were told that our subject supply would be steady. B2 wants to set one of theirs against one of ours, which seems pointless because any B1 subject will win that fight. B3 is a joke, but they're insistent that it'll work.
No vaccine...that's not good news. But what were they actually testing here? Infecting people with what?
You flip more pages until you find something that makes your blood run cold.
LOG #63:
We've finally gotten a host to survive. B2 and B3 are nowhere near this. We won't be sharing. Their subjects die within hours. B3 is practically useless, anyway. What use is controlling people if they die on you in an hour? But here, we've cracked it. I managed to figure out how to get the virus to work with the host's adrenaline production, stabilizing it into a constant state of fight or flight without short-circuiting the nervous system. If this batch survives the week, we'll ask permission to start on the suppressant. Once we have that, we'll be able to control the whole herd. The future of hostile takeover is here! Now, if only they'd let us out of this fucking dungeon more often…
Holy shit. They were making viruses to infect large populations, to control them. But using what? Changing their brain chemicals, making them reliant on suppressants? Leon told you about this kind of manipulation, how it infiltrated a military unit and even made its way to the White House a few years ago. Who knows how far they got this time?
"Leon," you call, turning with the folder in your hands. "You should look at this --"
You make eye contact and fall silent. He's got his finger over his lips and his gun at the ready.
You toss the papers aside and take your place on the other side of the door.
That's when you hear it.
Groans, grunts, screams. Footsteps -- a lot of them.
He holds your gaze.
Clear the chokepoint, get into the lab rooms down the hall around the corner, make for the stairwell on the other side of the floor.
That's what you'd do, so you know it's what he's thinking, too. No confirmation needed.
The door bursts open. You duck, missing the arms reaching for your neck. It's dark in here, but you rely on muscle memory and gravity to sweep the zombie's legs out from under it and stomp on its head while you fire at the next one.
The attackers are -- well, they look mostly human. But their eyes are wild, blood running down their faces like tears, pink foam and spit dripping from their mouths.
Leon's movements are sharp and decisive. Headshot, parry, twist. Uppercut, knee sweep, headshot. He occupies the air around you like he's magnetized to your movements, always filling the space where you aren't, ceding room when you need it. After hours upon hours of mat practice between the two of you and hundreds of field opportunities to master it, you work together like a well-oiled machine.
It's exhilarating.
You're forced back from the door, but you keep firing, slicing, covering each other. It's essential that you get into the hall sooner rather than later to avoid being trapped in this room.
A zombie rips the arm off another in its attempt to get to you. That's new.
"What the fuck were they doing with this shit?" Leon grunts. He's splattered with blood now. No doubt you are too.
"That's what I was going to tell you before our party of two got crashed," you say between shots.
"They wanted to control people."
"Yeah, this sure looks like control to me!"
"We have to clear it or we'll have to fight through on our way back up."
Leon grunts his agreement. "They're not biting." His aim is true, as always. He downs two, three, four infected. "They just want to rip us apart!"
"We need to go into the hall. Cover me," you say, dodging bloody fingers and sliding through the door. "Switching weapons!"
Your assault rifle is strapped to your back. You holster your pistol and reach around for it, but something catches your jacket and pulls.
The fabric tears. For a split second, you worry your flesh will be next, but then the tug disappears. Leon grunts and he breaks the neck of whatever had you.
You keep your gaze on the approaching pack, maybe 10 or 15 strong. Leon keeps taking them down while you holster your pistol and check the new cartridge.
"Gonna need to reload in a second here," he calls. "Six left. Five. Four --"
"Ready," you shout. Leon stabs a zombie in the neck and walks behind it, using it as a wall against reaching fingers until he's at your side again. He tears his knife free and slides beside you, solid, ready.
You open fire.
That's all it takes. The hallway is soon empty and bloodier than before. All you can hear is your combined panting.
Leon lowers his gun. "Nice job," he says.
You drop yours, too. "What was this floor called again? Menace?"
"Basically," he says, slamming in a new clip. "Divine wrath or anger."
"No shit." You look down at the tear in your jacket. "God damnit, this is my favorite."
Leon checks his chamber. "I'll get you a new one," he says.
You laugh. He almost smiles, like that was his goal all along.
The rest of the floor is mostly clear. A few stragglers here and there, but they're no match for the two of you. The containment chambers seem to be where the infected gathered in the months since this facility went dark -- the walls are covered in scratch marks.
"I can't believe they didn't kill each other," Leon says with mild disgust. "Not having control of yourself like that...I wouldn't wish it on anyone."
You've read the report from Spain. He knows how it feels.
"Do you think they're aware?" you wonder aloud.
He looks so sad for a moment that you almost reach for him. "I hope not."
--
Level B2: KAMATOS
The stairwell is a mess. The door to B2 is barricaded, but you manage to get through after slamming your shoulders against it over and over.
This floor is quiet, but in a different way than upstairs. Years of field-trained instincts tell you there's nothing left alive on this floor. That, and it made a hell of a lot of noise getting the door open, and nothing popped out.
It's dustier down here, like things have been still for longer.
"What's this one mean?" you ask. "This virus."
"Extreme fatigue," Leon tells you.
"So if they controlled adrenaline levels on the first floor to make them angry, they're depriving people of sleep on this floor?"
He shrugs. "Maybe they found a way to keep the brain awake without killing it."
They did not.
The documents you find suggest the virus was a failure. The bodies you find confirm it. Hosts died from heart failure, self-inflicted wounds, a number of things, no matter what the scientists did to keep the mind from giving up. All by depriving them of sleep.
Being so tired that you see no other way out…
The horror of it all rises in your throat. You leave Leon with the corpses so you can press your forehead to the cool hallway wall.
This job asks a lot of you. Your time, your well-being. Your security, your personal relationships, your hobbies. It's overwhelming and can bury a person. The things you see, the things you do -- it gets to you. It’s easy to shove it down, to pretend like you're untouchable, but that's no way to live, either.
Sometimes you just have to feel it.
These poor people.
Leon's hand is light on your shoulder. Not patronizing, not rushing, just there. Warm, solid.
You take a deep breath, then stand up straight.
"Let's take a quick break before the last floor," Leon says.
"I'm fine."
You turn to face him, but he's already crouching, back against the wall.
He grins, a real smile this time. It makes him look younger. "Who said it was for you?"
It's like he's giving you permission to put it all down for a second. To forget where you are, why you're there, what you're doing. Leon's guard is rarely fully down, and right now he's telling you that he's got you. Rest for a second, I'll take care of us.
He's proven to you over and over that he will.
So you smile back, shaky but genuine. "Getting old, Kennedy?"
"Something like that." He looks up at you, grin softening into something fond. "Do you remember Greece?"
You slide down the wall to his level. "Do I remember Greece? Be serious. How could I forget --"
"All those stairs," Leon finishes. "Exactly."
It was last year in the height of summer. A small, sleepy cliffside town, except for the fact that a scummy billionaire moved into the monastery and started developing B.O.W.'s in the catacombs.
The town was evacuated. You were sent in to apprehend the guy and secure whatever virus he was using. It turned into three days of running up and down stone staircases away from bats with tentacles and lizards with thousands of teeth where you wouldn't expect teeth to be.
Over the course of your partnership, you've seen each other in all states, but you've never seen Leon as exhausted as he was after that mission.
"I thought I was going to have to carry you to the rendezvous point," you remind him. "You fell down so many stairs."
Leon rubs his knees as if remembering the way they smacked stone over and over.
"And you would have," he says.
He catches your gaze and holds it. He's reminding you that you're in this together. That he trusts you, something you do not take lightly. It's hard to know who you can trust in this job, even your very own employer, but he never doubts you. You never doubt him.
The familiar ache of everything you feel for him sits warm and heavy on your chest. He's the best man you've ever known.
"I would have," you say.
Leon dips his chin, his mouth curling into a smaller smile than before, but this one is just as fond.
"We should go back," you say without meaning to.
It surprises him, but he hides it well.
