The quietness of the apartment felt ominous as Leon walked through the threshold of his home. Every muscle in his body ached from overuse; every wound he had acquired throbbed. His body felt weak and worn down, and as he slipped off his boots and made his way toward the bedroom, his limbs moving like they were stuck in slow motion, he couldn’t help but think how nice it would be to never wake up.

Leon all but threw himself onto the bed, sinking into the plush comforter as his body melted into the warmth. A low groan left his lips as he closed his eyes.

A body shifted beside him, arms wrapping around his torso and pulling him close.

“Are you getting my sheets dirty?”

“Your sheets?” he huffed. “I bought them.”

“Semantics, Kennedy. Answer the question,” you say, peppering kisses along his cheek.

“I’ll do laundry in the morning,” he deflects.

You sigh dramatically, but even in the dim lighting of the room, Leon can see your mouth quirk in amusement.

For a moment, the pair of you lay in silence, entwined together in serenity. The gentle thrum of your heartbeat is the most peaceful sound he’s heard in days, and Leon finds himself adjusting his body so his head is pressed against your ribcage. On instinct, your hands fly up to his hair, your fingers gently combing through his dirtied blond locks, nails softly raking against his scalp. Leon can’t help the groan that rumbles in his chest, deep and guttural; the blissful, unfamiliar feeling of finally relaxing washes over him.

“Like that?” you ask.

“Uh-huh,” Leon manages to mumble back. “Feels good.”

He hears you hum in response, your fingers never letting up. He feels warm and tingly all over, his body heavy with exhaustion. It almost feels sinful to let himself relax after everything he had been through in Spain, days of wired, frantic survival, of witnessing ghosts from his past revisit and die. It was wrong to rest. Leon’s chest grows tight with guilt, his gloved hand slowly rising to yours as he gently grips it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“For what, honey?” you ask earnestly.

Leon doesn’t answer right away; he can’t bring himself to. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, tracing small circles against your skin. He stares at your hand resting in his, at the contrast between your clean fingers and his dirtied gloves, and suddenly he feels painfully aware of how little he deserves you.

“For everything,” he finally admits. “For dragging you into the mess that is my life.”

“Leon, you didn’t drag me into anything,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you, no matter what.”

Leon sucks in a shaky inhale, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

“You deserve someone who doesn’t disappear on you, someone you can rely on–”

You silence him with a kiss before he can finish.

“I chose you, Leon.” Another gentle kiss against his mouth. “All of you.”

Leon can’t help the whimper that rises in his throat. He holds you close against him, his mind reeling from the violence and depravity that had been the last few days of his life. He isn’t sure he’s slept more than an hour or two since leaving Spain, and his mind feels heavy, like it’s made of lead. Your fingers never stop moving through his hair, and the sheer, unconditional love you have given him leaves his head spinning. The quiet serenity of the moment lulls his tired mind, his eyelids growing heavy as he finally lets sleep take him.

Leon never dreams of nothing. Something is always haunting him, even in his sleep. He had told you this before—a warning when you had moved in. You can tell he’s having a nightmare. His eyelids twitch rapidly, fingers flexing against you as he whimpers into your chest. You’d never be able to understand the pain he’s been through, but at least you could try to help alleviate it. Slowly, you slip out from the bed, your heart clenching as he reaches for you in his sleep.

“Shhhh,” you whisper. “It’s okay, honey. I’m right here.”

You gently stroke his dirtied locks, his body relaxing under your touch. You smile sadly and move down his body. First, you remove his muddied boots, slowly sliding them off. God, you’re going to have to pressure wash the gunk off these things. Your nose crinkles as you set them aside, working your way back up as you remove his belt and holsters. Damn it, he left his guns in the holsters again. You toss the belt unceremoniously onto the floor, carefully placing the guns on his dresser to be dealt with tomorrow. To double-check, you pat down his pockets in case he left anything behind. Unsurprisingly, you find an array of bullets.

They’re dumped alongside the guns, and once you’re satisfied that his pockets aren’t full of anything that would poke his eye out in his sleep, you crawl back into bed next to him.

Leon senses your warmth immediately, rolling over to be closer to you, arms outstretched. You snuggle closer to him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. God, he stinks to high heaven, but you can look past the filth for tonight. At least he’s alright.

