🎀

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?”

He withdraws his hips with a smug grin.

“I would,” thrust, “very much,” thrust, “like that.”

Thrust, thrust, thrust.

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.

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..

Level B1: MENIS, Level B2: KAMATOS, Level B3: PYRETOS

"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.

it should hurt. often, you wonder why it doesn’t because it should. his teeth have sunk past the soft surface of your neck, pressed in deep and allowing your blood to flow from your body and yet, all you can feel is white, searing hot pleasure through to the end of every nerve in your body

but, as with most things in life, there’s a limit and leon is hurtling towards his at an alarming rate. he’s swaying—slumping even—against your back, moaning into your neck while his hips shift in uneven humps that grind his rock hard cock lazily against your ass as he gets his fill and then some

his rough noises mix with your own softer ones in the inches of space between your bodies. gentle whimpers clash with harsh groans and wobbly, high pitched cries get drowned out by animalistic grunts, filling your bedroom with a chorus of sounds that make you forever glad that you don’t share walls with your neighbours

large, greedy hands grope at your body, fingertips sliding up your waist and ribs to your chest where you become his canvas. each swipe of his thumbs over your pebbled nipples paints another part of your skin crimson and has you hissing out in euphoria while your aching cunt goes forgotten about for the time being

you’re creating a mess of your own too. slick coats the inside of your thighs, sticking them together every time they snap shut in a clench that makes your needy hole silently beg for attention. it’s a thin line that you’re dancing, barely on the right side of torture but you’ll get your own fill soon and then, it’ll all be worth it

knowing when leon is done before he does is a skill only you can possess. the signs are there and they’re easy to spot, even with cotton wool replacing your brain. he’s not swallowing anything anymore, he’s mouthing at your neck more than he’s sucking and he’s wasting more blood than he can afford to when you know that he’ll inevitably want more later

all good things must come to an end though and when one pleasure ends for you both, another—slightly different—one starts. so, there’s never any complaining when you sink your nails into leon’s thick thighs and start to writhe in his arms, because he knows what’s coming next

it takes a second for his body to catch up with his brain but the moment it does, you feel the sharp sensation of his fangs beginning to slip free from your skin. even though he’s sailed right past being drunk off of you and onto something that’ll leave him comatose later on, he’s still ever so gentle when he knows that separating from you isn’t even one of your favourite feelings

“fuckfuckfuck,” you hiss, wincing over a sensitivity that you couldn’t manage to explain to anyone else. it burns, aches, stings and fizzles the right kind of pain down your spine simultaneously when the sharpest point of his teeth withdraw, leaving you wholly empty and wanting something more

“m’sorry sweetheart,” leon slurs before he licks over the puncture wounds to lap up the last trickles of your blood. his hands squeeze tenderly at your waist, dimpling his fingertips into the softness of your stomach and then, he sags completely. with a dull thud, he flops onto his back and exposes the full extent of the mess he’s made of himself and god, he looks divine

his chest rises and falls in short pants, mimicking your own in more ways than one. his tanned skin is temporarily dyed a deep red, partially hiding the mottling blush that creeps up his neck and disappears behind the sticky mess of his chin and mouth. he’s covered in you, from the greying hairs of his stubble to the points of every single one of his teeth, everything coloured with you

against his stomach, his cock has gone deeper than red and started to purple around the leaking tip. shiny precome smears through the darker thatch of hairs that dust underneath his navel and just the sight of it makes your mouth flood, watering with the anticipation of getting your hands on him

“take a picture,” leon grunts, not bothering to finish the saying as he blinks at you through half lidded eyes that are burning an inferno behind a cool icy blue, “should see yourself,” he finishes lowly, letting his gaze trail down you body, prompting yours to do the same

you gasp at the sight. even after many occasions just like this one, never have you been in such a state. droplets of blood scatter over your thighs, some have dripped downwards towards your knees and some have gone inwards, mixing with your arousal to create a pretty pink sheen

“messy,” you whisper, flickering your eyes between your own body and his as the need to touch him overwhelms you. his cock twitches before your fingertips have grazed his skin, blurting out a thick stream of pre that makes his stomach glisten, “fuck, i-i need you,” you admit abruptly, unable to hold yourself back any longer

“mhmm, you’ve got me,” leon drawls and sinks back into the obscene amount of pillows against the headboard. he’s teasing, half assed and without his usual lilting tone but he still holds one of his hands out, allowing you to take it whilst you clamber—only somewhat—ungracefully into his lap

your thighs spread either side of his waist as you melt into him, pressing your chests together while you crush your lips unceremoniously against his. it’s a one sided kiss from the get go, leon has no energy left to give you and the results are sloppy, at best. your noses bump clumsily, your teeth collide with the extended tips of his and the stickiness of his lips creates a slow drag

he tastes like you, though. rich and tinted with something sweet that you moan over as he laps across your lips and tongue in a weak effort to kiss you back. he moans wantonly when you reciprocate and press your tongue against his, meeting in the middle of a filthy open mouthed kiss that can’t really be called a kiss anymore

leon’s hands smooth down your sides and to your hips, gripping with what little strength he has left to rock you downwards over his cock. your cunt glides along his length with ease, soaking him in a single—too quick—slide that makes the head of him collide with your throbbing clit

“oh god,” you yelp, breaking away from poorly attempting to kiss leon to throw your head back as your jaw hangs open, caught in a silent sob. electricity fizzles down your spine over the sudden friction to where you’ve been needing it for so long and now that you’ve got it, you have to chase it

you press upwards, planting your hands against the broad expanse of leon’s chest for leverage before you start to roll your hips, without his prompting. your humps are more even than his were, eliciting twin moans from you and him every time your pussy grinds up and down his rigid length

on the down stroke, your cunt presses against his heavy balls, kissing them and coating them in a gloss of your arousal and then when you tilt your hips upwards, the fat head of his cock nestles underneath your clit in another—sort of—wet kiss

it’s bliss. pure bliss shared equally between the push and pull of your bodies and leon’s calloused fingertips tracing the length of your spine, up and down in time with your hips. you can feel him everywhere, in front of you, behind you and beneath you and it’s beyond dizzying

the next roll of your hips is awkwardly timed with his cock bobbing upwards. his tip catches against your hole, dipping into the pool of slick that's ready to spill from you at a moment's notice but before he can sink into you, your hips correct themselves instinctively, leaving you and leon reeling in an abrupt, but shared, hiss

for a while you get stuck like that, riding him without ever letting him inside of you, no matter how many times your bodies will it to happen. it’s addictive for you both, the pleasure and the way you fit together like a two piece puzzle—like you were truly made just for each other—but, it’s not even close to being enough

“baby, please,” leon rasps, suddenly. it’s not a sound you hear often but any time that you do, it’s reedy enough to stop you in your tracks. though, coming to a complete halt seems to be the opposite of what leon was hoping for, “d-don’t, honey, fuck,” he stresses, squeezing your hips hard enough to leave little fingerprint shaped bruises that’ll stick around for days on end to be seen and kissed

your head bobs, nodding without fully realising why yet, “yeah–yeah, okay,” you agree in a gasp, still star struck by the sound he made as you shift your weight into your knees and sit up enough to wedge your hand between where your bodies meet to wrap gentle fingers around his cock

leon’s lustful eyes watch you carefully, completely enamoured with the size difference between your hand and his thick shaft. he follows your every move, unable to tear his eyes away while you jerk him off teasingly and collect a blend of your messes that make your fingers shine

slowly but surely, you guide his cock to where you’re dripping until the head of his cock slots against your entrance. the immediate stretch is delicious, causing your hips to stutter while your pussy spasms, simultaneously trying to suck him in and push his—albeit large—intrusion away

with a whimper, you lower your hips slowly, spearing yourself open around the tip of his cock with ease. once there’s no risk of him slipping out, you brace yourself on your knees and pull your hand out from between your bodies, feeling the smooth slip of your fingers against each other and as you look up at leon, you can’t help yourself

tentatively, you reach out and trace your wet fingertips along his top lip. it’s ever so slightly poutier than his bottom one and you love it enough to take your time going from one side to the other before tapping gently over his bottom lip, making him hum languidly

as his lips pucker to kiss your fingertips, you edge down on his cock. each inch of him that you take brings more pleasure than you ever thought possible. the stretch, the connection, the friction of every vein that ropes around his length dragging against your walls, it all piles up and up and up, until your body screams for more

fire prickles through your limbs and whirlwinds around the coil already winding tight in your stomach as sweat begins to bead along the divot of your spine. you suck in a breath, letting it expand your lungs until they ache while you concentrate hard on trying to take the last bit of leon’s length in one swift movement

“fuck, you’re s’tight,” leon keens once he’s fully seated inside of you and feeling every clench and shift of your warm cunt around him as you take a moment to get used to the feeling because it never–ever–seems to lessen, regardless of how many times he fills you up

“uh huh,” you whine eventually, with your eyes pinched shut. he’s so deep inside of you, throbbing with the brush of his slit against your cervix and as you give an experimental roll of your hips, it pushes him even deeper. which, apparently, short circuits leon’s brain

“move–need you t’move,” he grunts, bucking his hips up frantically. he does it with so much force that you slide up his cock and then bounce back down, creating a single slap of skin on skin that echoes around the room in tandem with your wrecked moan

your back arches while your hands walk over his torso, settling over rippling muscles low on his stomach as you begin to pick your hips up and drop them back down. the air in your lungs gets punched out on every bounce, as if it had to be expelled to accommodate the sheer size of him

gradually, you build a pace. taking your time to indulge in the feeling of leon underneath you, surrendering to you if only for a while, which isn’t something that’s normal when you’re in bed. so, when it does happen, you take every little sensation in, committing it all to your memory

bounce after bounce, you start to rise off of his cock a little more before you slump back down in an even rhythm. you’re using him like a toy, fucking yourself with his cock and taking him in his entirety over and over and over again

leon moans raggedly, harsher and louder as everything builds, bringing his stomach muscles to tense underneath your nails, “can—shit—can feel how wet you are,” he groans out in between his noises, sounding just as exhausted as he looks

“yeah?” you pant, tipping your head to the side as his fingers tickle sluggishly over your thighs. truthfully, you know that he can feel it because you can feel and hear it too. amid every other noise, there’s the sloppy sound of your cunt being used for all it's worth, “s’all for you,”

another moan rips out of leon’s chest, making a smile pull at the corners of your lips as you sit back. your spine straightens, plunging his cock into your pussy at a new angle. he nails your cervix, a dull, bruising pounding and that’s where you need to be

your stomach twists in a delightful pain while your hips slow ever so slightly to a grind that keeps the head of his cock slipping over the sensitive spot deep inside of your body. the pleasure burns and you give into it immediately, allowing your back to arch in the opposite direction

“there, right fucking there, keep going’ y’gonna make me come,” leon rambles wildly over the tiny change in position. his fingertips dig into your thighs, gripping and dragging his blunt nails over your skin

an elated giggle bubbles out of your chest, “already, big guy?” you tease, although you’re probably just as close as he is but you’ll never not take the opportunity to tease, especially when he’s blood drunk and hanging on your every word

before leon can reply, you gain momentum again. you’re going in for the kill, leaning back and pressing your hands into his thighs, letting your own nails bite into his skin so that the words that died on the tip of his tongue turn into sharp hisses

the blood in your veins turns molten, thrumming and whooshing in your ears and leon picks up on it straight away—like he always does. you watch as his fangs bare instinctively and his tongue darts along his bottom lip because of his insatiable hunger

“peckish?” you ask innocently and leon nods quickly, “think you’ve had enough,” you pout with faux sympathy and to your delight, leon gasps and jerks his hips up pathetically, jostling you in his lap

“no,” he answers sharply, swallowing thickly as his eyes trail to your neck and then down to the mess still staining your chest, “got more for me, you always have more for me,” he almost begs and well, he’s not wrong

his gaze lingers on your chest, on the art that he created over your swaying tits. the blood has started to dry but your hands still dart away from his thighs and drift slowly up your body, trailing over your waist and up to your nipples to swipe through the drips

your thighs tremble, bearing the brunt of the relentless pace that your hips move and roll in, while your fingers start to play with your nipples. the first tweak makes your cunt clench like a vice, the second zaps lightening down to your stiff clit and the third throws you closer to your orgasm

“could bleed me dry, i’d let you,” you admit candidly, letting words stream from your mouth before they register in your brain, “feels so—ohmygod—fucking good when you make me bleed,” you whine as tears start to sting at your waterlines

leon’s too far gone to answer, lost somewhere between sex and hunger but his impulses take over and force one of his hands up your thigh. your clit throbs in anticipation and when you next slide down his cock, his thumb skims over you, setting your body alight

you cry out, wailing with tears streaming down your cheeks as it feels like he’s touching exposed nerves. your entire body shakes and your hips fall out of rhythm but it doesn’t matter, you’re too close to unravelling to care

“m’gonna come—i need to,” you blurt, focusing on the feeling that you’re racing towards and somewhere in the back of your mind, you think your desperation must be contagious because suddenly, leon’s hips are bucking up to meet yours

the clash of your skin against his is loud but the hammering of his cock into your puffy cunt is heaven. his thrusts are full, pulling his length all the way out of you before plunging in back in to nail your cervix hard enough to bruise it, surely

his moans turn animalistic again, driven by a need to feel you coming around him and he knows you’re almost there. you’re tightening around him in spasms, your clit is twitching under the unrelenting swipe of his thumb and the tears pouring down your cheeks is always a good sign

you’re right there, a live wire in his hold and you can’t stop the pressure that’s building in your stomach, “it’s—i’m gonna—leon,” you shout and sob and then, with one last devastating thrust and a sickening pinch to your clit, everything snaps, all at once

distantly, you hear yourself choke on a breath while your body goes rigid, tensing until it hurts and effectively trapping leon’s cock inside of your pussy. your eyes snap shut, bursting into nothing but white as your heartbeat is felt in every single part of your body

leon’s coming too—you think. a familiar warmth spreads throughout your stomach, filling you up in thick, gushing, waves but leon is silent, succumbing to an orgasm that causes his body to go loose and limbless underneath you

“oh fuck,” you whimper, your tone wobbling, when your peak starts to cease and the aftermath begins to creep in. your body sags, collapsing forwards onto leon's chest while you shiver through the overstimulation that's threatening to grasp you

together, your chests heave. in and out at the same time while the thought of catching your breath feels impossible. exhaustion laces your blood and keeps your eyes closed as leon becomes your mattress and his strong arms wrapping around you becomes your blanket

tickling and tracing is too much, too soon for your body to handle so instead, he rubs gentle circles down your back. you groan under the tension of his fingers and you’re sure you’re drooling on his chest but if you are, he doesn’t say anything about it

his cock starts to soften inside of your pulsing cunt, sending a shudder through both of your bodies as a spill of his come leaks out of your hole and drips down over his balls, adding just another layer of stickiness to the pre-existing mess between you and him

you're floating in your favourite headspace, swimming between the exertion of sex, the effects of leon feeding from you and the dull aching from your puncture wounds. it keeps you pliant in his muscular arms and it's a long time before you're present again

eventually, your own little dreamworld gets interrupted by the prick of leon's fangs along the top of your shoulder, prompting you to automatically expose your neck to him as you huff a light hearted,

“greedy”

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah ily! send prompts to my ask box!

whenever leon was in town between missions or government assignments, he'd always show up with a six-pack of beer or a bottle of decent bourbon, settling into the comfort of the living room couch as they talked. it was endearing to watch, seeing them laugh loudly about old stories from their past, or just sitting in a comfortable silence watching whatever game was on.

you'd grown up watching leon from the sidelines. as a kid, he was like a cool uncle who'd sneak you cookies sometimes when your dad wasn't looking. it was innocent. but somewhere between high school and college, that admiration shifted into something akin to attraction.

leon was pushing fifty now, but as time moved on it seemed as if he could only get more attractive. broad shoulders, killer jawline, huge, bulging biceps that you itched to sink your teeth into. and his eyes— those sharp, piercing blue eyes that seemed to notice everything. it all lingered in the back of your mind at night when your body begged for sleep.

conveniently enough, after you wrapped up your finals for the spring semester, you asked your dad if you could come home for summer break. he was ecstatic, of course. he was always over the moon to see his baby girl he'd watched grow into a competent young woman. so when you called and told him you wanted to stay for the summer, he was more than willing to accommodate you. while you were also excited to see him and finally relax from the stress of being a college student, you'd be lying if you said leon wasn't part of the reason you packed your bags so quickly.

as such, it came as no surprise whenhe'd just be downstairs whenever you came down from your bedroom. leon would show up often to share a drink with him, watch some random game on the television, or simply just talk. oftentimes when leon visited, you'd find yourself lingering in the kitchen longer than needed, purposefully slowing your movements to just admire him while he talked to your dad about whatever.

and that was precisely what you were doing right now. you weren't paying attention to any of the words leaving leon’s or your dad’s mouth. you were too busy salivating over the way his biceps clung to his too-tight compression shirt as he raised his glass to take a short sip of the bourbon he'd poured.

despite leon being much, much older than you, you couldn't help but fantasize about him in a way that'd make even the devil himself blush. you knew it was wrong. forbidden, even, but the pull you felt towards this man was unlike any other. no charming frat guy or random on campus your age could make you feel the way you felt about leon. he was off-limits, but perhaps that was precisely one of the reasons why you felt so drawn to him.

"what are you lookin' at, honey?" your dad suddenly asks, and your hand stills, tightly gripping the spoon you'd been using to mindlessly stir the parfait you'd adorned with blueberries shortly before. you shift your gaze to him, hands clammy as you come up with an excuse for your shameless staring. he was seated next to leon at the island, offering you an amused smile as he watched you set the spoon down on the counter.

"uh... nothing, dad. just a little tired." you fib, wiping your hands on the hem of your tank top, hoping neither man would notice the slight tremor in your fingers. your dad let out a hearty chuckle, completely oblivious to the true reason why your gaze had been locked onto the man next to him.

"just tired, huh?" your dad teases, shaking his head with fond exasperation. "college kickin' your ass that bad?" he jokes, reaching over the counter to steal a blueberry from the edge of the parfait you'd been preparing (a late-night snack you claimed you wanted), popping it into his mouth without a care in the world. "maybe you're just getting old like us." he says, nudging leon's arm with his elbow while winking at you playfully.

leon didn't laugh right away, instead his piercing eyes shifted from his glass of bourbon to settle on you. the look he gave you was brief, but it left an impression so profound that it made your breath hitch ever so slightly. god, the effect he had on you was ridiculous. his jaw flexed once, the sharp line it catching the warmth of the overhead light fixture as his lip curled up into an amused smirk.

"yeah. college can do that to you, kid." he says, a low chuckle leaving his throat, "but some things age you even faster." he admits, the comment was wrapped in humor, the kind of dry, self-depreciating joke that fit right in with their usual banter. you stifle a laugh, biting the inside of your cheek as you smile down at your parfait that was beginning to turn into room-temperature slop.

your dad's laugh fills the kitchen again, easy and warm as he reached over and snatched yet another blueberry. "listen to this guy," he says, shaking his head as he pops it into his mouth, "talking like he's ancient. you're not that old, leon. hell, you've still got more hair than me." he says, and you can't help the fond smile that breaks out on your face from his ridiculousness. he was definitely drunk.

"you want me to make you one or something?" you ask, giving him an annoyed look that was more teasing if anything. "maybe it'll help you sober up, you drunkard." you giggle, shaking your head as you take in his expression. your dad waves you off with a dramatic groan, nearly knocking over his own glass.

"nahh, i'm good. bourbon's doing just fine. besides, if i eat any more of that fancy yogurt crap, i'll probably be up all night." he slurs, pushing back from the island, swaying a little as he stood.

"i'm gonna take this to the couch. you two kids behave in here, alright? don't let leon talk to you into any more mission stories. they get longer when he's had a few." he says, landing a firm clap on leon's shoulder as he passed, the brotherly gesture making your heart pang with a twinge of guilt. "right, man? keep an eye on her." he says, turning on his heel and making his way to the couch. he finally settles down with a loud thump, grunting as he makes himself comfortable.

leon lets out a low, easy chuckle and shakes his head, "will do…" he says, turning his attention back to you as he takes a small sip of his bourbon, the muscles in his thick biceps flexing visibly under the tight compression shirt. the kitchen fell into a heavy, charged silence the second he left. setting the glass down, his eyes meet yours and you think you might just explode.

you offer him a shy smile, shaking your head slightly and looking down at your untouched parfait. the blueish-purple pigment from the blueberries bled into the white, milky substance it sat upon, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. your pulse was hammering too hard in your ears to even think about it. leon clears his throat, and your attention turns to him again, meeting his eyes once more.

"so, how's college treating you?" he asks, a brow raised in question as he waits for your response. the simple question lingered in the air longer than it should have as you gather your thoughts.

you clear your throat, hand settling on the counter casually as you trace random shapes into the granite. "yeah, um. pretty good, not much going on. just… doing my best." you say, the words sounding a little rushed as you laugh awkwardly. leon hums, nodding as he takes in your words. he shifts a bit, resting his forearm on the counter while twirling his glass absentmindedly.

"yeah... you've always been good at that," he compliments, offering you a small smile as he stares at you intently. the moment feels oddly intimate, the way he was looking at you, the way you were looking at him— it was almost as if you were both aware of something but neither of you dared to speak up about it.

he pauses, the hum of the refrigerator and your dad already snoring on the couch the only sound breaking through the heavy silence. leon's gaze was steady, unwavering as he watched you, watched the way your hands stilled from tracing random shapes into the countertop, the way your breathing turned a little bit more rapid.

after a while, the leon finally exhaled through his nose, the sound rough. "gonna be a long summer," he murmured, exasperated, almost to himself. your brows pull together in confusion, watching as he downs the rest of his bourbon before setting it back down with a quiet clink. you opened your mouth to question him, but when he starts to move towards you, the inquiry stays trapped in your throat.

he rounded the counter in slow, deliberate steps, his tall, brooding form cutting through the small space until there was barely an arm's length left. you let out a shaky breath, eyes staring up at his focused ones as he peers down at you with an unreadable expression. he stopped just short of touching you, one large hand bracing against the cool surface of the granite beside you, caging you in without quite doing so. leon's gaze dropped to your lips for a brief second before lifting again, gaze darker than before. the restraint in his expression earlier was beginning to fray, and it was nearly impossible to pull your gaze away from him now.

"you were about to ask me something?" he says, more a statement than a question. his voice was barely above a whisper as he eyes your form which trembled slightly at the timbre in his voice. "go on. ask me, then." he prompts, and you freeze up on the spot, stuttering a bit as you struggle to maintain your composure. he was so fucking hot, you could barely contain yourself. when you stayed silent, he let out another slow exhale, the sound rough and frustrated, like he was fighting a battle he was tired of losing.

"i meant what i said," he continued, stepping a bit closer to your frame as his voice deepens. "this summer's gonna feel real long if we keep doing this little dance." he says, breath fanning over your temple carrying the faint bite of bourbon as your eyes widen. surely, surely he hadn't noticed your glances, right? it was almost too embarrassing to think about. maybe it was the bourbon talking, you think, almost trying to convince yourself.

"what... what are you talking about?" you sputter, eyes darting around as you panic slightly. he couldn't possibly mean... no. there's no way in hell he knew you'd touched yourself to the thought of him at night, imagining his large biceps choking you out while his hands explored your body. the thought makes your cheeks burn in embarrassment, suddenly feeling hot under his unrelenting gaze.

"you know exactly what i'm talking about." he cuts in, voice rough and frayed around the edges as he stares down at you. "you're a smart girl. too smart to be pretending like you're clueless." he says, and the harsh raspiness in his voice is near sinful as the thoughts you'd been having about him for years begin to rush back to the forefront of your mind.

your breath hitches, eyes finally meeting his as you take in his expression. he's clearly holding himself back for you, giving you enough room to push him away if you wanted. but he's right, you can't deny the way your stomach lurches as all the filthy, shameful fantasies you'd had about him begin to flood your thoughts as you stared at him in shock. and now he was standing right here in your dad’s kitchen, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, smell the bourbon on his breath, see the faint sheen of sweat at the base of his throat.

leon’s gaze searched your face, reading every flicker of emotion. when you didn’t immediately deny it, something in his expression shifted— the restraint cracking just a little more. he leaned in slowly, forehead nearly resting against yours, his voice dropping to a low, sinful whisper that sent heat pooling low in your belly.

"you've been thinking about it, haven't you?" he whispered, the words slow and sinful, each one dragging across your skin like rough silk. your breath hitches, eyes widening as you realize he probably knew everything. you were mortified. "thinking about the way i'd touch you," he says, hand reaching out to tilt your chin up so you were forced to look right up at him. "the way i'd ruin you for any other guy your age..." a low, breathy exhale leaves your lips at his brazenness, lips parted in awe as you let him touch you. his thumb travelled along your jaw, the calloused pad tracing along the bone until it reaches your lower lip.