"That would be nice," he muses. "I don't know the last time I took a vacation."
"We could go to the beach," you continue. It's scarily easy to imagine -- Leon in swim trunks, cheeks pink from the sun. "Stay at the bottom of the stairs and not walk up a single one."
"But you liked the monastery," he reminds you. "We'd have to go back up to see the windows."
Of course he remembers how you'd looked up in awe at the stained glass, gun in your hand and blood on your face.
"I'll climb up by myself. You can relax."
Leon sighs. "Relax," he says. "I don't even know if I know how to do that."
"You're good at everything," you say. "You'll pick it up in no time."
Whatever game this is, you're having too much fun playing it. Leon doesn't lie to you, so while he might be indulging you, there's a part of him that means all of this. He has to know that you mean it, too.
He stands and offers you his hand.
"One more floor," he says. "Then we can go to Greece."
--
Level B3: PYRETOS
The hit comes out of nowhere.
Maybe you're distracted by talk of vacation, or your guard is down after the silence of B2, but you don't see it coming. One second you're rounding the corner, the next you're flying backwards through glass, back slamming against a cabinet. You land heavily on the ground, more glass and something wet raining down on you.
Leon yells your name.
You try to catch your breath, but it's stuck in your chest. He's still calling for you in between gunshots.
"Fuck," you croak, finally finding air. You roll onto your side. Glass crunches under your weight as you try to figure out what the hell just happened.
Everything hurts, but you try to shake it off and push up to standing. Leon hauls himself through the broken window. He begins to clear the room after he sees you on your feet.
"Clear. That was one ugly son of a bitch," he says. "Must have gotten down here from upstairs."
You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat.
Something isn't right.
Your skin feels tight, like you already went on vacation and got burned to a crisp. Your pulse won't slow. Deep breaths feel impossible. Strangest of all, it's almost like –
Well, your core is buzzing. You press your legs together and try not to panic.
In the early days, after Leon got shot but well before Greece, you hid an injury from him.
You took a knife to the ribs during a fight. It wasn't too deep, but it was wide and bleeding steadily. Adrenaline allowed you to get through it. You figured you could patch yourself up the next time you slowed. But Leon pushed on ahead, and you followed without saying anything.
That is, until you left a bloody handprint on a door. He stopped immediately.
"Is that yours?" he said. "Where are you hurt?"
"It's nothing," you protested. But Leon S. Kennedy does not give up easily.
"Show me," he said, pulling out bandages from his hip pouch. "When did this happen?"
"I'm not compromised," you said, even as you lifted your jacket to show him.
"I know you aren't," he said. "I want to know when you're hurt so I can make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine," you said weakly. He patched you up quickly and thoroughly.
"We're partners," he told you. "We have to help each other."
Here, now, you don’t hide from him.
"Leon," you croak. "Something's wrong. I think I --"
He's at your side in an instant, so close your breath hitches. Why are you so affected by him? Why are you so warm?
"The rip in your jacket," Leon says. "Your arm is bleeding."
"Liquid," you gasp. "It felt wet when I hit the cabinet."
The pieces come together. Shattered vials at your feet, an empty cabinet behind you. The dull red emergency lights make it hard to tell what color the puddle is, but you know it can't be good.
"They wouldn't keep a virus out in the open, would they?" you ask weakly. You're shaking now, shivering even though you don't feel cold.
"Fever," he breathes. "Pyretos. It means fever."
You've rarely seen Leon afraid. He's human, so it happens, but normally he faces things head-on without complaint.
Right now, he looks terrified. That scares you more than anything.
"Leon," you whisper. "What do we do?"
He snaps into action. He hands you a roll of bandages.
"Wrap it," he says. He presses a few buttons on his watch until it beeps. Setting a timer, no doubt. Just in case. "How do you feel? Describe it to me."
"Feverish," you say. "But not dizzy. I can think clearly."
Leon starts to dig around the lab, tearing open drawers and rifling through what he finds. The office on this floor wasn't in the same place as the other two, so any information must be in here, right?
"What else?"
You follow his lead, desperately searching for anything helpful. How do you explain the fact that your entire body is pulsing with a very specific kind of need? It scares you, feeling this out of control physically while also being in your right mind.
You land on achey. The buzzing under your skin gets worse every minute you spend looking and finding fuck all.
"There's nothing here," he says, frustrated. "Shit."
You're thinking the same thing: no vaccines. Any hope for you is in this lab.
But then -- your eye catches on a cabinet sitting on deep grooves in the floor.
"There's a door," you tell him, already heading for it. A wave of need hits you so suddenly that you have to brace yourself on the wall to catch your breath. Leon brushes by you. The slight contact has you swallowing a moan.
Jesus Christ.
He shoves the cabinet aside. Behind it is a door that opens into the lab office, as dark as the others.
You follow him in and start searching the shelves. Leon drags a table into the perfect place to effectively barricade you in.
"We don't have time to be interrupted right now," he says. He starts searching the desk.
You're sweating now. If this thing is going to turn you, Leon can't be here for it. You don't want him to see it. "Maybe you should go back to the surface --"
"I'm not leaving you," he interrupts. It's sharp, final.
"But if I turn--"
Leon whirls around. "I'm not leaving you," he says again.
Your nose stings. It's not the rational choice, but it's the Leon Kennedy choice. You can't help but be grateful for it.
He returns to the papers. Everywhere your clothing touches your skin feels heavy, almost painful. Your skin is sensitive, your throat dry, breath still fast.
You're so turned on, you think you might explode. It's all you can do to just stand there and try to keep it together.
"I found something," Leon says. He says nothing else. It's hard to see his expression in the dark without being close to him. You don't know if you can handle that right now.
"Bad news, doc?"
He swallows and begins to read.
"In an effort to bend the subject to commands, a fever is introduced via the bloodstream that increases testosterone and dopamine to near-unbearable levels of arousal. We have successfully altered the balance to allow the mind to be unaffected, making the reaction purely physical. The fever, if detected and combated within 1 hour, can be reduced by repeated bursts of oxytocin until the subject's internal temperature returns to normal. Required oxytocin levels seem to vary by subject; no pattern discernible at this time."
"What the fuck does that mean?" you pant. Your skin feels too tight. You still can't take a full breath. Control is becoming a missed opportunity. "Do I have a sex fever?"
No answer.
"Leon."
He exhales sharply.
"I think you need to be touched," he says. "To release the chemical that will help you fight this on your own."
Your responding laugh edges on hysterical.
"I do have a sex fever. So, what, you're going to hug me and hope I don't die?"
"I could," he says. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "I just don't think it'll be enough. This says bursts, and a lot of them. The best way to trigger that kind of response is --"
It clicks in your mind.
"Orgasm," you whisper. "Oh, god."
Leon closes his eyes for a second too long.
"I don't know what to do," he admits. He looks at his watch. "It's been 10 minutes. I don't know what--"
"I'm so sorry," you breathe. The gravity of your situation is like a bucket of cold water. If only it actually made you feel cold. You have to fuck your partner or die. What kind of sick joke is this? "Leon, I'm so sorry. You don't have to do anything, this is my fault --"
He tosses the file onto the table.
"I'm not going to let you die," he says with all his usual conviction. He really believes it, and it makes it easier for you to believe it, too. "Not when there's something I can do about it."
"But not like this," you croak. "This is --"
"I know."
God, you wish the lights were on. You want to see every detail of his face to discern what he's feeling. Can you ask him to do this? Will it ruin everything forever?
A tremor wracks through you. You have to brace yourself on the desk.
He yanks open drawers until he finds a thermometer. It beeps alive, somehow, and he holds it up to your forehead.
"Shit," he mutters.
"What?"
Leon flips the device to show you the screen. 103.2.
"Shit," you echo.
Your brain is going to cook in your skull sooner rather than later. You swallow frustrated tears along with your pride.
"I'm so wet," you whisper. It's the lewdest thing you've ever said to him. "I can feel it."
Leon inhales sharply, standing ever-so-still just next to you, just out of reach.