“Thank you for making it home,” you whisper to his unconscious form. “I can’t do this without you.”

Leon responds to your whispered admission with a grunt. You stifle a giggle as you silently thank the stars for bringing him back to you.

The late morning sun filters through the curtains as Leon finally opens his eyes. He squints, trying to adjust to the light as he sits up. It’s a jolting transition, one he always struggles to adapt to. The transition from survival to peace is always a rocky one.

“Morning,” you greet from the doorway, the scent of coffee following you.

Leon grunts in response, a sleepy smile on his face.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he rasps.

“Are you talking to me or the coffee?” you ask, handing him the mug.

“Hey, I can love two things.”

You laugh, shaking your head at his quip.

“You’re awful.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, taking a sip. “But you love me.”

“I do,” you admit. “Would love you more if you didn’t smell like literal death, though.”

Leon hesitates before sniffing at his shirt. You’re right. He smells atrocious.

“Can’t believe you even let me in the bed smelling like this,” he says, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

“You did promise to do laundry.”

“I did,” he says, rising from the bed. He glances down, only to find the white sheets stained with grime.

“Perhaps burning them would be more sanitary.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” you agree solemnly.

Leon laughs, feeling some of the tension finally drain from his shoulders. Together, you strip the bed, tossing the filthy sheets into a pile with a promise to deal with them once he’s bathed.

“I’ll be out in a bit,” he says, resting a hand on your shoulder before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“By all means,” you tease, wrinkling your nose. “Take your time.” Despite the jab, you return the kiss, smiling against his skin.

Steam curls around him as hot water pounds against aching muscles, washing away layers of dried blood, dirt, and sweat. He scrubs until his skin turns pink, watching muddy water swirl toward the drain. He lathers shampoo into his hair once. Then twice, just to be certain. He lingers beneath the spray until the water gradually loses its warmth, his forehead resting against the cool tile.

The transition from missions to domesticity is always jarring. Leon closes his eyes, and he can see the abominations he faced. He can hear Ashley’s screams for help. He can smell the stench of gore. He takes a deep breath, only to be greeted with the soft smell of soap. He has to remind himself that he’s safe. He’s home now.

After putting a dent in the water bill, Leon finally shuts the shower off. He wraps himself in a fluffy towel and goes through the motions of getting ready. He sighs blissfully as he slips into his favorite pair of gray sweatpants, scrubbing his teeth until he’s positive you won’t be able to smell the raw fish and snakes he ate out on the field. Once he’s satisfied you won’t find him disgusting, Leon makes his way to the kitchen.

The smell of fresh coffee and pancakes drifts through the apartment, drawing a rumble from his stomach. He pauses in the doorway, quietly watching as you hum to yourself while flipping a pancake in the pan. You catch him out of the corner of your eye and smile.

“I just brewed a fresh pot,” you announce proudly. “And I think I actually managed not to ruin any pancakes this time!”

“Mmm, look at you,” he teases.

He slips an arm around your waist, drawing you in for a kiss. Your lips are soft against his, warm and familiar, and Leon can’t help but melt into the affection. When you pull away with a smile and return to the stove, he lingers for a moment, quietly admiring you. He’d do it all again if it meant coming home to you.

“Oh, can you grab the plates?” you ask.

“You got it.”

Leon maneuvers around you to retrieve the dishes before setting them on the counter. You shoo him to the dining room, smacking at his hand as he tries to steal a bite. A moment later, you follow with a plate stacked high with fluffy pancakes, butter slowly melting beneath a generous drizzle of syrup.

“Ta-da!” you declare, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Welcome home. Officially.”

“Thank you, honey.”

Leon feels his lips curl into a genuine smile as he looks up at you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Leon.”

He comes through the door, already rinsed clean and smelling of antiseptic from those showers he has to take at headquarters to make sure he doesn’t bring home a virus on his skin. It’s always scrubbed raw, pinpricks of blood rising to the surface. You kiss it better as he clings to you like a sloth to a branch. 

And he doesn’t leave your side. Not as you guide him to the bath you prepared for him when you got the message he was on his way home, his arm breaking through the cast of bubbles floating across the surface to touch your hand. Not as you put away his boots and duffel bag, the contents inside it. He wraps his limbs around your waist as you finish up the dishes from the leftovers you warmed. 

