Shipping Central

Your stomach had growled so loudly a few moments ago that you had practically launched yourself off the bed in embarrassment, rushing to the kitchen before he could start questioning the strange noises humans apparently made when starving.

“Are you hungry?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder to catch his relaxed posture as he studied you cooking.

“I’m okay.” The mechanical rasp of his vocoder answered.

You hummed softly, rinsing the lettuce one last time before chopping through it quickly.

“Let’s say you were hungry,” you continued, “could you even eat human food?”

“Not really. Some fruits are acceptable.” He paused briefly, the translator crackling for half a second before continuing. “The rest taste… off.”

That last word came delayed and you frowned slightly, unsure whether the vocoder had malfunctioned or if he had simply hesitated.

“What kind of fruit?” you asked, reaching for a tomato.

But you completely missed the shift behind you.

Keth’raal had gone perfectly still.

Three crimson targeting dots slid silently across the kitchen floor, settling over the tiny shape creeping near the cabinets. Before you could even notice, his form shimmered and vanished beneath his cloak.

Meanwhile, you remained entirely oblivious, still focused on your dinner.

“Keth’raal?” you called after a moment, turning around with a confused blink.

He was suddenly back where he had been before, leaning against the wall again, though his head remained tilted slightly toward the floor as if he had been watching something there moments earlier. Then his gaze snapped back to you.

“What kind of fruit?” you repeated, smiling before returning to your cutting board.

“Melons. Star fruits—”

“Have you tried grapes?” you interrupted quickly.

You crossed the kitchen in a hurry, opening the fridge before plucking a grape from one of the containers. Then you walked straight back to him, stopping close enough to feel the cold radiating from his armour.

He looked down at the grape between your fingers before slowly shaking his head, his thick dreadlocks shifting over his shoulders with the movement.

“Can you try one?” you asked, suddenly unsure whether feeding him random human food counted as a terrible scientific decision.

For a second he simply stared at you and then nodded.

His fingers hooked beneath the edge of his mask, slowly lifting it just enough for his mouth to show, his mandibles spreading open for you.

You blinked at the sight of him opening his mouth.

And somehow, even more unexpected than that, was the fact you were about to feed him. As if this was something normal between you. Something that had always been waiting to happen.

You had fought together. Bled together. Nearly died together.

But you had never shared something as simple as food.

You took a small breath, suddenly aware of how close you were standing to him. As if sensing your hesitation, his hand rose and wrapped gently around your wrist, guiding your hand closer to his mouth. Your fingers slipped carefully between his parted mandibles as he opened them wider for you, and then his mouth opened too, revealing that serpent-like tongue.

No matter how many times you had seen his anatomy, studied it, worked around it as an extraterrestrial biologist, it still fascinated you beyond reason.

But this was different from the lab.

Back then, Keth’raal had been wounded, restrained, unconscious half the time.

Now he was letting you see him.

Letting you touch him.

You slowly pushed the grape between his teeth before his mouth closed around it. Your fingers began retreating carefully, but halfway through, you changed your mind.

Instead, your hand settled lightly beneath his mandibles, fingertips resting against his chin. Your thumb brushed once, twice, over the cold texture of his skin before you finally pulled away completely.

A low sound rumbled through his chest as he chewed, soft and deep, almost like a hum.

Your eyes lit up instantly.

You recognised that sound.

Approval.

“Good?” you asked with a grin.

He pulled his mask back down immediately afterward, tilting his head at you.

“Was it good?” you repeated.

He stared at you for a second before nodding once.

“It’s tolerable.”

You burst into a quiet laugh, almost certain he had probably tried grapes before and disliked them, but couldn’t bring himself to refuse you.

“You don’t have to try things if you don’t want to” you said, turning back toward the stove.

“I want to.”

Even through the distortion of the mask, the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable.

You were humming a soft melody now, a song you didn’t even recognise and you felt truly at ease. The safety of your home wrapped around you, becoming warmer by Keth’raal’s presence nearby.

Then his voice broke the silence.

“Why here?” He asked, still watching you as you moved around the kitchen.

You let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “That’s a good question, but I might disappoint you.” The memory felt strangely distant, even though it had only been two years. “After we escaped the lab, I ran straight to the airport. I didn’t even have clothes with me, just the ones on my back. The first flight on the board was this one, so I took it. No real plan. I just needed to get as far away from that place as possible.”

“It’s quiet here,” he said, voice low through the vocoder. “It suits you better.”

“I kind of miss the chaos of the city sometimes,” you admitted with a small shrug.

“I can take you there,” he offered without hesitation.

You clicked your tongue in gentle refusal. “I’m not going back.” You smiled, but there was no humor in it.

You really meant every word. You would never return to that life. Not while this quiet, remote island kept you safe from the world that had once tried to destroy you both.

This place, far from everything, had become your sanctuary.

You would only step back into noise and crowds again if it was for his safety.

“You need help with that?”

His voice came from behind the mask as you shook your head immediately, still struggling with the can in your hands.

You had learned to adjust to little things like this over the years. Since your left hand never healed properly, you couldn’t fully close it anymore, so even simple tasks sometimes turned awkward and frustrating.

But Keth’raal hadn’t questioned it once.

Not a single pitying look. Not even curiosity.

As if he didn’t see it as weakness at all.

Only an injury earned surviving beside him.

He had offered to help once and when you refused, he respected it without pressing further.

“It didn’t heal all the way,” you said casually, still working at the can. “I can’t fully close it anymore, but honestly? That’s a pretty small price considering your injuries.”

His posture shifted slightly against the wall.

“Did it hurt?”

The question caught you so off guard you almost laughed.

An alien built like a tank, with battle scars all over his body, asking about your pain.

“Like hell,” you scoffed softly, finally managing to open the can before reaching for another grape and tossing it into your mouth.

“But I couldn’t stand the thought of you bleeding to death. I mean—” you gestured vaguely with one hand, almost laughing at yourself. “Are you kidding me? I’d go through that pain again if it meant you survived.”

Silence followed for a second.

“You are too selfless.”

The vocoder sounded unusually serious this time. Lower somehow. Heavier than before.

You shook your head quickly.

“I don’t feel selfless. I just acted on instinct.” You glanced back at him with a small smile. “You would have done the same for me.”

You turned back toward the stove, completely unaware of how deeply that smile settled into him.

“You were ready to get captured again if it meant not leaving me behind,” you murmured after a moment, quieter now as the memories resurfaced. “Talking about selfless.”

“I was selfish back then,” he corrected immediately. “I did not listen to you. I was stubborn.”

A soft laugh escaped you.

“I was stubborn too.”

Your movements slowed as the memory hit harder this time. The final shove forcing him out of the lab while you trapped yourself behind instead.

“You were.”

His voice came closer now.

Closer than before.

But you didn’t turn around.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked quietly.

And honestly, you weren’t even sure what you meant anymore.

Mad because you forced him to leave?

Mad because you never found him afterward?

Or because fear had kept you frozen for far too long?

You didn’t even know yourself.

“I was.”

His voice came from right behind you now.

You felt the change in the air before you felt him, the coldness of his body somehow making the space around you warmer instead, charged like live wires stretched too tightly.

“For the first hour.”

His longer dreadlocks slipped over your shoulders as his head lowered, resting carefully against the crook of your neck.

Heavy. Helmeted. And somehow still careful, touching you with just enough weight to remind you he was there without ever truly pressing down on you.

Maybe everything about Keth’raal was softer than he wanted the universe to believe.

Or maybe you simply could not see him any other way anymore.

“What happened after the first hour?” you asked quietly, remaining perfectly still beneath him.

You barely even breathed.

One wrong movement and the moment might break apart completely. He might retreat again, hide behind silence the way he always did when he felt you hesitating.

A low sound rumbled from deep inside his chest, thoughtful and rough, something instinctive in his language before the translator could catch up.

“I was…” another growl-like hum vibrated against your shoulder, “…devastated.”

This time you heard the word beneath the vocoder too, his real voice slipping through the helmet from how close he was. Deep. Guttural. Honest enough to make your chest ache.

His hands settled on the counter beside yours, caging you, his chest pressed carefully against your back as if he was still learning how much of his weight you could carry.

And when you finally breathed again after holding it for far too long, you felt him exhale too.

The tension slowly left his body, his shoulders easing as he let himself lean against you properly now, almost like exhaustion had finally caught up to him the second he realised you were truly here.

His breath warmed the space near your ear.

One of his hands flexed against the counter before relaxing again, restless fingers curling as though he wanted to touch you, hold you, make sure you were real.

“Keth…” His name left your mouth softer than you intended.

You wanted to say something else.

Anything else.

But the words dissolved before reaching your tongue.

His hand made of metal and artificial flesh rose first, gripping the edge of his helmet before slowly pushing it upward just enough to expose his mouth. His mandibles spread open in silence and your eyes fluttered shut instantly, nervously.

You felt the brush of his mandibles against the crook of your neck.

Your head tilted slightly, giving him more room without even thinking about it.

The moment you felt a talon hook beneath the collar of your shirt, dragging the fabric lower to expose your shoulder, a shiver ran violently down your spine.