"i'd take my time with you," he starts, voice dropping even lower as he pulls his thumb down, flicking your bottom lip before it settles back in place. "start slow. get you used to how a man like me takes care of a pretty thing like you." he says, and you have to bite back a whimper at how hot the situation is. it's worlds better than you could have ever imagined. his hands pause for a second before moving lower, running his fingers down your neck and ghosting over your collarbone. the touch was feather-light, but it left a trail of heat in its wake, making your skin prickle with anticipation.

his gaze followed the path of his hand, dark blue eyes raking openly over your flushed chest, the thin straps of your tank top, and the way your breasts rose and fell with your quickened breathing. he paused there for a moment, fingers hovering just above the swell of your chest, as if giving you one last chance to stop him. "do you want that?" he asks, his eyes flickering up to your flushed face. "want me to show you how good it feels when someone who knows what he's doing puts his hands on you?"

you bite down hard on your lower lip to keep the whimper from escaping, hands sweaty as they twitch at your sides. the situation was overwhelming in the best possible way— far hotter than any late-night fantasy you’d ever allowed yourself. leon kennedy, your dad’s best friend, the man you’d secretly wanted for years, was standing in your father’s kitchen with his body pressed close to yours, his large hands exploring your skin while your dad snored obliviously in the next room. it was so sinful, but in the best fucking way possible.

"god, yes." you breathed, eyes glassy with pure need. "i can't fucking take this anymore..." you admit, eyes staring into his eyes needily, the last of your resolve shattering as you breathe heavily. his hands twitch on your chest, eyes hungrily piercing into yours as he takes in your heated confession. he inhales deeply, eyes closing briefly before his other hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place while his mouth crashes down onto yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

he kissed you like a man starved, the hand resting on your chest clamping down around the swell of your breast as he pushes you into the counter with his larger body. you gasp sharply, hands scrambling for purchase on the counter behind you as he licks into your mouth with his tongue. the bitter taste of bourbon lingered as he devoured you, groaning softly into the kiss as when you whimpered against him. his body presses you harder into the counter, the thick, heavy line of his cock grinding insistently against your stomach through your jeans.

your brows pull together, hips shifting slightly higher as you ground yourself against his thick cock. he groans, pulling back from your mouth once he feels your core pressed up against his. "fuck, don't do that, baby." he grunts, hands sliding down from your chest and neck to grip your hips to halt your movements.

you raise a brow at him, hand moving to run down his veiny arm that bulges from your touch. "do what? thought you said we should stop this little dance, leon." you smirk, fingers reaching up to finally squeeze at his bicep you'd been dying to touch for years. it's meaty under your grip, and you have to bite your lip to stop from moaning at how satisfying it feels. leon huffs, clearly torn as you stare with so much desire in your gaze that it makes him want to take you right over this counter.

"fuck, you’re gonna kill me," he mutters, voice gravel-rough and barely above a whisper. his free hand comes up, large and calloused, wrapping around your wrist— not pulling you away, but holding you there, like he can’t decide if he wants to stop you or make sure you never let go. his thumb strokes once over your pulse point, right where your heartbeat is hammering wildly.

he leans in closer, so close you can feel the heat rolling off his body, the faint scent of gun oil and something darker, warmer, clinging to his skin. those blue eyes drop to your mouth for a beat too long before flicking back up, dark with warning and want.

"i did say we should stop," he admits, the words dragged out like they physically pain him. his grip on your wrist tightens just enough to make you feel it. "your dad’s twenty feet away, snoring on the couch. one wrong sound and this ends with me getting shot and you grounded till you’re forty." he knows one of you has to be rational, and as much as he wants to bend you over and have you screaming, that would be much less than ideal with your dad asleep in the living room.

"but you keep looking at me like that..." he starts, lips brushing the shell of your ear, "like you want me to bend you over this counter and fuck you until you can't walk straight. like you want me to fucking ruin you for—" he cuts himself off with a sharp exhale, forehead dropping to rest against yours for just a second, eyes squeezed shut like he’s praying for strength he doesn’t have.

"and what if i do... want you to ruin me?" you ask, eyes staring up at him pleadingly as you feel him tense against your body. his eyes shoot open, pupils wide and dangerous as he looks down at you, a low groan leaving his throat as he chuckles lowly. he was done, fucking done denying himself of you, no matter how wrong or taboo it was.

"jesus christ," he breathes, the words a half-prayer, half-surrender as he pulls back from your forehead to rake over your form. he pauses for a moment, as if he was considering every filthy thing he'd wanted to do to you tonight. "you want me to ruin you?" he asks, hands sliding back up your body and under the thin material of your shirt. "then you better be fuckin' quiet, sweetheart." he adds, hands cupping your bare breasts through your tank, and it takes everything in you to not moan.

you stare into his eyes while he fondles your breasts, hands gripping the counter behind you for purchase when his thumbs pass over your nipples. leon's breath is heavy, his eyes drinking in every reaction from you as you try to keep quiet. his right hand moves to shove your shirt above your chest, the fabric pooling near your collarbones as his stare burns into you.

"fuck, you've got such pretty tits," he confesses breathily, his large, rough hands switching from groping the soft flesh to take your pebbled nipples between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the buds between his fingers deliciously. you moan softly, eyebrows pulling together in pleasure from how good it feels. "be quiet. don't make me shut you up myself." he warns, tugging on your sensitive nipples, rolling and pinching them with just enough roughness to make your thighs tremble. the sharp sting of pleasure shoots straight down to your clit, making you clench around nothing.

when another tiny sound threatens to escape, he moves fast. one large hand leaves your breast only to clamp firmly over your mouth, palm sealing tight against your lips, muffling any noise before it can form. his other hand stays on your chest, still tormenting your nipple, twisting it slowly while he watches your eyes widen above his palm. "shhh," he hushes, voice velvety as he fondles you. "that's better. can't have you waking daddy while i play with his baby girl's pretty tits, can we?" he drawls, and your thighs press together at the riskiness of the situation. god, it was so wrong, but it felt way too fucking good for you to stop.

you nod slowly, hands gripping the counter behind you in a death-grip as you attempt to calm yourself down. he hums quietly, lowering his hand from your mouth and sliding down your hips. his other hand follows soon after, resting on your hips briefly before moving. his hands tug at the waistband of your shorts, hands pausing for a second before looking up at you for approval. you nod eagerly, and he quickly rids you of your flimsy shorts.

you're left in your panties and tank (which had been roughly pushed up by him) as you step out of your shorts and kick them to the side. there's a tiny wet spot on the front of your panties, and leon's jaw jumps at the sight.

"fuck me..." he breathes, the words rough and reverent all at once. he steps closer to you, right hand settling on your hip while his other rests on the counter behind your back. his hand on your hip dips lower, his touch making your skin tingle as he runs his fingers down your abdomen. he moves a little lower, fingers gently grazing your lower stomach, and you shiver at the touch. he pauses for a second, fingers skimming the delicate lace of your underwear before finally dipping under the wet fabric.

his fingers slide into your underwear with ease, middle finger brushing against your pulsating clit before moving lower to feel your wetness. you bite your lip, closing your eyes briefly to focus on not making any noise. leon exhales deep, his breath catching in his throat as his fingers glide through your folds. "jesus... you're fucking drenched," he groans under his breath, the words barely audible. his fingers drag through your wetness again, collecting the slick on his fingers before ghosting over your throbbing clit again. "this how badly you wanted me to ruin you? huh? bet no guys your age could ever get close to getting you this fucking soaked."

a moan threatens to spill from your lips at his filthy words, but you swallow it down. your pussy clenches from his touch, threatening to pull his fingers inside as you let out a shaky exhale. he circles your clit with the pad of his middle finger, slow, agonizing circles that make your hips buck against his hand. he dips them lower again, finally pushing two thick fingers inside you in one deep stroke. you accommodate them enthusiastically, pussy clenching around the digits as he curls them upwards.

"tight little thing, aren't you?" he says, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he watches his fingers disappear into your cunt under your panties. his eyes take you in, the way your chest heaves up and down under his ministrations, the way your nipples tighten from the cool air in the kitchen... it was almost unreal. his thumb stretches upward to rub tiny circles into your clit, the bud pulsing painfully as his fingers set a steady pace inside you.

you suck in a breath, head turning to the side to bury your face into his chest while your right hand grasps onto his shoulder for purchase. leon hums lowly, cock straining against his pants as he feels you tremble against him. he can feel every pulse of your clit, every flutter of your tight walls around his fingers and it's driving him insane.

"fucking hell," he whispers, the strain in his voice thick and raw as his cock twitches against the front of his jeans. "can only imagine how fucking tight you're gonna be when you cum on my cock. shit, you're gonna kill me, baby." he groans, thumb pressing harder against your clit as he fucks his fingers impossibly deeper into your leaking hole. your slick is practically coating his hand, but he doesn't fucking care. all he's focused on is making you cream around his fingers for the first time.

his fingers speed up drastically, and you have to bite your lip to control your moans. your nails are practically digging into his shoulder, tears pricking at your eyes as you feel a pit begin to form in your stomach. he curls his fingers in deep, delicious thrusts that hit that perfect spot over and over, thumb rubbing firm, steady circles on your swollen clit. he angles his wrist just right, fucking you a little harder, a little faster, pushing you right up to the edge of your orgasm.

leon's free hand wraps around your shoulder, pulling you against his solid chest so you can muffle every shaky breath and broken whimper into his shirt. his lips brush the top of your head, then drop down close to your ear, "you gonna cum?" he asks softly, pressing a short kiss to your temple. you nod against his chest, legs shaky as he digs his thumb into your sensitive clit.

leon feels your frantic little nod against his chest and the way your pussy suddenly clamps down hard around his thick fingers, and it rips a low, guttural sound from deep in his throat. "yeah?" he breathes, voice strained and dark right against your ear. "gonna cum right here on my hand while your dad's in the next room asleep?" he whispers, and your eyebrows pull together from how filthy it all sounds.

his fingers don’t slow down— they fuck you harder, faster, curling relentlessly against that spongy spot with every thrust while his thumb grinds down firmly on your swollen clit, rubbing tight, merciless circles. "go on then," he whispers, coercing you to finally fall apart on his fingers. "show me how fucking good it feels." he says, fucking his fingers deeper into your twitching cunt.

your pussy clenches harder around him, harsh, ragged breaths leaving your lips as you finally cum on his fingers. your legs nearly give out as your orgasm rakes over you explosively, walls clamping down on his fingers violently while your clit throbs under his thumb. you press your face into his chest deeper, a tiny, quiet moan leaving your lips as you writhe in his hold. leon rubs small, barely there circles into your clit to drag your orgasm out as long as possible, watching in delight as you breathe hard into his chest.

"fuck, that's right," he whispers, slowing his pace down a bit as you twitch from the overstimulation creeping up on you. "good fucking girl... only i can make this tight little pussy cum this hard, huh?" he says, hand coming up to smooth over your hair, letting you tremble and ride your intense orgasm out while your muffled whimpers disappear into his shirt. only when your thighs begin to close in on his hand does he finally ease his fingers out of your wet cunt, patting your pussy softly before slipping them out of your panties.

your breath is hot as you pant into his shirt, trying to catch your breath from the intense orgasm he just gave you. you slowly move from his chest, hand gripping his shoulder tighter for support as you look into his eyes. leon’s eyes darken even more as he pulls back enough to look at your face— you're wrecked, lips swollen from biting them so hard, eyes dazed with faint tear streaks visible on your cheeks. he can't help the way his cock twitches in his pants upon knowing you were crying from how good it felt. it did something to him, made him carnal, hungry, desperate with the need to fucking ruin you.

"fuck," he grunts, thumb coming up to caress your cheek, looking into your eyes with a new, primal hunger stirring within him. "you have no idea what this does to me, baby." he confesses, fingers pressing against your lips as he shoves his cum-slicked fingers into your wet mouth. you eagerly take them, glossy eyes looking up at him as you suck on his fingers.

"that's right..." leon’s voice drops into something even darker, rougher, as he watches you suck so eagerly on his cum-slicked fingers. "such a dirty fucking girl, letting an old man like me have my way with you." he pushes his fingers a little deeper, pressing down on your tongue, reveling in the way you swirl your tongue and suck his fingers like you’re starving for it. his cock twitches painfully in his jeans at the obscene sight. you were addictive, like his own personal brand of heroin that he couldn't stop reaching for.

"god, i'm gonna fucking ruin you." he vows, removing his fingers from your mouth slowly with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting them to your swollen lips for a moment before it breaks. you stare up at him eagerly, biting your lip as your eyes travel down to the obvious erection straining in his pants. you reach down, hand gripping his thick cock through his jeans as you palm him. he lurches forward a bit, hand reaching out to rest on the counter beside you, caging you in.

"you're so big, leon. gonna feel so good inside me..." you whisper, eyes darting up to his face as you take in his tense expression. his jaw was tight, teeth grinding with every teasing little squeeze to his cock, hands gripping the counter so hard his knuckles turned white.

"fuck," he hisses through gritted teeth, jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumps. his eyes squeeze shut for a second, fighting for control, before they snap back open. his stare was dark and primal as his eyes pierced into yours, unrelenting. "greedy little slut," he grunts, voice dangerously low as he continues, "talking like that while your dad's asleep in the other room... you really are fucking filthy, aren't you?" he degrades, and a part of you thinks you should feel offended, but you aren't. it was all too hot, all too intense for you to try and think rationally right now.

he leans in closer, forehead nearly touching yours, his hot breath fanning across your lips as you continue to palm him. you can feel how hard he is— thick, heavy, throbbing under your touch, the heat of him burning through the denim. he reaches down and grabs your wrist, stopping your teasing strokes, but he doesn’t pull your hand away. instead, he presses your palm firmer against his erection, grinding into your touch once with a quiet, frustrated sound.

"this what you fucking want?" he grits out, leaning in so close his lips brush against yours as he speaks. "want to feel how big i am? how deep i can stretch that tight little pussy?" he whispers roughly, and your lips part slightly at how filthy he's being. this was a hundred times better than any little fantasy you'd had of him in the quiet of your bedroom. leon’s eyes are nearly black now, pupils blown wide as the last threads of control begin to fray as he stares down at your parted lips and flushed face.

you could hardly believe this was real. the way he talked to you was so incredibly dirty that it made your clit throb against the fabric of your ruined panties. you breathe shakily as you gather the courage to speak, "yes, i... want you to ruin me... for anyone else." you confess, eyebrows pulling together as your glossy eyes stare pleadingly into his sharp ones. "please, leon, need your cock so bad," you whimper, hand gripping him tighter through the rough fabric. he curses sharply under his breath, a large hand grasping at your wrist to halt your ministrations.

"fuck, baby," he whispers, sucking in a sharp breath at your heated confession. he leans closer, voice dripping with lust as his lips graze the shell of your ear. "yeah? want me to wreck that sweet little pussy so good you'll forget anyone else ever existed?" he purrs, mouthing at the sensitive spot beneath your ear, breath hot and heavy against your skin. you nod feverishly, the pure filth of his words affecting you more than you'd like to admit.

he chuckles darkly against your neck, the low vibration sending shivers straight down your spine as his lips brush over that sensitive spot again, teasing with just the edge of his teeth. he finally pulls back, hands sliding down to his hips to tug at his belt. "you'll get that, baby," he whispers, unbuttoning his pants and pulling the zipper down impatiently. "i'll give you every fuckin' inch 'til that sweet little cunt's ruined for good." he says, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to free himself.

his thick, veined cock springs free, heavy and rock-hard, the flushed head already leaking precum. he's intimidatingly big— long, girthy, curving slightly upward in a way that threatens to hit every sensitive spot inside you. he wraps one large hand around the base and strokes himself once, slowly, letting you see exactly what you've been aching for all these years. you might just pass away from how big he is alone, mouth agape as you ogle his length, breath getting caught in your throat as you struggle to compute how that was going to fit inside you.

he catches the way your eyes widen in stunned silence as he strokes himself, chest swelling with pride as he lets out a breathy chuckle at your expression. "oh, baby," he starts, voice lowering to a sultry drawl. "nobody your age been this big before, huh?" he questions mockingly, hand on his cock stilling as he reaches out to you, gripping your jaw tightly with his large hand.

his thumb presses into your bottom lip, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to keep staring into his sharp, hungry eyes while he drinks in every bit of your fucked-out expression. "don't worry," he mumbles, reveling in the way your lip quivers ever so slightly. "i'll make sure you take every inch." he purrs, releasing your jaw slowly, fingers trailing down your neck and over your collarbone before sliding possessively along your hip.

he steps a little closer, foot wedging between your bare legs to spread your thighs, the heat of his body pressing against you as his deft hands trail lower. his fingers hook into the waistband of your soaked panties, and he tugs them down your legs impatiently. the drenched fabric peels away from your slick, puffy folds with a wet sound that makes his eyes darken even more. you step out of them once they reach your feet, kicking the ruined scrap of fabric next to your abandoned shorts he discarded earlier.

his gaze drops to your now completely exposed cunt, glistening and swollen, practically weeping for him. a low, appreciative groan rumbles deep in his chest, vibrating through the space between you as he takes in every shiny, puffy inch of your dripping pussy. "fuckin' beauty," he says, admiring your soaked cunt that flutters around nothing as he spreads you open with his fingers. "so fucking pretty, baby... this little cunt was made just for me, huh?" he teases, thick fingers dragging slowly, deliberately through your drenched folds, parting them with a wet, obscene glide that makes your hips twitch.

the slick sounds are louder than you'd like in the quiet room as he circles your swollen clit once before dipping lower to tease your entrance, pressing just the tip of one finger inside you only to pull back and spread your arousal everywhere. "greedy girl," he whispers, the words hot against the nape of your neck before he pulls back, his breath sending shivers racing down your spine. he nips at the sensitive skin there before pulling back just enough to look down between your bodies again.

his hand sneaks under your thigh, strong hands hooking it up and over his hip, opening you up to him as he steps in closer. you grip the counter behind you for balance, the leg that was planted on the floor already wobbly from your previous orgasm. the blunt, leaking head of his thick cock presses right against your slick entrance, your walls immediately fluttering from just the ghost of his tip nudging at your folds. he grunts quietly at your neediness, hand on your thigh gripping the supple flesh tighter.

"listen to me," he starts, voice dropping into that dangerous tone that sends a shiver racing down your spine. "i'm only gonna say this once, baby." he reinforces, free hand gripping the base of his cock to line himself up with your dripping hole. "the louder you are," he warns, each syllable slow and deliberate, laced with dark promise, "the rougher i get." your breath hitches at the threat, hands trembling as you gulp thickly. you nod, exhaling shakily as you condition yourself in your mind to be quiet.

he presses the blunt, swollen tip right against your dripping hole, rubbing it up and down through your slick in lazy, torturous strokes, coating himself in your wetness and letting you feel the heavy weight and heat of him right there. the fat head nudges and slides over your swollen clit, then drags back down to kiss your tight hole again and again, spreading your arousal everywhere until his entire length is shiny and slick with you. every slow pass makes your thigh tremble against his grip, letting out a quiet, impatient whine at his teasing.

"remember what i said," he reminds you, voice gruff and demanding. "be a good girl and keep those pretty sounds quiet for me." with that warning hanging in the air, he finally stops teasing. he grips your thigh harder, fingers digging deep into the soft flesh, and pushes forward in one slow, relentless motion. the thick head breaches your entrance with a wet pop, stretching you wide as he sinks the first few inches inside your tight heat. the burn is immediate and intense, your walls forced to accommodate his massive girth.

your throw your head back in pleasure, a silent cry leaving your parted lips as you brace yourself against the counter, knuckles turning white. you can feel every vein, every ridge dragging against your sensitive walls, and it makes your thighs tremble violently. a broken, shaky exhale leaves you as he keeps pushing, sinking more of his thick cock inside you. your eyes flutter shut for a second, brows pulling tightly together as the overwhelming fullness makes your stomach tighten. you’ve never felt anything like this. never felt so stretched, so full, and he’s not even all the way in yet.

a tiny, helpless whimper slips out before you can stop it, the sound barely audible, trembling in the back of your throat. "leon…" you whisper brokenly, voice cracked and barely there, eyes fluttering open just enough to look up at him with glassy, pleading eyes.

the moment his name leaves your lips, leon’s hips stutter for half a second. his sharp blue eyes darken instantly, pupils blown wide as he stares down at your wrecked expression. his grip on your thigh tightens almost painfully, fingers digging deep bruises into your soft skin. "shhh, baby," he grunts quietly, voice low and dangerous against your ear. "i told you to be quiet." but even as he warns you, he doesn’t stop. instead, he pushes forward again, forcing another thick inch into your fluttering cunt. the wet, obscene sound of your slick coating his cock fills the small space between you as your walls stretch even wider around him.

you whimper again, softer this time, biting down hard on your lower lip until you taste copper. tears prick hot at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming stretch. your pussy clenches hard around his heavy length buried inside you, sucking him deeper even as it struggles to take him. "leon... can't, 'stoo much.." you gasp quietly, voice barely a whisper, hands gripping the counter impossibly tight.

your words dissolve into another quiet, broken whimper as he rocks his hips and sinks the rest of the way in with one final, devastating thrust. he bottoms out completely, hips flush against yours, every long, girthy inch of his cock buried to the hilt inside your tight, dripping pussy. the blunt head presses hard against your cervix, the fullness so intense you swear you could feel him in your stomach.

your hands scramble from the counter to clutch desperately at his shoulders, nails digging into the tight fabric of his compression shirt. your leg shakes uncontrollably where it's hooked around him, pussy gushing slick around his cock from how full you are. leon groans lowly, forehead pressed to yours as he stills, letting you feel every throbbing inch of him buried inside you.

"goddamn, you feel perfect," he rasps, lips brushing against yours. "pretty pussy’s ruined now, isn’t it?" he says, a low, broken mewl slipping from your lips the second he starts pulling his hips back, dragging every thick vein and ridge along your sensitive walls until only the swollen head remains stretching your entrance.

before you can complain, he slams back in with one powerful thrust, burying every inch to the hilt in a single stroke. the wet slap of his hips meeting yours is quiet but filthy. your eyes roll back, a silent cry catching in your throat as the blunt head kisses your cervix again, the fullness so intense it makes your belly tighten.

leon’s hand quickly clamps over your mouth again, large palm sealing tight against your lips, muffling any sound before it can escape. his sharp blue eyes bore into yours, dark and dangerous. "be quiet," he warns, voice rough and dripping with dark promise as he rolls his hips into your needy cunt, "or i’ll have to get real rough with this pretty pussy while your dad’s sleeping in there." you nod frantically against his palm, eyes glassy and wet with unshed tears. he hums in satisfaction, still keeping his hand firmly pressed to your mouth as he resumes his thrusts.

he starts slow at first. long, deep strokes that pull almost all the way out before sliding back in, forcing your walls to stretch wide around his girth again and again. each thrust punches the air from your lungs. the thick head of his cock drags against that sensitive spongy spot inside you, then presses firmly against your cervix on every stroke. his thrusts are relentless, almost painful, but the pleasure is so sharp it makes your thigh shake where it's hooked around his waist.

"so fucking tight," leon grits out, voice low and strained right beside your ear. "pretty pussy needed this stretch, huh, baby?" your walls flutter hard around his thick cock at the filthy praise, clenching down so tightly it draws another low groan from his chest. you can feel every inch of him, every vein pulsing inside you, the slight upward curve pressing firmly against your walls before the blunt head kisses your cervix again and again.

you nod eagerly against his palm, a muffled, desperate sound vibrating against his hand. your pussy clenches around him, fluttering and pulsing as the coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. your neglected clit throbs painfully between your folds, sending little electric jolts through your core with every grind of his hips.

leon chuckles darkly against your ear, the sound rough and satisfied. "yeah... that's what i thought." he murmurs, voice dripping with lust as he rolls his hips in a slow, grinding circle, making his cock shift deep inside you. "been aching for a real man’s cock, haven’t you? no boy your age could ever fill you up like this."

he pulls back almost all the way, letting you feel the aching emptiness for just a second, before slamming back in with one deep, powerful thrust. the wet slap is quiet but obscene. your eyes roll back again, a silent cry catching in your throat as the sudden fullness punches the air from your lungs. "shhh, easy baby," he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear while his hand stays sealed over your mouth. "keep quiet for me, now. you’re doing so good… taking every inch like you were made just for me." his praise makes your pussy flutter even harder around him, each thrust dragging heavily against every sensitive ridge inside you.

his hand gripping your thigh reaches down to rub tight, hard circles into your clit, the sensitive bud pulsing under his thumb. you nearly let out a whine, but leon's hand on your mouth reminds you that you can't, a silent reminder of his dominance. his fingers press firmer over your mouth as he feels you flutter around his cock, a low, approving growl rumbling in his chest.

he doesn’t let up. the rhythm of his thrusts stay deep and punishing, pulling back until only the thick, swollen head stretches your entrance, before driving back in with that same brutal snap of his hips. each thrust forces another wet, filthy sound from where your bodies meet, the obscene slide of him filling you completely, over and over, the heavy weight of his balls tapping softly against you with every thrust.

his thumb keeps working your clit in relentless, tight circles, never slowing, even as your thigh starts to tremble violently. the pressure builds fast and vicious, that aching coil tightening low in your belly until your vision starts to blur at the edges and fresh tears slip down your cheeks.

leon leans in closer, lips grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear as he whispers, hot and filthy, "you gonna cum again for me like this? gonna cream all over my cock while i keep you quiet?" he angles his hips just right on the next thrust, grinding the fat head of his cock hard against that spongy spot deep inside you while his fingers pinch and rub your swollen clit in perfect, merciless sync. your eyebrows pull together in sheer pleasure, glossy eyes staring into his as you listen to his filthy words.