You let him, however much it slows you down, and has the potential to get on your nerves. Because he deserves it. Because he needs it. That is made apparent by the way his hands hungrily knead the flesh of your ass, your hips, feeling the slope of your waist. All desperation and greed, etched into the lines of his palms.

His requests are far and few, which is probably why you’re always so willing to comply, because you know that when he asks, it’s not based on some frivolous whim that whipped through his mind like a tornado. It’s careful, planned, the details mulled over again and again. That’s his way. It’s what makes him so good at his job. And it’s what makes him an especially talented lover. 

So no, you rarely dismiss his requests. 

Except for one. 

“Please.” 

“Leon,” you groan, rinsing the dish soap from your hands, toweling them off before turning around. His arms bracket either side of your body, fists dug into the ledge of the counter behind you. “No.” 

“Come on,” he goads, tilting his head. He never put on another shirt after his bath, now standing in the kitchen, bare torso a sight for sore eyes. You hate his job, but you don’t mind the way it carves his body into something entirely mythological. No other man looks like Leon, because no other man does what he does. A double-edge sword you’d willingly plunge into another if it meant you had him home all to yourself, not having to worry about what beast was attacking him this time around. Even if it meant those muscles expanded into a healthy pudge.

Okay, you’d miss them a little. 

“No, I’m just not comfortable with that.” 

His brows cinch together. “Not comfortable? Baby, we’ve done everything else, or do I need to remind you?” A wicked grin splashes across his face, and you swipe at him with the towel still in your hands. 

“Gross.” You dip below his arm, freeing yourself from the cage of his arms. 

“Wasn’t gross when I was fucking you on that balcony,” he mumbles to himself. 

“What was that?” You ask, flicking off the television, making sure the front door is locked and the candle blown out–the little routine you have in place to make the days feel less like they’re blurring into one glob of time when he’s gone. 

He follows you down the hallway, into the bedroom. 

Fresh sheets for a man returned from war. They call his name, his bones aching for relief, skin itching to be wrapped in a sarcophagus of cool, crisp cotton. He knows how much you hate putting on the fitted sheet. It warms his heart to know you do it for him every time. 

Still, the gesture is not enough to eclipse the true desire in his heart. 

He approaches you again, not wanting to go a moment without his flesh touching yours in one way or another. He joins you on the edge of the mattress as you face the nightstand, searching around in the drawer for lotion. His hands wrap around your middle as you apply the salve to your hands, your knees. 

“Pretty please?” He whispers in your ear, breath tickling the skin below it. 

“I’ll suffocate you, Leon.” It sounds more like a threat than a consequence. 

He scoffs, as though offended by the accusation that dying between your thighs wouldn’t be the highest honor. “You think I’d mind? Come on, baby. Please.” 

You cut your eyes at him, swaths of blonde hair framing his face like curtains, blue irises peaking through the windows between strands. 

“I got infected,” he confesses, voice as low as the lights filtering from the lamps on either side of the bed. “Could have died out there.” 

“What?” Your mouth falls agape, your gaze widening. 

“Yep. Could have died,” he repeats. “Without ever knowing what it felt like to sit under your pussy.” 

Cinching your brows, you grab one of the pillows off the bed and hit him with it. “Leon,” you gripe, drawing out the syllable. “Not funny.” You only beat him with it twice, feeling like any more swipes at his arms would be abusive toward a man apparently cured from some life-ending disease. 

The nightgown you’re wearing rides up your thighs as you lift your arms to throw the pillow at him. He takes that as an invitation, falling back on the bed and taking you with him, his hands pressed into the flesh of your legs, yanking you up to his face. Completely thrown off balance, you can’t help but become as malleable a marionette, the strings attached to your uncoordinated limbs wound tight around his fingers as he places you on his face.

And it’s heavenly. The feeling of his nose rubbing against your pussy, his tongue immediately finding your hole, licking you from seam to clit. Your hips jolt against him, and you kneel into the feeling, grinding down against this face. He groans, the vibrations slithering like live wires through your veins, icy-hot and vengeful. 