Cotton gave way beneath the sharp edge of his claw with a soft rip.

He didn’t stop until your shoulder was fully bare beneath him, exposed, sensitive.

And then nothing.

No sudden movement.

No aggression.

Just the feeling of his unmasked face resting there against your skin.

Cold skin brushing yours carefully.

Feeling you.

You heard him inhale deeply against your shoulder, the sound dragging straight through your nervous system.

Your jaw clenched immediately, forcing yourself silent before any sound escaped that you wouldn’t be able to explain afterward.

His hand settled on the counter beside yours, close enough that the heat of his palm traveled over your skin. His mouth hovered just above the curve of your neck, breath ghosting warm across flushed skin. Even though his body ran cooler than a human’s, the sheer presence of him wrapped around you like a furnace. Or perhaps it was only your own temperature rising, blood rushing hot beneath your skin in a dizzying fever.

You couldn’t see him. That alone made the moment feel like one of the half-remembered dreams that had haunted you for two years.

His voice, his touch, the solid wall of his chest at your back, but never his face. The image of him had blurred with time. Yet this was real. He was here, his claws shredding the front of your shirt open, inhaling your scent like a predator savoring prey he had no intention of harming.

You tried to turn, desperate to look at him, to convince yourself he wasn’t another cruel dream.

But his bionic hand rose swiftly, the synthetic skin warm and startlingly lifelike as it covered your eyes. You shivered and obeyed, lashes fluttering shut and with your sight stolen, every other sense sharpened. The slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint metallic scent of his armor, the low thrum of his breathing through the vocoder.

“If you look at me with those eyes…” the vocoder murmured softly, “I do not know what I will do.”

Your breath faltered.

Only then did you realise he must have lowered the mask again just enough to tell you that himself. Not through distance. Not safely hidden away in his native language.

Close enough for you to understand he was struggling to get the words out.

“What do you want to do?” you whispered, barely audible.

His free hand slid over yours on the counter, claws barely grazing your skin while the artificial hand continued shielding your eyes.

A low sound vibrated in his chest before the translator finally caught up. “No language I know can describe it.”

Beneath the translator’s flat tone, you caught the real sound of him, rich, guttural, layered with clicks and that rough accent that made your stomach flutter. You almost smiled.

“Your voice has changed,” you murmured.

“You sound… older.”

“I am older,” he answered, matter-of-fact, yet the low rumble of it felt almost suggestive against your ear.

You swallowed. “What did two years change for you?”

Instead of answering immediately, he lifted your hand from the counter and guided it upward. Your fingertips brushed the thick, rubbery dreadlocks that framed his head. You caught one gently between your fingers, stroking the strange, smooth texture.

“What didn’t change,” he said, voice dropping lower, “is how desperately I wanted to see you again.”

Your smile faltered. Heat flooded your cheeks, a deep, embarrassed flush that spread down your throat and across your chest. You took a small, shaky step backward, pressing yourself fully against the hard plane of his torso, letting his slow breaths guide your own breathing. His hand remained over your eyes, protective, possessive and just a little teasing as his thumb brushed lightly over your temple.

How could he admit something like that so easily? After two whole years apart, how could he lay his heart bare without a trace of reluctance?

Then again… this was Keth’raal. He wasn’t just a tease. He was the most brutally honest being you had ever known. Once something took root in his mind, he pursued it with the focus of a hunter who had already marked his prey. Unapologetic. Assertive. When he wanted something, he claimed it.

“You’re here now,” you breathed, voice small and trembling.

His bionic palm slowly lifted from your eyes. You wondered what he would do next, but you never expected what actually came.

His hand slid down, talons grazing over your throat before his fingers wrapped around it with soft pressure. His thumb settled over the front of your throat, right where your pulse beat wildly.

“Say that again,” he whispered, voice rough and low. The translator barely masked the desperate click beneath it, the begging tone of his voice. And when you stayed silent a second too long, his thumb pressed a little firmer, coaxing.

“Na’kai.”

You swallowed against his palm. “You’re… here now.”

The moment the words left you, his thumb stroked slowly over your throat, savoring the vibration of your voice against his skin. A deep, rolling purr rumbled from his chest, followed by a series of soft, satisfied clicks right beside your ear.

“Keth’raal,” you whispered, your own hand drifting up to cover his. Your fingers traced over his knuckles, then higher, until they found the cool steel of his mask. Your nails dragged down the metal with a slow, scraping screech that made his grip tighten for a second.

“Again,” he demanded softly, hips moving forward in a slow, impulsive roll against your back. The movement pressed you more firmly between his body and the counter, an invisible and undeniable pull drawing you together.

You closed your eyes on purpose this time, surrendering completely to sensation. His heavy breath hissed through the mask. His dreadlocks brushed and tickled across your bare shoulders. The heat of his torso burned against your back and the firm press of his hips made your thoughts scatter. You said his name again, slower, letting the vibration of your throat caress his palm like a secret you had decided to share only with him.

You could feel the war inside him, the desire to keep you trapped like this, safe between his chest and the counter, your voice singing against his hand forever. His thumb brushed one last time along your throat before he finally released you, claws trailing lightly down your collarbone.

But beneath the heat of the moment lingered a heavier tension, one you weren’t ready to face. Not yet.

What could possibly exist between a human and a Yautja? Was something like sex even possible? How would your bodies fit? And if you tried, how would he—

A loud crack from the living room stopped your spiraling thoughts.

Keth’raal’s shoulder cannon was already tracking the sound, red lasers cutting through the darkness. He didn’t speak. He simply stood there, ready and lethal as always.

You turned back to the kitchen counter, heart hammering against your ribs. The ghost of his body still clung to you, his solid chest at your back, the low click of his mandibles, the possessive weight of his hand wrapped around your throat as he drank in every vibration of your voice.

Swallowing hard, you picked up the knife and tried to focus on the vegetables, but your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

His heavy footsteps moved away, giving you space. You heard him lean against the far wall, arms folded across his broad chest as he watched you again.

“What is that thing wandering around your home?” The vocoder made his voice sound dry, almost skeptical.

You kept your eyes on the cutting board.

“What thing?”

“That black thing.” He lifted a clawed hand, pointing toward the shadows in the living room.

“That’s Ke—”

The word died in your throat before you turned back toward the counter and resumed mutilating the poor lettuce for what had to be the tenth time.

“Ke?” Keth’raal echoed, the single syllable low and curious.

“Kelly!” you blurted, forcing a bright, fake laugh. “Her name is Kelly.”

You could feel his gaze burning into you and you knew—knew—that damn biomask was feeding him every spike in your heart rate, every degree of the blush crawling across your skin.

You prayed he wouldn’t connect the dots.

“What is Kelly?” his voice asked through the vocoder.

And somehow, despite your spiraling panic over almost revealing you had named your cat after him (well, after “Keth”) the innocent question caught you so off guard your panic subdued immediately.

A laugh escaped you for real this time.

“She’s a cat,” you said, finally turning to face him with a shy smile. “A small Earth mammal. She lives with me.”

And you didn’t notice.

How could you? Your back was turned as you finished plating your food, completely unaware of the way Keth’raal’s clawed fist rose and struck his own chest once, hard, as if trying to punish his heart for pounding too fiercely against his ribs. The smile you had given him had hit his insides harder than any blade he had ever faced. He would remember that moment long after you forgot it.

“And why do you keep the mammal around?” he asked as you carried your plate to the table. “Does it protect you?”

“No,” you replied softly, setting the plate down. “She’s just for company. Humans get lonely quickly.”

“You were lonely?” Keth’raal asked as you sat down at the table.

The already-torn shirt he had ripped open earlier slipped further, exposing the curve of your shoulder and the top of your chest. You yanked the fabric back into place quickly, but Keth’raal’s gaze never left you.

You risked a quick glance at him before dropping your eyes to your plate again.

“Were you?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Lonely?”

He gave a small nod, his dreadlocks barely shifting with the motion.

Your stomach twisted into a tight knot.

You pushed the plate away and stood, drifting toward the couch in the living room. You didn’t need to ask him to follow, his footsteps were already right behind you, obedient and inevitable.

He surprised you by sinking to his knees in front of the couch, bringing the two of you eye to eye. At this height, he didn’t feel quite so overwhelming.

“How did you manage?” you asked quietly.

“I didn’t,” he admitted, voice low and steady through the mask. “I simply kept moving. Fighting whatever stood between me and returning to you.”

Your chest ached at the sincerity. You reached out, fingers threading gently into his thick, rubbery dreadlocks, pulling him a little closer. He leaned into your touch without resistance, a soft purr rumbling in his throat.

“Are you in trouble?” you asked, concern painting your words.

Another quiet purr.

Yes.

“I won’t bring trouble to your door,” he promised.

“I don’t care if you do,” you answered quickly. Your hand slid down to his chin, gently lifting his masked face so you could look straight into the dark voids of his mask. “I don’t care… as long as you’re here.”

The moment stretched, fragile, tender, until your stomach gave a loud, embarrassing growl.

Keth’raal tilted his head. Without a word, he rose to his full height, retrieved your plate from the table and returned. He knelt once more, offering it to you with a small nod, silently urging you to eat.