The pain radiates through you, molten lava in your veins. It's strange to be able to think so clearly. You want Leon as badly as you always do. That's bearable. But the pain. The heat. It's something else, something all-consuming.
You need him to touch you.
"Please don't make me beg," you whimper, turning towards him.
"Jesus," he mutters, filling the space you make for him. His hands find your face. You groan. The contact is like a balm, even through his gloves.
"Oh god."
You nuzzle into his palms. It's like you can feel the battle in your blood, the virus doing its best to cook you from the inside out, but Leon's touch is giving you a foothold, a reprieve.
If it wasn't so awful, you'd laugh at the idea that you're so horny you might die.
"Whatever you need, I'll do," he says. His voice is already hoarse. "But just -- you have to tell me if it's not okay. And I'll stop. We'll figure something else out."
You lean back on the desk and grab his elbows. You've touched plenty, but never like this. Never loaded with all of the unspoken things between you, never with such desperation.
"It's okay," you tell him. "Whatever it takes, it's okay. I trust you."
His thigh slides between your legs.
"Can you forgive me? If I do this?" he whispers, lips so close to yours. You lean forward on instinct, pulled to him by more than just the fire in your core.
"There's nothing to forgive," you say, and then you're kissing.
What you need is an orgasm, but this is something you've wondered about for a long time. Something you've wanted. It almost feels selfish to take it now.
But, fuck, it's good.
He's not shy. You trace the seam of his lips with your tongue. He opens for you immediately, licking into your mouth as he pulls you forward and onto his thigh.
His kisses are desperate, exposing his worry, but also tender, exposing his care. You're in good hands, hands you love.
Even through your pants, the pressure of your cunt on his thigh is enough to steal your breath.
"God," you gasp.
"Not quite," Leon says, kissing a path from your mouth down your neck. "Does that help?"
You grind down on him in reply. His palms have made their way to your hips, aiding you in your quest for pressure on your core.
It's too much. It's not enough. But still, the coil tightens. "Sorry, I just need --"
You chase it, grinding down on his thigh even harder, panting into his neck. You're close, you can feel it. You're chasing it, that snap, that reward. Leon just lets you take and take and take.
You thread your fingers through his hair, panting into his neck. When you tug just a little, he bounces his leg and you keen.
"More, please."
It only takes three more bounces before you're coming, shudders ripping through you, his name on your lips.
When you return to your body, Leon is dragging his palm up and down your back.
"Did you just--"
You're becoming very familiar with the fabric of his shoulder, his leather harness pressing into your cheek.
"Mhm," you manage.
There's a world where you're embarrassed. In that world, you asked Leon out for dinner and then up to your place after. In that world, you made out on the couch and ground down on his thigh until you came. In that world, he laughed with you, utterly charmed, and it was the beginning of something wonderful.
In this one, he gently tilts you back so he can check your temperature with the thermometer.
"Holy shit," he breathes. "102.1. It worked."
You don't feel that different, but the number doesn't lie.
Leon is panting, too. "More?"
You nod. Your cunt aches like you didn't have an orgasm at all.
He tugs off a glove with his teeth, dropping it god knows where.
"Don't know how clean my hands are," he says.
A laugh bursts out of you, but it sounds close to a sob.
Two fingers go in his mouth faster than you can open yours. He doesn't waste too much time wetting them, given how turned on you already are, but he gives them a good suck. A trail of spit hangs from his lip when he finishes.
You work at the buttons of your pants, unbuckling your tactical belt. It clangs onto the desk behind you. Leon slides his hand down under the waistband of your panties. You collapse into him with a guttural moan.
"Leon," you gasp. He holds you up, no problem, even as you go utterly boneless at just his fingers in your folds.
"You weren't kidding," he says, breathy. "You are wet."
"I'm sorry," you pant into his shoulder.
"Please don't say sorry again," he groans. "I can't take it."
"Can I say thank you?"
"That's worse," he says, sliding two fingers into you at the same time. "I just wish it wasn't like this, is all."
The absurdity of the whole thing makes it hard to keep your emotional walls high. What's the point? You're having sex with your partner to save your life in an underground Umbrella laboratory. You're way past keeping your emotions from him.
So you hear his words for what they are. For what he's not saying.
"Oh, yeah?" He curls his fingers and you groan, arching into him. "You have something you want to tell me, Kennedy?"
"Little late for that."
He presses his lips to your jaw, but you pull back so you can see his eyes. He's flushed, his pupils taking over almost all of the blue you love so dearly.
"I always want to know how you feel," you tell him. It's honest, raw, perhaps out of place when he's knuckle deep in your cunt.
"Fuck," he breathes, like eye contact is enough to undo him.
"I just want to help you," he says. "I always want to help you when you need it." He picks up the pace with his fingers. "I like being the guy who has your back."
His thumb circles your clit. It’s all you can do to hang onto his shoulders and ride it out as he keeps talking.
"I want to give you everything you've ever wanted," he says. "I miss you when you leave the room. I trust you more than anyone I've ever met."
"Oh, Leon," you gasp, grinding down onto his hand. "Me too. Me too."
He scrapes his teeth along your neck. "Yeah?"
"Yes, yes, yes --"
The orgasm washes over you. You clench around him over and over. He carefully pulls his hand from your panties and licks his fingers. Good god.
Something has shifted between you. It's still about the mission, about breaking your fever, but now it's more. It's more, because you both want it.
Leon leans in for a kiss. You meet him halfway, tasting yourself on his lips.
Beep.
"101.3," he says.
You push his hair back from his forehead. "Is that low enough?"
This time, you do feel a bit different. Maybe it's the confirmation that Leon has feelings for you, but your muscles feel more relaxed, your skin less taut. The need still burns, though.
"There's no way to say this without sounding like a creep," he says wryly. "But I think you should have a few more."
You drag your hands up and down his torso, but your gaze lands on his makeshift barricade.
"Do we think we have time?"
Even as you ask, you're toeing off your boots and shoving your pants down. Leon is quick to help you.
"If anything comes through that door," he says, fingers hooked in your underwear, "I can kill it with my eyes closed."
He hooks his hand under your thighs and helps you up onto the desk fully, sweeping everything onto the ground.
"So could you," he adds. You hum in agreement. Your hand returns to his torso, trailing it down to the front of his pants.
He's hard.
It's not entirely a surprise, but you're pleased.
"I know, I'm sorry, it's kind of fucked up --" he tries. You don't let it get very far.
"Don't you apologize," you say. "You're allowed to want, Leon. I promise you, whatever you want, you can have. You already do."
His answer to that is a kiss, not searing and heated like before, but soft and slow. Like he's memorizing you, learning every inch of your mouth just because he can.
A wave of heat rolls through you, so intense and unexpected that you have to close your eyes and grit your teeth against the pain.
Leon rubs your back and tells you to breathe, it's okay, you're going to be okay.
The heat dulls. "How long has it been?" you ask through gritted teeth, eyes still shut.
"26 minutes."
His thumbs stroke your cheeks, helping you come back to yourself.
"Are you okay to keep going?" he asks. "I'll do whatever you want."
You reach for his belt with shaking hands. Not because you don't want him, or because you're scared, but because you need him. You need him to survive. This was just as true before you got infected as it is now. And you have him.
He has you.
Leon lets you unbuckle his pants as he undoes his harness and his tactical pouches. They both fall to the ground.
You take him in hand and he hisses. His cock is warm, another layer of heat against your already burning skin. His hips jerk when you stroke him root to tip.
His fingers circle your wrist to stop you.
"Another time," he says. He kisses your chin. "Okay?"
There will be another time. Leon doesn't say things he doesn't mean, so you take it to heart. This will happen again.
It's not exactly romantic, the way you lean back on some long-dead bioterrorist's desk naked from the waist down, Leon's pants shoved down his thighs and his cock in his hand. But it's what you've got, and it's what you'll take.
You spread your legs for him. He sucks in air like a man just saved from drowning.
"Ready?" he asks. You feel his tip at your entrance and can't swallow the moan that rips from your throat in the shape of his name. He wastes no more time sinking into you in one stroke.