"yeah? gonna let daddy’s friend fucking wreck you right here in the kitchen?" your pussy clenches violently around his thick cock, walls fluttering and spasming as another wave of slick gushes out around him, coating his shaft and making the wet sounds of his thrusts even filthier in the quiet kitchen. leon groans lowly as you clench around him, hand moving back up to press your thigh against your chest. "i think you like hearing how wrong this is. like knowing your dad’s best friend is balls-deep inside his baby girl while he's asleep on the couch."

you let out a quiet sob into his hand, pussy clamping down relentlessly against his cock as you nod desperately. you loved it, you loved how risky it was, how wrong it was, how absolutely fucking filthy he was. it was so much better than you'd ever imagined.

his thumb returns to your swollen clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that have your thighs shaking uncontrollably. the coil in your belly is on the verge of snapping, burning hotter with every filthy word he breathes against your ear. "yeah... that's it, baby," he whispers, voice rough and dripping with lust as he grinds his cock deep, the fat head bullying your g-spot without mercy. "cum all over this cock like the dirty girl you are."

the command, paired with the perfect grind of his hips and the merciless pressure on your clit, sends you hurtling over the edge again. your entire body locks up, back arching hard against the counter as a silent, shattering orgasm rips through you. your pussy clamps down like a vice around his thick length, pulsing and fluttering wildly as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. fresh tears spill down your cheeks while you bite down hard on your lip to stay quiet, only tiny, broken whimpers escaping against his palm.

leon groans low and deep, his cock twitching hard inside your spasming cunt as he feels you fall apart around him. "fuck... yeah," he grunts, burying his head into your shoulder while he fucks you through the intensity of your orgasm. "good girl, such a good fucking girl." he praises, voice strained as he fucks you through it with slower, grinding thrusts, letting you ride out every last pulse.

leon’s low groan vibrates against your shoulder as your orgasm drags him right to the edge with you. your walls pulse and flutter around his thick cock, milking him relentlessly while slick gushes out around his shaft. the wet heat of you, the way you clamp down on him, the quiet, broken whimpers you couldn't quiet against his palm— it’s almost too much.

he keeps thrusting through your climax, slower now, deep and grinding rolls of his hips that drag every thick inch along your fluttering walls. the overstimulation makes your thighs shake violently where one is still hooked over his hip, but he holds you steady in his strong grip, forehead pressed to yours as he watches your face with dark, hungry eyes.

"god, you're gonna make me fucking cum," he grits out, voice wrecked and strained against your lips as he fucks you through your orgasm. your eyebrows pull together as the shocks of pleasure-pain begin to take over, soft whimpers falling from your mouth as his thrusts begin to turn sloppy. "so fucking tight... shit, i'm fucking close," he grunts, hand moving down from your mouth to gain purchase on your right hip, using it as leverage to pull you into each deep thrust.

his thrusts turn shorter, more erratic, the wet sounds of him moving through your soaked heat growing louder in the quiet room. you can feel him throbbing harder inside you, right on the cusp of his release. "god... fucking take it," he grits out against your neck, pulling your hips against his cock rougher as you bite down on your lip so hard you taste blood.

the filthy edge in his words, paired with the very real risk of your dad sleeping just down the hall, sends another rush of heat straight to your core. your pussy clenches involuntarily around him, milking his throbbing length. "shit, i'm cumming, fuck—" leon’s voice breaks into a low, strained groan as he buries himself to the hilt with one final, rough grind.

his cock pulses violently inside you, thick and heavy, flooding your fluttering walls with hot, heavy spurts of cum. you feel every pulse, every twitch of his cock as he empties himself deep inside you, his grip on your right hip almost bruising while he rocks through it. his movements push his release even further inside, a small whimper leaving you as you feel his tip kiss the deepest part inside you.

"jesus fucking christ," he moans lowly against your neck, rocking his hips slowly into your cunt as he fucks you through the rest of his high. he keeps grinding in slow circles, making sure you feel every inch of him while your walls continue to flutter and milk the last drops from his throbbing cock. "fuck, that's right, so good, so fucking good baby," he praises, pressing small little kisses into your neck where your pulse thrums rapidly as you try to catch your breath.

he stays buried deep, cock still twitching with the occasional aftershock inside your cum-filled heat. the grip on your right hip slowly eases, his fingers stroking over the flushed skin in gentle, apologetic circles where he’d held you so tightly. he pulls out slowly, the wet sound filling the quiet room as his thick cock slides free from your fluttering pussy. you immediately feel the warm rush of his cum leaking out of you, dripping down your folds and sliding down the inside of your thigh.

you wince slightly, the cool kitchen air kissing your cunt as your legs settles back down on the ground below you shakily. you huff out a breath, hands gripping the counter behind you to steady yourself before looking up at leon.

he's breathing heavily, eyes closed and brows pulled together tight as his hands rest upon the counter beside your form, caging you in. a faint sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead and along the line of his neck. after a few seconds, his eyes slowly open, heavy-lidded, locking onto yours. the intense hunger from moments ago has softened into something warmer, more intimate, though the corner of his mouth still twitches with a lazy, satisfied smirk.

"fuck..." he breathes out, voice low and hoarse. he leans in a little closer, one hand lifting from the counter to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face. "you okay, baby?" he inquires, taking in your post-orgasm haze as you catch your breath. you offer him a quiet nod, a small smile gracing your features as you stare at him. leon’s eyes linger on your face for a long moment, his thumb tracing lightly along your cheekbone.

"good," he murmurs, voice still rough but quieter now. "let's get you upstairs before your dad wakes up." he presses one last soft kiss to your forehead, then carefully pulls back. he pulls his boxers and pants up in one smooth motion, efficiently tucking himself back inside. his hands slide to your waist, steadying you as your legs continue to tremble. with gentle movements, he helps you tug your panties and shorts back up your thighs, though the fabric immediately feels the warm, sticky mess of his cum still leaking from you and soaking into the material.

"easy, baby," he whispers when you sway a little. one strong arm wraps around your lower back, pulling you against his chest for support while his other hand adjusts himself in his pants slightly. "i’ve got you." he keeps you close as you both quietly slip out of the kitchen, moving through the dark hallway on quiet feet. the living room is still quiet— your dad’s soft snoring drifts from the couch, completely unaware.

you let out a sigh of relief, the nervous thrum of your heart slowing a bit at the sight of your dad still sound asleep. leon’s hand stays firm on your waist the entire way, guiding you up the stairs with careful, measured steps until you’re safely inside your bedroom. he closes the door shut quietly, turning around to see you flopping face-first into your bed.

leon makes his way to the edge of your bed, watching the way your body sinks into the mattress, exhaustion pulling you under. the room is quiet except for your heavy breathing and his steady breaths. he reaches out and gently brushes a strand of hair from your face, the touch careful and warm. "you did so good for me," he murmurs, hand stroking your hair down where it was messily tangled. you hum, turning your head and looking into his eyes with a soft expression on your face.

"we need to be smart about this," he starts, and you purse your lips at the thought of sneaking around your dad. you nod slowly, taking in his words as you try and think of a solution. he leans in slightly, eyes searching yours. "what do you think? what do you want out of this?" he asks quietly, hand settling on your shoulder while his thumb rubs fond circles into the soft skin.

you bite your lip, thinking, then murmur, "maybe… we could start with just normal time together first. like... actual dates outside the house. and then see how it feels before we decide about telling my dad." leon’s mouth curves into a small, approving smile. he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"yeah?" he asks, a tiny smile breaking out onto his face. "we'll do that then, baby," he reassures you, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. you smile, nodding silently while leaning into his touch. your eyes flutter shut for a moment, basking in his touch as you feel your eyes get heavier.

"how 'bout you get some sleep, huh?" he suggests, and you smile softly, opening your eyes once more to stare into his, a fond expression gracing his usually hardened features. you let out a contented sigh before sitting up and pressing a firm yet soft kiss to his lips. he immediately kisses back, a hand coming up to caress your cheek softly.

leon pulls back slowly, resting his forehead on yours before speaking up, "i've gotta go back downstairs in case he wakes up," he huffs, pressing a short kiss to your pouted lips. "don't you worry, baby. i'll be over here all summer." he chuckles, and you can't help the big smile that breaks out across your face.

indeed he will be.

© cametoile ♡ + ↻

Leon sighs and reiterates your findings to Sherry through his ear piece. Keen to be rid of this wasted adrenaline, you shove the door leading to the greenhouse open, standing on the arched, vine-peppered threshold to examine the plants within. Many of the leaves are wilted, colourless. 

“Almost as dead as my houseplants,” you quip. 

Leon wedges himself in front of you, a protective arm providing a barrier between you and the overgrown path. “Careful. We have no idea what these assholes were growing before they jumped ship.”

Ten years ago, when you first joined the DSO, you might have allowed such a show of protection. Now, you don’t need it, and shove past him with a sidelong glower. He might be your superior, but you don't need a knight in shining armour. “I’m not your rookie anymore, Kennedy.”

He grits his teeth. “And how you love to remind me.”

“I shouldn’t have to,” you snap. It isn’t that you dislike him, really. He’s just got an exhausting chip on his shoulder, and he walks around with a haughty sense of responsibility, like it’s his job to keep the entire world safe. You wish he’d go easier on himself — and stop treating you like you’re incompetent when he trained you himself to be an exceptional agent. Perhaps you’re sensitive, because you’ve faced gender bias your entire life. Misogynists who laugh at the idea of you working as a federal agent. Senior officers who would sooner put you on coffee duty than acknowledge your skills. 

Maybe Leon isn’t like that, but sometimes, you aren’t so sure he trusts anybody to do the job other than himself, man or woman. 

You only take a few more steps into the greenhouse before the change in the air gives you pause. A heady sweetness wraps around you here, and you think you’re going crazy when you see flecks of red floating like dust motes in the air, so tiny they might be missed by anyone not paying attention. You tip your chin, finding the source: a pink, lotus-like flower pulsing overhead, hanging by a vine that seems to have curled itself across every ceiling corner. It would be pretty if it wasn’t the only living thing in here, its petals swollen and puffy around a long stigma that seems to surveil your every move. 

“The hell is that?” Leon’s question rumbles low in his throat. 

“The last survivor?” It’s strange: the more you admire it, the stronger the urge to touch it becomes. You can’t from down here, but it doesn’t stop you from rising to your tiptoes—

The flower sighs out another gust of those strange spores, the pollen falling onto your skin with a sting, like a shower dialled too high. 

“Shit,” Leon mutters. You turn to find his dirty blonde hair dusted with the same red flakes.

In an instant, he’s yanking you out of the greenhouse, bolting the door shut behind you. “Sherry, we might have a problem. A flower just… spat at us.”

You snort at the absurdity of it. You’ve seen bioweapons in all their forms, but never have they begun with a few pretty petals. Still, you shake the pollen from your hair, using your water to clean yourself off before allowing Leon to do the same while he hums in response to whatever Sherry is telling him. 

“She has no reason to believe it’s dangerous,” is his final verdict. “Still, better safe than sorry. We’ll take  a few samples, and Sherry’s finding a place for us to quarantine until we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Great. I just hope you don’t have hay fever,” you taunt, peering through the glass to get a final look at the welcoming flower. Though you’re not in the least afraid, a steady thrum begins inside you, matching the glowing pulse of the flower’s pink light. As you walk away, a painful clench twists your stomach.

Probably just hunger, you convince yourself — but even your inner voice wavers when an itch claws through your skin minutes later. 

By the time a stoic set of DSO agents have taken your samples and escorted you to a safe house for the night, you’re burning up. So is he, clammy and rosy-cheeked as he paces the lacklustre living room-slash-kitchen-slash-bedroom. You sit shakily on the couch, watching your fingers curl into your palms with an eerie sense of detachment. Your limbs don’t quite feel like your own, all sensations pushed aside to make room for the incessant fire in your belly. You feel like somebody has locked a furnace inside you, sweat beading in your hairline and sickness rearranging your organs. 

“So, how long until we know if we’re gonna die?” you question weakly. 

“We’re not going to die,” Leon asserts, scraping his hair back. It’s still damp from the shower, like yours, and even that feels like a coiled snake at the nape of your neck, leaving you shifting on the couch. “Viruses don’t tend to spread via pollination.”

“You don’t know that. There may be a whole swarm of zombie bees out there.”

You’re used to him huffing at you, used to sort-of-friendly taunts that sometimes hold a bite, but this exasperation billows through the room with disarming intensity. He’s pissed off.

He stops, rolling his neck as his eyes squeeze shut. In pain, too, just like you. You shift on the couch, unable to find a comfortable position, only for your breath to catch when your core rubs against the upholstery. That friction sends a bolt of something both pleasurable and agonising through you, right down to your toes.

“Fuck,” you hiss. 

“What? What’s wrong?” His voice warps into something deeper and more honeyed than you’ve ever heard before, plucking through you like taut strings. You lean back on the couch just to feel the chafe against your cargoes again, biting your lip and curling your fingers into the cushions.

“Nothing,” you whisper distractedly. Really, you mean everything. Your heart is pounding, skin burning, and to top it all off, you can feel your panties soaking through with an arousal you can’t explain, made worse by every minute movement — both yours and his. 

Even as he resumes pacing across the room, you feel him brushing your skin back and forth, back and forth, and your nipples stand to attention. You’ve always enjoyed looking at him and his chiseled features, but you’re professional enough to pretend he doesn’t affect you. Whatever was in that pollen has weakened your resolve, and it’s like watching reality peel itself open, leaving the world hazy but for him, the one thing still in focus. His cheekbones look sharper, nose straighter, lips plumper. His blue eyes pierce right through you, and fuck, fuck, the way his waist moves as he walks makes you want to touch yourself. 

“Can you stop that?” you ask, because your hand is on your thigh, inches away from providing yourself with relief. There’s nowhere short of the bathroom you can go to fix this problem, and you know he’d listen with that razor-sharp concern. He’s already taken your temperature twice, though both your shirts are drenched with obvious fever. You’re past science, past examinations, symptoms written all over you. 

Except that throb between your legs. That, you’re trying desperately to hide.

He ignores you, still pacing. When he gets closer, casting a breeze that teases your raw skin once more, you snap: “Leon! You’re not going to walk this one off!”

His jaw sets with a visible quiver. He retreats to the sink with a curse, peering out through the envelope-sized window. Your focus traces the slope of his spine, the broad width of his shoulders, the narrow cinch of his waist. 

His ass, not as prominent as the rest of him, but thick enough you want to sink your teeth into it all the same. 

“You need to sit down,” you demand, angling away from him so you won’t keep ogling. Your fingers are trembling, and you’re scared to stand up lest all that arousal has already dampened the couch. God, if he saw it, he’d never take you seriously again. 

“No, I don’t.”

His posture sinks lower, head bowed, breaths heavy. You wonder if he feels it too, but then think that would be ridiculous. The fever is just making you horny, body likely trying to distract you with thoughts you’d been repressing for so long. 

Only it hurts — to look at him, and to look away from him; to feel him inches away, and to have him all the way across the room.

You dig the back of your skull into the top cushions in a desperate attempt to chase the thoughts away. Your throat is dry, a sugary yet bitter taste on your tongue. The pain doesn’t stop, but with one less sense to worry about, you can let yourself drift into the fog encasing your body for just a while, sleep crawling towards you. 

With it, dreams of him. 

His name is a thick coating on your tongue when you wake. You don’t know how long it’s been, a shrill ringing in your ears and the light too bright for your stinging eyes. 

And him, hovering over you, brows pinched with a worry you’ve never seen on him, not even when your lives were at stake. 

A mangled whine forces itself out of your throat, all of you seeped in uncomfortable wetness. You don’t know where the sweat ends and your arousal begins. Your tongue sweeps over your teeth — and it hurts. Everything hurts. 

A cup is tipped to your lips, but the cold glass isn’t what you want, and you shove it away as a shiver wracks through you. “How long… was I…?”

“Couple hours.” He refuses to surrender, forcing the water into your mouth. It slides down your throat, and all you can think is how much you wish it was his seed, like it had been in the dream. Thick and creamy and just this side of salty. He’d had his fingers fisted in your hair, eyes shut in ecstasy, and—

“Oh, god. Was I… Did I…?” Your hand is between your legs, you realise. You’d been touching yourself. In front of your superior. 

“It’s okay.”

“No, no—”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” he repeats, nudging you back when you try to rise off the couch. “I’m… I’m having the same symptoms. You’re okay, yeah?”

His throat bobs on a grimace, the only chink in his armour even now. He’s so much stronger than you. Maybe he had a right to that superiority complex after all. 

“What… What do you mean?” It’s a silly question, you find when he steps away, because the evidence is written in the thick outline of his cock, nestled against the seam of his tactical pants. 

“Sherry said…” He swallows again; this time, it looks painful. “Sherry said the pollen isn’t a virus, but it is…” He pinches the bridge of his nose, turning away from you. “Fuck. This is…”

“Spit it out, Kennedy."

“The substance is some kind of aphrodisiac.”

“Like… oysters?”

He snorts. “Not quite. It was designed to force breeding. They must have been using it on whatever lived in that lab before we got there.”

Your head spins, the words not making sense. Breeding is all that echoes, over and over again, more images from your dream coming back to you. Leon balls-deep inside you, pounding rough and hard until your stomach was bulging as he whispered praise in your ears. You, stretched and full and screaming.

Your hollow stomach clenches again, cushion bunching in your tense fingers. “When will it go away?” He rubs a hand over his jaw, and the sound of the bristle has you whimpering again. “Leon.”

He grits his teeth, pressing his palms into the wall. When it isn’t enough, he slams them again twice. Thrice. 

You wish you were caged in by those rippling biceps and veiny forearms. 

“I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely. “I should have known better than to let you step foot in that greenhouse.”

“Just answer the question.”

His shoulders slump in defeat, the first proof that this might be unfixable. Unsurvivable. “It doesn’t go away. Not unless we make it.”

Make it. “You mean, together?”

He nods, glancing at you over his shoulder. His eyes are more silver than blue, lips twisted bitterly. “Sherry is looking into an antidote, but it could take weeks. We can’t survive that long, not with a fever like this. We’ll keep getting sicker.”

“We can’t just… do it ourselves?”

“I tried already. In the bathroom. Couldn’t.”

Fuck. Your eyes drag back to his cock, imagining his fist wrapped around it. Like the flower, like your insides, it seems to pulse to a silent rhythm. 

“This is significantly worse than hay fever,” you decide. 

“And your smart fucking mouth isn’t helping,” he retorts. 

You should be disgusted by his tone, but it only uproots your desire in greedy hands. Your voice is low when you ask, “How many people at the DSO know about this?”

“Why the hell does that matter?”

“I didn’t work hard for ten damn years to lose all my credibility, all my dignity, because of some weird sex pollen that makes me want to fuck my boss!”

“Not exactly ideal for me either, sweetheart.” The word drips like caramel laced with arsenic, sweet and poisonous in equal measure. 

“It’s not the same and you know it.” You throw yourself off the couch, finding your knees quick to buckle. Leon grabs your waist to keep you from falling, heavy palms scorching your skin like a branded poker. It takes everything in you not to fall into him, find the release you so desperately crave, and resisting it sends more agony through every corner of you. Muscles, organs, bones, blood. A million atoms exploding inside you. You can’t imagine enduring this another hour, let alone weeks. 

His fingers tremble as they rise to your jaw, pupils blown like eclipsed twin moons. His breath holds the same sickly sourness as yours, tugging you in, making you moan, and your walls clench around nothing. You heave out a grunt of pain around all that emptiness, which isn’t empty at all, but all serrated edges and needling shadows. 

“Nobody but Sherry knows what’s happening to us,” he admits. “Nobody will, okay? I’ll make sure of it.”

“This can’t be real.” You massage your sticky temples, pulling away from him. Without really knowing what you’re doing, you go to the sink, stick your head under the cold water as though it might douse your flames. It doesn’t, the trickle only reminding you of how blistered your skin feels. Your thighs clench, ass in the air. 

At your back, Leon curses again. “You can’t… stand like that.”

“Fuck off.”

He says your name on something akin to a whimper, and you whip around to see his hand hovering just shy of his erection. Like you, he’s trying so hard not to give in. 

But it doesn’t sound like there’s another option. 

“What are we going to do?” you question.

He shakes his head. “I need another shower.”

“Leon—”

The door slams between you, and your eyes smart with sudden tears — of frustration, hopelessness, need. You spend the next five minutes trying to find a position that doesn’t hurt, but your clothes scrape your skin and your hair sticks to your neck and you are so, so empty. 

And then his groans drift over the sound of the running water. From your new spot on a rug on the floor, you squirm, stomach swelling with something so tender it steals your breath. Every time you think the pain can’t get worse, it does, cresting to a new level until it’s all you can think about. 

“Fuck,” Leon’s grunting. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Your hands tiptoe beneath the waistband of your trousers of their own volition, circling your clit as tears meld with your sweat into the carpet. You can hear the agony in every throaty sound he makes, and it hurts you just as much. 

And then he starts saying your name. It’s barely audible, or would be if the world around you hadn’t risen to an unknowable crescendo in every possible way. 

“Leon, please,” you whisper in response, going harder, faster — but your fingers slip with how wet you are, and you can’t satisfy the gaping hole inside you. A sob of despair pierces through the room, and it takes you a moment to realise it belongs to you.

Almost in unison, you hear his fist slam the shower door and know he feels it, too. 

You want to go to him. Help him, end this torment for both of you. But even now, panic ricochets through you at the thought. If people found out, and they would, you’d forever be the agent who fucked her way to the top. You’d be an object to them. They wouldn’t see your hard work, just the fact you opened your legs for your superior. 

You’re lying like that, hand limp between your thighs, minutes later, when Leon staggers out of the bathroom with water dripping over him. He’s made the effort to put his clothes back on, which means he’s still trying to resist, just like you. Only, the shaky breaths the two of you let out as he observes you on the carpet are frail, brittle. 

“It hurts so bad,” you confess. 

“I know.”

“What if it doesn’t stop?”

“I could ask Sherry to… I don’t know, get you something. A toy.”

A vehement snort falls from you, until you realise he isn’t joking. In fact, he’s looking at you with more care than should be allowed in a moment like this. Like he’d sit there, ignoring his own needs to tend to yours. 

Your resolve wavers. You want him. Enough not to care what people would say. Enough that no toy would be enough. 

“Why haven’t you tried to fuck me yet?”

“Don’t,” he warns. 

“Just answer me. Why?”

“Because you deserve a hell of a lot better than that. Because you’ve made it clear you don’t want it, and I will never, ever force you, even if it fucking kills us both. Because you’re my responsibility, and I will find a way to take care of this that doesn’t involve hurting you even more than you already are.”

You drag your glassy eyes to the ceiling. “None of those reasons included the fact that you don’t want to.”

Nothing, just the shuffle of his boots as he returns to the sink. 

“Leon.”

He tugs at his hair. You understand now why he wanted you to change position before, his own ass punctuated by his stance. From below, you can appreciate his thighs, his calves, a man built from a strength nobody should ever need to survive in this world — but he did, and fuck, you found that sexy long before this affliction took hold.

“Do you want to?” you prod. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I wanted to,” you blurt. “Before. I mean, I would never have acted on it…”

“You’re delirious.”

“Fuck you, Kennedy. I’m being honest,” you snap. 

His gulp is audible. Slowly, he turns, taking unsteady steps towards you. Even the rustle of the carpet against the rubber soles of his boots has you biting the inside of your cheek until you taste blood. 

He kneels beside you, swipes the matted hair from your eyes. You shudder, his touch leaving embers in its wake. More tears, dampening your cheeks, running into the carpet. 

“Of course I wanted to,” he says. “Even if you are a stubborn-as-hell pain in my ass.”

Your scoff is mirthless, hips bucking as your core clenches again. “Then do it. Please. I want you to make this go away.”

“I can’t. Not like this.”

“Please.” Your voice quivers and cracks. “Please, just fuck me. We both want it. Need it. I need it.” You place his hand on your breast, rippling with every laborious breath. Your nipples harden, pleading with his uncertain fingers. “Leon—”

He squeezes, causing a shrill gasp as your back arches. It’s like a lightning bolt, and it sears away the pain for just a moment. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fucking sure. Get inside me. Now. Please.”

A growl rolls from him, and then he’s pulling down his pants and yours, so desperate to obey that they’re left at the hinges of your knees, restricting your movements, but not enough for either of you to care. All you can focus on is how badly your pussy weeps for him, how much you need to be full. 

You claw through his hair, down his back, anywhere you can reach as he spreads your folds and stretches you out with his fingers. He didn’t need to. You’re ready. Have been for hours. 

“You’re drenched,” he croons, breathless and nudging his cock against your thigh. It’s hot and satiny, already leaking with the same frenzied arousal. Still he finds time to gather your slick, watching it drip down to his knuckles with devastating fascination before sucking it away with puckered lips and fluttering lids. 

“Now,” you beg. You can’t be teased, can’t even be touched, not until his cock is inside you. 