He was adorable in ways no one would ever believe, naive in his curiosity, yet impossibly sharp. Lethal beyond measure and still so gently protective. Keth’raal was a walking paradox and you wouldn’t have him any other way.

He watched you eat, head tilting one way every time you lifted the fork to your mouth, then the other when you swallowed. You didn’t tell him to stop staring, even though the weight of his gaze made your cheeks warm. You understood that look. He was studying you the same way you loved studying him, trying to memorize every small habit, every tiny detail.

“How did you find your way back home?” you asked after swallowing another bite, your eyes lifting from your plate to meet the steady glow of his mask. This was the question you had carried for two long years.

Keth’raal gave a slow nod, silently encouraging you to keep eating as he answered. “After I recovered my ship. Its last recorded destination was my planet. I was meant to return there, right before the humans captured me.”

Your fork froze halfway to your mouth. A heavy wave of grief and guilt settled over your shoulders, pressing down on your chest. It wasn’t you who had taken him. You had been just as much of a prisoner in that lab as he was. Still, in this moment, you felt the full weight of humanity’s sins resting on you alone.

“Why didn’t they accept you back home?” you asked, your voice dropping softer on the next question. “What about your brothers?”

You weren’t sure if you were allowed to ask about his family. You wanted to respect whatever invisible boundaries existed, even if he had never drawn any.

Keth’raal remained silent for a long moment. The vocoder crackled once and then fell quiet.

“My homeworld was eradicated,” he finally said. “A new King has seized control of our planets. I—”

The translator cut off. You blinked, realizing he had hesitated.

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, setting your plate aside. “You don’t have to talk about it—”

“If there is any being in this universe I wish to speak with,” he interrupted, “it’s you.”

Then, slowly, he lowered his head until it rested on your lap. Your eyes widened in shock. This was the first time you had ever seen Keth’raal look truly exhausted.

Not when you had fought xenomorphs together. Not when his arm had been severed. Not even when both of you had been bleeding out, clinging to life. None of those moments had left him bare like this.

But now, kneeling before you with his head heavy in your lap, the weight of years of loneliness and loss seemed to crash down on him all at once. His broad shoulders sagged. A deep, tired exhale left him, mandibles clicking faintly beneath the mask.

You placed your hands on his head without thinking, fingers sinking gently into his thick locks. You brushed through them slowly, until you found the nape of his neck. Your warm fingertips pressed against the cool skin there, right along the faint blue line you remembered from your time in the lab. You rubbed slow, soothing circles against the sensitive spot.

“I have no family left,” Keth’raal continued, voice quiet. “And those who survived no longer consider me one of their own. I wasn’t there to fight beside them. I was still trapped in that lab while my world burned.”

“I’m sorry…” The words left you in a broken whisper. The guilt settled heavy on your shoulders, humans had stolen his last chance to defend his home.

His head lifted slowly from your lap, dreadlocks sliding off your knees as he tilted his masked face toward you.

“It was never your fault—”

“But humans did this to you,” you insisted.

“You helped me escape. You saved my life, Na’kai.” His large hand rose, cold fingertips brushing your cheek, tracing the honored mark he had once given you. “You are not like the ones who captured me. You were as trapped as I was.”

Your throat tightened. “But now you have no home to return to…”

“I will find a new one.” The mechanical voice sounded softer somehow, almost tender.

“Half of my memories from those years are gone anyway. What remains… is mostly you.”

You glanced at him, then quickly looked down at your fidgeting hands. “How? We didn’t even know each other for that long.”

“I knew you,” he said quietly, echoing the confession he had made back in the lab. “I remember the hours you spent examining me. Talking to yourself. Taking samples. I was sedated, but not fully unconscious.”

You had been fascinated by him, his alien physiology, the striking power of his body, the silent strength in his eyes even when weakened.

Every day you had whispered apologies while drawing blood and tissue, watching him grow frailer under your hands.

Seeing him now, vibrant, powerful, muscles full and skin glowing with health, filled you with relief.

“I couldn’t understand your words,” he continued, “but you were always gentle. I never thanked you for that.”

“Don’t,” you breathed, shaking your head. “I spent every session apologizing for what I was doing to you. There’s nothing to thank me for.”

“Remember the days you weren’t assigned to me?” he asked. “Because I do. No one else was gentle. Only you.”

“Keth’raal…” His name left your lips like a plea.

“We are both here because of you,” he said firmly. His hand moved to your shoulder, pressing it gently until you finally met his gaze. “And I am grateful for that.”

You nodded, even though the guilt still sat like lead in your chest. No matter what he said, you weren’t sure you would ever fully forgive yourself for what you had done to him in that lab.

Keth’raal lowered himself back to the floor, kneeling in front of you once more. His large hand came to rest on your knee, feeling warm despite the coolness of his skin. For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, natural. You let out a long, slow breath and allowed your body to relax into the quiet you had dreamed about for two years, his presence beside you, his gentle nature no longer just a memory.

His fingers began to tap a slow, rhythmic pattern against your knee. You had no idea he was matching the beat of your heart, but he did. He always knew how to calm you down since the beginning.

“So… you didn’t have anyone back home?” you asked, avoiding his gaze by pretending your half-eaten salad was suddenly fascinating.

“You mean a mate?” he replied without hesitation, his masked eyes fixed on you, never letting you dodge.

You nodded, fidgeting with your fork.

“Is that what you mean, Na’kai?” he pressed, a clear tease in his tone.

“Why do you want me to say it if you already know?” you groaned, reaching out to push his face away in embarrassment.

“Because you react like this,” he said simply. “And I like it when the blood rises to your cheeks.”

Even without sweet words, the honesty made your heart jump inside your chest. He enjoyed your shyness. After years of survival and violence, your softness must have been something entirely new to him and it did make you feel special.

“Did you have a mate or not?” you asked, faking an exaggerated sigh before stuffing another bite of salad into your mouth.

“I don’t remember,” he answered. “But I wasn’t blooded when I was captured, so I assume not”

“And what about those two years you were travelling—”

“Surviving,” he corrected.

“Right, sorry. Surviving.” You set your fork down, food completely forgotten now.

“What about those years?” he asked, even though you were almost certain he already knew exactly what you were asking.

You kept your eyes fixed stubbornly on your plate. “Did you meet anyone?”

A soft clicking sound came from beneath the mask, almost amused.

“I did not have time to bond with anyone.”

“Oh.”

“Nor did I want to.”

Your fingers tightened around your fork.

“Oh,” you repeated quieter this time.

Keth’raal’s mask tilted. “Where is your mate, then?” He made a show of looking around the room before his mask’s eyes returned to you.

One of the mask’s lenses flashed white for a second, almost like a wink.

You stared at him. “Did you just wink at me?”

“No.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I am asking a question.”

You snorted despite yourself, shaking your head before mumbling, “Relationships are complicated these days. Who has time for that?”

But he clearly wasn’t satisfied with your answer.

“So you didn’t bond with any humans?” he pressed.

“I went on a couple of dates, but—”

“Dates?” He rose from the floor in one fluid motion and settled onto the couch beside you.

“Yeah, it’s when two people go out to see if they match—”

“Did you match with any of them?” His voice dropped lower as he tugged you toward him. Your torn shirt slipped again under the pull of his hand.

“They were… nice—” you started, but the words vanished as his fingers caught the edge of the ripped fabric and lifted it higher.

“Nice?” he echoed, the single word sounding dangerously unimpressed. Before you could protest, he pulled you smoothly onto his lap, your legs curling against your chest as his massive arms caged you against him.

“Yeah, they were okay,” you shrugged, fingers

finding one of his dreadlocks and rubbing the thick, rubbery tip. “But they didn’t have… that something I was looking for.”

A low rumble started in his chest before he quickly silenced it, pretending nothing had happened. But you noticed. The way his body tensed beneath you, the subtle change in his breathing. And you were surprised by how much you enjoyed this side of him.

“They weren’t tall enough,” you added.

Keth’raal tilted his head. “But you’re rather small—”

“I like them massively tall, okay?” you interrupted, faking annoyance even as a smile tugged at your lips. He still wasn’t catching the very obvious hint.

“And they were too… soft.”

“Soft?” He sounded genuinely confused. “Are you not all soft? You’re hu—”

Realization hit him mid-sentence. The vocoder couldn’t hide the knowing click that followed.

“You like them rough-skinned,” he murmured, tilting his head to press the side of his mask against your cheek. You burst into quiet giggles as he continued, “And tall.” His fingers pressed lightly into your ribs, making you squirm. “Maybe even green?”

A deep, thrumming purr rolled through his chest, the Yautja equivalent of a chuckle. In one smooth motion he dropped you onto the couch, your back hitting the cushions as he climbed over you. The furniture groaned under his weight. He caged you between his powerful forearms, dreadlocks falling around your face like a dark waterfall.

You nodded, biting your lip to hold back a grin.

“Hmm…” The low sound vibrated through him as he stared down at you. “Where are you going to find a mate like that?” he teased. “I don’t see anyone on Earth who matches your… specific preferences.”

“I don’t mind if they’re not from Earth,” you said, smiling up at him sweetly.