You come immediately, legs wrapped around his hips. You might scream, it's hard to tell. But you're so full and it finally feels right. Like you've been missing something all along and finally found it.
Leon says your name over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer.
"I wish I could see you properly," he says, voice breaking. "I wish –
His hips jerk forward even though he's bottomed out. He leans forward until he's bracing his forearms on either side of your head, brushing your nose with his. He's right. It's hard to see him fully in the red-washed office.
"You know what I look like," you tell him.
"Not like this," he shakes his head. "Not like this."
"You're doing so good," you say, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Leon, it feels so good --"
It's a strange sensation to feel your blood cooling while he's inside you, to regain control of your body just as you surrender your heart.
Leon starts to move his hips, a slow drag at first, but it quickly becomes a snap. You dig your fingers into his biceps and hold on. You can hear how wet you are as he fucks you.
The coil in your core tightens again. "Leon," you moan. "I'm gonna--"
He kisses you, hips slowing to a grind. He reaches between you with one hand to find your clit and give it some messy circles.
"Go ahead," he says against your mouth. "I can take it."
Your cunt clenches around him. Tears prick in your eyes not from overstimulation but from everything else -- the heat in your veins, the tenderness of his hold, the way he's kissing you as you fall apart, swallowing your gasps.
"So beautiful," he says. And god, it sounds like he means it. Half-dressed, sweaty and bandaged, he means it.
Leon goes back to shallow thrusts, but they're becoming more erratic.
"How many is that?"
"Four," Leon says.
"Are you..."
He nods. "I'm close."
His forehead is damp from the effort. You wipe it with the heel of your hand.
"It's okay," you tell him. "It's okay, Leon. You can --"
You tighten your legs around him to hold him inside.
His breath hitches, but he picks up the pace without argument.
The smack of your flesh fills the room. The only thing on your mind is Leon Leon Leon.
The noise he makes just before he comes inside you is a punched-out whine of your name. He stills above you entirely, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.
"So beautiful," you echo. "So beautiful, Leon."
He keeps his weight off you but presses his face into your neck as he catches his breath.
"Fuck," he says. "How do you feel?"
You need to check your temperature, but remarkably better. The heat in your veins is an expected one. You can feel sweat cooling on your skin. The incessant need in your cunt has dulled to a satiated ache.
"Still alive." You kiss him chastely, considering he's still inside you.
"Let me check -- where the hell did that thing go?"
He pulls out. You both hiss just a bit, but he finds the thermometer on the ground.
Beep.
"98.3," Leon says. "That's normal."
You feel boneless and make no move to get up from the desk. If you did, you'd surely make a mess.
"Finally, something normal about today."
Leon tucks his cock back into his briefs, buttons his pants. He drags his hands up and down your thighs.
"Can I clean you up?" he asks.
Even though you now know how he feels, know that he wants you just as much as you want him, he's done so much for you today. Your temperature is back to normal. You still need to make it back to the surface.
"You don't need to," you say. "Just...give me a clean bandage, or something --"
"Let me do this for you," he interrupts. Begs, really, already getting on his knees between your legs. "One more. Just to be safe."
The heat that builds is nothing like the wild, uncontrollable fire of before. This is all you, all Leon.
The fact that he wants his mouth on you, wants to lick his own come from your cunt.
"Okay," you breathe. You thread your fingers through his hair. He preens.
He kisses the inside of your thigh and pushes your legs wider.
Maybe you should feel exposed, but you don't. You feel wanted. You feel safe.
Leon pulls your folds open with his thumbs. He starts with long licks with the flat of his tongue along your seam, flicking your clit when he reaches the top. But your entrance quickly becomes his focus, and suddenly he's a man possessed.
He laps up his own release as it drips from you, humming when you tug on his hair. He hardly comes up for air, but you know he's paying attention to your reactions based on the way he moves his mouth. He sucks on your clit. Your hips buck, so he does it again.
"Leon," you gasp. How is it possible that you're going to come again? But you feel it, the rising tide in your core. All it takes is a glance down to find him watching you, soaking in whatever he can see in the dim light.
He keeps his mouth on you through your final orgasm. This time, a few tears leak from your eyes. Your breath evens out and your heartbeat actually slows the way you expect it to. The fever is broken, you're certain of it.
"Just to be safe," you say to the ceiling. "You just wanted to show me how good you were at that."
Leon wipes his face with the back of his hand.
"I like to be thorough," he replies. He stands, drags your underwear and pants up with him.
"Are you okay? How are the symptoms?"
"I think so." You scoot forward on the table so he can pull your clothes over your hips. "It doesn't feel like a fever anymore."
"What does it feel like?"
Your legs are a little shaky, but you stand and wrap your arms around him. You've just had sex to save your life, but you don't know if you've ever hugged Leon before.
"It feels like you," you tell him, cheek pressed to his shoulder.
Leon stills, but you can hear his heartbeat pick up. He envelops you in his embrace, lips pressed against your temple, his inhale shaky.
"I'm glad," he whispers. "I'm so fucking glad."
He's hidden his fear from you so well this whole time, but you saw the look on his face when he realized you were infected. You hug him tighter, willing the fear to leave him. You're okay. You're here, in his arms. He saved you.
"What now?" you ask. You turn in his arms. He releases you so you can reach for your tactical belt.
"We get out of here in one piece," he says. "We get you to medical."
"Fucking medical," you mutter. You shove your foot back in your discarded boot.
"I won't leave you there," Leon says. They could keep you for days, but you know he means it. "Then I'll take you home. And we'll sleep for days."
You almost forget that you don't have to keep your feelings from him. You let the joy take over your face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he says, a little sheepish. "If you want to."
"I want to," you assure him. "I want to."
You'll have to talk about this, surely. The way it changes your partnership, how to navigate field work. There is so much to learn about him. What he's like on a quiet morning at home instead of a stakeout. The noises you can pull from him in a real bedroom. His face when you tell him you love him.
The future is bright.
Leon buckles his harness. He laughs to himself, tearing you from your thoughts.
"What?"
He straightens your belt and grins crookedly, boyish and lovely.
"Are you writing this into the mission report, or am I?"
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"uh. uh. uhh m—more, oh fuck". you moaned with your head thrown back against the wall in your garage.
he groaned as he slammed his hips against yours, arms holding your legs against his body and his balls hitting the skin of your ass. he could feel how your pussy is pulsating and your gummy walls gripping his cock causing him to let out a curse or two.
your moans are bouncing against the room and the slapping of your skin is echoing, it sounds so erotic. the heat of the summer isnt helping as leon's senses are flooded with heat and the feeling of you on his skin.
you arched your back when a particular hard thrust jolted you causing you to whimper and dug your nails against his shoulder.
"right there, baby?". leon lets out, his breath hitting your skin as you nodded frantically.
he moved away from your neck to look at you, leon gripped your legs tighter when he looked at your face. you look absolutely ruined and sweaty. your eyes are scrunched shut that looks like youre in pain but youre not with the way youre moaning loudly and digging your new manicured nails on his skin.
your mouth are opened as youre letting out small whimpers and moans and your head is leaning against the wall. sweat shined against your skin causing your hair to stick all over on your forehead. leon doesnt even know if those are tears running down your soft cheeks or if its the sweet.
its absolutely hot in the garage but leon cant just stop fucking you. he couldnt helped himself, you just went in the garage earlier to check in on him while he works in his motorcycle. you were only wearing his shirt and some panties because of the heat, then you really expect him not to pounce on you?
you were like a walking seduction.
you acted innocent at first but he saw how your eyes widened and dilated when you took the state that he was in. only in his tank top, some jeans that are low in his hips and he was covered in sweat.
it was like you guys are calling out to each other without even saying anything.
fuck the heat, he wanted to ravage you.
and thats how you guys ended up in the wall of your garage, you plastered and getting impaled on his thick, hard cock.