You arch your back to anchor yourself, placing shaky hands on his torso. This new angle gives you the leverage to move your hips at a metronomic pace, the rhythm slowly building alongside your pleasure. He growls against your pussy again, mumbling something completely incoherent against your lips and his fingers dig deeper into the flesh of your waist, pushing you further down onto his face as he devours your pussy like a king at dinner. 

“Need it,” you hear him whine, the words reverberating against your clit, pushing you one step closer toward the edge. It’s viscous and violent, the way you feel yourself begin to tumble, the sensation akin to losing your footing on a staircase–the anticipation of the fall, the vulnerability that races through your body when you realize you’re no longer standing on solid ground. 

You whimper his name, alerting him to your impending climax as the coil behind your abdomen tightens, clit throbbing beneath the pace, cunt clenching around the absence of his tongue. 

“Leon,” you gasp, the curve of your nails tugging into the skin of his chest, leaving behind half-moon indentations in their wake. “I’m so close.” 

“Give it to me. Come in my mouth,” he moans, and although you want nothing more than to extend your pleasure to last all night, the desperation in his voice lends you to give him exactly what he wants.  

The spoonful of sickly sweet vanilla ice cream in your mouth practically sizzles against your tongue upon contact. It's disgustingly humid and the heat is sweltering - you're desperate to cool down, and there's no better way of doing that than taking a dip in the ocean. Unfortunately, you and Leon were supposed to have a weekend trip to the West Coast, but that was abruptly canned since his work called him in for an urgent mission, despite Leon already lodging his leave well in advance.

The whole situation vexes you - on one hand, you know you signed up for this when you began dating him; the life of a government agent isn't exactly predictable and work hours aren't always fair. But on the other hand, Leon still deserved to relax and use his leave like any other employee should - so why is this now the third time they've disrespected his leave request? You chew the inside of your cheek absentmindedly, your eyes staying glued to the TV screen as you try to focus your eyes on the scene of Mr Darcy confessing to Elizabeth in the rain, but your irritation was still simmering beneath the surface, despite your mental attempts to slam the lid on it and hope it doesn't overflow.

Your eyes dart to the handle of the front door pressing down while your hands are still under the cold running water of the tap, rinsing your ice cream spoon. Leon's tired figure trudges into the living space, purplish dark circles hanging under his eyes, chapped lips, and a dullness to his skin that isn't usually there. Your heart clenches at the sight of him - it's clear the mission he just went on did an absolute number on him. But it's what made you all the more irritated and upset; he's a human outside of his work, yet he's being treated like he's a power tool getting yanked out of a shed whenever he's needed. The most frustrating part is that it seems as if he just lets them do it as they please too.

"Hey." Leon is the first one to break the silence, his bag still dangling from his arm.

"Hey." You reply, popping the spoon on the drying rack.

"I'm sorry I had to leave suddenly again." Leon purses his lips, walking towards you slowly as if he were approaching a skittish animal.

"It's okay." Your reply is a little too quick, and your gaze is anywhere but his eyes. You're afraid that you'll take one look at him and say something you don't mean out of sheer annoyance for the situation.

Leon drags a hand over his weary face before placing his bag on the floor, leaning it against the kitchen island as he takes a seat at the kitchen stool. "It's not… I'm sorry. I know we had it all planned and I had to cancel everything."

"…Yup, for the third time." You sigh. "Leon, I know work is important, but they have hundreds of other capable agents they could send off. You only lodged leave for four days, with three month's notice too. They really couldn't find anyone else? They really had to cancel your leave two days before you were meant to go?"

"The situation was urgent and there was a limited pool of agents they could deploy for it. The consequences if nobody were there to contain it would have been catastrophic." Leon explains.

"But they could have called other agents. I know global threats don't respect leave requests, but the DSO still has plenty of capable agents that would have held the fort just fine until you got there. How are you meant to go through all these harrowing missions without having proper downtime? You're not a tool they can just pull out at their disposal, you're a human." You cross your arms.

Leon pauses; there's no anger or irritation in his eyes. He simply nods. "It's hard to say no." You can hear the fatigue in his voice, but it only serves as proof that he shouldn't keep saying yes to more work.

"Of course it is. It's the literal United States government asking you to do something. But by never saying no, you're setting a precedent for them to do it again. And besides… I also booked leave on Monday. I don't mind lounging around, but it is a shame I wasted a day of annual leave, especially when I was really looking forward to our trip. It's not fair to me either." You chide him.