“You are a very open-minded human,” he replied, nodding slowly. His clawed hand rose to cradle your cheek, a talon grazing your skin.

“Do you have anyone in mind you could introduce me to?” you smirked, tugging on two of his dreadlocks.

Keth’raal lowered his body instantly, pressing you deeper into the cushions. His mask hovered inches from your face.

“You shouldn’t play with a Yautja’s locks,” he warned, voice dropping into a rougher tone.

“Why not?” you asked, surprising yourself with your boldness.

“Because,” he murmured, bumping his mask gently against your forehead, “I can feel everything.”

Your hands froze.

You knew his dreadlocks were sensitive, but you hadn’t fully understood until now. The way his breathing grew heavier above you, rougher, more strained, made the realization sink in. Every touch had affected him far more than he let on.

You released his locks immediately. He exhaled sharply, as if you had been holding his very life in your palms.

Slowly, his forehead dropped to your shoulder, his massive body enveloping you completely. His arms and legs caged you on the couch, yet instead of feeling trapped, you felt safe. Exactly where you wanted to be.

“Where is your hair ring?” you asked softly, remembering the single ornate bead he used to wear on one of his locks.

He lifted his head, bringing you eye to eye with the dark voids of his mask. “I took it off after my clan rejected me. But I keep it safe.”

“It was your only memento,” you murmured. In the back of your mind, a quiet thought started forming. Maybe I could give him a new one. Something to come back to. Someone to belong to.

He didn’t belong on Earth… but perhaps he could belong with you.

The thought made your heart miss a beat. What are you even thinking?

“Can I…?” you whispered, hands rising hesitantly toward his mask. Your fingers curled around the edges. The lenses flashed red for a brief second , startled, before you gently lifted it away.

The mask dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

Without it, his mandibles flexed and parted, the vibrant green of his eyes finding you. They were stunning up close, intense and strangely vulnerable as they searched yours. You whispered his name and his eyes fluttered shut. A soft series of clicks escaped him as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Da’to thwei,” he rumbled in his native tongue, the words low and intimate. His hands cradled the back of your head, talons carefully threading through your hair as he rubbed his forehead gently against yours.

He seemed lighter without the mask. Freer. As if speaking without the translator’s barrier allowed him to finally breathe. His body relaxed fully against yours, native clicks and rumbles leaving him effortlessly.

“If you’re saying you missed me…” you murmured, unaware of the true weight of his words, “I missed you too.”

In his language, however, he had already claimed you. Completely.

“Can you stay longer?” you whispered. “There’s so much I want to tell you.”

But Keth’raal was already reaching for his mask.

“No, wait, please.” You caught his wrist. “I don’t have the courage to say this while you can understand me . I… I want you to stay. I want you to come back to me after every hunt. I want to be your—”

His hand moved quickly, pressing two fingers gently against your lips, silencing you. He slipped the helmet back on and shook his head, the red glow of his lenses steady on you.

“You’re not going to tell me what you just said, are you?”

“No,” you breathed, a small, shy smirk tugging at your lips. “Not yet.”

“Are you going to tell me what you whispered in Yautja earlier?” you continued.

“No.” He pulled you up from the couch with, your hands resting in his open palms.

“Then we’re even.” You smiled brightly up at him. His head tilted at the sight, as if wanting to commit this moment to his memory.

“You will tell me eventually,” he said, his thumb brushing beneath the scar on your cheek.

“You’ll have to come back to me if you want to find out.”

“Is that so, cunning human?” A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest.

You shrugged playfully, “don’t underestimate me. Humans evolved by outsmarting bigger predators like you.”

“So you’re tricking me into coming back?”

“Exactly.”

Keth’raal let out another amused click. “I would return even if you didn’t want me here. I need to check on the soft human—”

“Ow!” He feigned pain when you slapped his arm, rubbing the spot dramatically.

“Don’t talk down to a blooded warrior, Keth’raal.”

“My apologies,” he replied, the translator somehow making the words sound anything but sorry.

You plopped back onto the couch, crossing your legs and folding your arms.

“So you’re a marine biologist now?” Keth’raal asked, settling on the floor across from you. He mirrored your posture, head tilting slightly to the left in that familiar, curious way.

“How do you know?” You raised your eyebrows in mock surprise. “Were you stalking me?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Your robe has it written on it.” He smoothly avoided answering the stalking question.

You glanced at the white lab coat draped over the chair and muttered, “Right…”

Something hot erupted in your chest at the thought that he might have been watching over you these past two years, keeping his distance for your safety.

“I’m just a junior researcher,” you continued, “but I like it. It’s quieter. Safer.”

He nodded slowly, absorbing every word.

“I mostly work with marine mammals right now. Orcas, specifically.” You shifted on the couch, stretching your legs out with a soft sigh and leaning back against the armrest. The tension in your shoulders finally began to ease.

Keth’raal rose from the floor without a word. The couch creaked in protest as he sat at the far end, his big frame taking up most of the space. You started to pull your legs back to give him room, but his hand caught your ankle gently, tugging you toward him until your legs rested across his lap.

Your breath caught.

His large hand settled warmly on top of your thigh, his thumb brushing slow, absent circles against the fabric of your pants. You froze for only a moment before scooting closer. When his arm lifted in a quiet invitation, you leaned into his side, resting against the cold wall of his torso.

It felt almost too natural.

You knew Yautja weren’t like humans. They weren’t supposed to crave gentle touch or closeness the same way. And yet here he was, initiating the touch, pulling you closer, offering the exact comfort you hadn’t realized you had been starving for.

Or maybe… he needed it too.

He had always been proud, sometimes even arrogant about his strength and skill. But this was different. This wasn’t pride. This was quiet certainty. He knew you wanted to be closer. He could read every racing heartbeat, every change in your breathing and he gave you exactly what you needed without hesitation.

It was pure confidence.

And it made your stomach twist with something like pleasure. You bit the inside of your cheek hard, fighting the sudden, overwhelming urge to ask him to claim you the way only a Yautja could.

Your time in the lab had taught you far more about Yautja than most humans would ever know, their traditions, their rigid hierarchy, even the brutal reality of how they reproduced. That last part still made you nervous.

Yautja mating wasn’t simple or gentle. It was a ritual. The strongest were chosen and the much larger, more dominant females left scars on their mates, breaking their spines before carrying their children. Keth’raal had quietly admitted earlier that he had never been claimed. Never gone through that rite. Which meant…

He was untouched.

The realization sent a fresh wave of heat rushing to your face. The arrogant, reckless young hunter you had met in the lab had been all bluster and show. But this version of him, calmer, quieter, radiating confidence, felt entirely different. He wasn’t showing off anymore. He simply knew his worth. He knew what he wanted.

And he knew he could have you.

Keth’raal’s finger curled, the cool tip gently brushing your flushed cheek. His head tilted in silent question: Why are you blushing again?

You let out a nervous laugh and quickly changed the subject.

“You know, when I started here, I never expected to end up studying orcas,” you said, eyes fixed on your fidgeting fingers. “It felt like the universe was pulling a prank on me.”

His thumb kept tracing circles over your knee as he listened.

“Orcas are the apex predators of the ocean,” you continued.

His head tilted further. “You have a favorite?”

You blinked.

That was his question? Out of all questions?

“What if I do?” you asked, fighting back a grin.

“Tell me where this orca is—”

“I’m joking, Keth’raal,” you laughed, pressing your lips together to keep from bursting out. His masked gaze stayed locked on you, clearly expecting a real answer.

You reached out, resting your left hand on his broad chest. “I can’t communicate with them the same way I do with you,” you murmured, rubbing gentle circles over the hard plating as if trying to calm the heart you could feel beating faster beneath your palm.

You were fighting a losing battle with yourself, the urge to tease him just a little more, to push until you drew out those frustrated growls from under his mask.

You wanted to see the beast he kept so carefully leashed.

He stayed silent after that, still, as you continued rubbing your hand over his chest.

Yet his arm slid around your shoulders, his large hand stroking protectively down your arm while he searched for words.

“I have some books on orcas I could show you—” You started to pull away, but his grip on your arm tightened instantly, tugging you back against him.

You yelped, the sound quickly turning into a suppressed laugh as your lips twitched with a smile.

“Keth’raal…” you called softly.

No response. Not a tilt of his head, not a single click. He kept his gaze lowered, arm still wrapped around you like a steel band.

You whispered his name again, tapping his chest. When that earned you nothing, you decided to make a bolder attempt to get his attention. Lifting your legs from his lap, you turned and straddled him fully, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his massive thighs.

His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, as if he didn’t know whether he was allowed to touch you or not.

Your hands settled on his broad chest. Only then did the full weight of your compromising position hit you, sitting on his lap, straddling him like this, with nothing but thin fabric between you.

A nervous chuckle escaped you as you tried to climb off, terrified by your impulsiveness.

But before you could, his bionic hand caught your thigh, squeezing once, making you gasp.

“I thought—”

“Don’t leave,” he said, voice rough through the mask. His hand slid from your thigh to your lower back, claws grazing lightly over your clothes. Your already torn shirt slipped further down your shoulder and you quickly tugged it back up.