"youre fucking insatiable". leon grunted when he felt you clenching down on him.
your mouth keeps opening up and closing, trying to swallow your spit when you kept feeling yourself drooling. you finally opened your eyes and saw how leon's face looks so dazed. a drop of sweat landed on your skin from his forehead as he continued thrusting into you, his eyes are focused on your tits that are bouncing infront him and his grip are tightening up.
youre sure it probably would leave some bruises later on.
"im c—close". you panted causing leon to heave you up more on the wall and suddenly pulled out until the tip is only the one inside.
your brows srunched up, tears welling up in your eyes before you screamed out his name when he suddenly pushed inside again, hitting it straight up inside. you felt your legs trembling in his hold as you felt the uncontrollable squirt coming out in your pussy.
"oh fuck—f—uck baby, cock that good, huh?". leon said as he felt your wetness hits his covered abdomen, absolutely soaking up his tank top. you cried when he continued thrusting inside you, he couldnt get enough of you, not when he could feel your pussy convulsing. "just taking it like a good girl".
you whimpered and nodded your head at him cause yes, yes you are. you are a good girl just for him.
"my good girl, hm? just made for my cock, baby". leon grunted, then he suddenly lifted you up off the wall causing you to exclaim in surprise and wrapped your arms around his neck.
your lips immediately found his after it, claiming it hungrily and you moaned when he inserted his tongue on you. he runs it against your lip before devouring your mouth and spit dribbled down softly.
he bit your lip hard when he finally laid you down on a spare table on the garage before he pulled away.
"fuck me". leon panted as you look delightful in your back on the table. your chest heaving, sweat glistening in your bare body and your hair spreading on the table like a halo. "youre a fucking beaty, baby".
you felt yourself blush then leon looked down on where the two of you are connected. he grab a hold of his cock and pulled it out causing you to whine and buck your hips up, trying to chase it.
"i know baby, i know. just give me a second". leon shush, a hand coming up to rest on your waist and gave it a pat while his other gave his cock a slow sensual rub.
you pathetically clenched your pussy when you watched him dribbling his spit down your pussy. a moan strangled down your throat when he used his cock to spread his spit against your already wet, slopping pussy.
"love your pussy so much, baby.... s—shit". leon said as he moved his cock on your pussy before giving it a slap, a loud wet sound echoing the garage.
you buck against his cock as he used it to give your pussy some more wet slaps before he finally eased it again. he hisses softly when your pussy immediately clenched on it, his cock felt every gummy walls as he eased everything inside.
"gonna give you a nice creampie, baby". leon groaned when he finally hits home inside then he started slamming his hips on yours again.
you grabbed his hand that is resting on your waist and led it through one of your breast. you held it there as you arched your back and moaned when his thrusts became frantic and sloppy. wet sounds filled the room with his grunts as he squeezed your breast in his hands.
you tried moved your hips against him because youre so desperate, legs wrapping tightly against his waist while the table shakes from under you.
youre kinda hoping it wont break.
"s—shit, fuck... baby...". leon rambled as he hunched more on you, hips continuously slamming against yours as he felt your pussy constricting on his cock again.
he chanted your name while you arched your back before gripping one of your breasts and gave your nipple some tugs. you want to cum, you desperately need it as you can already feel his cock swelling inside of you. you cant wait to take it.
"come on". leon grunted with a low rumbling against his chest before he took off his hand on your breast to join his other hand on your waist. he pulled you closer to him by your waist causing you to cry out his name. "oh fuck, c—cum for me, baby".
you choked up a sob when you felt a wet sensation on top of your pussy before your legs shook and your cum came flooding out causing leon to let out a loud shuddering groane.
you swore you saw stars in your eyes.
his hips are still moving and his cock is still pistoning inside of you before you definitely felt him spurting his cum inside and joining yours.
goosebumps rose on your skin as you tried to catch your breath, small whimpers coming out as leon is slowly dragging his hips inside you. you shivered despite the hotness as you felt the cum dribbling against your ass.
leon leaned forward a bit with heavy breaths while his thumbs are caressing your waist, his tank top is soaked with sweat and your juices. his cock is still inside you and its twitching softly causing your pussy to throb. he lets out a soft groan when that white ring starts to show on his cock causing him to pull out gently. you whimpered when he gently eased out his cock until only the tip is plugging you up, to stop the cum to overflow.
"round two in the shower, baby?". leon lets out before looking up to you. he has his boyish grin on his face, hair falling down on his face that made him look incredibly handsome that you cant help but let your toes curl and pussy clenching up again causing for more cum to dribble out.
Summary: This mission wasn't supposed to go as badly as it has. There wasn't supposed to be a blizzard, you weren't supposed to get snowed in at a remote cabin, and there certainly was supposed to be more than one bed. And none of this would be a problem were it not for your completely irrational, ill-advised crush on Loki.
Pairing: Loki x Female Reader
Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, p in v sex, fingering, workplace crushes, There Was Only One Bed.
A/N: I didn't think this was going to be the next fic I posted, but this has been 95% finished for over a year and I just figured out the final 5% in the last 72 hours. Don't ask me how my brain works because I truly don't know sometimes. Also, perhaps after you read this, you will think "hey, I would like to read another fic that involves railing Loki in the middle of a blizzard." Well, my friend, then you should read Some Things Are Easier to Say in the Dark by the great @loki-cees-all because not only is there a blizzard and one bed, it is also beautifully written.
You didn’t expect this mission to go as badly as it has.
It was supposed to be quick, one of those tidy in and out things that almost feels routine—or at least as routine as things ever get in this line of work.
No one counted on a fucking blizzard, though.
It comes upon you suddenly enough to feel suspicious—one moment, it’s slate grey skies and barely a puff of wind and the next thing you know, the wind is howling and whipping at your coat and you can barely see three feet ahead of you.
“What the fuck is this?” you shout at Loki, who looks just as perplexed as you feel. “I thought you said the radar was clear.”
“It was,” he says, frowning. He taps at the screen of the device, an overly complicated piece of tech that you’d delegated to him because Tony’s brief training sessions had made your eyes glaze over. Still, though, you know enough to tell that you’re looking at a weather map and there’s absolutely no sign of the storm that’s howling around you.
An uneasy feeling is bubbling in the pit of your stomach and prickling up the back of your neck. Everything about this feels wrong.
“We need to find shelter,” says Loki. You know him well enough to tell that he’s pretending to be really calm and unbothered because he doesn’t want you to know that something’s wrong. Normally, you’d call him out on that bullshit, but the creepy crawly feeling running up your spine coupled with the storm that doesn’t seem to exist has you itching to get inside as soon as possible.
“There’s a safehouse just west of this hill,” he continues, tapping at the screen.
“Let’s go, then.”
The trek to the safehouse is fairly demanding, even though the distance is short. You’re walking straight into the wind, which seems to grow stronger and more biting by the minute. The snow under your feet grows slick with ice and your pace slows to a crawl, though even that doesn’t stop you from slipping.
The safehouse turns out to be an unassuming cabin that’s a little too shabby to be rustic; in the biting wind and dim light of the storm, it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You make it to the door and a few minutes later, you’re inside.
The cabin has been unoccupied long enough to put a light layer of dust on some of the furniture, but not enough to render anything musty or moth-ridden. It is charming in a way that you don’t normally see with S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouses—handcrafted furniture that’s a little rough around the edges, pine board floors, a squat wood burning stove in the center of the room that makes you want to curl up and read a book. It’s…homey and maybe even comfortable, two qualities that S.H.I.E.L.D. is decidedly not known for. It’s a welcome surprise, given how this mission has gone so far.
Loki bolts the door the moment you’re both inside and quickly turns his attention to the windows.
“I’m putting up wards,” he says. There’s a grim set to his jaw that you don’t particularly like, largely because you only see it when something is wrong.
The back of your neck prickles.
The wood burning stove is not merely decorative—it’s the cabin’s only heat source. There are a few places that are intended to blend in no matter what—you suspect this is one of them. You manage to get a fire going and you settle yourself in front of it while Loki works. You know enough to not interrupt him, even though you feel like you’re about to bubble over with questions.