"I was looking forward to it too." Leon's sentences remain short; a telltale sign of his exhaustion.

You approach Leon slowly. "I know… I didn't mean to tell you off the moment you walked through the door. I know it was tough on you, but this is the third time it's happened now, and I've been keeping my frustrations bottled up." Kissing his cheek, you give his bicep a short and gentle reassuring squeeze. "I'm gonna wind down for bed. There's some leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry." You notify him, turning to leave. Before you can even begin to take a step, you feel Leon gently grab your hand. You let out a soft "huh?" as Leon hops off the kitchen stool, kneeling down as he wraps his arms around your hips, his face pressed against your torso as he looks up at you.

"L-Leon, you look exhausted. You know if you fall asleep down there I won't be able to lug you up the stairs, right?" You chuckle, your fingers threading through his blonde silky strands. He leans into your touch, staring up at you with soft puppy eyes.

Leon is rarely like this. The only other time he's grovelled like this is when you saw someone from his past try to reach out once more; and while he didn't have her number saved, it wasn't blocked at the time, which really pissed you off. Clearly ditching three planned holidays in a row has made him feel guilty.

"I'm sorry for abandoning the third holiday we've tried to go on. But you're being so patient with me anyway. I'm so sorry." His voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey, it's fine. I'm just feeling frustrated, and it's upsetting to see you burn the candle at both ends. We're good, okay?" You murmur.

Leon shakes his head with a sigh. "It's not fine. I've abandoned our plans in favour of work three times now. I'm sorry… I want to make it up to you. I'll do anything." He looks up at you, his arms tightening around your hips.

"Anything?" You raise a brow.

"Anything." He nods.

"Okay. I want you to get up from the floor, eat the leftovers, take a nice hot shower, and get an early rest." You chuckle, knowing that he was planning on trying to apologise through sex. But as much as you'd like that, all you really want is for him to just get some rest.

"Really? You don't want me to eat y-"

"Nope. Get up from the floor, drama queen."

You're sitting on the bed, legs sprawled on top of the French flax linen sheets with a book in your hand. The amber glow of your bedside table illuminates the words, as you try to wind down and take your mind off things. Despite being peeved about the last minute cancellation of the holiday, your thoughts were mostly fixed on how burnt out Leon has been looking lately.

As you flip the page, you hear the bedroom door open, the smell of aldehydes and sandalwood flooding your nostrils. Your eyes dart to the sight of Leon - he's only wearing a pair of loose grey sweatpants, the water droplets from his damp hair sprinkled onto his muscular chest. He shakes his head twice, like a dog shaking its coat after being drenched in water, and you smile to yourself.

"Hey." He greets you, shuffling into his spot next to you.

"Hey. Feeling better?" You ask him as he settles close to you.

"Yeah. Much better." Leon nods, before clearing this throat. "I also, uh, lodged my leave again and managed to get an even nicer hotel to stay at for next weekend. I know you need to lodge that extra day of leave, so the entire trip is on me. It was my bad for cancelling in the first place. And if they ask me to come in, this time I'm saying no." He adds. You glance over and give him a small smile.

"Good. If you're exhausted then it's pointless throwing yourself in a dangerous situation. You need to take care of yourself." You hum, going back to your book.

"But nobody is taking care of you. That's meant to be my job." You catch a rare pout from Leon, which earns him a giggle from your lips.

"Hey, I'm holding up just fine, even when you have those missions that last for like two weeks." You respond, as Leon repositions himself on the bed between your legs, his calloused palms gently rubbing the side of your thighs.

"That's part of what I meant." He responds, dipping his head down and kissing your inner thigh. You peer at him from your book before setting it down, then lifting your hips up as he drags your shorts and panties off in one go. "Just let me take care of you. Go back to reading your book, baby." Leon whispers, pressing a kiss on your hip before he spreads your legs a little further.

"Missed this view so much." He murmurs in appreciation, before sticking his tongue out to lick a long, flat stripe against your cunt. Your body already begins to twitch at the sensation, your fingertips digging into your book so tightly you're already beginning to make little crescent-shaped divots in the soft cover of your novel. "Missed you so much." Leon adds, the very tip of his tongue flicking at your clit.