“You’re so ready for me. So warm and wet and gorgeous,” he’s saying as he lines himself up. “She's so pretty. I couldn’t stop imagining how pretty she’d look, crying for me like this.”

You dig your fingernails into his back, urging him down, and then the world stills as finally your walls have something to mould themselves around. He’s slow, watching your expression even as his own strains with equal parts relief and pain. “Tell me if I hurt you. You have to tell me—”

“You won’t. You can’t.” The only thing that hurts is being empty, and you’re not now. When another sob racks you, it sends your hips jolting, and his breath catches.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Gonna take care of you now. Gonna make it go away.”

You bury your face into his neck as he inches deeper, the two of you a tangled, slippery mess of rasps and desperation. 

“Worried I’m gonna come too soon,” he admits.

“You won't. Play with my clit and I'll get there,” you beg. 

He does, and your toes curl in long-awaited ecstasy. He inhales your moans like they’re oxygen in a suffocating space, sliding back to plunge into you again. He goes deeper this time, grip burrowing into your ass cheeks until you’re certain you’ll have bruises for weeks. Good. With your hazy fever, you’re afraid you might forget otherwise, and all the pain was worth it for the bliss you feel now. You’re made of liquid flames, less human and more animal, baring your teeth in silent command for more, more, more. 

Leon tilts your hips as he increases his pace, one arm wedged between you so he can maintain his rhythm on your clit. Goosebumps rise on your skin, your legs wrapping tightly around him until you’re moving as one languid, primal creature, all claws and teeth as your pussy devours his cock. 

“This good? Think you can come like this?” he’s asking. 

You’re too fucked out to reply, mouth agape, eyes closed, intoxicated by the smell of sweat and slick and hormones enveloping the two of you.

“Baby, need you to talk to me. Tell me you’re okay.”

“'M okay. So good,” you whisper. “Don’t stop. Go harder.”

He pistons into you then, bottoming out with every thrust until he’s passing over your G-spot and splitting you all the way open. You grab anything you can find with sharp nails and sharper teeth: hair, flesh, lips. It’s the first time in hours that agony has lightened to a gentle gnawing and you never want this to stop. You’re dripping all over the carpet, his balls slapping against you and pussy walls squelching, and his fingers are slipping through your folds with so much glorious ease, so much care, even now. 

“I need to be on top,” you say, and he lets you roll him onto his back so you can writhe all over his cock, hitting corners he couldn‘t reach before. 

Leon lifts your straddled hips before slamming them back down, over and over, and you’re scared you won’t be able to hold yourself upright for much longer. 

“You’re so perfect. Want to live in this warm cunt for the rest of my life.”

“Want you to fill me up,” you reply. “Come inside me. Want to feel you come inside me.”

“So close, sweetheart.” You can tell it’s true, vein throbbing in his flushed neck and features growing taut. He purses his lips, lets out another primitive growl as he uses his free hand to squeeze your tits. “What were you dreaming about before, hm?”

“You. I was — fuck." You almost fall off, and he’s there, righting you, supporting you, keeping you steady. “Your cock was in my mouth. Fingers in my hair. Tasted so good.”

“I was imagining this,” he admits. “Watching my stubborn little sweetheart fuck my cock until she can barely stay upright.” A grunt, and then his cock is swelling, spilling, your walls clenching around him as he chases every spark. His seed pools between you with your own arousal, coating your folds so that every chafe over his pelvis has you quivering. And there, with his fingers going harder on your clit, you find your own release swathes you like spring sunlight, a glowing, breathing thing wrapping you in its arms. 

“That’s right. Fuck it out,” he’s muttering, almost incoherent as he aids your every rut. 

It seems to last forever, this hot, heavenly electricity, you convulsing with frenzied abandon, him watching until, minutes later, you slump against his chest with him still locked between your legs. 

There’s nothing to say for a long time. You wait, tentatively, for the symptoms, the agony, to return, but it doesn’t. There’s just him and his heartbeat and a new exhaustion that leaves you boneless. 

“You okay?” Leon rasps finally.

You can only hum, breath riffling through the hairs on his chest. 

He twists his fingers through your hair, leaving your scalp tingling. “Doesn’t hurt anymore?”

“No. You?”

“No.” A kiss is placed on your head, so tender it knocks the breath from you. “We should clean up, sweetheart. We made a hell of a mess.”

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t go.” You’re scared that when he slides out of you, the pain will come back. 

So he doesn’t, wrapping his arms around you and listening to your breaths even out. “Not going anywhere," is the last thing you hear before you fall asleep.

The fabric is soft against your cheek, worn thin in places by years of washing and chaffing against his skin. It is a simple dark navy henley that carried the scent of your shared detergent, and his scent never quite washes away no mater how many times you wash it. You breathe it in deep, your lungs expanding until you couldn’t anymore, holding onto his scent. The shirt is clutched in your white-knuckled grip as your body arches off the mattress.

Between your thighs the vibrator hums, the silicone is slick and warm with your heat. The pressure against your clit is a desperate attempt to replicate the way he makes you feel when he is between your legs. Your hips roll instinctively against the vibrator, chasing a high that feels just out of reach, you are aching for the feeling of his hands gripping your waist as he fucks into you, of him smothering your moans with his mouth.

The front door clicks open and then there is the heavy tread of boots on the floorboards, but you don’t react, the sound muffled by the blood rushing to your ears. You are gasping and panting into the cotton shirt, the toy still buzzing against your clit in a continuous rumble, you don't even bother with the other settings. Your heart is beating so loud you can barely hear anything, the world around you blocked out. The scent of him is headier now, mixed with the sharp smell of your own arousal, clouding all rational thoughts and feelings.

He appears in the doorway stopping in his tracks, the light from the hallway silhouettes him, a broad figure cast in the light bleeding into the dim room.

He watches from the doorway as a flush bloom across your chest, the sheen of sweat and your own release coats your inner thighs, your knees are trembling, fallen wide in invitation. The shirt, the one he wore before he left yesterday is pressed desperately against your nose and mouth as you breathe the scent in frantically, panting and gasping against the fabric as you circle your clit with the vibrator.

You whimper into the fabric when finally, your eyes meet his, heavy-lidded and wet with unshed tears of frustration and arousal. You don’t seem surprised to see him there, lost in the haze of pleasure, in fact his visage seems to spur you on as you whimper and writhe on the mattress with renewed effort, rubbing your slick thighs together. Your eyes are begging and pleading him without words to bridge the gap, that feels as wide as a canyon, to come closer and join you in the bubble of heat and arousal that you’ve created.

Leon doesn’t speak as he shreds his jacket, letting it fall to the floor before he crosses the distance to the bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he climbs onto the bed with you, the springs groaning in protest. He doesn’t touch you immediately, just kneels there with one hand resting on his thigh, the other braced near your head.

Slowly he reaches out gently pressing his palm to your overheated skin, you jerked moaning as his hand slides down your sweat-slicked stomach. He maps your curves sliding along the dips in your waist, his firm calloused hands gripping your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh, and pulls you softly. A sharp gasp escapes you as your lower half slides across the sheets, settling your lower half heavily in the cradle of his lap. 

"Keep going," Leon murmured, "Show me how you fuck yourself when I'm not here." A shuddering moan escapes you as you obeyed, slowly pushing the tip of the vibrator down and into your dripping warmth and then dragging the toy out before pushing it back in slowly. The vibration and angle is different now with your hips elevated in his lap, and the vibrations hit a soft sensitive spot inside you.

"Ahhh—nngh—Leon," you gasped as your back arches off the mattress, your fingers knotting desperately in the fabric of his shirt. The cotton was damp with your breath and sweat, the faded scent of laundry detergent mixed with the scent his skin fueling the fire in your blood.

His hands slide down from your hips down to the soft flesh of your inner thighs. Pushing them wide to expose the slick, quivering center of you to the cool air and his burning gaze. One thumb drags down your outer folds, collecting the dripping wetness there, before pressing inward to spread you apart. He holds you open, his eyes darkening as he stared intently at your exposed cunt.

"Look at that," he murmured as he watched, mesmerized, as your inner muscles clenched and fluttered around nothing, the wet flesh pulsing. The toy in your hand buzzed frantically, glistening under the low light, coated in a thick sheen of your arousal. You couldn't stop the desperate whine that built in your chest, your hips rocking upward to chase the friction.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groaned, before he leaned in closer. "Were you thinking about me? Hmmm? Was it my cock you were imagining when you were fucking yourself?"

You nodded frantically, your chin wobbling as tears of frustration prickled your eyes. "Yes—mnm—oh god Leon," you babbled, working the toy in tighter, faster circles now, chasing the building pressure that coiled tight and hot in your core. "Needed you so bad."

He shifted, bracing himself over you, caging you in with his broad shoulders, but his attention never wavered from between your legs. He reached down, his large hand covering yours where it gripped the toy, gently pried your fingers away and took control of the toy himself.

"Such a greedy girl," he murmured, the degradation sending a fresh jolt of heat through you. He guided the toy, changing the rhythm from your frantic fluttering to slow circles that pressed the vibrating head harder against your swollen clit. "Let me help you, baby."

He leaned down, his hot mouth finding the flushed, sweaty curve of your breast. He placed an open-mouthed kiss just above your nipple, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt on your skin, even as his eyes remained locked downward, watching the slick wet mess he was creating between your thighs. Studying every twitch of your legs and every throb of your clit under the vibration.

He shifted his hips, grinding his erection against the soft flesh of your ass. "Leon," you whimpered, your head falling back, the shirt slipping from your fingers as all the sensations became too much for you to handle. The scent of him is everywhere now, overpowering the lingering smell on the shirt, It was intoxicating and dizzying.

He dragged the toy downward, sliding it through your dripping folds to coat it in fresh wetness, the silicone humming against your entrance, teasing the sensitive rim. Then he brought it back up, pressing it firmly against your clit, the vibration rattling your nerves.

Your hands scrambled for purchase reaching up and gripping his shoulders. Your fingernails dug into the skin, raking angry red lines down his muscles, the pleasure threatening to pull you under.

"You look so beautiful like this. Feel good?" he asked softly, his eyes finally lifting to lock onto yours. They were intense and dilated until the blue was just a thin ring around a black void, watching every flicker of pleasure that crossed your face. 

You nodded furiously, your breath hitching in your throat, your hands tightening on his shoulders afraid that if you didn't answer him he might stop. "Yes—don't stop, please don't stop."

The buzzing head of the toy drags away from your clit, moving in slow circles around the swollen bundle of nerves without quite touching it, making you keen and your hips jerk upward, begging for attention. Your breath hitches in uneven gasps, your body trembling with the effort to stay still, to not chase his touch.

Leon shifts, leaning in over your body, and you feel the hot splatter of his spit land directly on your exposed pussy, mixing with your own arousal to make a mess, before he slides two digits into you effortlessly. Your body sucks him in with a greedy, embarrassingly wet squelch and he curls his fingers upward. Immediately finding that rough patch of swollen ridges inside you that makes your vision blur and your toes curl. He strokes it firmly in a 'come here' motion, dragging his fingertips against the sensitive front wall until your thighs shake.

"Leon," you gasp, the last syllable of his name dragging out on a moan as your head falls back against the pillows, your fingers scrabbling uselessly at the sheets.

He answers your plea by suddenly pressing the toy directly onto your clit again. Your thighs clench around his arm, fighting involuntarily to close your legs but he doesn't budge an inch. He holds you open, one hand buried inside you, the other hooked around your thigh to keep you spread while the vibrator grinds into your clit. He watches your face contort in pleasure, your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back.

Overwhelmed and desperate for a connection, you reach up your hands find the back of his neck. Fingers tangling desperately in the hair at his nape, and you pull him down. He yields easily to your whims, a soft grunt escaping him as he lowers his chest down to cover yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress, suffocating you slightly.

You crush your mouth to his, swallowing the low groan he makes as your hips buck against his hand. The kiss is messy, all clashing teeth and dueling tongues and desperate, shared breath. You taste the lingering mint on his tongue and the faint, bitter edge of strong coffee, but underneath it all, it's just Leon. You moan into his mouth, which is swallowed by him as his fingers pump harder into you, the toy still buzzing against your clit. He devours your whimpers, his tongue dominating the kiss, fucking your mouth in time with the rhythm of his fingers.

The kiss breaks only when oxygen becomes a necessity, your lungs burning as much as your veins, the room spinning in the peripherals of your vision. You pull back just enough to gasp, your forehead resting heavily against his, his breath hot and mingling with yours in the scant, humid space between your mouths. He doesn't let up, not for a single second. His fingers pumping inside you, curling hard against your front wall with every thrust, dragging a wet lewd squelching sound from your core.

"God, look at you," Leon breathes, his voice rough like sandpaper against your ear. He shifts his weight, his jeans rubbing against the sensitive skin of your trapped thigh, sending jolts of heat skittering up your spine. "You're dripping all over me."

The pleasure is a tight, hot knot in your belly, pulling tighter and tighter with every circle of his wrist and every crook of his fingers. Your inner muscles clench around him, trying to keep his fingers inside you and pull him deeper. Your hips try to buck, to chase the sensation or flee from it, you aren't sure which. His arm is locked across your leg, holding you open for his use and you are entirely at his mercy, spread wide and trembling.

"Leon, please," you whimper, the words dissolving into a high pitched keen as he twists his fingers just right, scissoring them slightly to stretch you. "I'm—fuck, I'm close."

He growls low in his throat, before he adjusts the angle of the toy, pressing it directly into the swollen hood of your clit. The coil that had been tightening snaps. Your vision whites out, your back bowing off the mattress as the orgasm rushes through you like a wave. You cry out, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, your body seizing up around his hand as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you gasping and shuddering in his grip.Your body convulses, every muscle locking tight. Your pussy clenches rhythmically around his fingers, squeezing them in fluttering contractions. 

Leon doesn't stop, he keeps his fingers buried deep, curling them through each spasm, drawing out your pleasure to an unbearable overstimulating degree. The toy stays pressed hard against your clit, the vibrations now almost too much, pushing you past pleasure into oversensitive territory. You gasp, your thighs trying to clamp shut, but his arm keeps you spread, keeps you exposed to the stimulation.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you chant breathlessly, your voice breaking on each syllable, turning into sobbing gasps. Your hips jerk erratically, caught between the instinct to grind down onto his hand and the need to escape the overwhelming buzz of the toy. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, leaking out to run down your face and into your hair.

It only then that he finally eases the vibrator away, letting it fall to the mattress beside you where it continues its muffled hum against the sheets. His fingers slow, gentling their movements, stroking your inner walls with a tender caress. His gaze locked on your face, taking in every shuddering breath, every flutter of your eyelashes as you try to come down from your high.

"It's okay...," he murmurs, his voice a low and soothing. "Breathe, baby."

You are dragging air into your lungs in great, heaving gulps. Your body feels like it's made of liquid in his grip. The aftershocks ripple through you, smaller waves that make your muscles twitch involuntarily. You can feel the slickness coating his fingers, dripping down onto his palm, soaking into the denim stretched across his lap.

The room is filled with the uneven sound of your breathing and the slick sound of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from your clenching heat. You whimper at the loss, your body still twitching and clenching around nothing.

Leon brings his hand up, his fingers glistening thickly with your cum, strings of it connecting his digits. He stares at the mess coating his skin, his chest heaving slightly, his eyes dark with a hunger that hasn't been sated in the slightest, if anything, it's only whetted his appetite. He brings his fingers to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste you, groaning low in his throat at the flavor.

"Sweet," he mutters before sticking his fingers in his mouth to suck them clean. The sight sends a fresh pulse of heat through your exhausted body. You reach up, your hand trembling as you cup his jaw, feeling the scratch of stubble against your palm.

"Leon," you whimper and he leans down immediately, capturing your mouth in a deep and slow kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, salt and your own release mixing with the unique flavor of his skin. His hips shift against you, and you feel his erection through his jeans.

Your hand slides down between your bodies, seeking the source of the heat pressing into you. Your palm presses against the length of him trapped beneath the denim, and he hisses against your lips, a sharp intake of breath through gritted teeth. His hips buck involuntarily, a reflexive thrust into your touch that sends a jolt of electricity through your palm. He’s rock hard, thick and straining against his denim pants.

He pulls back suddenly, the loss of his body heat leaving you cold for a split second. His hands move to the waistband of his jeans, the metal button snaps open before he drags the zipper down, the teeth parting with a harsh rasp, and shoves the rough denim down his hips just enough to free himself.

His cock springs out slapping against his lower abdomen. The tip is flushed a dark red, already beading with a pearlescent drop of precum that wells up. He fists himself, his large hand still slick with your arousal wrapping around his girth, and gives a slow rough stroke from base to tip. His eyes never leave yours watching your reaction as he squeezes the shaft, drawing another moan from his throat.

He shifts forward, settling between your spread thighs, the heat radiating against your oversensitive skin like a furnace. He hooks your legs over his arms and lifting them, folding you nearly in half. The position leaves you vulnerable, exposing you completely to him.

He notches the tip of his cock against your entrance, sliding it through your slippery folds to coat himself in your wetness. he presses just the broad tip in and your body reacts instantly, your inner walls fluttering in anticipation and trying to draw him in.

He braces one hand on the mattress by your head, the other gripping your hip to hold you, and begins to push inside. He fills you completely in one long slide, stretching you wide until he's seated to the hilt, his hips flush against yours. You gasp, your head falling back against the duvet, the fullness pushing the air from your lungs. He pauses his jaw tight, the muscles in his neck standing out as he fights not to just thrust wildly, letting you adjust to the size of him.

"Fuck," he grinds out, as he drops his forehead to your shoulder, pressing a hot open-mouthed kiss to the sweaty skin of your neck, his breath hitching against your throat.

Then, he shifts his weight, his hands slide from your hips to the backs of your thighs, gripping the soft flesh. He lifts your knees up toward your chest, bending you nearly in half as he hooks your calves over his broad shoulders. The position makes everything more intense, your hips tilted at a steep angle that opens you up to him. Your lower back presses against his thighs as he kneels upright, using his body weight to pin you down.

The first thrust drives the air from your lungs. He thrust into you with a deep, powerful snap of his hips, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke. He is deeper than before, and you feel him hit spots inside you that make your eyes close in overwhelming pleasure. A moan is pulled out of you from your throat with every thrust. Your hands fly out, scrabbling for purchase on his forearms, your nails digging into the muscle there, leaving crescent-shaped indentations in his skin.

"Leon!"

He pulls back until just the thick head of his cock remains inside you, pauses then slams inside again. He sets a punishing rhythm that rocks your entire body with each impact. The mattress creaks beneath you, the headboard thumps against the wall. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, holding you folded, using the leverage to drive deeper, chasing his own release with single-minded focus.

The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room, you're so slick from your earlier orgasm that he slides in and out with ease, each thrust accompanied by a lewd, squelching sound that makes heat flood your cheeks. Your pussy grips him tight, the sensitive walls fluttering and clenching around his thickness with every stroke, trying to keep him inside.

"So fucking tight," he growls, his voice strained, rough with need. Sweat beads on his forehead, a single drop sliding down his temple to drip onto your chest. His eyes are locked on where you're joined, watching himself disappear into you over and over, watching the way your body stretches to accommodate him, your arousal coats his shaft creating a creamy ring before it drips down onto the sheets into a dark wet stain. "Look at you."

You can't even look if you wanted to, your head is thrown back, your spine arched as much as the position allows. The pressure of being folded in half makes everything more intense, the angle has him grinding against that soft sensitive spot inside you with every thrust, the one his fingers found earlier, and the stimulation is pushing you toward a precipice.

"Please," you gasp.

He leans forward, pressing your knees closer to your chest, folding you tighter. The shift drives him deeper, and you sob, your body trembling violently beneath him. He's everywhere, inside you, around you, his scent filling your lungs, his weight pinning you to the mattress. You're trapped in the cage of his body, helpless to do anything but take what he gives you, overwhelmed by him.

He fucks into you harder, each thrust punctuated by a grunt of effort, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing as he uses your body for his pleasure. The coil in your belly winds tight, faster this time, the overstimulation pushing you toward another peak.

"Come on, baby," he demands, one hand releases your thigh to snake between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down hard. He circles the swollen nub in rough, quick strokes, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. "I want to feel you come on my cock."

That's all it takes for you to reach your second orgasm, ripping through you with even more violence than the first. You moan, your body seizing up, your back bowing as much as it can, your pussy clamping down on him. The contractions are so strong they almost push him out, dragging a groan from his throat. He holds firm, fucking you through it, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm as he chases his own end.

He buries himself deep one last time, his hips grinding against yours as he finds his release. You feel him paint the inside you in his thick spurts of cum, filling you, the mixture of your releases beginning to leak out around him.

He collapses forward, catching himself on his forearms to keep from crushing you completely. His forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard, your chests heaving in tandem.

Your fingers loosen their grip on his shoulders, sliding up his sweat slicked nape to cradle the back of his head, threading through his dampened hair. "Welcome home...I missed you." You whisper to him sweetly. Leon huffs out a breathless laugh against your neck, the warm air making you shiver, before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

✦┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ 𝖆 𝖓 𝖔 𝖙𝖊 ✦┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✦

Thank you! I'm so glad you like my page and that you trust me with this, anon!!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ...I love the catching your partner masturbating trope and eat it up every single time. Side note writing smut is interesting...I don't know if it's like this for anyone else but it's so easy to get distracted looking for "references" lol

Your composure slumps even lower. “I’m locked out.”

The polished leather of his boots shifts. "Locked out," he repeats, “from your own house?”

“Lost my keys,” you explain, sounding as pathetic as you feel. You can feel his gaze tracking the line of your neck, kissing the field of goosebumps blooming across your skin. Leaving the house in nothing but a slip of silk suddenly seems like the worst decision of your life.

"I see," he says. "You don’t have a spare key under one of your plants?”

Your nose wrinkles in a small, self-deprecating scrunch as you glance up at him.

“Wouldn’t that be too obvious?”

“Obvious is often better than shivering in the dark.” His eyes sweep gently over your collarbone, noticing the way the thin straps of your dress dig slightly into your skin as you hunch over. “How long have you been sitting out in the cold?”

“Long enough to lose feeling in my toes.”

He frowns at the way you’ve wrapped your arms around yourself. Fragile little thing. “Come on.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to let you freeze to death on your own porch," he says, extending a hand towards you. "And I’m certainly not going to watch you turn blue from across the street while I have a perfectly good spare room.”

You stare at his large hand, contemplating whether stepping into the lair of the neighborhood’s most eligible (and most intimidating) bachelor is actually a safer bet than hypothermia.

Is it a good idea? Probably not. But the alternative is another hour of trembling in a thin slip while the wind bites harshly at your skin.

So you reach up, and under the disguise of a curiosity on what lies beyond his walls, you let his hand engulf your smaller one. His skin is a shock of warmth against your frozen fingers, and he pulls you up with an effortless strength that makes you feel momentarily weightless.

“Just for tonight,” you mumble, trying to reclaim a shred of your dignity as you wobble on your numb feet. You pointedly ignore the sharp pain in your heels as you find your balance. “I’ll call the locksmith first thing in the morning.”

“There’s no rush.” He lets go of your hand, palm sliding from your fingers to the small of your back. “The locksmith can wait until you’ve actually had a few hours of sleep.”

“I look that bad, huh?”

“Bad isn’t the word I’d use. Tired, maybe.” He gives you a once-over, looking a little bashful. “Still unfairly pretty.”

You let out a shaky breath, your legs feeling like lead as you navigate the curb. “You’re just being a good neighbor. You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying. The dress looks good on you.”

You look down at the soft material that clings to your damp skin, feeling suddenly very exposed. “Thanks.” Unconsciously, you find yourself leaning a fraction closer to him, seeking his body heat. “But it’s doing a terrible job of keeping me alive right now.”

And unconsciously, his palm skims around the curve of your waist. “Inclined to agree, unfortunately.”

“It was aesthetics over survival, felt like a fair trade for a celebration.”

“Yeah? What was the occasion?”

You let the silence linger a little longer before slowly answering, “My birthday.”

There’s a slight, reflexive squeeze of his hand on your waist. "Today's your birthday?"

“Yesterday, technically,” you correct him, noting that the hour has long since bled past midnight. "But yes."

"Well, happy birthday."

"Mhm."

He stops just inches from his front door, turns his head to peer down at you. You notice his brows pulling together in an observant line. "Don't sound too happy about it."

You let out a long sigh, letting your weight slump against the cold wood of the doorframe. The exhaustion is finally winning. “Birthdays are depressing,” you hum, tilting your head back to meet his eyes. “Another year of expectations you didn’t meet, another reminder that the clock is ticking. Don't you find them a bit… grim?”

He looks at you for a long beat before shaking his head, a single lock of silver falling across his left eye. "No. Not really," he says, turning the heavy brass handle and pushing the door inward. "But I’ve already had fifty-one of them to get used to the idea."

“So what you’re saying is I have to wait another twenty years to finally stop feeling like the world is ending?”

He catches your gaze, his expression softening into something dangerously close to a smile. “I’m saying that by the time you hit fifty, you realize the expectations were the only thing making it grim."

"That doesn't sound encouraging," you note as the house’s heating begins to thaw your frozen skin. "Twenty years is a long time to spend being disappointed."