It takes him a while to finish warding all the windows and you notice he shuts the curtains for each one once he’s finished, which sends another chill up your spine. When he finally joins you by the fire, he looks a little tired.
“So, I take it you can’t just magic that storm away or something,” you say, with a casual sort of tone that sounds strained even to you.
“It doesn’t work like that,” he says, which you sort of expected. The set of his jaw is still tight. “And even if it did, this isn’t an ordinary storm. Someone is doing this.”
“Yeah, I kinda got that impression.” You pause, worrying your lower lip between your teeth. “Any idea who?”
He shakes his head. “Someone very ancient. Angry.”
You exhale. “Great. Do I want to know what the deal is with the curtains?”
“We should not look outside after the sun sets.”
The skin on the back of your neck prickles. “Why?”
There’s a reason that they call Loki “Silvertongue:” he is a compelling, eloquent speaker. And the somewhat irritating part is that he can do this extemporaneously and effortlessly—he doesn’t need to think about it at all.
So the fact that he pauses for a moment to think scares you a lot. His gaze drifts to the fire, quiet and thoughtful, as though he might find his answers written in the embers.
“Imagine every ghost story you heard as a child coming true,” he says finally.
You don’t like how spare he is on the details, but an icy chill works its way up your spine and you get the eerie sense that someone is listening. Suddenly, you don’t feel like asking any more questions.
“Okay,” you say softly.
*
Being in close quarters with Loki is…something.
There was a time early on, back when you first started working together when you thought something could maybe happen between the two of you. It was hard not to—Loki is attractive, certainly, but he has a particular magnetic quality that can make a stadium full of people think that he’s talking just to them (incidentally, this is also one of the qualities that gets red flags and warnings added to his file at S.H.I.E.L.D.) When you experience that up close, well…it’s intense, to say the least. It becomes easy to believe that his smiles mean something more, that he sees something intriguing in you.
Your feelings for Loki aren’t exactly a crush, or at least that’s what you tell yourself. Crushes are silly infatuations that make people do incredibly stupid things and entertain incredibly stupid hopes. You are a professional with a good head on your shoulders: you know better. You’re attracted to him, but it doesn’t matter because nothing is going to happen.
Perhaps more importantly: Loki is a god and you are not. You have a good relationship—your banter comes easily and he seems to enjoy talking to you more than he likes talking to the average person—but it’s strictly professional and that’s all it ever will be. The fact that you’ve been working closely together for three years without a hint of anything romantic only confirms your theory. He’s your colleague, nothing more.
Except…being trapped in a small cabin with him is dredging up a whole swarm of feelings that you would have sworn you had gotten over.
And the storm is showing no signs of stopping.
And there’s only one bed.
It’s a fucking cliché, the kind of thing you’d roll your eyes at if you saw it in a movie or read it in a book, but you’re a professional and you’re also not sleeping on the floor. Besides, you’ve both got sleeping bags and it’s a double bed—it’s not like you’ve got to curl up together or anything.
Not that you’d complain if you had to.
Which, again, is another feeling you thought you were over.
The wood burning stove is doing its best to keep up, but it’s still no match for the storm outside, even though Loki’s done something to the logs to keep them regenerating as they burn. You dig out an extra pair of woolen socks from your pack and pull on your fleece over your sweater and long sleeved thermal. You pile your coat on top of your sleeping bag, along with your share of the scratchy wool blankets you’d pulled out of the cedar chest by the foot of the bed.
Loki watches you with the lightly amused look that always feels like he must be quietly making fun of you.
“What?” you say as you settle yourself under the blankets. “Some of us are delicate mortals who find the cold a little uncomfortable.”
“I said absolutely nothing,” he says, though the glimmer in his eyes undercuts his point.
“You were thinking it.”
“Oh, the things I think of would turn your head, darling.”
You know that there’s no innuendo specific to you in that statement, but your body reacts like there is: your heart and stomach do a complicated series of flips that would put trapeze artists to shame and a heavy, familiar heat stirs hopefully in your hips. Outwardly, you roll your eyes at him and focus on arranging the blankets over your legs.
“I’m well aware that your mind is a kaleidoscope of horrors,” you say.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s horrors so much as—”
You recognize that look in his eye: it is the herald of something wildly inappropriate. And while you’re no prude, the reality is that you’re about to share a bed with him and you will have no outlet for whatever feelings of lust this will inevitably provoke. Time to change the subject to something as far away from sex as possible, which happens to be whatever creepy fuckery is happening outside.
“Speaking of horrors: why are you being so cagey about what’s going on out there?” you say.
You almost feel a little guilty as the teasing expression disappears from his face and settles into something grimmer. “It’s safer this way,” he says as he sets about preparing his own sleeping bag and blankets.
“That doesn’t really answer my question,” you say.
“I know.”
It occurs to you that this is a perfect example of the cryptic bullshit that makes his intentions so hard to read. Is he saying this because he cares about you? Is he trying to prevent problems down the road? All of the above or something else entirely? Nobody fucking knows, least of all you.
You scowl at him and he looks completely unbothered, which is typical.
“I hate it when you do this, you know,” you say.
There’s a slight twitch to his lips that could be a hint of a smile and you’re embarrassed by how giddy that makes you feel.
“I know,” he says.
“It makes me feel like you don’t trust me or something.”
He stops what he’s doing and looks at you and his face is so honest and open that it makes your breath catch in your throat.
“Of course I trust you,” he says.
There’s something unsaid in his expression and you’re not quite sure what it is, but it leaves you with a warm glow in your chest.
“Okay,” you say softly.
For the briefest of moments, the difference between god and human doesn’t feel so impossibly vast.
But it’s only a moment.
*
You fall asleep quickly, even with Loki lying so close by that you could count his breaths if you wanted to.
You wake sometime in the middle of the night. The wind is still howling outside. Your mouth is dry and you fumble on the nightstand for your water bottle. Your fingers close around empty space and it occurs to you that you’d left it over by the fire.
You lie still, staring at the ceiling. The blankets have warmed up with your body heat and you’re not keen to brave the chill of the cabin. You could wake Loki up, maybe ask him to summon your water bottle to you. You nearly snort with laughter at the thought. That would go over well.
After a moment, you muster up all of your strength and willpower and haul yourself out of bed.
It’s not as bad as you thought it would be, in the end. You pad over to the fire and take a long drink from your water bottle, which turns out to be almost empty. You go to the little kitchen to refill it, idly listening to the wind howl outside.
You wonder if it’s still snowing, if the snow is piling up in drifts against the doors and windows, freezing you in. The thought of being stranded here with Loki is admittedly appealing.
Your brain is still a fuzzy from sleep and you’re a little distracted thinking about being snowed in with Loki and for just a moment, you forget what he said about not looking outside. You reach up to the kitchen window and push the fabric of the curtain aside to see how bad the snow is.
You’re not frightened at first because you only see shadows, but after a moment, you realize that the shadows are moving in an unnatural, broken sort of way, like someone had sculpted them into rough facsimiles of people and commanded them to walk, without really explaining what walking was.
Quite suddenly, they all turn and look at you. Or they would be looking at you if they had eyes. There is simply a void where their faces are, though somehow you can tell that their mouths are open, gaping and hungry, showing all of their teeth.
You feel something hook into the thread of your thoughts, tugging and pulling at your mind. The world tilts on its axis and there’s a sharp and white hot burning at the base of your skull that makes you cry out.
In the haze of pain, you think to yourself that it’s like they’re trying to take your soul and the shadows grin at you with too many teeth and a hissing, sibilant chorus of voices says, yes, we are hungry. So very hungry.
You know in that moment that they intend to kill you.
You are leaning closer to the window, your thoughts growing dark and murky as something saws away at the thing that tethers your soul to your body and there is so much pain and all of those horrible spindly hands and grinning mouths are reaching for you—
Someone is grabbing you around the waist and you scream because you think this must be the end, but instead, they’re pulling you away from the window and yanking the curtain closed and you realize it’s Loki.