“Your face,” he murmured, his knuckles brushing your burning cheek. “It’s all red again.”

“It’s just… hot in here,” you exhaled, fanning yourself weakly.

“How do humans usually cool their skin?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious, though the way his other hand joined the first at your lower back, locking around you, felt far from innocent.

“Sweat… or by taking a shower,” you answered, slowly allowing yourself to sit fully on his lap despite the burn under your skin.

“How do you produce sweat quickly?” His thumbs stroked up and down your back, sending shivers across your spine.

“Exercise, mostly. If we move fast and long enough… we sweat.”

“Right…” he rumbled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then he finally lifted his head and looked straight at you.

And for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

Your eyes stayed locked on the dark voids of his mask, every sense heightened to the point of a meltdown. You were somehow still straddling his lap, your thighs spread wide and your backside pressed against his crotch. His body was solid and cool beneath you, pulling you in like a moth to freezing flame.

You couldn’t help yourself but imagine his arms locking around you, holding you while your mouth found the exposed skin of his neck, tongue tracing lines as he fought not to make a sound. Your heart hammered wildly in your chest, loud enough that you knew he could hear every beat. He could read you so easily, it was almost unfair.

You drew in a shaky breath and forced yourself to climb off his lap.

This is insane. He’s a Yautja. You don’t belong with him. A bond like this isn’t even possible… right?

He let you go without resistance this time. His hands slipped from your waist, leaving your skin colder than before. Only then did his chest begin to move again, as if he had been holding his breath the entire time you were pressed against him.

“Want to know why I chose marine biology?” you asked softly, offering him a small smile. You crawled a little closer and pressed a quick, shy kiss to his bicep before pulling back.

Keth’raal glanced down at the spot you had kissed, then lifted his head to stare at you.

“It was the closest thing to alien biology I could find,” you admitted, eyes dropping to his lap. “Something that… reminded me of you.”

A long second of silence passed, as if registering your words before he spoke.

“I kept your voice in my helmet’s audio log.”

Your mouth fell open, the sudden confession hitting you harder than anything you had just admitted. You stared at him, stunned into silence.

He kept recordings of me?

A series of soft, uncertain clicks escaped him. He looked down at his lap, almost… shyly.

You tried to speak, but no sound came out. Your mouth simply stayed parted, heart racing as the weight of his words settled over you.

He had kept your voice with him? This whole time?

Keth’raal drew in a deep breath, exhaling roughly through his mask. “We use recordings like that to lure prey,” he admitted, almost to himself. “But I kept yours. I listened to it… sometimes.”

He didn’t elaborate further. He didn’t need to really. The honesty behind the words was enough to steal the air from your lungs. You had a thousand questions, when had he recorded you? How often did he listen? Why did he listen… but you didn’t push. Not tonight.

“It gets lonely,” he continued, his voice quieter “when the whole galaxy is hunting you.” His arm slid behind your back, fingers splaying possessively over your waist as he pulled you closer.

“Can I hear it?” you asked, settling against him.

He let out a short, rough sound, almost a scoff, clearly amused and shook his head.

“Maybe some other time.”

“So there will be another time,” you teased, tilting your head. “What is this? Are you trying to convince me to see you again?”

“As if I need to convince you.” He lowered his head until his masked forehead rested against yours. “I still have things to settle on your planet.”

“Mmm? Like what?” you murmured, hands instinctively rising to cradle the sides of his head, pressing your forehead firmly to his.

“Much more… urgent things.” His actual voice bled through the mask, rough and strained.

He pushed you back slowly until your spine met the couch cushions for the second time tonight, his massive frame hovering over you. His hands captured your wrists, pinning them above your head.

Well… that was a first.

His dominance was smooth yet quiet, making you melt under him.

“So you missed me so much,” he rumbled, amusement clear even through the translator, “that you started studying something that reminded you of me?”

“Roughly,” you countered, biting back a smile. “Nothing compares to real alien biology. It’s one of a kind.”

A deep chuckle vibrated through his chest. “We are one of a kind.”

“You think you’re special?” you challenged, tugging at your wrists just to be difficult.

He held them firmly above your head with one hand, pressing you deeper into the couch. “Am I not?”

“You’re more arrogant than I remember,” you huffed.

“Or maybe I simply know what I mean to you now.” His voice dropped lower, with that calm, unshakable confidence.

“You can’t possibly know,” you protested. “I’ve never told you.”

“Even without the translator, I would still know how you feel about me.”

Your heart pounded hard once before it went back to normal. “And how do you feel about me?”

Keth’raal’s head dipped closer, his masked face hovering just above yours. As he leaned in, the braided necklace around his neck slipped free from the edge of his armor. The emerald green stone swung gently between you, catching the lamplight and gleaming with a soft, inner glow. It looked strangely… earthly. You weren’t sure if it actually was, but the color and polish made you curious.

He didn’t bother tucking it back. Both his hands were occupied pinning your wrists and he clearly had no intention of letting you go.

His broad chest pressed heavier against yours as he let out a slow breath, the cool stone now brushing lightly against your sternum with every small movement.

This was it.

After two years of waiting, of wondering, of aching, this was the moment you had been waiting for.

How do you feel about me?

But then his gauntlet shattered the moment with a loud, insistent beep.

You gasped before you realised, Keth’raal was already on his feet, lifting you with him as though you weighed nothing. His arms wrapped around you, crushing you against his chest in a needy embrace. He rested his helmeted head atop yours, whispering a low apology that vibrated through you.

Before you could speak, he lifted his mask just enough to expose his mandibles. He guided your hand upward, pressing your palm between them. His hot breath ghosted over your skin as he inhaled your scent deeply.

The intimacy of it had you staring because this wasn’t just a gesture. It felt like a kiss. An actual one. The one you would read on old fairytales where the knight presses his lips to a royalty’s hand to show his devotion.

Your skin burned where he breathed you in and just as quickly, he lowered the mask again. His hands rose to cradle your face, thumbs stroking tenderly beneath your eyes as if memorizing every detail. You didn’t need to ask if he had to leave. It was written in every urgent movement, every silent apology.

Your eyes stung, your throat tightened as you desperately tried to hold onto the moment, the way he felt, the faint tremble in his hands as he fought not to hold you too hard, the rough exhale that sounded like it physically hurt him to let you go.

“Keep this for me,” he said quietly.

He reached behind his neck and tore off the braided cord with a single sudden tug. The emerald stone dangled from it and when you opened your palm, he didn’t drop it there. Instead, he pressed his closed fist against your chest, right over your heart. Only then did he slowly open his fingers, letting the necklace settle against you.

It didn’t feel like a simple gift. It was heavier than that. Deeper. More like a promise. A piece of him he was leaving behind for you to guard.

You covered his fist with your hand, holding it there against your heart.

And then he was gone.

Months passed before you saw him again.

And when he finally returned… it felt like the last time you ever would.

a/n: it’s always so lovely coming back to you guys, hope this one compensates for my absence 💚 I’d love to hear your thoughts on this cute little chapter! Also Keth’raal acting all jealous wasn’t in my plans but I just love imagining him all grumpy and bothered because of his feelings 😳 and the way he held mc’s throat to hear the vibrations of their voice??? still not over 🫣)

Leonardo Hamato was going to be the death of you.

When you first applied for this job, you had no idea exactly how it would play out. Oh, did you quickly learn.

Leonardo, brother of Donatello Hamato, CEO of Genius Built, was head of the Marketing Department. With his silver tongue, he oozed charisma and charm, setting up important meetings and closing business deals. He was the obvious choice for such a role. He was also downright full of himself, cocky as all hell, self-serving—most of the time—and completely insufferable.

You swore he sometimes tried to make your life more difficult, and that man never missed a shot.

Calling you at midnight because he couldn’t find his favourite shirt? You knew exactly where it was. Covering up the latest scandal he’d gotten himself into? You had the legal team on speed dial. Even completely ridiculous requests, such as finding this very specific brand of sparkling water. You’d had to go to three stores to find it, but you did—you did it all, and through it all, you wondered how in the heck someone like him was in such a highly respected position.

The thing about Leo, or Leon, as he preferred to be called, was that despite his carefree attitude and unrestrained nature, he was entirely competent when he wanted to be, scarily so. He did the job, and he did it well. Genius Built had skyrocketed in popularity under his leadership, and you couldn’t begrudge him for that.

You could, however, begrudge him for the number of women this man seemed to rake in. It seemed like every other week there was someone new. Girlfriends never lasted long with him. As soon as it came time for him to commit, he’d bail. There had been at least ten women (that you’d seen) in the year since you’d come to work for him—not that you were counting, because of course you weren’t. You’d rather not know at all, but he had no qualms about showing off how ‘popular’ he was

The man may have been a mutant turtle, but he was devastatingly handsome, and he knew it. Charm and good looks were his tools of the trade, and very few people were immune to his beguiling ways.

Not you, though. When you first got hired, he’d tried, just like Flynn Rider with the smoulder. Leon had tried flirtatiously sidling up next to you with promises of wining and dining you so the two of you could ‘get to know each other better’.