His lips twitch. "It's not about the wait. It's about the perspective," he explains, guiding you further into the amber warmth of the foyer. "And you’re far too young to be this cynical."

"I wouldn't call myself young anymore."

"Fifty-one minus twenty. That makes you… what? Thirty-one?"

You try not to flinch, but a small, involuntary wince escapes you at the overestimation. "Thirty, actually."

"That’s still fairly young."

You throw him a dubious look. The fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepen. "It’s young," he insists, kicking off his shoes. You follow suit. Then he reaches out, catches your elbow, and guides you toward the living room where a long couch waits for you in the shadows.

His space is exactly as you’d imagined, steeped in warm masculine tones of deep walnut and charcoal. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. There’s the scent of old paper, expensive tobacco, and something clean like rain-washed cedar.

You also catch a faint, woody sting of bourbon, which you expected, but as you sink into the couch, you're surprised to notice a lone glass of red wine sitting on the coffee table.

"You drink wine?" You ask. "Never pegged you as a wine kind of guy."

He reaches for a heavy throw blanket draped over the back of an armchair and drapes it over your shoulder. "What do you peg me for?”

“Straight bourbon,” you admit, huddling into the wool. “Neat. Probably a double."

“I do have my few shares of bourbon.”

“Then I rest my case.”

He tilts his head in contemplation. "I suppose I've earned that reputation."

"You've earned a lot of reputation in this neighborhood."

“Don’t think I want to hear the half of it. Would you like a glass?"

You ponder if it’s a wise move. You’d spent the last four hours drowning in cocktails that were far too sweet, and the fuzzy warmth in your chest is a precarious balance against the exhaustion. Adding a glass of wine to the mix might be the final nudge your brain needs to completely shut down.

But as you look at him, standing tall and massive against the backdrop of his endless books with the fluorescent light tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the idea of a quiet glass of wine with your hot neighbor suddenly feels much more appealing than any of the neon shots you’d endured at the bar.

"I probably shouldn't… but it is my birthday.”

“Not trying to pressure you.”

“Not pressured. I’m actually curious what kind of wine a fifty-one year old bachelor drinks.”

“So I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Take it as a hell yeah.”

He disappears into what you think is a kitchen, and your bravado disappears along with him, replaced by a sudden spike of nerves. Now that he isn't standing directly over you, the reality of the situation settles over you like a heavy blanket draped over your frame.

You’re sitting on the couch of a man who is as intimidating as he is handsome, and you’re about to spend the first hours of your thirty-year drinking expensive wine in his lair.

The rug tickles your bare feet as you nervously tuck them under your thighs, trying to make yourself as small as possible in the vastness of his cushions.

“Here,” he announces himself again, and you notice that he’s pushed the long sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, revealing forearms that are corded with muscles and mapped with a faint dusting of hair.

You try not to blatantly stare at the prominent veins tracing down to his wrists as you reach out to take the glass from him. “What is it?”

“A Stag’s Leap Cabernet Sauvignon,” he says, settling into the opposite end of the long couch. He drapes one arm over the back, turns his body toward you. “From Napa. This one’s got a bit of ripeness to it. Black cherry, maybe a touch of vanilla.”

You hum, bringing the glass a little closer.

“Gets better with age too,” he continues, eyes lifting to yours. Then with the faintest hint of a smile, “Though it'd be perfect for the occasion.”

You can’t stop the flutter in your belly.

“That’s very sweet of you.”

“It does have a touch of sweetness if you let it sit.”

“No, I mean you, Leon.” You finally gather the nerve to meet his gaze, and find yourself tracing the tiny, crystalline specks of silver that radiate from his blue orbs. “Trying to make me feel better, offering me shelter when I was half-frozen on my doorstep.”

The air in the room seems to shift the moment his name leaves your lips. His shoulders visibly drop an inch. “Yeah, well, you’d do the same.”

You would. Although, as you look at the unshakable size of him, you could never imagine a man like him sitting pathetically out in the cold, mourning a nonexistent tragedy while spiraling over a birthday. Still, you’d have opened your door for him in a heartbeat, even if he weren't half-frozen—maybe especially if he weren't.

And you’re not sure what to make of that.

It’s a thought that feels a little too dangerous to hold onto while sitting this close to him, and you find yourself suddenly, helplessly distracted by the sharp curve of his lower lip.

“Here’s to saving Neighbors in Distress, then,” you offer absentmindedly.

He reaches out for his own glass on the coffee table. Hones his eyes on you with a sincerity that feels tangible as the room falls to the quiet space between his gaze and your breath. The silver specks in his irises seem to ignite in the low light, pinning you to his cushions.

“And to aging like fine wine,” he adds.

A soft burst of laughter bubbles out of you. “That is so corny.” Then angle your head to the side. “And such an old saying.”

“I’m half a century, what did you expect?”

There’s no trace of forced humor in his voice, and that lack of irony makes his delivery even more amusing. The smile on your face lingers as a warm pulse in your cheeks. It blooms as a genuine spark of comfort in your chest, prints over the rim of your glass as you take a sip.

“Wow,” you say appreciatively. “That’s really good wine.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s also incredibly dangerous, I think I need to pace myself,” you admit, placing your glass on the coffee table. “Thirty is supposed to be the age of moderation, isn't it?”

“According to who?”

“Everyone,” you answer, a little too quickly. “Social media, podcasts, people who suddenly start playing padel and structured routines.”

“I think moderation is something people reach for when they’re trying to feel safe,” he observes, rolling the stem of his glass between his fingers. “Less risk. Fewer surprises.”

You smile faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s… reality catching up?”

His gaze shifts, catching that subtle change in you. “You don’t sound convinced.”

You shrug. “I just thought by now things would feel more... settled. Or clear.” Your fingers trace the intricate, frayed embroidery at the edge of the blanket around you. “Instead it kind of feels like I’m aging out of things without ever really being part of them in the first place.”

“Aging out of what?”

You let out a small breath, almost embarrassed to say it out loud. “Being… wanted, I guess.” A quick, self-conscious laugh follows. “Or at least effortlessly so. Like there’s a point where you stop turning heads and start blending in, and you don’t even realize when the moment of being undesirable happens.”

“You really think that’s already happened to you?”

You don’t answer right away, and that probably answers enough. His glass meets the table with a soft thud. “That’s a dangerous assumption.”

“More dangerous than the wine?”

“Much. Because it’s wrong.”

You’re not sure whether to laugh it off or deny it outright.

“Desirability isn’t about being the loudest thing in the room,” he continues. “Or the youngest. It’s not about catching everyone’s attention for five seconds.”

“Then what is it about?”

The room exhales into silence. The lone lamp spills a muted glow, its light stretching into uneven shadows that breathe along the walls while somewhere deeper in the house, a clock ticks softly as each second threads itself through the sudden quiet.

“Presence,” his voice finally settles into the stillness. “About knowing yourself well enough that when someone does notice you, they don’t forget it.”

“And you think that just… gets better?”

“I know it does.”

The certainty in his voice makes your chest tighten. You look down, suddenly aware of your bare shoulders under the blanket, the thin fabric of your dress, the way you’d felt so exposed stepping into his house.

He leans forward then, just enough to close some of the distance, the sheer presence of his broad frame grounding in a way that makes it harder to retreat into your own thoughts.

“Look at me,” he urges softly.

Hesitation flickers through your posture before you finally lift your chin. There’s a quiet warmth in his gaze, something unguarded that softens the harder edges of him that turns all his intensity into something almost unbearably kind.

“You're worried about becoming invisible, but I can tell you right now, there is not a single thing about you that is easy to look away from."

Your breath shatters in your throat as he reaches out. His hand is large, the skin calloused, but his touch is incredibly light as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Caresses your cheekbone with a thumb.

“So no,” he adds, quieter but no less certain, “I don’t think you’re becoming less desirable.”

If you weren't sure what would finally wreck you on this milestone birthday, what would be the thing to finally break the surface of your spiraling thoughts—you are now, and it’s the magnetic pull of wanting to kiss a man twenty-one years your senior.

But age is just a number, isn't it? Leon has obviously made it clear that he doesn’t view the passage of time as a problem, and looking at the way his eyes are currently tracing the shape of your mouth, you’re starting to believe him.

The gap between your ages feels like an invitation to a level of intensity you weren't prepared for at twenty-nine.

“You really think so?”

“Sweetheart, you’re the most desirable thing I’ve had the privilege of seeing in my entire life.”

You can’t believe you’ve resisted his charm for so long.

You’ve imagined similar scenarios, of course. Living right across to a man who carries himself with so much lethal grace made it entirely impossible not to.

The men you’ve dated in your twenties were mostly just boys still trying to figure themselves out. You were used to clumsy hands and rushed fumbling, to guys who barely knew how to hold a conversation.

Leon is different. Maybe it’s his age. Confidence, agility—it’s obvious he doesn't possess the frantic energy of a younger man, instead moving with an authority that commands your attention without him even having to try. As a result, countless lonely nights were spent of you lying awake wondering what it would actually feel like to have his solid weight pressing you down.

Not that you would ever dare to admit that to anyone. No, thinking it in the privacy of your own mind is already embarrassing enough.

Although the gratification of having him kissing you obliterates any sense of shame. And the way his hands are exploring every corner of your curves proves that he’s spent just as much time agonizing over the exact same thoughts.

You’re uncertain when the blanket fell off your shoulders, but you can feel the rough friction of his palms everywhere. Your arms, your knees, your thighs. You’re aware of him bunching the skirt of your dress upward until it’s gathered at your waist.

You also sense a slight desperation in his touch. A monumental inkling of need bleeding through a composure that suggests he’s been holding himself back for so long, and it is as staggering as the deceptive softness of his lips to realize the sheer force of his hunger.

It isn’t until your lips are swollen and stinging and wet from the relentless pressure of his that you finally fill your lungs with air.

And to your chagrin, he momentarily pulls away. “Maybe we should slow down.”

“Why?” you whine, a little pout hanging on your puckered lips. “Thought I was desirable.”

“You are,” he grunts. His nose grazes the high curve of your cheek. “Believe me, you are.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

He levels with your concerned gaze. “Don’t want you waking up thinking this was a mistake.”

Yeah, right. As if a few sugary cocktails could be the sole reason of a desire this potent.

Sure, there’s a sweet haze effectively numbing your usual inhibitions, but alcohol didn't carve the hollow ache in your chest every time you watched him pull into his driveway. Nor did it plant the heat that pooled in your belly whenever he caught your eye over the property line—more times than you could admit, less than what you truly craved.

In retrospect, the tension had always been there. Unconsciously. Even if you were stone-cold sober you would still be here.

The morning light couldn't possibly undo the rightness of finally having him in your vicinity.

You reach a palm towards his face. “The only mistake," you whisper, soft words against the rough scrape of his jaw, "would be making me wait another second."

He’s quiet for a moment, but your pretty eyes tip whatever restraint he’s holding onto. Has him tracing the supple skin of your breast with a newfound zeal.

“You sure?”

“Why don’t you take off my dress and find out?”

You feel his amusement radiate against your skin. “Glad your confidence is back.” Then he hooks a finger under the thin silk of your dress, slides the strap down your shoulder. “Because you are beautiful.”

The cool air hits your skin. Two sensitive peaks beg for his attention.

“So goddamn beautiful. Look at these tits.”

There’s amusement laced in your smile. “Also didn’t peg you with such an abrasive vocabulary.”

“Politeness won’t cover what I want to do to you right now.”

Soft strands of hair thread between your fingers as his mouth wraps around a nipple.

Plays with it eagerly, lapping around in circles with agonizing precision before drawing it back as if trying to make the sensitive point swell even larger in his mouth. Repeats the motion far longer than you anticipated, searing a path that sends a rush of hot blood to your core until every atom of your being is vibrating.

You’re convinced the room is spinning as he gives the same attention to your other breast, painting your areola with a slickness that is as heavy as the dampness between your thighs.

He seems to sense the change in your breathing, lets a hand travel down your hip before draping one of your legs over his lap. Bends your other knee, fingers hooking into the crook of your leg to draw you apart.

“Keep them open for me.”

You nod limply. He kisses the side of your throat.

“Undesirable,” he tuts, large hand moving to the wet patch on your panties to map the exact shape of your arousal through the silk. “Do you realize how ridiculous that is?”

You try to form a response, to make some self-deprecating excuse about the depressive weight of your birthday or the slow decay of your youth, but the air simply vanishes from your lungs. The pressure he applies over you sends an electric shockwave of sensation through your nervous system.

He watches the words die on your lips. Watches the way your hips hitch upward. Observes the shallow rhythm of your chest with every rhythmic circle he rubs into your aching little clit.

His mouth ticks up into a smile that softens the weathered lines of his devastatingly handsome face.

“Should I show you myself then?”

“Show…” The supple grain of the couch bites into your shoulder blades as your toes curl into the material. “…what?”

His fingers slip under your flimsy lace. “Exactly how desirable you are.”

“Ahh—” Your hazy mind goes into an absolute sensory overload. One second the room is a blur of amber light and red wine, the next heartbeat you are violently aware of the viscous heat of your own arousal as he gathers it on his fingertips. “Leon—”

He sweeps upward, smearing that glistening moisture across the swollen outer folds and pressing it deep into the delicate flesh of your labia, and you are acutely aware of the aching bead of your clit trapped beneath the abrasive swirl of his fingers, feeling it throb in perfect synchronization with your racing heart.

Leon feels it too. The sharp rhythm of his breathing stutters as he watches you squirm.

“Gorgeous girl.” The blunt tip of his middle finger presses against your slick opening, testing the tight ring of muscle before slowly sinking in. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“Le…on… oh!”

The addition of a second finger pulls a high keening from your throat.

Two fingers and you feel impossibly full. You can barely fathom the weight of taking his actual cock, and your walls pulsate at the thought. He groans, pulls his hand back almost to the entrance before driving his knuckles deep inside you again.

In and out, back and forth, turning your entire world into a blur of pleasure and the heady scent of him. Incredibly, unapologetically male.

The only thing consuming your mind right now, rightfully so. The pleasure-induced haze that clouds your brain parts just enough for you to breathe in his musk, to watch the absolute concentration on his face as he dedicates himself to your pleasure. At the quiet lines carved beside his eyes. The faint crease at the corner of his mouth. The hard flex of his chiseled jaw, dusted with fine hints of gray.

Maybe aging isn’t so bad after all. You’re suddenly grateful for every single year that carved him into the man who’s currently dismantling you with his bare hands.

Because you feel it. The ongoing swell of an orgasm gathering at the base of your spine. Your breath fractures into a wordless sob and Leon feels your undoing the second it begins. Helps you through it. Massages the deep, aching knot of tension inside your cunt, using the volume of your own wetness to press the base of his palm against your puffy clit.

Your mouth opens wide to gulp in air but all that comes out is a groan that shocks your bones.

Legs parted instinctively wide, it is one of the strongest orgasms you have experienced in a very long time. You’d argue it might be the strongest one ever, but the thought of cumming onto his cock seemed like the only thing that could possibly top the rank.

Your satiated limbs melt into the cushions as he kisses the sweat dripping down your hairline. “Lift your arms up for me.”

You obey wordlessly, and he starts to undress you. Slips off the once delicate lace down the length of your legs. You’re still drifting in a post-orgasmic haze, but your focus snaps back the second he peels his shirt over his head. The flex of his thick biceps and broad shoulders completely rewires your sluggish brain that you find yourself leaning forward as he makes quick work of his pants.

And then it’s genuinely hard to believe that the Leon Kennedy—intimidating, sweet Leon who lives right across your house—is sitting spread out with a raging hard-on that demands your attention.

Which, obviously, you give to him without needing to be asked. The second your fingers fully encircle and squeeze his impressive size, his head falls back against the couch, exposing the strained column of his neck.

You also give your attention to the erratic pulse at his throat. Pressing your lips against a scattering of sun-faded freckles beneath his jaw, swallowing the deep vibration of another groan.

Leon, you’ve come to realize, is not ashamed of being loud. A delightful knowledge that this formidable man is perfectly willing to let his voice gravel with each motion along his shaft. You experimentally tighten your grip and drag a thumb across the weeping slit of his cock, and feel your heart swell with giddiness the moment he comes to cradle your cheeks and groans straight into your mouth.

The power you hold over him is intoxicating. Addicting. Very, very dangerous. Whatever excuse you initially gave yourself about tonight as a symptom of being touch-deprived and horny on your birthday is rapidly dissolving. You can already see yourself easily basking in the undivided attention he's so far given you.

Granted, it is nearly impossible to worry about the long-term consequences when he’s panting directly into your open mouth, failing bid to keep his control intact.

You decide to offer him some grace, slowly loosening your grip. Let your nails graze the soft hair at his base, trace the dark trail up the firm ridge of his stomach until your hand settles on the hard plane of his chest.

He pulls back and pins your hand over his heart. “We should move to the bedroom.”

The heat of his skin is too comforting for you to even consider the effort of standing up.

“Why?”

“Condoms," he huffs. "Don't have any on me."

Your nose curls. It really is hard to worry about the long-term consequences when all you can think about is the desperate need to feel him raw. Surprising, considering safe sex is a practice you've always adhered to.

But Leon really does have a habit of pulling completely new things out of you. Effortlessly dismantles your depressed thoughts, unravels your usual guarded boundaries, and is now rewiring your entire view on intimacy.

There’s a tiny lull of silence before you gather the courage to ask, “How much can I trust you without using one?”

His heartbeat kicks under your palm, and you watch as his brows draw together before the harsh lines on his face soften. “As much as you’re willing to give.” His thumb drags over the back of your hand. “You sure ‘bout that?”

It surprises you how easy the words slip past your lips, devoid of the usual overthinking that has haunted this day so far.

For the first time in a long time, the air in your lungs feels clear.

“I want you to go without,” you confirm.

“C’mere.”

He tugs you closer and sits you right on top of his lap, back firmly flushed against his chest.

“Lift your hips a little.”

You brace your hands against his thick thighs, let him guide the blunt tip of his cock right to your slick hole. The keening sound you make vibrates in the room as gravity slowly takes over, allowing your wet muscles to swallow the first few inches of him.

It doesn’t hurt, but it isn’t any less intense. He fills you with a burning heat.

“Ah—ngh… Leon…”

“Breathe,” he drawls. You feel his lips on the crook of your neck, gooseflesh rising up when you feel the tip of his tongue. “A little more, yeah?”

Your head bobs in a nod. Lungs expanding, lungs deflating—diaphragm relaxed. You count to three and let your body melt against his chest.

It takes him a full minute, filled with soft whines that rumble in the back of your throat and little strokes coming from his hips. Your eyes are unfocused when he gives a final jerk, feeling the coarseness of his hair grind against the slope of your ass.

“Oh, fuck.”

“So fucking warm,” he grunts, pulling open your thighs wide across his lap, knees hooked over his sides with your bare feet dangling in the air. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you slur. There’s no pain to speak of but the strain of him pressing against your sensitive flesh. “Just… full.”

At least, full is the only word your overstimulated brain can offer.

No amount of previous longing could have prepared you for the way his pulse drums in tandem with your own, thudding so violently against your internal nerves. Perfectly snug inside you, as if your very anatomy is fundamentally shifting—melting, molding. Making room to seamlessly map every thick ridge of his shape until there's no space left between your bodies.

But sitting perfectly still is its own kind of torture. The throb in your cunt is spiraling into a desperate itch, and simply having him seated to the hilt is no longer enough.

Friction is what you seek, and friction is what you ask, rolling your hips in a needy grind, doing your best to wiggle against his lap just to coax out even a fraction.

"Christ." The sound he makes vibrates through your entire back, dragged out with sluggish words you have trouble making sense. "...embarrassing this old man.”

You tilt your head back in confusion, try to parse his meaning through the thick haze of pleasure.

“Won’t last long tonight," he explains, slowly rolling his hips that draws another groan. “Not even a good ten minutes.”

A giggle interrupts your keening whine. You let your head fall to the side, resting your temple against the sweaty curve of his throat.

“It’s okay... you can fuck me again in the morning.”

The breathless laugh he wheezes sounds partly wicked.

“You’re goddamn right I will. Take you in my bed.” He drags his hips backward. “The shower.” Then languidly thrusts forward. “Even the kitchen.”

He takes the full weight of your breasts in eager hands.

“Fuck you in the back of my car like rabid teenagers.”

You choke on a moan and reach behind, fingers finding the damp hair at the nape of his neck. “Don’t think our bones can handle the lack of legroom.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it work.”

You feebly smile at the confidence in his voice.

Somehow, you don’t doubt him. Anyone with a conscious mind would agree that Leon is a man of absolute competence. You might not know the secret he keeps behind closed doors, or the full depth of his life, but you know the way he commands the space he occupies. And you'd expect nothing less from him when the space he's currently residing in is yours.

Physically, sure. He's sheathed impossibly deep within your cunt.

Metaphorically, too, when he’s been threading in your thoughts with a steady persistence. Lingers between looks, between breaths. Settles deep into the unspoken gaps of your everyday life, anticipating your needs long before you do by offering things without excess.

A roof over your head. A glass of wine in your hand without expectation. Heartfelt words that reach you even when you hadn’t realized you needed to hear them.

You wonder if you asked for more for the sake of your own comfort, he would give that too.

For your pleasure, at least. The stretch of him fucking you in slow ceremony is already delicious as it is, but a fierce hunger still gnaws at your neglected clit. You try to guide the hand on your right tit down to the slope of your stomach, drawing it directly toward the spot where your bodies meet.

Fortunately, Leon is more than happy to oblige.

“Right here?"

You nod silently, let your body do the talking. And talking it does in a language of erratic breaths and arching hips. Pliant to his touch, yet greedy for his fingertips. The sheer volume of slick, overheated syrup that instantly coats his skin has him inhaling sharply.

"Fucking drenched,” he grunts, feeling the rigid length of his cock disappear completely between your glistening folds. "Gonna eat this pussy next time."

Crude and abrasive. You like this version of him. So much so that your internal muscles respond before your voice can, milking him with a series of desperate clenches that has his jaw locking tight.

“Next time, sweetheart,” he promises, rubbing circles over the hard knot of your clit. “Taste how sweet this pussy is.”

That seems to do it. Your entire frame tenses, toes curling in anticipation of the sensation climbing up in your leg. Even breathing seems like a secondary concern, a distant chore your lungs are struggling to remember how to perform when you’ve succumbed so completely to the intensity.

"That’s it. You gon' give me another?”

You hiccup through a frantic chorus of “Fuckfuckfuckfuck” and wail helplessly.

“Go on. Let me feel it."

“Shit,” you heave, right before you shatter, squeezing your eyes shut.

You collapse with a satisfied smile, reveling in the ecstasy seeping deep into your bones. But that quiet hum is cut abruptly short when his hands suddenly hook under the backs of your knees, hoisting your legs up and peeling you open.

Starts fucking you for the sake of his pleasure.

You find no mercy in his rhythm, pistoning force that has your breasts bouncing with every jarring strike. Limbs shaking, bones rattling. The room shuddering with echoes of wet, heavy slaps.

It’s nothing you can’t take when you seem to be enjoying it yourself. You realize, staring down at the clotted, white fluid foaming around his cock, that you would gladly give him anything he so much as looked at. He’s already given you plenty of attention that you’ll let him take whatever he needs in the name of gratitude.

A token of appreciation, if you will. A thank you for being the perfect neighbor—the perfect man, capable of melting your resolve with kind gestures before proceeding to rearrange your guts.

Although thinking this is solely for his benefit seems foolish when he's ruining you oh-so-good. Fast and precise, hitting right where you love it, touching exactly where you're tight. 

A harsh jerk of his cock has you blubbering incoherent words, "HolyfuckLe—Leon!"

You're answered with a row of grunts, of squelching noises that increase the more he thrusts in. You feel like a carved pretzel as he pins your legs to your chest, locking you firmly in place. Drilling hard, erratic, pushing all the strength he possesses into your pliant body.

There’s a hot tension in your lower belly. The muscles slacken in your neck—throat closing in as your mouth opens in a scream that doesn't quite make it through.

The silence punched out of you is finally rewarded.

Your third orgasm is gut-wrenching when it happens. It twists your insides, wringing you dry. You’re a mess of tears and drool and Leon makes sure you aren't left completely empty. With two final strong thrusts, he pumps a flood deep into your cunt in exchange for every drop of liquid he’s drained from your pores.

Overstimulated and exhausted, you slowly let your heartbeat settle. So does Leon. His breath tickles the crook of your neck, and there’s a thick, gravelly edge in his voice as he drawls, “I should’ve pulled out.”

Not exactly regret, but an acknowledgment of his complete loss of control. Not that you particularly care.

Lifting a lazy hand, you gently stroke the corded muscle of his arm, soothing down the dusting of silvered hair.

“You don't see me complaining," you whisper, voice utterly sated.

“Yeah? Let me see you.”

The smell of sex is so pungent and sweet as he slips you off his thighs. Lays you gently on the empty space of the couch beside him. Parts your legs for the many times tonight, and marvels at the sight of his cum making its way down to your puckered hole.

He spreads your spent, swollen folds with his thumb. “Gorgeous girl.”

You offer him a tired smile.

Surprisingly, you do believe him.