There is a flash of green light and the connection between you and whatever is outside breaks abruptly and the pain retreats to a dull ache, like your body is carefully starting to repair those shredded, fraying threads that the shadows were tugging on.
Loki’s eyes are wild and he looks at you like he half expects you to disintegrate or melt into the shadows. You are suddenly shaking so badly that your legs start to buckle.
“I’m s-s-sorry,” you say through chattering teeth. The cold you feel is bone deep and unnatural. “F-f-forgot.”
“Foolish girl.” He says it without malice, almost with affection, though his face is drawn tight with something like worry. Your legs are about to fail you, but he’s right there before they can, scooping you up into his arms like it’s nothing.
You snuggle up against his chest almost automatically, your body instinctively seeking out heat. “S-s-s-sorry, c-c-c-cold,” you manage to squeak out.
“I know,” he says and it almost sounds gentle. He is carrying you across the room and climbing back into bed with you in his arms, drawing the pile of blankets and sleeping bags over the two of you.
The wind howls and you shudder, realizing for perhaps the first time that it may not be the wind making those noises. Loki stiffens, his grip on you tightening.
“Did you see their eyes?”
You shake your head.
You feel some of the tension leave him, though not all.
You have so many questions, but that unnatural, bone deep cold is making you sluggish and sleepy and your teeth are chattering so hard you wonder if you’d even be able to speak at all.
“You need to rest,” he says. The cold feels like the sort of thing that could easily claim you while you sleep and he must see that fear reflected in your eyes because his expression softens ever so slightly. “Rest. I’ll keep you safe.”
You don’t like how quickly that line melts you. You tell yourself that it’s only because you’re so cold and tired, but you know that’s not entirely true.
You allow your head to drop to his chest and he readjusts his grip on you, smoothing one hand against your hair, resting his chin on the top of your head. You try to catalog all of the different senses—the way he smells like snow and pine, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the feeling of his arms wrapped around you—but sleep is pulling insistently at your eyelids and you find yourself struggling to stay awake.
“Rest,” he says, and this time it sounds like a command.
Your eyes slowly slide shut and sleep finally claims you.
It seems like you sleep for a long time. Your dreams are strange and unsettling and have an odd sort of veneer, like they’re real but not quite.
The first time you wake up, it’s because of a nightmare. You are back at the window and the things outside are threading their fingers underneath the panes, reaching for you with their spindly hands, clacking their too sharp teeth. You don’t know where Loki is and you’re trying to back away as they reach for you, and one of them is wrapping its fingers around your wrist and you can see its eyes and—
You thrash out in your sleep and gentle hands are soothing you. You wake abruptly, shaking, blearily looking up at Loki’s face.
“They—they were coming for me,” you manage to sputter out.
“Shh.” Loki is stroking your back. “You’re safe. I won’t let them harm you.”
Your pounding heartbeat takes a moment to settle, but the gentle pressure of Loki’s hands on your back calms you slightly. There’s a tenderness in his actions that you don’t necessarily expect, but it also feels so right and natural that you wonder how you could have ever been surprised by it.
“What are they?” you ask.
“That’s an answer for daylight, love,” he says. “Go back to sleep. You’re safe.”
You want to protest and push for answers, but you’re so very tired and he’s smoothing your hair again and you can feel exhaustion tugging at your eyelids, ready to pull you back under.
“I’m holding you to that,” you manage to mumble at him. “I’m not going to forget.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Sleep, darling.”
You fall back under.
Your dreams are still wild and strange this time around. You wake again a few hours later, teeth chattering and tears streaming down your face. Loki wraps you even more tightly in his arms, drawing more blankets over the two of you, conjuring an additional pile of furs. You try to tell him to save his magic for the wards and the fire, but he hushes you and mutters something about how that’s not exactly how it works, even though you’re pretty sure it is.
You sleep again.
You have a half memory of him quieting you and pressing his lips against your forehead, but you’re not quite sure if it’s real or wishful thinking.
When you wake again, it’s still dark and the wind is still howling. The cold has retreated somewhat—it’s not as sharp, not as biting, but you still need the warmth of the blankets and Loki’s arms to keep it at bay.
You’re a bit more clearheaded now, so there’s part of you that feels a little embarrassed about what happened. It was a stupid mistake. Rookie level. You know better.
“Are you awake?” Loki’s voice rumbles pleasantly against your ear.
“Sort of.” You hope he continues holding you. You’re not quite ready to give up his warmth or his arms just yet.
“How is one ‘sort of’ awake? Either you aren’t or you are,” he says.
“I’m very talented,” you say. It’s not particularly funny, but he humors you with a soft laugh, more exhalation than anything else.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“Still cold,” you say. While it is true, you’re also secretly hoping that the more you emphasize this, the more likely he is to continue holding you. “It’s better than it was, but it’s still bad.”
As if to prove a point, a shudder works its way through you. Loki shifts, rolling over so his body covers yours, pulling the blankets up so they cover your shoulders. It helps, but there’s now a degree of intimacy there that makes your heart stumble in your chest and your breath catch in your throat. You know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but with his green eyes bright above you, you can’t help but hope he does.
Leave it to him to ruin the moment.
“That was very foolish of you,” he says, his expression becoming serious and his voice taking on that hard edge that you only hear when he’s trying to pick a fight.
You exhale sharply. “Are you seriously trying to do this right now? I told you it was an accident. I was half asleep.”
“I’m not fond of close calls,” he says tightly.
“Oh bullshit,” you snap. “You fucking love chaos, don’t tell—”
“It’s not chaos, it was foolish and dangerous—”
“For fuck’s sake, do you think I’m not aware of that? I’m not—”
“You could have died.” He’s not yelling, but he’s raising his voice and there’s an unexpectedly strained quality to his tone that you don’t know what to do with. “It’s not chaos, it’s not an accident, it’s—”
For a moment, he seems like he might be at a loss for words, and for some reason, this enrages you.
“It’s what, Loki?” you say with more venom than you intend. “Please enlighten me, since you’re such a fucking expert.”
You’re not quite sure what line you’ve crossed, but you think it must be an important one based on how angry he looks.
“You truly are infuriating,” he says. “You nearly get yourself killed and you have the audacity to speak that way to me after I save your life!?”
And before you can say a word, he brings his mouth down on yours in a bruising kiss.
His tongue sweeps past your lips, seeking out yours, demanding and hungry. Your response is reflexive and instinctive, your lips parting, tongue meeting his. You return his kiss, even though you’re still a little mad at him and he’s maybe still a little mad at you. But his mouth loses that hard edge as you kiss him back, his touch turning softer, more tender, but still urgent and wanting.
“Do not scare me like that ever again,” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you in between words, each pause punctuated by the soft caress of his lips, the silky warmth of his tongue. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?”
You are astonished and somewhat perplexed. “I…I didn’t even know that you…that you wanted this—“
“Darling, I have thought of little else.”
His mouth covers yours again and you are drowning in the feeling of him. The cold that has settled in your bones is melting like snow in springtime. You move your hands along his shoulders, tentative at first, then a little braver. You thread your fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft and smooth it is. He deepens the kiss, his fingertips tracing the curve of your cheekbones.
It’s dizzingly good and you want more. You need more. You arch against him in a clear invitation, reveling in how perfectly his body fits against yours. He sighs and presses back against you briefly before pulling away.
“You should rest,” he says, his voice slightly strained. “You experienced some very powerful magic—I don’t want you to overexert yourself.”
“I won’t,” you say, tugging him back down to you. He allows this for a moment, his hands cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss with toe curling intensity.
And then he draws back.
“You really do need to rest,” he says.
You shake your head. “I need you, Loki.”
His lips and tongue are just as insistent as yours when you pull him back into a kiss. You can feel him growing hard against your thigh and when you wrap your legs around his waist and rock your hips against him, he groans and nips at your lip before withdrawing again.
“Darling,” he says, his voice a little hoarse, like he’s barely holding himself back.
“I can stay on my back,” you say.