You shut that down immediately. You were there to work, and fraternizing with your boss was a complete faux pas. At first, you were offended that he’d even tried that with you. It took a few serious conversations for him to finally concede that he might be wrong. To his credit, there were no further attempts at ‘seduction’ from that moment forward.

He still infuriated you on a daily basis, though. Not only did you have your daily tasks, but you were also essentially babysitting a grown-ass man who somehow was stumbling his way through life in a very prestigious position.

For the most part, you were content with your work despite his ridiculous demands. It was temporary, after all.

This job was meant to be a stepping stone for you anyway. You were trying to climb the corporate ladder to a position of power and respect. You were a highly educated woman, and it was not your life’s dream to be an assistant to the one Leonardo Hamato.

You had no idea how much he admired you.

*****

Leonardo liked comfort and familiarity. Once he became comfortable with something, he wanted to hold on to it and never let it go. Not the most rational notion, but after the complete chaos of events leading up to and following the attack on the city, he needed something that did not require him to think too much.

You were an enigma, challenging him in ways he hadn’t expected. He was actually ashamed of himself for how he’d acted on that first week you were hired. Very quickly, he’d learned that you were not going to take any shit, especially from him.

…And he loved that about you.

But he knew your opinion of him wasn’t the greatest, so he did what he did best: he deflected, threw himself into his distractions, which more often than not happened to be other women.

It wasn’t his intention to have you believing he was a complete rake; it was easier for him to cast his mind to thoughts of you while being in the arms of another.

While he did occasionally send you off on a mundane task once in a while, he preferred the ones that made you come to him, especially in the off-hours. He relished in creating interactions where the two of you could just talk, and he’d tell you anything if you so much as asked about it.

Currently, he was pacing about his large walk-in closet in nothing but his white button-down and a pair of black boxers. You should consider yourself lucky he was clothed; you’d seen him in far less. You were tasked with choosing the perfect tie for him to wear at the upcoming conference, in which the two of you would be in attendance. Secretly, he believed having you there would bring him luck in closing the deal with a few key individuals.

You were asking him about the recent gala where he’d served as the bartender, and you nearly dropped every single one of the ties you had lined up on your arm when he told you what he’d said to his brother and his potential new girlfriend.

“Sir, you didn’t!” you’d gasped, “in front of Donnie and his date?! You have a death wish, don’t you?”

Leon laughed, completely disregarding your question while plucking a tie from your arm and holding it up to his neck. “Is this one too green? I feel like it will deflect from my natural emerald, don’t you think?”

Sighing in quite the long-suffering way you did every time he said something stupid, you peered at him, examining his face for a moment. “Well…judging from the fact you don’t look bruised, I’m guessing Donnie didn’t maim you after that lovely comment.”

“Oh, come on, Chiquita, it was all in good fun! Ol’ Dontron knew I wasn’t actually aiming to steal his girl, I was just giving him a little push, and it worked, you should’ve seen how they danced.” For a moment, he waltzed himself around the room, humming to the classical tune that had been playing before stopping in front of you.

You quickly fought away your blush as he leaned in close for a moment.

“He was aiming to kiss her on that dance floor and would have if not for the speeches.”

His face was so close to yours you could feel the soft puff of his breath on your forehead, gently stirring up the fine hairs on your head that had managed to free themselves from your bun.

“And…they left together, and I know he stayed the night.”

Slowly, you drew back, coughing slightly from the awkward implication and bringing it back to your original point.

“Still, Sir, that is no excuse for what you said. Apologize to her.”

“It’s no big deal, she knew I wasn’t—”

You nearly whipped a tie at his face as you pursed your lips in annoyance. “You blatantly flirted with her, knowing that she was there with your brother, embarrassed her, and you're assuming she’s just fine with that? You'd better apologize, Leonardo Hamato.”

“Ooh, I like it when you get feisty…”

That comment earned him an eye roll and a disapproving click of your tongue. Much like a parent with their child, you fixed him with a pointed stare while crossing your arms expectantly. This was your superpower: he rarely listened to anyone, but he would listen to you.

“Fine! I’ll apologize…” he huffed. “Eventually,” he added quietly.

Nodding, you presented him with a blue tie, his favourite, and the one that went with everything. “This is the one. Pair with the grey, pinstriped suit.”

He beamed, taking it and placing it on the suit in question. “This is why I love ya.” He smirked, teasing you a bit.

You let out the faintest hint of a laugh as you reached to grab your purse and coat. “Will that be all for tonight, Sir?”

“…Yes.” Did you detect a hint of reluctance in his voice? “Thank you, and enjoy your weekend, do something fun for yourself.” Softly, he added, “You deserve it.”

With your back to him halfway to his door, you turned slightly and smiled, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Leon,” he corrected, though he knew you’d never call him anything but Sir as long as you kept the boss-and-personal-assistant dynamic. You’d drawn that line in the sand the minute you began working for him, but he still tried, hoping to hear his name on your lips. When he didn’t, he added, “Goodnight, mi querida.”

“…Goodnight.” You replied, softer this time, nodding before heading home to your apartment. Curse him for being infuriating one moment and sweet the next. He was still a complete rake, with enough scandals under his belt to make the National Enquirer blush. Another would seriously affect the company. No, you couldn’t allow yourself to be drawn in like those other women; you had more self-respect than that, and nothing was going to jeopardize your position at this company.

It was better to keep your head down. You could endure the Spanish terms of endearment and get the man his chai latte, not from the Starbucks directly across from the building, but from a locally owned coffee shop several blocks down the street, tucked neatly inside a little bookshop—a blink-and-you’d-miss-it place. You’d taken to leaving for work fifteen minutes early just to give yourself extra time to get his drink order from this place because Starbucks didn’t do it right.

Picky bastard, he was lucky you liked the extra walk and found the bookstore adorable. You’d gotten several good books from there as well.

When prompted, Leo would say he preferred supporting small business owners, which you did believe was true. Picky with a purpose, because you’d come to learn that behind every action appeared to be a well-thought-out plan. Some you still couldn’t verify, but with everything he did, there was some kind of ulterior motive.

It was as though he had a plan for every conceivable outcome. He liked to be prepared, taking everything into account before committing. He was the one who looked for all the possible ways to exit a room upon entering. At the same time, however, he could appear totally unhinged and nearly impossible to rein in. He was the very definition of "if he wanted to, he would."

There was so much more to Leonardo Hamato than what lay just below the surface, and though you didn’t know it yet, the walls were all about to come crashing down. A figurative tornado of emotions, ready to sweep you off your feet.

And it all began with an elevator.

*****

On top of being your daily pain in the ass, Leon Hamato was the self-proclaimed office prankster. Most of his pranks were juvenile annoyances, like unplugging all the USB sticks for the mice or taping air horns under their adjustable office chairs. No one was safe, especially not you, and anyone willing to retaliate by pranking him was praised. Leo loved being pranked almost as much as he enjoyed pranking others. Not from you, however, even though you were on the receiving end of many of them.

This particular day had begun with you fussing over his outfit and matching tie while scolding him yet again for pranking the Treasurer by swapping the ink cartridges in his fountain pens from blue to red. All those documents would need to be redone with the correct ink colour. He also encased your fob key in Jell-O. He knew it was your favourite flavour and probably assumed you could eat your way to it.

You and Leon were on your way to a board meeting a few floors up. The heads of the department were convening for the monthly debriefing to discuss how finances would be allocated over the next four weeks.

It wasn’t as if you had to accompany him; assistants were not required. However, in pure Leonardo fashion, he’d insisted on having you there with him. Since his twin brother was the CEO, he could pretty much get away with most things. His requests for a personal sauna for his office and the staffroom candy bar had been swiftly shot down, though.

When confronted about the fob key prank, he blew out a soft huff of air and shrugged. “Couldn’t have been me. What proof do you have?”

You gave him the most deadpan look you could manage. “I know it was you, no one else in the office knows blueberry Jell-O is my favourite.”

“You wound me, cariña,” he gasped, clutching his hand to his chest dramatically. “To think I would dare such a thing…it cuts me deeply.”

You were already pushing his dramatic ass into the elevator, ending his little display of amateur theatre with a sigh of exasperation. “Uh-huh, I feel so broken up at that notion. Now get in, or we’ll be late.”

This, he allowed you to do, straightening up once the doors closed and the elevator began moving.

“Aaaanyway, didja see that episode of So You Think You Can Dance?” He began rambling on about his favourite dances, seemingly completely unbothered, while crossing his arms behind his head as the elevator went up. He paced around, stumbling a bit on his black dress shoes, causing you to do your best to hide your smirk and soft snort of laughter.

“I saw that.” He smirked, presenting you with a particularly knowing grin, eyebrows raised, like a dog about to run for the stick that was about to be thrown.

“You saw nothing, Sir.” You replied, maintaining your composure as best you could.

“Uh huh…you think I’m funny, I knew it all along.” He chuckled to himself triumphantly.

Again, you rolled your eyes, giving him a small grin of your own. “Very well, Sir, considering slapstick is the lowest form of comedy, you’re hilarious.”

Although he didn’t say so, he loved it when you challenged him, craved it even. “Then I’ll just have to try a little harder,” He’d turned to you, looking down on you smugly, bringing his face a little closer to yours.