In a physical sense, yes, that’s true. The way he’s imprinted himself inside your body is proof enough of exactly how fiercely he desires you. But the weight of his words carries a gravity that pulls at something far deeper than your skin. Past the pulse at your throat and the ache in your thighs, settling heavy in the hollow of your chest.

Society has a way of making you feel like you’re meant to diminish with time. Expected to survive in barren soil, pouring yourself out while trying to bloom from roots that wouldn't even bother to water you. Grown accustomed to a slow drought from an environment that convinced you were fading out of focus as the years ticked by.

The way he looks at you defies that logic. The blue in his eyes suggests time has only made your harvest sweeter.

Any insecurities you harbored evaporate under the pads of his fingers as he maps the rise of your belly. All the self-criticism and nagging fear of becoming invisible dissolve the same way he smoothly glides through the valley of your breasts.

The frantic noise of the world goes completely silent when he palms your cheek. His body is hot atop yours, and his gaze holds genuine comfort of being truly, unconditionally seen.

For the first time tonight, you discern the affection decorating his eyes.

And it’s certainly not for the last.

His smile is warm and tender as his breath kisses your lips. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Typically Chris would have discouraged Leon from losing his shit, but even he couldn't argue with that sentiment. Arms crossed, they continued to stand back and watch, trying not to let the pity show on their faces.

You were once the U.S. government's most prized and expensive sniffer dog, a hybrid born of the most ideal combination of breeds for the job. You were highly effective and devastatingly accurate, lent out to the FBI, CIA, DEA, DHS, DSO, so many acronyms you lost count, tracking down bombs and drugs and cadavers and counterfeit currency, and anything else under the sun that left a minuscule scent behind.

Until eight months ago, when you were victimized in an ambush attack involving an aerosol respiratory agent that absolutely fried your sense of smell. No expense was spared trying to get you good and recovered, but it soon became obvious that the damage was irreversible. Without any other kind of training, that revelation just rendered you the country's most costly, sentient paperweight. That's where Chris and Leon came in.

By all metrics-- and whether they liked it or not-- Chris Redfield and Leon Kennedy were the poster children of their field in the hybrid program. Their canine genetics weren't distilled from domestic breeds, but instead from wolves. Unmatched in their strength, agility, and stamina, their tracking abilities second-to-none now that you were out of the game…

If anyone would be capable of training you from a soft puppy into a tactical canine, it would be Chris and Leon, and yet here you were, just a few weeks from graduating basic and barely meeting your marks.

You weren't particularly fast, you weren't very strong, and you were so used to relying on scent to guide you that you had a hard time gaining awareness of your surroundings outside of the ground beneath your non-functioning nose. They did everything they could, they really tried your best with you, but you really, really just weren't cut out for this. It was downright painful to sit here and watch you flounder.

As you finally reached the end of your training course several minutes behind your peers, Chris and Leon shared a pitiful, fed-up, communicative look; whatever it might take, they weren’t letting you flounder anymore.

If Chris and Leon had learned anything over their years of service to the government, it would be the value of good relations in high places, the value of a single strategic phone call, the value of being owed favors. Of course both men usually preferred to go about things the right way, but when the right way wasn’t working, what else were they to do but carve an alternative path of their own?

You weren’t just any little whelp, after all, you were more than worth the effort. They’d grown dangerously fond of you over the course of your time together. You were so earnest and sweet, so pretty and kind and so very lost, like a fallen angel. Looking after you became an unbreakable habit, and it awakened something in them that they hadn’t felt since they were… well, your age.

You awakened in them the urge to protect, the urge to claim, the urge to compete for the right to pin you down and mark you up with their teeth, the urge to retire, to build a home for you, and to spend the rest of their days breeding you up with litters to fill every room.

The urge to keep you all to themselves.

It wasn’t their fault that you smelled so good. Hell, it wasn’t even your fault. In your condition, you didn’t know. You were oblivious to how rich your own scent became during your heat, and you didn’t seem to react to the heady musk of their ruts, either. Maybe if your nose actually worked, you’d have long since caught on to their increasingly unprofessional interest in you, but for better or for worse, you appeared to be clueless as always.

That, and your painfully poor performance today, worked well to their advantage. Chris took out his phone as you trudged off into the locker room, and one call was all it took.

One call, and your career as a field agent was finished. You had been swiftly and quietly reassigned before you even got out of the shower.

"Hey," Chris caught your attention as soon as you stepped out of the locker room, arms crossed casually over his beefy chest even as his sudden appearance caused you to jump a little. Both him and Leon were leaning against either side of the doorway just waiting for you to come out, like two hunks in some cheesy movie. "C'mon, let's go get some dinner. We need to talk to you."

If it weren't for how calmly he spoke, the mere words 'we need to talk to you' would have sent your ears flat against your head and your tail between your legs, but as your eyes cast between the two of them in curiosity, you realized their expressions were less disappointed than you expected, given your performance today. They almost looked mischievous.

"Okay, sure… dinner sounds good," You reluctantly agreed, scrutinizing them now.

Leon reached out to take your athletic bag for you without even asking. Chris draped his arm around you and pulled you into his side while the three of you walked, his hand spanning across the entire width of your lower back to guide you. Their tails were swinging wide enough to brush with yours, and each other's.

Oh, they were definitely up to something.

“Why are you guys being weird?” You asked bluntly, nudging Leon with your elbow. If you were going to get either one of them to crack, it would more likely be Leon. “Am I in trouble or something? Look, I know my times were shit today, but I was honestly trying, and I swear I’m gonna get it eventually—“

“Relax,” Leon interjected, pinching your butt just to watch you jump. “You’re not in trouble, pup. Take a deep breath, or you’re gonna pop a blood vessel.”

Rolling your eyes, you took a deep breath and kept walking. “You didn’t answer my question all the way,” you huffed dramatically.

“I said we wanted to talk to you, didn’t I?” Chris spoke up, raising a brow at you in that subtle look of near-disapproval that almost always straightened you out immediately. “We’re gonna take you home, we’re gonna have some dinner, and we’re gonna talk. Just be patient.”

Just be patient. Hmph. That was a tall ask for you and they knew it, but you conceded anyway for fear of pushing their buttons. Despite your outwardly playful demeanor, you weren’t feeling great about yourself in the wake of today’s results. 

Plummeting from the height of your profession due to circumstances outside your control, deemed irreparably broken after several weeks in and out of experimental surgeries, training your ass off for months just to continue to fail and fail and fail… You were getting exhausted, your optimism was wearing paper thin, and these days it was starting to feel like the only people who believed in you, let alone cared about you, were Chris and Leon. You appreciated them deeply of course, but at this point, something had to give.

Something had to give, or, like Leon said, you’d pop a blood vessel.

Chris and Leon’s shared apartment, thankfully, was something of a sanctuary for you. You always felt protected and cared for within these walls, and the only thing you didn’t like about it was that you couldn’t smell anything, but that wasn’t their fault.

The pair all but ordered you to relax on the couch while they convened in the kitchen to make dinner, and as you sank lazily into the cushions, you wished you could bury your nose into the navy blue fleece thrown over the arm and breathe in their scent, or even the faintest hint of detergent, cologne, sweat, something. Sure, thousands of people live completely normal lives with no sense of smell, but how many of them were canine hybrids like you? Scent wasn’t just your career, it was your compass in so many aspects of your life.

Scent was what told you if you could trust someone. Scent was what told you if a building was safe. Scent was what told you when you were home. There was so much more to it than just wishing you could fully taste certain flavors again, or catch a fresh autumn breeze, or enjoy a fragrant candle. You felt completely detached from the world as you were genetically engineered to experience it.

“Alright, pumpkin, dinner’s just about ready. Come set the table,” Leon poked his head out from the kitchen, the low vibration of his voice working like a charm to soothe the tides of your anxious mind.  You could practically already hear him ratting you out to Chris for being too hard on yourself— a big no-no— and that was more than enough to redirect your train of thought for now.

So you popped up from the couch with a nod and followed in his footsteps, thoughtfully setting the table with silverware, plates, and water glasses, humming a little tune to yourself while you worked. It was your adorable mannerisms like this that made Chris and Leon love you so much in the first place. You couldn’t be any more precious if you tried.

Unless you were to be waddling around the house with a bellyful of puppies, of course, but they were working on that. All in due time.

Dinner was relatively simple, but hearty, a hot bowl of soup with crusty slices of bread to go with it, sure to replenish all you’d lost after a long day of physical exertion. With your back turned while you set the table, it didn’t require much sleight of hand for Chris to stir a little something extra into your portion to help the process along, just a few supplements to promote fertility and prepare you for what was to come.

Both men joined you in the dining room to serve the meal, and now that you were all sat, the air in the room went immediately tense as you stared at them in anticipation.

The dining room was quiet aside from the faint sound of the TV in the other room, and the dull clicking of silverware. It would have been peaceful if you weren’t so eager to hear what they wanted to talk to you about. Sitting here wondering made you feel like you were going to explode.

“C’mon, pup, eat,” Chris ordered gently, nodding to the bowl in front of you. “You had a very busy day today.”

Stubbornly, you groaned, picking up your spoon to take a few bites. It’s not that you weren’t hungry, of course, you were just anxious, and they knew that. Your mannerisms were almost laughably simple to read, which made them feel a bit bad, but hey, they couldn’t just let you leave your dinner going cold. It was made special just for you.

“You’re killing me,” you whined, scooping up a bite of soup with your bread nonetheless, always with the dramatics. 

Leon chuckled at your display, ears flicking with amusement, and while Chris was usually the one to call the shots, the blond chose to step in and offer you a compromise. “Three more bites and we’ll talk, okay? And no cheating, I mean real bites.”

That seemed to work, and you nodded, albeit with a bit of grumbling at his pulling the plug on any potential cheating before you even had a chance to try to get away with it. The two wolves shared a silent look of understanding while your attention was captured by the meal in front of you, and once you were finished with those three agreed upon bites, it was Chris who accepted the responsibility of starting the conversation.

“You’re not such a big fan of field work, are you, sweetheart?” He asked, tone delicate so as not to freak you out— you weren’t in trouble, far from it. “All the shooting and fighting and running around?”

Looking down at the table, your ears laid low, you gave a half-shrug and mumbled, “I don’t mind the running around part.”

Both men cracked a little smile at this, their own ears flicking with amusement.

“Of course you don’t mind that part, silly baby,” Leon teased, “but, honey, the rest of it… it makes you miserable, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t respond for a beat, gaze still fixed down at the table while you tried to gather the right words, idly stirring your spoon through your bowl just to fidget. The last thing you wanted to do was disappoint them. They’d put so much work into preparing you for this final evaluation, so much time and effort into helping you learn the ins and outs of field operation, and you didn’t want to just give up.

But they saw the conflict raging in you and they knew what you were thinking, and it wasn’t fair, not to you, not at all.

“Hey… it’s okay if you don’t like it, puppy. No one’s mad at you, no one’s disappointed, no one’s in trouble,” Chris reassured you, reaching across the table to gently tilt your chin up with one curled knuckle. “That’s actually why we wanted to talk.”

Heat crept up the column of your neck as you met his eyes, recognizing the kindness and care in them, feeling him disarm you in real time. What you didn’t know was just how carefully Chris was trying to phrase this, that Leon was squeezing the meat of his thigh under the table to ground him and encourage him.

It was much harder to navigate breaking the news to you than they forethought.

“Listen, sweetheart, me and Leon and some of the higher-ups have been thinking that field operation might not be a good fit for you,” he continued delicately, the pad of his thumb swiping gently back and forth, caressing the curve of your jaw. “We were… informed today that you’ve been reassigned.”

Chris did feel rather guilty in the back of his mind for phrasing it that way, like it wasn’t their idea in the first place, but they were in too deep to turn back now, and he was already getting a little bricked up thinking about fucking you after dinner. He’d beg for your forgiveness later if he had to.

Your expression went through a series of emotions— first shock, then guilt, then questioning— and for as reassuring as Chris and Leon were being right now, it was hard not to feel utterly lost again. As far as you knew, reassignment meant you’d probably never see them again, just like the team you used to work with before you were injured. To be taken away from Chris and Leon as a result of your own failure to perform would kill you.

“D-Does that mean I won’t get to be with you anymore?” You asked hesitantly, voice weak and quiet due to your thinking you already knew the answer.

And that’s where Leon stepped in.

“Actually, pup, it means the opposite,” he interjected, all too happy to be the one to give you the good news part of this. “You get to be with us all the time now, and we get to take care of you forever. No more training, no more guns, no more worrying for your life or for ours. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Your breath hitched and your brows pinched together in sudden confusion, that deep sense of grief and devastation that was preparing to descend upon you just… halting for a moment, paused in the tunnel of your throat.

It did sound nice, but it sounded too nice, like there was more to it that they weren’t telling you, another shoe left yet to drop, and surely there had to be. You’d been branded a sunk cost enough times to know that the government didn’t like to fund things it wouldn’t be seeing a return on, and you were far too young to retire, so what was the deal?

Reading the look on your face with impressive accuracy, Chris couldn’t stand to watch any longer as you sat there clearly fearing the worst, so he chose to speak plainly.

“They’re thinking we’d make some good, healthy litters together, sweet girl,” he said, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “That’s a nice idea, isn’t it? Settling down, havin’ our pups…”

Consciously or not, your ears perked up halfway at this, flicking with interest. You wished you could say you hadn’t really put any thought into something like this before, but come on, that would be a lie. You liked Chris and Leon a lot, they were so sweet to you, and so very handsome— it was only natural that you’d dream girlishly from time to time about playing house with them, what your babies might look like, what Chris and Leon might be like as fathers…

And how big their cocks are, and how amazing it would feel to take them both at once…

Now wasn’t the time to be dreaming, however, with both of them watching so closely for your reaction. You nearly let a drop of drool slip past your lips before you snapped out of it, hand flying up to wipe your mouth. Smooth.

A smug look of knowing washed over Leon’s features, his fingers drumming on the table to coax your attention on him, his sharp left canine bared in a lopsided smirk. “Oh, you really like that idea, don’t you, little one?” He drawled, reaching across the table to nudge your hand away so he could swipe the pad of his thumb along your plush bottom lip, tempted to dip it in and make you suck on it, but he wanted to get you squirming a little more first.

“L-Leon—”

“Don’t lie to me… you like it a lot, baby, I can see it on your face,” he cut you off, intent upon not letting you deny it. “You were never built to be out there fighting and risking your life, were you, pup? You were never ‘sposed to be put in danger like that, our poor, precious girl… It’s no wonder it didn’t work out for you, huh? You didn’t do anything wrong, you just knew deep down that you were always meant to be a mommy…”

Your wide eyes darted up to look at Chris as if you were begging him to step in without being able to form the actual words, a timid whine making its way out instead, but unfortunately for you, he wasn’t interested in cutting you a break. Why would he? Leon had made such good progress.

“Leon’s right, you know… you smell so fertile, I’ll bet we could get at least two pups out of you on your very first litter…”

“Just two?” Leon puffed, “I’m shooting for three.”

“Yeah, right, old man, all you’re shooting is blanks,” Chris countered with a playful growl, turning to nip at Leon’s nose with his teeth, the movement allowing him a decent moment of cover to readjust his pants under the table. Just as soon, though, he made no effort to conceal the path his hand took from his own lap to the crotch of Leon’s jeans, palming his partner’s stiffening sex through the denim.

Leon’s head tilted back with an airy groan and his tail beat dumbly against the frame of his chair, hips bucking up slightly. Your jaw was stuck open now and you shifted in your seat, the movement bringing your attention to just how slick you were, standard issue cotton growing sticky and warm beneath your athletic leggings.

Dinner sat long forgotten on the table in front of you, but that didn’t mean you weren’t affected by what Chris gave you. To witness this would have flustered you regardless, but right now you were flushed red and practically dripping— with every passing moment, you were losing your ability to think straight, almost like you were going into heat. Swiping your hair away from your face with shaking hands, your lips parted for oxygen, drinking in slow, shallow breaths in an attempt to regain control of yourself, but every lungful of air you breathed was teeming with their pheromones. You were only getting dizzier.

And they were loving every second of it. Grinning slyly as he continued to knead Leon through his jeans, Chris couldn’t help himself, “You’re lookin’ a little flushed there, puppy. Maybe you should go lay down.”

Your eyes locked with his, and within what felt like only a single moment, Leon was up from his chair and circling the table to tug you out of yours. Before you could fully register the movement, let alone respond to it, he was tossing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing and carrying you deeper into the apartment.

“Chris!” You yelped out of habit, but once again, the older wolf had no interest in lending you a hand. He was following right along with you both, and once you crossed the threshold into the bedroom, he shut the door behind you all with a decisive click.

Leon tossed you down upon the center of the bed less than gracefully, immediately caging you in so he could bury his face into your throat, breathing you in with desperation between needy kisses and possessive bites. Positioning himself at the head of the bed just above you, Chris guided your head up to rest in his lap as Leon’s attention crept lower and lower down your body, until his strong nose was pressed to your navel.

Heaven, Leon thought to himself, this must be what heaven is like.

Your scent was peppery and sweet, creamy with fertility. His hands balled up into fists clutching the fabric of your shirt and he tore it off of you without a second thought. Encouraged by the revealed expanse of bare skin— and your failure to protest— your leggings were similarly ripped apart directly thereafter. Without missing a beat, Leon grabbed you at the thighs and spread your legs so he could situate himself between them, head ducking forward to huff wantonly at the sodden fabric of your undies, tongue darting out to taste them.

Reaching down to flick him in the forehead, Chris scolded him playfully, “You plan on coming up for air anytime soon, or am I gonna have to make you?”

Leon responded with a humorless grunt, clearly just as lost in the throes of hormonal lustfulness as you were. Nonetheless, he acquiesced, nipping at the crotch of your panties with his teeth before sitting up to his haunches and countering, “We gotta make sure she’s prepared first. Don’t wanna break her on your knot.”

You tensed a bit upon hearing this, but Chris quickly shushed you, scratching behind your ears reassuringly. “We’re not gonna break you, honey.”

He scooped you up beneath your arms to pull you up into more of a sitting position in his lap, and only now did you notice he’d already undressed. While you were busy ogling every rippling inch of his tanned skin, Leon was stripping too, the temperature in the room rising exponentially. Try as they might to remain cool, Chris and Leon were panting just as much as you were.

You could feel the weight of Chris’ stiff cock pressed up against your lower back, making you whine and squirm to get closer, intoxicated by the idea of sitting on it. But you knew Leon was right— you had no hope of taking even one knot comfortably without more preparation, no matter how wet you were.

“F-Fingers, fingers, please,” you all but babbled, taking it upon yourself to shimmy your panties down to mid-thigh. You were desperate for something thick and warm to claim the empty space between your walls, a void that felt like it was only carving deeper into the pit of you.

From the start of your very first cycle, the doctors were always timely with your monthly inhibitor— it didn’t negate the symptoms associated with going into heat entirely, but it absolutely did dampen them. You’d never felt your heat with such intensity before, and that was by careful design— a pinch of cinnamon among the additives to your meal was all it took to counteract your inhibitor, which was nearing the end of its four-week lifespan anyway.

Maybe Chris and Leon would even luck out and, moving forward, you’d subconsciously associate the intensity of your heat with them.

“Shh, shh, alright, baby,” Chris cooed in your ear as he worked in tandem with Leon to tug your panties off the rest of the way. His massive palm then sank down between your legs, fingers spreading apart your slippery folds, and with a subtle nod to Leon over your head, he added in a sultry murmur, “Let’s get you good and taken care of.”

Leon was on you in a second, prints pressing deep into your hips as he rutted into the mattress and lapped at your sweetness, tail swinging back and forth in a haphazard pendulum of dumb weight. Through the incomprehensible horny fog that hung over his head, Leon was determined to commit the taste of you to memory so that he could discover how it might change once you were finally pregnant.

Sucking your clit between his lips with a low moan, Leon took advantage of your surprise to push his index finger past your tight little hole, his other hand keeping your hips steady so you wouldn’t accidentally hurt yourself when you bucked. A sharp whine pushed up from your throat but it wasn’t one of displeasure. Far from it. You were clenching around him like you were trying to suck him in, and what kind of gentleman would he be if he didn’t oblige?

“Mm, there you go, good girl,” he groaned, flattening his tongue on you to lick a broad stripe from your hole to your puffy clit. “Takin’ daddy’s fingers like a fuckin’ dream…”

“Yeah, you are,” Chris agreed without hesitation, gently stroking the boundaries of your cunt in a soothing motion that spread you open wider, allowing Leon to sneak a second finger in with the first. “Gonna take our knots with no problem at all, aren’t you, pretty girl? ‘Til you’re all fucked full…” 

The way you squirmed and twitched in Chris’ lap only worked more blood to his dick, but thankfully he was a much more patient man than Leon, whose hand was plunging in and out of you at a measured but shaky pace. You were dripping like a faucet and kicking your legs out over his shoulders, clutching the portion of grey-blond hair between his wiry ears in a white-knuckled fist.

Leon only unlatched from your cunt to breathe, dragging in a series of heavy breaths before his teeth sank deep into the plush, creamy flesh at the inside of your right thigh, marking you. The sting of it was quickly followed by Chris’ own claim bite where your tender neck met your left shoulder.

The sharp sensation rushed through you and forced goosebumps to rise along your skin, head falling back against Chris’ chest as you whined and convulsed around Leon’s fingers, tumbling over the cusp of an intense and unexpected orgasm. But it didn’t dampen that heat in you, it didn’t offer any relief— if anything, as the tides began to calm, you were only left wanting more. More and more and more, want turning quickly to need.

As Leon withdrew his slick fingers from you, your head was spinning, upper half falling forward as you braced yourself on your elbows, spine sloping down to the mattress in a languid arch to present yourself to Chris. You could feel the cool air of the room chilling the arousal that leaked out from between your soft lips, hole pulsing and squeezing around the mere idea of his length.

“Please, please, please,” you whimpered, tail curled up to the base and wagging timidly side-to-side, like it was just beckoning him to sink into you. “Gimme pups, gimme pups, please—”

You couldn’t see his expression, but Chris was sweating, caressing your hip with one hand while the other tugged at his aching cock, already sticky and leaking down his clenched knuckles. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, “look at that pretty pussy… you showin’ off?”

Nodding dumbly into the bedding, you felt Leon’s hand come forward to card through your hair, making your eyes flutter comfortably shut. He was stroking himself too, every pump of his hand signified by a subtle schlicking sound of his own pre marrying together with the mess you’d made on his fingers.

Chris started with two fingers first. His were just a little bit shorter than Leon’s, but much thicker, stretching you out more. It was just so adorable, the way you gasped and mewled and rutted back into him while he carefully scissored your hole further open. The anticipation that vibrated through you only ramped up their own.

“You’re gonna look so pretty knotted up, aren’t you?” Leon smiled down at your flushed form. “And even prettier with a bellyful of puppies…”

You drew in a breath to respond but didn’t have much of a chance before Chris replaced his fingers with the heavy head of his cock, each and every rigid inch sliding in without resistance. As his hips rutted forward to become flush with your bottom, the air was punched from your lungs and expressed in a needy cry. Heat bloomed through your middle as he went still for a short moment, but you didn’t need still, you needed babies.

So you shifted beneath him and began to fuck yourself on Chris’ dick, working up to a fervent pace where every twitch of your thighs felt like lightning, but it didn’t stop you. It thrust you forward. All your mushy little brain could think to do right now was fuck and fuck and fuck until you couldn’t move anymore, until you couldn’t even keep your eyes open. Lucky for you, that was the only outcome that would stop them, too.

Chris gripped you at the waist to hold you steady so he could truly start pounding into you, losing himself in your silky cunt. You were squeezing him so perfectly and he couldn’t look away, pupils blown open wide as he watched you suck him in deep, dripping creamy white along the length of his shaft.

“You’re perfect, pup, just… j-just perfect,” he rumbled in your ear, leaning over your back to kiss and nip at your throat between gasps for breath. “Perfect little puppy, such a good girl… swear I could fuck you forever…”

Losing his patience by the minute, Leon had to stop touching himself just to keep from blowing his load early, but he was throbbing with the need to penetrate you. He could already imagine how good you must feel just by the look on Chris’ face.

“C-Chris, Chris… fuck, I’m… gonna fuckin’ bust,” he shuddered, “please…”

And Chris could tell by the look on Leon’s face that he wasn’t joking. His meaty hands printed into your skin with the effort it took for him to slow down, one hand sliding up the length of your spine to tug you up by the back of your neck like a little baby whelp.

“Think you can handle that right now, princess?” He asked in a breathy whisper, lips ghosting along the curve of your slack jaw.

Once more, you were nodding like a bobble-head, bleary eyes catching between the sight of Leon’s cock, and the sight of Chris’ hammering up beneath the soft skin of your belly. You didn’t have much capacity to wonder if you could handle them both right now, because you just so desperately wanted to anyway.

“Alright, then,” he replied in something of an affectionately patronizing tone, like he didn’t fully believe you, but he gestured for Leon to join you regardless.

Leon scrambled forward on his knees, spreading your legs open as wide as they could comfortably rest so that he had a good, clear path to you. Hooking one leg over Chris’ hip until you were upright and sandwiched between them at the head of the bed, Leon ground himself up against you, carefully angling his tip until it caught on your hole. All three of you buckled at the feeling, your breath caught in your throat and tears leaking down your chin as Leon bucked up into you, tongue lapping at every stray teardrop in a series of stilted, needy puppy kisses.