“Appealing as that is, you’re rather ignoring my point.”
“And you’re ignoring mine,” you say, rolling your hips again. His eyes close for a moment as he presses back against you, his hand sliding along your thigh. Your hands grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him back down into a kiss that he returns without protest.
You catch his lower lip between your teeth and he sucks in a deep breath as he grinds his hips against you.
“Please,” you breathe. “I need you so bad.”
He groans as he lowers his head to the column of your throat. “I’m trying to keep you safe and you’re tempting me like this.”
“Touch me and tell me I need to rest more than I need you.”
It’s a bold thing to say and your heart pounds with anticipation as you feel him nip at your collarbone. His hand pauses at your hip, so close to where you need him. You wait a moment and then take his hand in yours and guide it underneath your waistband and between your legs. He lifts his head, gaze snapping to yours and the moment that his fingers graze your slickness, you know that you’ve won.
“Oh, you’re dripping,” he says, his voice dropping and his eyes darkening with lust as his fingers swipe across your clit.
You’re tempted to tell him that you told him so, but this still feels so fragile and tenuous that you settle for a more flattering truth: “Loki, I need you.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” He shifts on top of you so that you feel the hard press of his cock against your hip.
“Same thing that you’re doing to me,” you say. “Which is why I need you to fuck me.”
He sighs, but his fingers don’t stop moving. “You really ought to rest.”
“I can stay on my back,” you say. “You can take me really slowly and gently. Think about how good that will feel.”
“Darling,” he says. You can see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes and you know that you’ve almost won. You feel your orgasm starting to coil like a snake in your belly and you moan, rocking your hips with his hand.
“Loki.” You lick your lips. “Don’t you want to feel me come on your cock?”
You know the exact moment he gives in—you see it in his eyes. Less than a second later, he’s sliding one long finger inside of you and curling it just right.
“Not before I finish what I started.” His voice is a low growl.
“Yes,” you breathe, letting your head tip back against the pillow. “God, that feels so good.”
“I can feel you trembling,” he says, his voice rough. “Are you going to come for me already? I’ve barely touched you.”
“I told you: I need you,” you say.
He raises an eyebrow, his eyes darkening in a very attractive way. “You’re not getting pert with me, are you?”
There’s a particular tone to his voice, a sternness that makes you shiver. Something to explore later, perhaps—right now, you need him too badly to play games.
“No, just trying to emphasize that I need you.”
“Are you really that desperate for me? Do you really need me that much? Surely you could touch yourself, surely you don’t need me that badly.”
You know that he’s saying that to amp you up, to tease you. But you are also so desperate to come that the idea of not having him is beyond comprehension.
“I do,” you say, a bit of desperate note making its way into your voice. “I need you, Loki, I need to come for you, need you to fuck me, please don’t make me wait, please, please, please—”
He stops your mouth with a kiss as he eases a second finger inside of you. “I’m going to take care of you, sweet thing,” he says as you gasp at the stretch.
His fingers are curling inside of you, his thumb working your clit in small, tight circles that are pushing you closer and closer to the edge as a fantastic pressure builds inside of you.
“Oh, that’s it.” His eyes are dark, pupils wide and lust-blown. “I can feel how close you are.” He brings his lips to your ear. “Come for me and then I’ll fuck you properly.”
Your breath hitches as you reach your peak. “Oh god—I—fuck, I’m coming, I’m—”
Your voice cuts out as you come, pure pleasure blooming low in your hips, your back arching against the mattress as Loki works you through it, murmuring soft encouragement as he watches you shake in his arms.
“You’re beautiful when you come undone,” he says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Utterly stunning.”
You fumble for the waistband of his pants, your fingers slipping over the fastenings. “I need you,” you say, tugging at the fabric.
His mouth curls into a smile, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Are you quite certain?”
Leather yields to warm skin and you slide your hand into his pants, wrapping your fingers around his cock. He inhales sharply as you stroke him, his eyes turning dark.
“You’re presenting a very compelling argument,” he says.
“Think about how good you’ll feel inside of me,” you say, gently increasing the pressure on his shaft as you move your hand.
“Norns, woman.” But he’s rolling on top of you as he says this and sliding his pants off his hips. He pauses briefly to divest you of your pants and underwear. A shiver works through you during the brief moment when your bare skin is exposed to the chill of the room…and he notices right away, hesitating slightly as his brow furrows in concern.
“Don't you dare stop,” you say. “I don’t care if I get hypothermia and die, I will straight up implode if you don’t fuck me right now.”
He chuckles, pulling more blankets around the two of you as he settles himself between your thighs. “Are you always so demanding?”
“Look, you’ve been teasing me for the last twenty minutes and you’ve been strutting around in those fucking leather pants for a lot longer, so forgive me if I’m a little impatient.”
He pauses above you, his expression deadly serious. “Let's get one thing quite clear, my love: I do not strut.”
There’s a glimmer in his eyes and you smirk back at him. “You totally do.”
He lines up the tip of his cock with your entrance. “I walk with the gravitas and stature appropriate to my station.”
“You strut and I know you strut because it’s extremely distracting.”
His smile is sly. “Tell me more about how I distract you.”
“You make me think about doing this with you.”
The tip of his cock eases into you. “Do I? How often, would you say?”
“All the time.”
He sinks in another inch. “All the time?”
“Mmmhm.”
One more inch. “That does sound terribly distracting.”
“You’re still trying to tease me,” you say and he grins and gives you another inch.
“You wouldn’t want me as much if I didn’t.”
“I’d want you always, no matter what.”
His gaze turns serious and he leans into kiss you, his hands stroking your cheek as he sinks into you fully, all the way to the hilt. You gasp, your walls stretching to accommodate him, your legs wrapping around his waist to hold him even closer. He’s still for a moment, his eyes shut.
He opens them.
“I’ve waited so long to have you,” he murmurs.
“You have me,” you say. “You always have.”
He kisses you deeply as he starts moving, slow as honey, sweetness in every thrust of his hips or touch of his lips. He fills you in a way that you’ve never experienced, his cock bumping up against that tender place inside you, making you gasp and pull him deeper.
It builds slowly and steadily, the muscles of your cunt tightening as he takes you higher. You shudder as your climax builds.
“That’s it, my love,” he breathes. “That’s it.”
You inhale sharply, your orgasm swelling within you, rising, about to pull you under. You ride that wave, your hips rocking with his. You try and hold on for as long as you can because he feels so good and you don’t want it to end, but eventually, it becomes too much.
You keen and he kisses you. “Come for me, darling. Let me feel you come.”
Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and all your muscles tense and release as you come. Loki sucks in a sharp breath, brow furrowing.
“Fuck.” His pace increases slightly. “You’re divine.”
Less than a second later, he’s also unraveling, his expression of ecstasy particularly beautiful in the flickering firelight. Even in the hazy afterglow of your own pleasure, you can’t help but stare at him, utterly spellbound.
As soon as he catches his breath, he kisses you deeply and slows to a halt, his cock still throbbing inside of you.
“I don’t want to say I told you so—” you start.
“That’s a lie.” His reply is prompt and accompanied by another deep kiss.
You smile against his lips. “Okay, maybe I did want to say I told you so.”
“Better.”
You feel pleasantly loose and sleepy, exhaustion pulling at your eyelids. He seems to notice your fatigue and raises an eyebrow. “Is this the part where I say I told you so?” he asks as he slowly eases out of you.
“Mmm, but it was so worth it,” you say. “So I’m basically right.”
“That’s not how that works,” he says.
“I’m not listening to you,” you say. “I need to recover my strength.”
“Now you’re just being pert.” He shifts to his side and draws you close so he’s spooned up against your back.
“You like it,” you say, barely stifling a yawn.
“Mmm, I do,” he says, drawing the pile of blankets back over you both. “Are you warm enough?”
“Yeah, but don’t go anywhere.”
You feel him smile as he presses a kiss against the back of your neck. “I don’t intend to.”
“Good.”
You both fall asleep like this, wrapped around each other, warm and safe from the storm outside.
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