For a long moment, you held his gaze, a greenish-brown that was both warm and inviting. There was a certain softness in his eyes reserved only for you, and you feared you’d drown in them if you stayed a few seconds longer.

That was the exact moment you both felt the elevator stutter and stop completely with a jolt. In the shock of it all, you’d grabbed onto his upper arms while he laughed, resisting the urge to pull you closer to his chest.

The power had obviously been cut, leaving only the emergency lights on. Being the strategist he was, Leon was already assessing the situation as he gently patted your shoulders. “Calm, mi vida. It’s just a power outage. I’m sure they’ll fix it momentarily.”

“S-sorry, Sir,” you said, backing away from him, slightly embarrassed you’d reached for him at all.

“No need to apologize, it looks like we have some time to kill.” He was already removing his suit jacket and placing it on the elevator floor.

Assuming it was meant for him to sit down, you prepared to remain standing, unwilling to sit on the questionable floor of this elevator. “I suppose we do.” You crossed your arms and sighed softly to yourself. Given how long it could take to fix the elevator, standing for an indeterminate amount of time in your heels would not be a pleasant experience.

You jumped slightly as he cleared his throat. “For the lady, please sit.” He was gesturing like a gentleman, but, as with everything this man did, it was exaggerated to the point of being ridiculous, and your first inclination was to refuse out of pride for yourself.

“I’m fine.” You replied stiffly.

“Very well.” Shrugging, he sank to the floor beside his abandoned jacket. “Great view of your legs from here,” he noted casually, laughing when your hands found the edges of your skirt and your face coloured with a blush.

That asshole. You knew he wouldn’t stop until you listened to him, and you cursed yourself for the pencil skirt and blouse combo you’d chosen to wear that day. You groaned inwardly, carefully lowering yourself to the floor and gingerly settling on the smooth silk of the inner lining.

“That was easy,” he crossed his arms and leaned back in a more reclined position, settling in comfortably.

You didn’t note the way his eyes followed the curve of your soft thighs, and the way your skirt rode up just a little as you sat yourself down on his jacket. You’d busied yourself with getting as comfortable as you could while maintaining your professional demeanour.

After a few seconds of silence, you suddenly realized something in a moment of frustration. “Aren’t you a ninja? With powers? Can’t you get us out of here?”

That jerk just laughed, making no move to do anything. “…Mmmaybe, but I think it might be safer to wait it out.” Unbeknownst to you, he had an inkling that his twin was behind this, payback for the fact that he still hadn’t apologized for the gala yet. “I couldn’t very well ‘ninja my way out’ without taking off my suit anyway, and I don’t have my swords. You that eager to see me stripped down to my skivvies?”

“No,” you scoffed, muttering, having already seen him in such a state by accident in the past. “Some ninja you are.”

Leon didn’t respond, just remained completely unbothered while watching you with amusement.

“Great,” you groaned softly. “You’re definitely not making that meeting, and that’s going to push back your phone appointment, and then you have an interview…your lunch break will have to be pushed and—.”

“Whoa, whoa, be calm, querida, I’m the boss man, remember? I call the shots around here, and I say I’m indisposed for the next hour.” He relaxed again, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Very well…” You tapped the toe of your heel on the floor. “Now, what do we do?”

“We could talk.” He suggested, as if it were the most obvious choice. “You know, talking, the thing people do to get to know each other.”

“You know me.” You deflected, averting your gaze.

“Do I? All I really know is that you like blueberry jello and hate my pranks. You get this little grin when I make my appointments on time and the day’s events move in an orderly fashion. You also find me completely insufferable, and your nose scrunches up when you sass me.” He chuckled softly.

You tried not to outwardly sputter and turned to him slightly with a clear look of indignation on your features. “Because you are! You have no regard for your schedule; you just do whatever your little heart desires. You send me out on the most asinine errands and call me up at midnight for the dumbest reasons! And then there’s your personal life! I’ve had to call your legal team twice last month! Did you really need to be caught with the girlfriend of the CEO of our rival company in his limo?!”

Without meaning to, like a rubber band that had been stretched too tight, you’d snapped; you couldn’t stop yourself and poured out every last one of your frustrations as you were trapped in this stupid elevator with him.

“Sometimes I don’t even know why you hired me!” You’d crossed your arms and turned away again, cursing yourself silently. Now he was going to fire you, you idiot.

The elevator was uncomfortably silent for a minute or so until Leon started laughing, not just a chuckle but a full-on belly laugh, until he was practically crying. “That was great,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Do you feel better now?”

Once the shock wore off, you nodded. Strangely, you did feel better and released a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. “Yes, Sir…” pausing, you added, “I like…reading, I like that little bookstore you make me walk to every day for your chai latte. I like watching romantic movies and nerdy ones. I love reality shows like Dancing with the Stars and Nailed It. I have a cat named Bluebell, and prefer tea over coffee.” You shrugged slowly. “That’s the gist of it, happy?”

“Very.” He replied, grinning ear-to-ear, before leaning in close. “I feel very close to you right now.” Raising one eye-ridge flirtatiously, he continued. “I say we discuss this further, over dinner…happy ending guaranteed.”

This ass, you could smack him, “Sir!” You pushed gently on his chest while trying to hide your blush. “Please, that was not an invitation for…that.”

Pulling back, he rumbled out another laugh. “I know, querida, I was kidding.” Getting relaxed once again, he crossed one leg over the other before continuing. “And I am sorry, I don’t mean for you to always be the one to clean up my messes. I’ll do better.”

You peered suspiciously at him, looking for signs that he may be lying. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“You deserve it, and as for why I hired you? You’re the best.” He answered simply.

You hid your smile, nodding quietly. “Thank you, Sir.”

For the next forty-five-ish minutes, you talked, really talked. Leon was especially chatty, even letting certain things slip, making you privy to some of his innermost secrets. You’d had no idea the man had an affinity for romantic comedies—the cornier, the better. He now knew you liked watching them too—mostly because you enjoyed picking them apart and exposing obvious plotlines. It wasn’t just collecting Jupiter Jim memorabilia and bingeing those movies. Leon was a huge nerd in many ways.

“Don’t tell anyone, Chiquita, it could ruin my ‘impeccable’ reputation.” He said, placing a dramatic hand on his chest.

You snorted softly, rolling your eyes slightly, “Don’t worry, Sir. I’ll keep your ‘guilty pleasure’ under wraps.”

“This is why you’re the best.” He said it so easily, with confidence, expressing how much he appreciated you. Something within you began to soften. He really wasn’t as annoying as you’d originally thought.

You were so lost in conversation that he startled you by suddenly standing. “Yo, Donnie, I think you’ve had your fun. I’ll apologize, alright, I promise.”

The elevator abruptly began to move, still on its journey upward even though the meeting would’ve been concluded by now. Leo strolled on out like he owned the place, with you following close behind.

“Could you have said that at any time?!” you hissed.

“Yep, knew it was DonTron messing with me.” He was so nonchalant about it, heading to the boardroom to see his brother exiting. The two shared a knowing look, a silent understanding between the twins that you couldn’t decipher if you tried. Donnie handed him his notes, and that was it. He abruptly turned and handed them to you before heading back to the elevator.

“Welp, that’s that, a job well done!”

“B-bu—” you managed, quickly following after him. “That’s it?”

“Yep! Go ahead and take five.” He pushed the button and waited.

“O-okay, Sir.” You shuffled the papers in your hands and took a breath. Watching the numbers slowly illuminate floor by floor, the idea of taking the elevator suddenly became less than appealing. “Um, Sir?” You lightly tapped him, causing him to tilt his head down to look at you.

“Can we take the stairs?”

*****

Your head was pounding, and for once it wasn’t related to anything Leon had done. You were sick; your sinuses were sore, your nose was blocked, and your voice sounded unrecognizable because your vocal cords were red and swollen. You had already called in sick for the next few days and sent Leon your notes and the updates to his schedule. You told him specifically not to call you for anything; he either needed to be dying or the world ending.

He, for the most part, had been surprisingly respectful of your request. It seemed he recognized that you were genuinely ill and was giving you the time you needed to recover. It was nice… and yet you were still somewhat suspicious of how quiet he was being.

While sitting shivering on the couch, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, you sneezed, wincing as the action made you feel as though you were swallowing shards of glass. This sucked. You could barely muster the energy to feed yourself, and moving in any direction made your head feel worse.

A knock on your apartment door made you groan. “Please go away…” You murmured.

A moment later, you heard the door unlock and slowly open. Blearily, you wondered who could’ve had your key. You’d only given it to one close friend in the case of an emergency and…Leon. Oh, no.

“Sir?” You squeaked out, slowly turning your head to see that it was indeed him. After closing your door, he started making his way into your small kitchen.

“Don’t talk, no need to strain your voice,” he said, placing several bags on your counter.

Instead of heeding his request, you shifted slightly to see what he was doing. “You didn’t have to come…I’m fine…just gotta wait it out.”

“Querida, what kind of boss would I be if I knew my faithful assistant was gravely ill?” He was pulling out what appeared to be a thermos, a box of tea, and a jar of honey. From the other bag, he removed cold medication and lozenges.