The gruff wolf was all but whimpering and whining against your skin until his head fell back in pleasure, teeth gnashing at his own lip just to maintain focus while Chris gradually approached his earlier pace, if not a bit shaky now with the added friction of Leon’s firm, swollen sex dragging back and forth alongside his own. They could feel every little dip and ridge of one another, every throb of each other’s veins, and while they knew they had a long night ahead of them in terms of helping you through your heat, they were getting dangerously close already.

In the midst of everything, you were pretty sure you came twice more just in the time it took Leon to push into you too, and your body wasn’t giving you any signs of stopping soon. You were wetter than ever and twice as incoherent, babbling complete and utter nonsense into the hot, heavy air just to cope.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re so cute like this,” Chris growled against the crown of your head, trying his best to hold off for as long as he could, but it was all just too much— balls drawing up tight, he grunted, “You ready?”

All it took was the first semblance of please making its way past your lips for him to lose it, holding you down firmly in his lap. Rope after rope of his cum flooded into you, finally sating some of that burning emptiness you felt. You went all but limp between their firm bodies, shivering and twitching and crying in ecstasy, in relief, yet another wave of near-overwhelming rapture licking over exposed nerves. 

And then his knot began to swell. You jerked in surprise at first, but he just shushed you, nuzzling against the nape of your neck while he continued to hold you still. The weight of your clenching walls and the slickness of Chris’ spend sent Leon over the edge too, while you were distracted, and with two baseball-sized knots expanding to fill any and all empty space in your poor little cunt, you quickly realized you wouldn’t be moving anytime soon.

“O-Oh, ow,” you wept, trying to squirm a bit, but they wouldn’t let you.

They were mindful to check that you were okay, of course, because as much as it would have killed them to risk wasting any cum that could otherwise be getting you pregnant, they weren’t going to keep you knotted tonight unless you really wanted them to— this was presumably your first time, and would be considered a lot for anyone’s first time.

But you just clung to them. Any little adjustment they made was met with your grabbing hands pulling them close again, and a quiet, tearful whine. Splaying his hand out, Leon delicately rubbed your tummy to help you relax while Chris kissed you all over and massaged some of the tension from your trembling thighs, bucking gently up into you just to hear you squeak.

“You did so good, puppy,” Chris mused, “gonna make such a pretty mama.”

It’s late when Leon comes home from work. Thankfully, he’s been tied to his desk lately, so you haven’t had to worry about receiving any late night phone calls full of bad news and heartache. He still puts in too many hours for a government employee, but that’s not a fight that you’ll ever win—not that Leon fights you on it. He knows. You know. But there isn’t anything either of you can do until he can finally get out.

He’s joked it’s basically like military service—only he doesn’t get any of the perks like taking leave or a retirement plan. But they’ll cover his medical and funeral expenses, and isn’t that enough in this economy?

Shaking yourself from past musings, you watch him perform his nightly routine—shower, floss, brush (teeth then hair), a quick rinse of mouthwash—before he crawls into bed with you. Leaning over, he brushes his mouth to the corner of your own. You turn and catch his lips in a quick kiss. He relaxes into the sheets, pulling you over onto his side of the bed. Your hand reaches out to pet across his abdomen, trailing down to ghost across the front of his boxers.

“Not tonight, sweetheart, ‘m pretty tired,” his yawn cracks his jaw and his sleepy blue eyes glaze over.

You pout, but don’t press the issue, tucking yourself into his side. “Okay.”

He sighs, forlorn, “I’m sorry, I know you didn’t sign up for some tired old man who can’t get it up.”

“Hush, Leon,” you chastise, patting his chest lightly. “You’ve been working your ass off and haven’t taken any time off in weeks. It’s just not a good time tonight is all.”

“You’re so sweet,” he kisses your temple and you smile to yourself.

”I know,” you tease, “now, go to sleep.”

Leon hums, but it’s more of a light buzz in his chest than an actual sound. Listening to his deep breathing, you feel your own eyes slipping shut and sleep pulling you under. At some point in the night, you shift away, rolling to the side and putting your back to Leon. You slowly wake, in the same position, only now you have a burly arm thrown over your waist and a stubbly jaw nuzzling into your neck. Breath hitching, you arch back into Leon.

”Mornin’,” his deep rasp lights up your brain, leading you to press yourself further into his body heat.

Humming in want of a reply, you reach over behind your head and ruffle his shaggy hair. He chuffs, the warm breath tickling your neck, and slides the hand on your waist down your body until he’s cupping your panty clad mound. Body languid and pliant, you part your thighs to let him softly rub along the gusset of your underwear. He teases your cunt through the thin material, petting across the hood of your clit—dragging his fingers down along your slit until he presses into your hole.

Repeating the same pattern, it isn’t long until your panties stick to the lips of your cunt, slick saturating the fabric and making it a smooth glide for Leon.

”Does my little wife need more than just petting?” He rumbles next to your ear and you clench your thighs shut, trapping his hand in place. It doesn’t deter him in the slightest; he uses his thumb to push your panties to the side, his fingers now teasing your naked cunt.

Whimpering, you rock your ass back into him, feeling his bulge grind against you. Chuckling, he continues the light teasing touches from before—lightly rubbing your pudgy clit, his fingers trailing down and ghosting across your hole. He lightly slaps your cunt and you whine.

“Poor pitiful thing,” he coos, “is daddy not paying enough attention to you?”

Digging your head into your pillow, you shy away from his teasing. He nudges his leg in between yours and presses fully against you, a hot brand on your skin. His fingers never stop touching you, his hand moving between the wet mess of your thighs—pleasure pooling in your core and winding your arousal tighter and tighter.

“Don’t worry, this little pussy won’t be crying too much longer,” he bites the shell of your ear, tongue quickly following to trace the same spot.

“Leon,” you gasp; heat suffuses your body, warming your blood and fanning the flames of arousal until you can’t think of anything but what Leon is doing to you, saying to you.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he whispers into your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin. “I’ve gotcha.”

Slipping his fingers from your cunt, he smears a wet line across your skin when he gropes your thigh to lift it higher. He pulls your leg up to rest on his outer thigh, leaving you spread open to his advances. He hums, a pleased burr that has your eyelashes fluttering.

Catching movement from the corner of your eye, you watch his hand disappear before feeling something brush against your ass. Hand reappearing, he reaches around to grab his cock from between your thighs, slotting it up against your wet slit. He rocks his hips—making you both moan as the tip glides across your swollen clit.

When he notches the head at your drippy hole, you whine and roll your hips back, aching to feel him slip inside. He grunts, hand running along your tummy until he grasps at your hip.

”Want it that bad?” He kisses your neck. “Hmm?”

“Leon, please, don’t tease me,” you mewl, back arching—tempting him to do more.

”I’m the tease?” He laughs, gentle and warm, sending a fizzy carbonation of love to bubble in your chest.

Angling his hips, he slowly presses his cock into your slick hole, hissing between his teeth when you clench and pulse around him. “God, you needed daddy’s cock, didn’t you?”

”Yes, yes, please, Leon, fuck,” you choke out, hands gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles twinge.

”I gotcha,” he repeats himself from earlier as he bottoms out inside your snug cunt with a low groan. “Goddamn, so good.”

You can’t articulate anything legible, pussy split open by Leon’s fat cock, so you babble nonsense and clench down on his thick length. The blood rushing through your head mutes whatever words he’s speaking to you. His hand cups your pussy, palm pressing down on your clit. The pressure on your sensitive bud has your walls fluttering and pulsing around Leon’s dick, sucking him in deeper until he has nowhere else to go.

“My wife’s greedy little pussy just won’t let up,” he groans, humping your ass harder. The rougher pace keeps his tip grinding into your g-spot—the perfect pressure making your pussy gush slick from your stuffed cunt.

Moaning, you reach your hand back to tangle your fingers in his hair. “Please, right there, it’s so good.”

Leon dips his hand back between your legs, softly rubbing your clit. Using his first and middle finger, he drags them down your pussy lips to frame his cock between the V of his fingers as it slides in and out of your slick heat.

“You gonna cum for me? Squeeze daddy’s cock until he creams your silky pussy? That’s it, fuck, can feel how close you are,” he rasps, breath hot against your neck.

You cry out, clit throbbing in time with every pump of his hips. The sound of skin slapping gets louder as Leon fucks into your squelching pussy faster and harder—pushing you closer to the edge as he chases after his own. Getting his fingertips wet with your slick, he circles them around your puffy clit. Quickly flicking the stiff bud until your hips writhe—too much too much but god not enough—he growls, biting down on your throat.

“Give it to me, c’mon, you can do it,” he cajoles, his rapid thrusts now nearly jostling your body across the bed. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Cum on my cock so I can fill up that pretty pussy.”

Burying his cock to the hilt, he rubs the head into the spongy spot at the front of your cunt. Toes curling, you squeal, that tight band of arousal ready to snap at any moment. Leon nuzzles your hairline, kissing a sensitive spot on your neck.

“C’mon, let your husband feel that perfect pussy squeeze his dick,” his smoky voice thrums in your ear, fingers pinching your clit.

That little bite of pain is the catalyst you needed. Your thighs shake as your orgasm washes over you, pussy pulsing and fluttering around his cock. While your cunt milks his dick, your clit throbs under his palm, the puffy bud overly sensitive.

“Fuck, you’re so—goddamn,” he blurts out, surprised as his own climax hits so soon after yours. He groans—a punched out gasp—as he bottoms out in your pussy.

Weakly, you arch into his body, tugging his hair gently as he spills hot and sticky inside your clenching hole. Rope after rope of his hot cum paint your inner walls white, leaving you feeling full and content.

Breathing harshly, he moves his arm up to wrap around your waist—hugging you to him as your heart rates both slow from their rapid beats.

“Love you so much,” he kisses your ear, then your neck. “Don’t know how I got so lucky.”

You hum—lazy, but more importantly, happy. “S’all that world saving you do. Karma’s got to balance out in some way.”

“Oh yeah?” His amusement brings a silly smile to your own face. “You’re my karma, huh?”

“Yeah,” you giggle, endorphins running rampant. “I like the sound of that.”

“I’ll bet you do,” he teases, hissing when his softening cock slips from your drippy cunt. “Sorry ‘bout the mess.”

“Mmm, don’t be. I like it.” You wiggle in his hold and he laughs.

“I do, too.” He nips your earlobe. “I have the next couple of days off. We can stay in bed all day if you want.”

“Tempting,” you sing song. “Maybe just for a little while at least.”

Leon snorts but doesn’t say anything for once. A few minutes of peaceful silence steals by before you interrupt it. 

“I love you too, Leon,” you mumble, sleepy satiation tugging you down into a mid morning nap.

His arm tightens its grip around your middle, squeezing as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “In this together. Forever and a day.”

“Forever and a day,” you echo, placing your own hand on top of his—both of your rings glinting in the morning light. “Wake me up when you do.”

His rumbling laugh vibrates your back. “I’ll do no such thing. You’re mean when you’re grouchy.”

“Am not,” you argue, eyes struggling to stay open. “Don’t let me sleep in, Leon. I mean it.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mutters, “now, hush and take your nap.”

After everything that happened in Raccoon City, people expected Leon Kennedy to go right back to work.

But for the first time in years, Leon disappeared.

No briefings, no new assignments, no government offices filled with people waiting to tell him where to go next, just distance. The man has spent too long surviving things he shouldn’t have.

Raccoon City had never really left him and going back had only made it worse. That damned city lived in his memory like a scar that never faded. Burned streets, empty buildings, things moving in places they shouldn’t, faces of people who never made it out.

So when the mission ended, Leon didn’t return to Washington. He drove on and on. For a while there wasn’t much direction to it, long highways stretching through empty miles, cheap motels, the average. It all gave him time to think, which turned out to be both the best and worst thing he could have done.

Eventually the calls started, most of them he ignored, until one night, sitting in a dim motel room with the television playing quietly in the background, Leon stared at his phone for a long moment before dialing a number he hadn’t called in years.

Your father answered on the third ring.

"Well, look who finally remembered he has friends." Leon leaned back in the creaky chair by the window, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "You alive over there, Kennedy?"

"Barely." Leon muttered.

Your father chuckled softly. "Rough mission?"

Leon stared at the cracked ceiling. "Something like that." A pause followed, then Leon sighed. "I'm thinking about stepping back for a while."

Your dad laughed under his breath. "You mean vacation?"

"No." Leon said quietly. "I mean stepping back."

The line went silent for a moment. Retirement wasn’t something Leon talked about lightly. Men in his line of work rarely got clean endings.

Your father finally exhaled. "Well... Funny timing."

Leon frowned slightly. "How so?"

"I’m leaving for work in a few days." your father said. "Big job overseas. Three months, maybe longer."

Leon leaned forward slightly. "And?"

"House is going to be empty." your dad continued casually. "Figured you might want somewhere to stay that isn’t a roadside motel?"

Leon huffed a quiet laugh. "You offering me a vacation spot now?"

"I’m offering you somewhere to breathe." Leon didn’t answer right away. The idea of that didn’t sound bad. Then your father added. "Oh, and my kid’s home for a bit."

Leon blinked slowly. "Is she?"

"Back from college. Takin' a break for a few months, she's overworked herself to the bone." He laughs. "Guess it runs in the family."

That made Leon pause again. He hadn’t seen you in ages. Not since you were younger, at least 17, always somewhere around the house while he and your father talked late into the night about things a child should never have to witness or go through.

You had been a kid then. Easy not to think about, easy to overlook. "Huh." Leon muttered.

"She'll be happy to see you." your father added quickly. "You’ve been gone for so long, I think it'll make her feel better while I'm gone if someone is in the house with her."

Leon snorted quietly. "Yeah."

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

Three days later, he found himself standing on your porch. Same neighborhood, same house he had visited countless times before, except now it felt strangely unfamiliar.

Leon shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder and knocked.

Footsteps approached on the other side of the door. When it opened, Leon didn’t immediately recognize the person standing there.

He assumed it might be a roommate, maybe a friend visiting, someone your father hadn’t mentioned. Still, he spoke first. "Hey." he said, voice a little rough from the long drive. "Sorry to bother you. I’m looking for—"

He stopped himself, glancing past you briefly into the house. "My friend said I could stay here for a bit—"

Then his eyes settled back on you. For a moment, he studied your face more carefully. Something about you felt familiar, but before he could figure it out you spoke.

"Mister Kennedy?" Leon froze. You were already stepping back slightly, looking a little surprised. "I didn’t know you’d come by!" you said quickly, a large smile spreading across your face.

The realization hit him all at once. Leon stared at you, and suddenly the pieces clicked into place.

It's you. Except... not the way he remembered. You weren’t the younger girl who was always up for trouble, not anymore. Not the kid who used to run through the living room while your father tried to braid your hair for school. Somewhere between then and now you had grown up.

Into a woman.

A beautiful one, Leon realized almost immediately. It made him pause longer than he meant to. His gaze lingered just a little too long before he caught himself, his jaw tightened faintly.

"Well—" he muttered, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth "Didn’t recognize you for a second."

You blinked at him. "I’m sorry for the mess and my—" Your eyes dropped to the oversized polka dotted shirt hanging loosely over your frame. "Attire."

Leon followed the movement for half a second before clearing his throat quietly. You stepped aside quickly. "C—Come in!"

Something faintly amused flickered across his face as he picked up his bag and stepped inside. "Just call me Leon, please. You're old enough now."

"Oh, alright — Leon…" you hummed.

He entered into the house slowly even if he was someone who had been there many times before. You shut the door behind him with a quiet click, and for a moment his eyes wandered over the hallway. Then his attention drifted back to you. Leon cleared his throat lightly.

"So..." You popped your lips thoughtfully. "What brings you into town? Or, well, here at our house?" Leon shifted the strap of his bag to his other shoulder, fingers tightening around it for a moment before he shrugged.

"I just needed somewhere to lay low for a bit." he said simply. "Your dad offered, so I figured I’d take him up on it." He paused, glancing at you again.

"Oh, I see. Well I don’t mind." you smiled softly. "When he’s not around I get pretty lonely, so it’s nice you’re here."

You turned toward the kitchen, gesturing for him to follow. "Want something to drink? I’ve got.. coffee, whiskey and tap water." You paused. "Oh, and tea!"

Leon’s mouth twitched. He leaned against the counter, arms folding loosely across his chest as he watched you move around the kitchen.

"Whiskey and coffee sounds like a terrible combination." he mused. He tilted his head slightly, studying you for a moment. "Which probably means I’ll try it eventually."

You snort and look back at him. "Tea’s fine for now."

"Tea it is, then."

Steam rose as you started the kettle, and Leon’s gaze wandered briefly around the room before settling back on you, then he glanced down when you set a small bear shaped mug in front of him. Leon blinked as a quiet snort escaped him. "Seriously?"

"What? It's a mug." You say flatly.

"Yes, for kids. You still a kid? Still drink juice boxes?" He asks sarcastically.

"Oh, I still drink juice boxes." you said proudly over your shoulder. "But I’ve expanded my palette, don't worry."

Leon shook his head, a small grin tugging at his mouth as he looked down at the cup again. "Yeah? What’s the upgrade... Juice boxes with straws?"

You turned slightly, wiggling your eyebrows. "Better. Juice boxes that can be recycled."

"You're exactly like your father."

You poured the hot water into the mug, the tea bag bobbing gently in the cup before placing it in front of him. "Still got that ridiculous sweet tooth, then?" he added.

"Obviously."

"Then not a lot changed." There was no bite to the comment.

"Yeah. Well— you did change." You said suddenly. "You look different."

You froze, then immediately turned away, flustered. "I mean, not in a bad way! You still look very good, just older— not that old is bad, you look good for someone your age, but I didn’t mean anything by that, I just—"

You took a breath, frowning. "How old are you?"

Leon couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his tired face as he watched you unravel. "Relax, kid." he chuckled. "You think you could hurt my feelings with that?" He took a small sip of his tea. "I’m forty nine. Not ancient."

"Oh." you said, tilting your head as you studied him more carefully. "Forty nine, that’s—" You squinted slightly. "You don’t actually look it. You’re quite handsome?" You shrugged.

"Handsome?" He leaned forward slightly, resting his hands against the counter between you. "That almost sounded like a compliment."

"It was a compliment." you said quickly, rolling your eyes. "I’m making up for all the times I called you ugly and scary when I was little."

Leon snorted softly at that. "Right."

You stirred sugar into your own tea before looking up again. "So— Got a girlfriend?" you asked lightly.

Leon shook his head. "What about you, got a boyfriend?"

You dropped into the chair across from him with a small shrug. "Nope." a second passed. "I don’t really get much attention anyway." you added, stirring your tea absentmindedly.

Leon frowned faintly. "That so?"

You gave a small laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

"Unless you count random guys online asking for boob pictures?" you said dryly. "Then yeah, tons."

You shrugged again, settling back in your chair. "People are shallow these days. If you don’t look a certain way they barely notice you."

Leon’s gaze drifted over you as you spoke. The oversized shirt hid most of your shape, but it didn’t hide everything, the softness of your figure, the gentle curve of your waist as you leaned against the table.

He had seen enough in his life to know better than to trust whatever ridiculous standards people invented online. "You’re telling me no guy has ever asked you out?" There was genuine disbelief in his voice now.

"Nope." You toyed with your spoon. "I keep to myself mostly."

"Bullshit." Leon studied you for a moment, then he leaned back slightly in his chair, shaking his head. "Kids these days must be blind then." he muttered. He hadn’t missed the way your tone dipped near the end, or how you tried to brush it all off like it didn’t matter. "Their loss. You could do better than some asshole who only cares about how someone looks."

You hummed softly, gaze drifting down to the counter.

"Yeah, dad always says that." Your finger started tracing small patterns across the surface without you even noticing. "I don’t really engage with people like that anyway." you continued. "But sometimes when I go out with my friends.. I already know how it’s gonna go."

You let out a small laugh, though it sounded a little hollow. "Like, if a group of boys walks up to us, I know it’s not because they wanna talk to me. It’s because they saw my friends."

For a moment the kitchen fell quiet except for the faint bubbling of the kettle cooling on the stove. Leon watched your finger moving in circles on the counter. Something in his chest tugged unpleasantly.

You shook your head suddenly, forcing a brighter tone. "Anyway! Blegh! Sorry— I got all sappy there for a second." You straightened and waved a hand dismissively. "Tell me about your time away, Mister Kenn—" You caught yourself and winced. "I mean Leon."

Leon clear his throat quietly. His fingers tightened slightly around the mug before he took another sip of tea. "Don’t apologize." he said after a moment. "You’re allowed to feel what you feel."

He set the mug down on the counter with a soft clink. "And trust me." he added dryly "You’re not the only one who’s spent a little too much time alone."

He rolled one shoulder, like he was physically shrugging off the weight of the conversation. "You really wanna hear about my exciting time away?" The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk.

"Oh, yeah." you said immediately, swirling your hand in the air dramatically. "I love stories about guns and dangerous men and more guns."

Leon’s smirk widened into a real grin. "You got a thing for that, do you?" he asked, tilting his head. "Guns and dangerous men?" His eyes glinted faintly. "Should I tell your dad to keep an eye on you?"

You gasped dramatically and placed a hand over your chest like you were swearing an oath. "I swear on my heart I’m a very good and diligent girl!" You smile. "But there’s nothing wrong with liking the stories, right?"

"Oh, sure." Leon drawled, shaking his head as he leaned back against the counter again. "Pretty sure the last time I heard someone say that it was right before they tried to stab me."

His grin lingered as he crossed his arms. "But fine. You want stories?"

He tilted his head slightly. "Tell me something first..." His voice dipped just a little, trying to sound ominous. "How well do you sleep without nightmares?"

You shrugged. "Who said I sleep?"

Then immediately you leaned forward across the counter, shaking slightly in mock excitement. "C’mon, tell me!" you whined. "Dad always brags about how cool you are and whatnot. You’re telling me he’s been lying this whole time?"

"You know exactly how to get what you want." He pushed himself off the counter slightly, folding his arms again. "And for the record." he added smugly. "Your dad hasn’t been lying." His grin turned cocky. "I’m pretty cool."

You snorted loudly. "Okay then prove it! Or are you just talk, Leon?"

Your palms pressed against the counter as you leaned toward him slightly. Leon’s smirk sharpened instantly. He leaned forward too, resting both hands on the countertop so that the distance between you suddenly felt much smaller.

"Alright." he said, his voice dropping lower. "You wanna hear about the time I fought a B.O.W. in a collapsing subway tunnel with nothing but a knife and a lighter? Or would that keep you up all night?"

You blinked, tilting your head smiling. "I sleep just fine. I’ve always been good at ignoring bad thoughts."

"Yeah, because you were always ridiculously spoiled as a kid." He rolls his eyes.

"I was not!"

"Oh, come on." he said, voice dry. "Convincing your dad to drive twenty minutes for the ‘right’ strawberry ice cream? That’s textbook spoiled."

"That happened once! And it was important." you shot back, narrowing your eyes.

"Twice."

"Second time was for a different flavor. " you protested, flailing slightly.

"And the arsenal of stuffed animals?" he continued, ignoring you entirely. "Forty of them, all named, all with personalities you expected us to memorize."

"Thirty two." you corrected quickly.

"Right." he countered, leaning casually on the counter, eyes gleaming with amusement. "And don’t forget the 'random rocks from park' collection. Had to be alphabetized, of course."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "I was organized, okay?"

Leon laughed softly, hit by the wave of nostalgia, how time passed. "And you were always giving him so many tantrums when you didn’t get your way."

You rolled your eyes. "They weren’t tantrums. They were a peek into the future if I didn’t get what I wanted. So actually, I was doing him a favor, as a pure hearted child."

Leon snorted softly, shaking his head. "All right, a warning, then. How benevolent of you. Pure hearted my ass."

You tilted your head, a faint grin creeping onto your face. "Are you trying to get on my bad side?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Do you really wanna do that?" You spun around slightly, hands forming playful finger guns. "Careful, Mr. Kennedy. I’m really good at rock-paper-scissors and papercranes. You don’t wanna mess around with me."

Leon blinked once, then let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Finger guns." he repeated "Damn, kiddo— you’re playing dirty. I'm shaking in my boots." He rolled his tired eyes. "You sure you wanna challenge me on my own battlefield?"

You nodded confidently, chin lifted. "I know my skills. Don’t underestimate me."

Leon’s smile softened as he studied you, the curve of your lips, the spark in your eyes. "God, you haven’t changed a bit. Still a pain in the ass."

"Well?" You laughed, a small, breathy sound. "Welcome home."

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The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting thin lines across the living room walls. Leon sat stiffly in the armchair, arms crossed, his shoulders tense. He wasn’t tired, not exactly, but he just felt... Strange. Maybe because he was back here? Maybe because it's been so long since he's heard a genuine laugh?

From the kitchen, you hummed softly, moving around as he watched you for a moment.

He wished to go back to all of those years, where none of this happened, when he was okay, when he wasn't so scared to be happy or be selfish.