"I… Fuck…" You're already losing composure. The words on the page seem to jumble and swirl around as if you're looking into a bowl of alphabet spaghetti.

"You're not gonna turn the page?" Leon asks, his mouth separating from your pussy for a moment as his thumb moves against your pussy in slow but firm strokes, causing you to roll your hips.

"Forgive me, it's a little challenging to read right now." You bite your lip, staring at him. He's staring up at you with a soft gaze and parted lips, glossy with your own pussy juice. Fucking hell, he's so pretty.

"That means I'm doing my job right. Go on baby, get back to your book." Leon responds with a ghost of a grin, before dipping his head back down between your legs, sinking his tongue into your folds. You try your best to focus on the sentence before you.

'But joy soon effaced every other feeling; and loud as the wind blew, and deep as the thunder crashed, fierce and frequent as the-' …You can't fucking focus like this. But you pretend you're reading anyway, despite your breaths turning staccato as you feel the repeated flicks of his tongue against your clit with just the right amount of pressure. The crisp sound of a page flipping happens just a little too suddenly, and it's so clear your eyes are anywhere but on the words. Leon knows, but he doesn't say anything. He just looks up at you with an adoring gaze as he hums a low groan of pleasure while he continues to fuck you with his mouth. Just as you attempt to read another sentence - or at least try to, you feel Leon sink his index and middle fingers inside of you slowly, causing you to let out a breathy whine.

"F-fuck, oh my god." You gasp at the sensation of his fingers now slowly pumping in and out of you, watching as his fingers disappear into your folds and pull out, covered in your slick, syrupy pussy juice. You don't even remember what page you're on anymore.

"Atta girl." Leon whispers, kissing your inner thigh as he curls his fingers upwards, hitting that spot that makes your eyelids flutter. His mouth returns to your pussy, continuing to relentlessly lick and suck at your clit, as he keeps an almost mechanically perfect pace and pressure with his fingers hitting that perfect spot, over and over again. Your legs are now shaking, and your book is now teetering on the edge of the bed as your body pulls taut.

"I'm, hah… I'm gonna cum… Fuck…" The flesh of your lower lip is pinned under your teeth as you feel that familiar warmth pool in your stomach, your hips bucking into Leon's face as you grind your sopping wet cunt against his mouth. It earns you a deep, guttural groan of pleasure from Leon, as your body finally lets go, your orgasm completely shattering you as his name loudly falls from your lips.

Leon moves from his elbows to his knees, caging your body with his as he kisses you deeply. You realise that since he walked through the door, the two of you hadn't shared a proper kiss, and it made your heart clench a little. Breaking the kiss momentarily, you look up at him with a soft, doe-eyed gaze, your lips glossy with the mix of his saliva and your arousal. "Hm?" Leon hums; it's a gentle and caring tone with a carnal undercurrent - as if he's asking you what he can do for you next. Your hand finds the back of his neck as you pull him in once more, giving him another kiss. Leon softly moans, his lips parting as your tongues meet. You feel yourself pouring all of your love and tenderness into every stroke of your tongue against his, and he returns with equal fervor.

"Lay down. I don't want you undoing a stitch." You instruct him with a soft chuckle.

"Yes ma'am." Leon gives you a lazy smile as you hitch your leg over his thigh, his cock already hard and weeping with precum. Your hand moves from his lower stomach, tracing over his muscular abdomen as it finally rests at his jaw gently. You study his face for a moment - his eyes are locked onto yours with a soft fondness, and you can't help but smile. "What is it?" Leon asks, tilting his head in question.

"Nothing." You hum, grabbing his cock and sinking down on it slowly. You take him inch by inch, until he bottoms out inside of you. Leon lets out a soft groan of pleasure, your name echoing from his lips as you slowly begin to move your hips. The feeling of him is a toothsome stretch, his cock filling you up as if he was made just for you.

"Oh, fuck… Just like that." Leon huffs out, his calloused hands instinctively reaching for your hips as you begin to ride him a little faster. The sound of your own juices mixing with his makes an obscene wet slap with every downwards jut of your hips. Peering down, you watch as your cunt greedily swallows his cock whole, the lewd visual of your wet folds sinking down on his dick driving you insane. Leon removes one of his hands from his hip to briefly wet the pad of his thumb, before placing it on your clit and making frantic little strokes on it.