You glanced toward him briefly, catching his eye, then went back to what you were doing. Leon’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He wasn’t supposed to get invested in someone else, not ever, he needed to start over, fresh. Right?

He leaned back, trying to convince himself that whatever he felt was just nostalgia for those long gone years.

"You got coffee made yet?" he finally asked, voice flat.

"Almost." you replied without looking up. "Want milk in it?"

"Sure." he said, voice clipped, pretending to be nonchalant. His fingers drummed lightly against the armrest.

Something about this morning, about the calm in this house, it all felt off and too familiar, all too easy. He didn’t like it.

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More days pass, and somewhere along the line, Leon decides to move into your dad’s bedroom. Not because he necessarily wanted to.

Sleeping on the couch had been fine at first. He was just passing through, crashing there for a few nights before figuring out what came next.That was the idea, anyway.

But mornings started to become a problem. Because more often than not, you were the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes.

Most morning you were already in the kitchen when he woke up, barely awake, singing quietly while you poured yourself something to drink. Other times you’d walk in with sleep still clinging to you, hair messy, wrapped in some oversized sweater that looked like it belonged to your dad, and some shorts that left nothing to the imagination. And the sunlight always seemed to find you, pouring through the windows at the right angles, catching the edges of your body that made everything feel harder than it already was.

Leon would wake up to that scene more mornings than he wanted to admit, lying there on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes like he could block it out if he tried hard enough, and the other trying to hide the obvious growing problem in his pants.

It was distracting. Annoying even.

Not because you were doing anything wrong. Hell, you were just living your life in your own house. But seeing you first thing in the morning like that was starting to get under his skin.

And Leon Kennedy had spent far too many years learning how to recognize problems early. So eventually, he moved his things into your dad’s bedroom.

It was just farther away, down the hall with door he could close.

Because the truth was, waking up on that couch and seeing you every day, while you blinked sleep out of your pretty eyes, was starting to make him wish he’d never tried this retired shit in the first place. Back when he was working, everything had been simpler. Clear missions. Clear danger. Clear rules.

That was a different kind of battlefield entirely, and one he wasn’t entirely sure he had the discipline to keep losing.

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

Leon was sitting on the couch legs spread, one arm thrown over the back and a beer in his hand as he watched some stupid reality show.

He tried to focus on the TV, but his mind kept drifting. You were in there, occupying the space in his brain, frustratingly distracting without doing anything at all.

When did it get this bad?

A soft click from the other side of hallway shakes him from his self induced trance. He scowled at himself for noticing. The door opened, and you stepped in, yawning softly. His eyes flicked up automatically, but not before he stared at your clearly hard nipples that strained against the material of your blouse. Damn it.

"You finally decided to join me?"

"Yeah." you plopped down beside him. "Done being obsessed with my stupid game. For today."

Leon shook his head. You were stupidly endearing and so fucking irritating. Both at once.

"You seriously spend your time watching this crap?" he asked, nodding toward the TV. You shrugged. "I like having it on while I cook. Helps with the background noise, I guess."

Leon let out a soft huff, like he wasn’t sure if it was amusement or mild exasperation. "Jesus." he muttered. "You’d probably be entertained by paint drying."

You laughed lightly, stretching out your arms. "So what? It’s not hurting anyone." You take the remote, quickly change the channel to one of your favorite childhood movie.

"Nothing’s hurting anyone." he said, voice low, almost to himself. He took a swig of beer, eyes flicking to you for just a second longer before he looked away, clearing his throat. "You're either stupidly sweet or incredibly naive." he added. "I can’t quite tell which yet."

"What’s bad in that?" you asked, kicking him lightly with your foot. Leon let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Nothing bad. Just— someone’s gonna take advantage of that someday. You know that, yeah?"

"It’s what the heart is for." You said, stretching back on the couch with a small whine, toes poking him. "You’re in my way."

He exhaled, shaking his head. God, you really were like a little puppy, sweet and endlessly aggravating. He shifted slightly, not touching you, just watching you stretch out, the faintest jolt threading through him.

"You always this fuckin' whiny?"

"Yeah, duh. It’s my characteristic trait." you replied, kicking him lightly again.

Leon cursed under his breath, gripping your foot briefly. "You’re a brat, is what you are." he said gruffly. "Can’t keep your limbs to yourself."

"Blah, blah, blah." you stayed sprawled out on the couch, eyes averting back on the TV.

Jesus. That damn attitude of yours was maddening and he hated that it got him so worked up. Leon huffed softly, rolling his eyes as he watched you swing your body gently to the rhythm of the song on the screen.

"Oh my gosh, I hate that ferret." you said, turning your head towards him just slightly. "It’s so weird. Why is it moaning?"

"It’s a cartoon. That's their whole shtick."

You groaned, ignoring him. He stayed silent, hand still loosely on your ankle, watching.

Leon took another swig of beer. Goddammit, he was already feeling himself get hard. He shifted in his seat, subtly adjusting so he could see you more clearly without leaning in.

You shouldn’t affect him, shouldn’t at all. And still.

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

The sun dipped low, painting the porch in streaks of gold and burnt orange. The air was warm, tinged with the faint scent of late summer grass.

Leon sat back on the porch swing, one arm draped over the back, eyes on the horizon. He should’ve been thinking about the quiet, the peace, maybe even the small town he'll move to next. But you were next to him, lying against the other side of the swing and his mind refused to cooperate.

He tried to ignore it, to focus on the fading light, but your presence was too damn obvious. The warmth of your shoulder brushing his arm made his chest rigid. He moved slightly.

"Jesus.." he dulled under his breath, more to himself than to you. You glanced up, golden light catching your face, and for a second his heart leaped. So clueless, so dangerous.

Leon exhaled abruptly through his nose, forcing himself to look at the fading clouds instead of the curve of your neck or the way your fingers traced patterns on the wood swing. Keep it together, he told himself. He was supposed to be the one in control, the trusted adult.

"Hey, kiddo." he rasped after a moment, voice testing. "Can I ask you something?"

You tilted your head, eyes glimmering. "Sure. Shoot." You giggled faintly. "Get it, shoot? Because you got a gun… anyway—" You cringe at the stupid attempt of a joke.

Leon pinched the bridge of his nose briefly, hiding the flare of frustration. Of course you’d joke now. He let out a low huff, his gaze flicking away to the fading day light. "And you’ll be honest with me, yeah?" he said finally, voice low. "Even if it’s— weird."

You shrugged casually. "Depends... Leon— you were like my second dad growing up. I’ll try." You continue with a sigh.

He exhaled inaudibly in enjoyment, maybe aggravation, but mostly guilt. What the hell is he feeling? He shouldn’t be thinking about you like this— He's your father’s best friend, you're the little girl he’d watched grow up.

But you were pressed close to him bright, delicate, and all his control was slipping.

"Alright." he whispered, voice cracking despite himself. His thumb tapped against the swing chain, eyes flicking to your lips for a fraction of a second before forcing them back to your gaze.

"Just wanted to know—" Leon takes in a soft breath. "How much trouble would I get into if I kissed you right now?"

You froze, eyes widening, your lips parting slightly. Your cheeks flared up. Did he really just say that? Leon’s jaw clenched at your reaction, the way your body stiffened, way your pulse must be racing.

God, what was he doing?

You swallowed hard, thoughts racing. Your dad. His best friend. Him. The consequences. And yet the feeling of his presence and the gravity in his voice made it impossible to ignore your own fluttering heart. "I—I don’t think... you’d get in any trouble." you admitted softly, voice wavering, soft cheeks still burning.

Leon’s chest strained, the sound of your words hitting him in a way he hadn’t expected. You didn't even realize what this does to him. He leaned slightly closer, eyes flicking to your lips for an instant before locking back into your pleading eyes.

"You think? Oh, sweetheart—"

"You won’t get in trouble." You repeated yourself, voice firmer this time.

The certainty in your tone made his fingers flex on the swing chain. God, you were too much. So unaware, and perfect in every damn way that made his blood roar.

Without warning, he leaned in, lips pressing to yours in a urgent motion, all restraint snapping. Hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer. You gasped, hands clutching his shirt, knees pressing against his sides, your body fitting perfectly against him as you straddled his lap.

Leon’s growl was low and instinctive. Every rational thought fled as the need to claim you, your warmth, took over. You were pliant, sweet, intoxicating, and he wasn’t about to fight it.

Then with a sharp inhale he broke the kiss his chest heaving, eyes dark. "Bedroom." he commanded finally. "Now."

You took a few shallow breaths in, head shaking quickly, before entering the house and hurrying toward your dad's bedroom, since it was the most close one to the entrance.

Leon followed right behind you, the door shutting with a quiet thud once you were both inside.

You stopped near the middle of the room, a little unsure now that the moment had actually caught up to you. Leon didn’t say anything at first. His eyes moved over you slowly, taking you in the way he hadn’t really allowed himself to until now.

Then he stepped forward, two steps and he was right in front of you. "On the bed." he said quietly.

You obeyed, climbing onto the mattress and shifting toward the middle of it. Your eyes stayed on him as you sat there, watching him. Leon didn’t keep you waiting long. In a second he was over you, lowering himself down and bracing his weight on his forearms, keeping you pinned beneath him. You could feel his hardon pressing down onto your clothed cunt.

He paused there, looking at you. His gaze moved over your flushed face, the quick rise and fall of your chest, the way you were watching him right back with those big, unsure eyes.

"I've wanted you for a long time." He let out a breath against your neck, lifting his head just enough to look at you. His eyes were darker now, something restless burning behind them. "Too goddamn long." His jaw tightened.

Before you could say anything else, his mouth was on yours again, cutting off whatever question had been forming. The kiss was deeper this time, more certain. He didn’t need to think too hard about when those thoughts had started, not now. Not with you beneath him like this, at least.

Leon felt the way your body pressed into his, the way you moved your hips desperate without hesitation, like this moment had been what you'd been dreaming of, too.

Or maybe he was just trying to make himself feel better. Maybe.

His teeth caught your bottom lip just enough to make you gasp before his tongue smoothed over the spot. "Tell me you want this." he spoke against your mouth, voice low. His hand slid under your shirt, fingers moving slowly until they brushed the lace of your bra. "Say it, or I stop." Because as much as he wanted you, he needed to hear it. Needed to know this wasn’t just him finally snapping.

"N-No, please don’t stop..." you shook your head quickly.

A low groan left Leon’s chest. That was all the answer he needed. His mouth moved to your neck, teeth grazing the soft skin there in a sharp little bite before he spoke again. "Good girl."

His hands moved higher under your shirt, rough palms sliding over warm skin until his knuckles came under the clasp of your bra, undoing it.

"That’s it." he muttered, almost to himself.

When the garment finally slipped off your body arched into the touch without thinking, and the reaction pulled another low sound from him. His mouth found your ear next, teeth biting your earlobe. "Relax, baby." he murmured. "I’ve got you."

His hands moved slowly, exploring, mapping the soft curves of your body like he had all the time in the world, all though his breathing was ragged, betraying the restraint he was barely clinging to. His lips traced a slow, hot path down your throat, pausing to suck a mark into your collarbone.

"You feel that?" he muttered against your skin, shifting his hips just enough to let you feel his hardened cock more against you. "Can you feel how badly I want you?"

You let out a sharp breath, face growing hotter with each second. "O-Oh~"

Jesus. That sweet, little sound, the sight of you all flushed and wide eyed beneath him, it was enough to drive any damn man over the edge. So really, it was your fault.

"Yeah, princess?" he murmured, his own voice ragged. "You feel what you do to me? You feel how crazy you drive me?"

His hand slid lower, tracing the edge of your waistband, fingertips slipping under the elastic, then lower, lower, and christ, he could taste how wet you were.

"Please—" You gasp, your fingers fumbling at his waistband, so eager, so desperate. Leon groaned when and he caught your wrists in his grasp, pinning them above your head with a single hand.

"Easy, sweetheart." he clicked his tongue. "Let me take care of you first."

His free hand trailed down your body, fingers slipping beneath your waistband before pulling everything off completely. He stared in awe as your wet folds glistened in the dim light of the room, some already dripping down on the sheets. In his many years on this earth, he had never seen a pussy this pretty, he thinks to himself.

He leans in without hesitation, spreading you more, more before he finally pushes two fingers past your fluttering entrance. You choke back a moan, eyes searching for his. "God, you're beautiful like this." he presses a kiss on your belly button.

Leon growled as he felt you adjusting to his fingers. God, you were so tight, so warm— He couldn't wait to feel you around his aching cock.

"Look at you." he murmured against your skin, his voice already wrecked. He felt pathetic. "Fuck." Leon’s breathing hitched as you squeezed around his fingers and he leaned in closer, pressing a rough, open mouthed kiss to your throat.

His thumb pressed firm circles against your clit just to feel you tremble. "You want more?" he breathed, lips grazing your jaw. "Tell me."

"Y-Yes— Please.. Need it, need you."

"Yeah?" You could feel the smile in his voice. "Tell me what you want." His thumb circled your swollen clit again faster this time. "Tell me and I'll give it to you."

"Leon, please—" You're practically sobbing. "Please, wan' you to fuck me.."

Leon's vision nearly whited out at your words, his grip tightening around your thighs as he groaned, forehead pressing against yours.

"Fuck." he gritted out, pulling his fingers out of you wirh a soft pop. "Shit— okay, baby. Let me give it to you." He wastes no time, discarding his pants and briefs somewhere on the floor of the room, letting you see him in all his huge glory.

Were you scared? A little. But you are a big girl, so you'll power through scary things, right?

His hands slid under your hips, lifting you effortlessly as he positioned himself better between your legs, pressing the thick, leaking head of his cock against your soaked entrance.

With one slow, agonizing thrust he gave you exactly what you asked for. He was going to ruin you.

"Oh, my—" you arched against the mattress, the sudden stretch painful. A soft sob rips from your throat as you bite down on your own finger, teary eyes searching for his in panic. "L-Leon.." you mumble, dazed.

Leon's jaw clenched tight, sweat beading at his temples as he fought against the feverish urge to just take. "Look at me." he ordered, voice desperate. When your glassy eyes met his, he exhaled sharply, pressing a kiss to your trembling lips.

"Breathe, baby" he murmured, hips rolling slowly, giving you time to adjust. "Just breathe f'me." You whine, frowning, legs pulling him closer. Gosh, you could feel him in your lungs. "M-move please.."

Leon growled low in his throat, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he finally, pushed in fully. "Fuck—like this?" he rasped, dragging his cock nearly all the way out before slamming back in, hard enough to make your back arch off the bed.

Who knew he had it in him?

His thrusts were rough, relentless, every snap of his hips designed to wring another desperate sound you didn't know you were capable of making.

"Tell me—" he demanded, voice wrecked. "Tell me who’s fucking you like this— who’s making you feel this good, baby? Huh?" Because he needed to hear it. And he needed you to understand who you belonged to right this moment.

"You— Ah! You, you are, Leon, 's you~" You grasp tightly at his flexed arms. Leon groaned, lips finding your neck again, teeth biting over your pulse.

"Good girl." Leon praised, hips diving in deeper, harder, making you see stars. "That's it, take it." His fingers tightened on your hips, and you already know they'll leave bruises behind. "Take it all. All~ of it." He coos.

His hands skimmed over your body, finding your pebbled nipples then harshly pinching them, making you shiver. "You're mine." he growled, hips snapping forward, more demanding than asking. "Say it. Say you're mine."

" 'M yours, 'm yours, 'm yours!" You're barely coherent, whole body jolting at the harsh movement, eyes shut tightly, puffy lips forming a small 'O'

"G-gosh, wait— wait—!" You sob loudly. " 'M gonna pee, 's too much too much-" You stay clenching around him, embarrassed and confused.

Leon laughs softly, shaking his head. His hand slid between your bodies, palm pressing firmly against your lower tummy. "You're not gonna, baby." He was amused. "That’s all me." He gave slow roll of his hips just to watch your eyes roll back.

"You can let go." But you shake your head, soft incoherent pleads filtering over the ringing in your ears. You gasp, mouth slack as your whole body starts convulsing, hot liquid gushing out around Leon's cock.

"Oh fuuh—" You're crying real tears now, from embarrassment, pleasure, pain, you don't know. Your body is still shaking and Leon fucks you through it. His hand slid up to your jaw, lifting your face so he could look at you, all teary eyed and blissed out, your cheeks flushed a pretty color, hair disheveled.

"Dirty girl." he smiled, licking the sweat glistening at the hollow of your throat. "Look at the mess you made on my cock, baby."

His thrusts grew rougher and more desperate, chasing his own release now, body burning with the need to claim you completely. Who cares if he could get you pregnant? Consequences were the last thing on his mind, especially when you were still sucking him in so deep like a vice.

"Look at me." he demanded, fingers gripping your chin tighter, forcing your gaze up to his. "Look at me when I fill you up with my come, okay?"

You nod, left only a babbling mess as your glassy eyes barely keep open. "Y-Yes- ha.." You reply, brain fuzzy.

Leon couldn't fight the moan that rumbled deep in his chest when your eyes finally found his. There was something wild now and possessive in his expression, his thumb tracing your bottom lip, pressing against it.

"That's it~" he crooned, his voice gruff. "Just like that, I know, I know. God, you're so pretty, baby." His thrusts grew uneven, his control shattering as he chased his own release, harder, faster. More, more, he needed more of you. Closer, closer.

His rough thumb found your swollen clit again, circling it faster, a familiar warmth washing over you. "L-Leon—"

"You gonna come again, baby? Gonna come on this cock?"

"Mhm.." You squeak, hips meeting his hand for more friction. "Fuck—" He stilled, hips jerking forward as he spilled deep inside you, a growl rumbling low in his chest as he filled you to the brim. The new feeling of being stuffed brought you over the edge and when you came again, his cock still buried inside you, Leon watched lightheaded as your belly seemed more round slightly under his release.

He hadn’t had this good of a fuck since he was thirty, he thinks.

His fingers traced over the soft swell, pressing lightly just to hear your soft voice. "Jesus." he clicked his tongue. He pulled out slowly, reluctantly, watching with hooded eyes as a slow trickle of his come escaped your gaping entrance.

His thumb swiped through it, smearing it against your skin before pressing two fingers back inside you, just to feel how full you still were.

"S'too much.. So— full.." You whine, more to yourself.

Leon smirked satisfied as your words slurred together, your body limp and pliant beneath him. His fingers curled inside you with an obscene squelch, pressing deeper just to hear you again. "Yeah?" he murmured, voice thick with amusement. "Greedy little thing, aren’t you?"

He leaned down, kissing the soft swell of your belly where his cum still lingered before meeting your sleepy eyes.

"Next time" he began, fingers still working lazily inside you "I’ll fill you up more. Promise."

"Pinky?" Your smile was crooked and he snorts. "Pinky."

He was almost more shocked than you that he had it in him for four more rounds. Maybe that’s what loneliness does to a man— makes him greedy. He knew for a fact he’d never come this many times in one night before. Hell, he didn’t even think it was possible for him anymore. But tonight, with you under him all tight and willing, it felt like his body just refused to stop.

The room had gone quiet.

The only sound left was the slow rhythm of breathing and the faint rustle of sheets as the two of you settled back against the mattress. The earlier drive had burned itself out, leaving only the smell of sex and your sweet perfume filling the air.

Your cheek rested over his heart, one arm draped across his stomach, fingers loosely curled like you’d fallen asleep mid movement. Your breathing was soft and steady now, lashes resting against flushed cheeks, your body slack, deep asleep after you’d given everything you had in you.

Leon stared up at the ceiling. One large hand rested on your back, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow circles. You’d fallen asleep faster than he expected, your body had simply decided it was done for the night.

And you looked peaceful.

He swallowed slowly, his jaw tightening as he looked down at you. God. Your father trusted him, had trusted him for years. Hell, the man had called him family, allowed him stay here without a second thought.

And now here Leon was, in his bed, holding his daughter after he fucked her brains out.

His thumb brushed lightly along your shoulder as you shifted in your sleep, letting out a soft, content little sigh as you burrowed closer against him.

Leon closed his eyes for a moment.

Was it a mistake?

He knew it. Every rational part of his brain knew it. It had consequences written all over it. This was something reckless that happened because the two of you were alone too long, right? Something that wouldn’t happen again, right?

Right.

His hand slid slowly up your back, resting there protectively. Maybe.. Maybe it wasn’t as wrong as it felt.

Yeah, he’d watched you grow up, but maybe that just meant he knew you better than anyone else ever could. Maybe it meant he’d protect you better than anyone else ever would.

Somewhere even deeper in his mind, a small part of him hoped tonight meant something more than just a mistake. Something that would keep the two of you tied together long after the moment passed. Leon closed his eyes, pulling you a little closer against him.

God, he hopes it sticks. It's sick, isn't it? He's sick. But the image is burning in his mind, you round with his child.

He already knew what was going to happen. The more time he spent around you, the worse it would get.

That moment ended the second you allowed the thought to settle. From the hallway you heard the bedroom door open, followed by shuffling steps that, thankfully, didn’t put you on edge.

Then Leon appeared in the doorway, sleep-heavy and not entirely present yet. His eyes were still half-lidded as he leaned against the frame, one hand buried in his messy hair sticking out in every direction.

He always looked adorable like this, you often thought in the mornings – completely off guard, just your boyfriend in a loose sleep shirt and pajama pants.

“Hey, honey,” he murmured, the words more mashed together than clearly spoken. “Where did you go?”

That warm feeling spread through your chest, the one that always bloomed whenever he entered a room looking for you – usually with a soft smile, sometimes with one of his silly lines, just to make you smile.

“I woke up,” you explained.

Leon hummed in mild disapproval, though his gaze resting on you was soft. A gentle smile curved his features.

“You’re beautiful.”

You snorted. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who thinks that when I look like this.”

“Everyone thinks so,” Leon replied matter-of-factly.

He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward you slowly. You half expected him to collapse beside you on the couch and continue sleeping. That was why you set the remote aside and instinctively opened your arms to welcome him.

A small squeak escaped you when he simply bent down instead, grabbed you, and lifted you into the air with a strength you were tempted to call superhuman. To avoid immediately toppling out of his arms onto the living room floor, you clung to his neck.

“I hope you didn’t lift with your back,” you joked. He complained about it sometimes – usually after sleeping wrong.

“Even if I did. You’re light as a feather,” he replied with a grin. To emphasize his point, he shifted your weight in his arms and practically tossed you upward.

You giggled. “Okay, Superman. Where are we going?”

“Back to the bedroom. Where you belong.”

With you carried like a trophy, Leon stomped back into the hallway, ignoring your quiet protest.

“Leon, I stood up to get out of bed, not to get in again.”

“Thought this was your happy place,” he muttered as he pushed the bedroom door open again – the room where he’d woken up without you beside him just moments earlier.

Really, you should have known better than to get up without telling him. When he woke and realized he’d slept deeply enough not to notice your departure, a small ripple of anxiety still passed through him. You could still bring him peace so easily. And that peace deserved to be savored whenever possible.

You couldn’t exactly refute his argument. Your shared bed was the coziest place in the apartment. The soft, high-quality mattress you sank into like lying on clouds; the sheets impossibly plush. A nap in that bed felt like the sleep of gods. But you truly hadn’t planned on returning so soon.

You didn’t resist much anyway. Leon was a cuddlebug – especially on free days like this.

So you only made a small agreeing sound, followed by a soft laugh as he carried you to the side of the bed, sat down with you still in his arms, and then – in true Leon “I train five times a week” Kennedy fashion – swung you around and positioned you exactly where he wanted you.

You bounced lightly against the mattress, and the next moment Leon pressed himself against you. His broad left arm – big enough to cover half your ribcage – draped over you, the other slipping beneath your head and pillow, while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

Your scent wrapped around him and calmed him instantly, as though a mix of lavender and melatonin had been injected straight into his veins.

“That’s better…” he hummed against your skin, his warm breath followed by a kiss pressed right there.

You made a soft, fond sound, your fingertips tracing lightly over the heavy but comforting weight of his arm – at least for now. When you actually wanted to sleep, he was far too solid on top of you.

Leon gave another contented noise against your skin, and slowly, steadily, silence settled over you both.

You simply lay there, caressing your man, waiting patiently. Surely he would release you again in a moment. Surely he wouldn’t hold you captive like usual when you tried to get up. You tried every time.

“…Leon?” you asked eventually.

No response.

“Leon,” you said more firmly. “You can’t fall asleep again. We’re awake.”

You nudged his arm. Nothing.

The game played out like always. Somewhere between charmed and mildly exasperated, you turned toward him, face to face, studying his expression. Eyes closed now. Muscles relaxed. Breathing steady. He was just… sweet like this.

“Are you asleep?” you whispered, leaning forward to brush your lips against his.

A low hum answered you. Leon pulled you closer, catching your lips properly and wordlessly preventing any escape.

Your arm slid around his larger frame, and you melted into him – into his irresistible warmth, his soft lips. Maybe he sought your closeness more often, but you were always the one who let yourself be tempted into staying.

“I love you…” Leon breathed against your mouth, drowsy and gentle all at once.

“I love you, too,” you replied with a smile. “Wanna get up and make breakfast?”

“No,” came the immediate answer. “Stay. You’re so comfy.”

With that, Leon tightened his hold around you – and you surrendered to your fate as his eternal cuddle toy.