"G-gonna cum so fast if you keep doing that." You manage to say through breathy whines.

"Good, because I don't know how much longer I can last when you're riding me like this…" Leon lets out a strained grunt of pleasure as your hips burn with your quickening pace. Your breathing becomes more ragged as the tip of his dick continues to slam into that perfect, sweet spot, while his thumb relentlessly drags over your clit.

"Oh, shit…" A loud moan leaves your mouth.

"Yeah, yeah. That's it baby, ride it out for me." Leon coos in that deep, teasing voice, before a moan leaves his own mouth too. And that's all it took. Between whimpers, his name falls from your lips as you cum, your body shuddering with pleasure. As your walls grip onto Leon's cock tightly, it causes him to spill hot, white ropes of cum inside of your pussy, his hand on your hip gripping just a little tighter. Your hips slowly grind as you ride out your high, your eyelids fluttering in pleasure before you finally pull yourself off of him.

"You distracted me from my book." You pout as you roll over onto your side of the bed.

"Sorry baby, maybe you can read the rest by the beach next weekend?" Leon smiles softly at you, giving you a tender kiss on the forehead.

The sun glows a striking amber against the stripes of pale cornflower blue and magenta twilight as you turn the final page of your book. You hear the faint shuffling of feet in the sand, and you look up to see Leon standing over you with a grin. A part of you wishes you could take a photo of what you're seeing right now - the sea water clings like crystalline droplets onto his skin and damp blonde hair, the vibrant sunset behind him illuminating every peak and valley of his muscles. You watch as he shakes his head and arm twice to rid himself of the water, much like a dog shaking its coat after a bath.

"So, was the book good?" Leon asks, his knees sinking down onto your sailor blue and white terry cloth beach towel as he sprawls himself next to you, one heavy, muscular arm draping over your waist.

"It was, actually. Have you had enough of a swim?" You smile at him.

"Almost. You got dry from sitting out in the sun. You want one last dip before the sun fully sets?" Leon asks.

"Hmm, sure. I should make the most of the ocean." You nod in response. Before you can do anything else other than placing your book to the side, Leon rises from his position and scoops you into his arms, carrying you princess style in one easy, fell swoop. You yelp in surprise, but your yelp quickly turns into a giggle as he kisses the crown of your head as the icy ocean water touches your body.

"Oh my god, it's freezing!" You whine.

"That's because you were out of the water for so long." Leon lets out a small laugh, pulling you into his arms, holding you flush against him as you both watched the sun set below the horizon.

He really does love to take care of you.

An almost immediate wave of relief crashes over you as you step inside, greeted with the scent of your fresh linen laundry detergent, the sight of your overstuffed sofa, the teddy bear propped against the back of it. Thankfully, you got a nasty case of the cleaning bug prior to leaving for the mission, so a pristine apartment welcomes you back, encasing you in the detoxifying smell of lemon furniture polish and freshly-vacuumed carpet. 

“Let’s get you some dinner,” Leon suggests. His voice is only slightly muffled by the cotton in your ears, the pain medication you took before they set your broken arm at the tail-end of its effectiveness. “What’s the easiest thing to eat with one arm?” He mumbles to himself, instinctively reaching for the takeout menus you have stashed in a kitchen drawer like he’s done a hundred times before. He knows better than to ask you what you want to eat. He never gets an answer to that question. You’re far too indecisive to work well under such pressure, which is funny, because he’s always saying that he’s never met an agent so quick on their feet as you. Whether it’s true or not, you’ll take the compliment. 

You watch from the sofa as he navigates around your kitchen, flipping through the paper menus before settling on one, punching a number into your landline. Your eyes stay affixed to his arms as he holds the phone to his ear, speaking your usual dinner order into the receiver. They’re so, so big. So big and bulging and so incredibly beautiful, as though sculpted from marble by Michaelangelo himself. A perfect David come to life in the flesh of a corny, old-souled government agent with the haircut of a boy-band drummer. 

Speaking of, swaths of icy blonde hair fall across his forehead, framing his temples. He blows a few vagrant strands out of his eyes as he turns on his heel to face you, speaking a gratitude into the phone before hanging up the call. 

Maybe it’s the drugs, maybe it’s the way he came to your rescue during the mission, wrapping your arm in a makeshift cast before either of you could get medical attention, but you’re suddenly confronted by an internal hurricane of feelings you typically repress. Feelings far too intense to be attached to friendship. Feelings of want and need. Need to confess. Need to confront. 

You’rethemostbeautifulmanI’veeverseenandIthinki’minlovewithyou.

“What’d you get us?” You say instead. Not even the lip-loosening medication can bring those thoughts to the surface. 

Leon would never admit it to you, but you’ve occupied most all of his waking thoughts since the monet the two of you started working together. From the time he wakes up in the morning, long before his alarm even has the chance to go off (because he stopped sleeping a full eight hours many moons ago), until he lays his head back down on his pillow to do it all again, he’s thinking about you. Work, eating, breathing, BOWs–all background noise. 

No, he’d never admit it, but Leon’s been in love with you since you walked into that briefing room and shook his hand for the first time. 

And since then, he’s been attached to your hip like a lovesick puppy, the two of you sharing more meals than not, crashing on the other’s sofa when the drive back home feels impossible, and the idea of sleeping a room over is all too delicious. So, there’s nothing special about tonight, beside the fact that you’re giggling more than usual, and your feet were extra ticklish as he rubbed the ache from them, the two of you lounging together on the sofa, waiting for dinner to arrive.

Totally normal. 

He fed you orange chicken, even though you could definitely manage on your own, even with your dominant hand out of commission.

Again, very normal. You’d washed his hair on multiple occasions when a cracked rib or two prevented him from raising his arms. That’s what friends are for. 

They come to the rescue when the other is in need. 

What they don’t do, however, is kiss the other on the cheek and call him their ‘boyfriend’. 

He was in the middle of washing the dishes used during dinner when you came up behind him and pressed your lips to his face. 

“You’re such a good boyfriend, Leon.” 

Not normal. 

You slap your only available hand over your mouth, as if to shove the words back down your throat. But it’s too late. With the faucet spitting water, his hands covered in dish soap, mid-scrub, Leon freezes. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. Or do that–kiss you, I mean.” 

Every last drop of that pain medication has now left your system, the situation far too sobering to keep you under a haze any longer, and you see it now, clear as day. You kissed Leon and called him your ‘boyfriend’. A good one too. And by the rosy tint spreading across his face like a bad rash, you think he liked it. 

“It’s just all so domestic, I think, and–well, I wasn’t thinking–but you know what I mean.” You swallow hard, your throat suddenly scratchy and hoarse. The bewildered expression on his face, unreadable in its blankness, makes you sick to your stomach. His eyes are as wide as saucers, his lips slightly agape, and for some reason, you think a defensive ramble is the best course of action to take. “We’re just so…close, and lines get blurred, and...I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying, I think I just–” 

He cuts you off with a kiss. A real one this time. All-encompasing and electric, tasting like wasted time and mint toothpaste. 

His hands grab your face, holding you close, not letting you shirk away, or continue babbling into his mouth. You’re completely and utterly enraptured by his touch, and although there’s no lack of passion tucked into the corners, it’s all care and affection. Three years’ worth. 

“Leon,” is all you manage to whisper when his lips detach from yours and he retreats in inch, hands still lingering to cup your cheeks. His pupils are shot, black circles eclipsing the blue of his irises, as piercing and formidable as ever.

“I think I’ve loved you for a long time,” he says, dipping down to press his forehead against yours. “And you might be too woozy to remember this tomorrow, but I at least want you to know tonight.” 

You tilt your head upward to capture his lips in another marriage of love and long-earned feelings. It’s cooler this time, not as hot and messy as the first one–far more controlled in its decision. “I think I love you too, Leon. No,” you giggle, bottom lip grazing his. “I’m sure I do.”

“And that’s not the medicine talking?” His brows are cinched together in what seems like genuine concern, and it’s amusing–knowing your own feelings–to think he could even doubt your devotion. 

You shake your head, planting a soft peck on the tip of his nose. He smiles wide, flashing a set of perfectly imperfect teeth, beneath the gesture. “Nope. All me.”