“What is all that?”

Putting on his best Lou Jitsu impression, he gestured dramatically to the little silver thermos. “Hooot SOUP! Courtesy of Mikey.” He declared proudly. “Chicken noodle, homemade of course and just the thing for this nasty cold to go bye-bye.”

Before you could protest, the man was filling up one of your bowls and bringing it over to where you sat. He was surprisingly gentle as he placed the bowl in your hands, helping you adjust before asking, “You got it?” Maybe it was the fever making you delirious, but the way he spoke was creating all kinds of nice feelings in your belly.

“Got it, thank you…” You rasped, taking the spoon to your lips and blowing off the steam before giving it a taste. “Mm…” the soup was good, really good. Thankfully, you still retained this of your five senses so you could enjoy every spoonful.

Leon looked pleased once you had eaten the whole bowl. You declined the offer of a second bowl, so he made you a cup of tea instead. “Now, you know I don’t like to brag…” You snorted at this, “but this little blend is what I like to call: The Coldinator.” He added a tablespoon of honey to the cup and stirred. “Did I ever tell you about Dad’s rat flu? This tea was a lifesaver.”

He hadn’t, and you shook your head at him, giving him the go-ahead to begin a tale, the likes of which you’d never heard before. The tea was actually quite pleasant, the honey added a hint of sweetness and soothed your throat.

“Don’t worry, Donnie created a vaccine a long time ago.” He snorted softly. “Can you imagine the onslaught of chaos if that were ever to hit the general public?”

You shook your head, unwilling to speak any longer since it was far too painful. You winced again as even turning your head caused you pain, and you closed your eyes in discomfort.

Not only did Leon notice, but he was also immediately up, rifling through one of the bags for something else. Moments later, a pill and a glass of water were being carefully pushed into your hands. “Here. Take one of these, and then it’s time for you to sleep.”

You took it, realizing it was an Advil cold and sinus tablet and realized you’d need to go to the bathroom first before sleep.

Gingerly, you moved to stand, and quick as a flash, Leon was right there, helping you stand and dutifully walking you to the bathroom. Thankfully, he did let you handle that on your own, but stood like a sentry on the other side, waiting for you to come out. After finishing your business, you were helped into bed and tucked in at that. Your body was shivering again at the sudden change in temperature. Your warm blankets on the couch had been swapped with room-temperature sheets, and you whimpered softly as a cool hand was placed on your forehead.

“You’re burning up, querida…the medicine should help.”

All you could manage was a nonsensical reply as your body finally calmed and you closed your eyes. With sleep on the horizon, you began to drift off. You could have chalked it up to a fever dream, but you swore you felt the press of a soft pair of cool lips on your forehead just before sleep claimed you.

You were out like a light for the next eight hours.

As you woke, you still weren’t completely recovered—not like you’d be magically cured after one night, like in the cartoons—but you did feel slightly better, your headache wasn’t as bad, and you were able to pull yourself out of bed and wrap yourself in a fluffy blanket before shuffling into the hall.

You half-expected Leon to be gone, but what surprised you more than seeing him sleeping deeply on your couch was that your main room was spotless. Everything was so clean; the mess he’d made on your counter was gone. All the cold medicine had been gathered in a neat little pile, your dirty dishes had been cleaned, and there was a fresh teabag in your cup, with hot water in your kettle on the keep-warm setting.

Just as you were about to pour water into the cup, a quiet snort from the couch made you jump. Turning—slowly because you still had a slight headache—you saw your boss, limbs stretched out, one leg on the couch, and one leg off, with one of your throw blankets wrapped haphazardly around his middle. He was softly snoring and still dressed in his rumpled shirt. A few of the top buttons had come undone, revealing a peek of his sunny yellow plastron beneath. His turtle anatomy had always been a source of fascination to you, and aside from the occasional clothing mishap…you did not see much more than his face or hands on a daily basis.

It amused you that he and his brothers used to gallivant around the city practically naked when they were teens. Nowadays, clothes were their standard way of being as they lived their lives as citizens of New York. There was something quietly intimate about seeing him like this, vulnerable, and his rambling mouth quiet for once.

He was also murmuring in his sleep, and it suspiciously sounded like your name. What could he be dreaming about?

“Please, mi amor…please put me out of my misery…”

A slow smile crept across your face as you stopped to listen.

“You always stack the papers so nice…oops, dropped my pen, get it for me…bend over…just like that…your ass is so pretty…”

Your cheeks were aflame now. Was he serious?! A fantasy that involved you picking up his pen?! His sleep talking would just get more ridiculous as you continued to listen.

“Gimme a slice of that cake…you’re like a sexy Viennetta.”

This time, you nearly choked on your own spit, trying not to laugh when you saw one of his eyes slowly crack open. Quickly, you turned to go back into the kitchen, hiding your face as he slowly sat up, yawning.

“Hey…feeling better?”

“Yep!” You answered much too quickly. “I’m much better…” Your voice still had a decent rasp to it, but you at least felt less like you were dying.

“Good, now, sit, I’m making you breakfast.” He rose, giving his body a good stretch that had you sneaking a glance, and then he was shooing you out of your kitchen, ignoring your protests that you could do it yourself.

“B-but, Sir! Don’t you have…” You’d been effectively sent to timeout on your couch as you peeked at your phone, gasping softly. “You have a meeting in five minutes!”

“Not important,” he winked back, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. “They’ll just have to wait.” He was searching through your cupboards and exclaimed with a quiet ‘aha’ as he found what he was looking for. Your bag of quick oats hit the counter with a soft thud as he went to search for a measuring cup next.

You were trying to quell your anxiety. Although you appreciated him coming over to take care of you, it wasn’t as if you wanted him to jeopardize important shareholder meetings on your account.

“Calm, chiquita, I already rescheduled it.” It was as though he’d sensed your discomfort, highly aware of how much you disliked the schedule being deviated from.

“…Oh.” You relaxed a bit, not expecting him to actually think ahead.

“Don’t sound so surprised, I can take care of things if I need to.” He said, slowly stirring the oatmeal on the stove.

“Of course.” You answered quietly. There were a lot of thoughts swirling around in your head currently, as you wrapped the blankets more tightly around yourself.

Minutes later, he was presenting you with a bowl of oatmeal that he’d already added milk to and topped with a sprinkling of brown sugar. He sat with his own bowl nearby and watched you begin to eat.

“I will need to be going soon,” he said between bites. “I know, I know, don’t miss me too much,” he teased.

“I’ll be okay.” You promised, giving him a smile. “Fine by Monday.”

He was smiling as he finished off his bowl of oatmeal. “If you aren’t, let me know. I need my assistant to be in top shape. We have that conference coming up.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll be good for it.” You ate more slowly, relieved he’d gone with something easy to swallow.

The meal was finished quietly, and Leon did the dishes before straightening up and preparing to leave.

“Arrivederci,” he bid you farewell with a swooping bow and added in a more serious tone, “Please take care of yourself, mi querida.”

You caught his gaze, answering back in your own tone of no-nonsense. “I will, Sir.”

He departed after that, and you were left alone with your thoughts, time to process all that had just happened. What was happening? Why was he suddenly so... caring? After all, this was Leon — self-absorbed, arrogant, and a pain in your neck. The man who had just dropped everything to take care of you for the past twenty-four hours revealed a very different side of him, one you hadn’t known existed. Clearly, there were many more layers to him than you'd realized.

You were going to need to keep a closer eye on him.

*****

In the weeks following your recovery, you’d watched Leon for any other odd changes to his behaviour.  While not odd, per say, you did notice he’d been behaving himself and hadn’t done much to make your life more difficult; instead, he’d spent all of his time preparing for the business trip that was in a few days.

You’d been preparing for the trip as well. It wasn’t as though you could refuse, nor did you want to. The good behaviour had intrigued you, and you were curious to see how it played out on this business trip. In the past, he’d never really taken them seriously and always ended up stumbling back to his hotel room with some floozy on his arm. Somehow, he’d also managed to give his presentation perfectly, which infuriated you to some degree.

This time, it looked to be different, but you weren’t going to hold your breath.

The journey went smoothly enough. The flight was on time, you had first-class seats, and spent the better part of it with your nose buried in one of the books you’d brought with you. At one point, Leon had convinced you to watch a movie with him. It was another one of those cheesy romantic comedies, the type you could scoff at for how predictable it was. Like before, it became a sort of game with the two of you trying to successfully guess what would occur next.

From there, the cab ride to the hotel went relatively quickly. It was around 4pm, and you had the rest of the evening to prepare and rest up. Your room was clean with fresh, crisp sheets on the bed and the signature chocolate on the pillow. Leon’s room was right across the hall; he’d booked it that way on purpose, preferring to have you close just in case.

After freeing your top sheet and duvet from their tightly folded corners and toeing off your shoes, you’d flopped into bed and fell asleep minutes later.

A light tapping on your door roused you hours later, and you quietly made your way to the door, only to open it and see Leon with a tray in his hands.

“Evening, sleeping beauty, thought you could use some dinner.” His mouth quirked into a grin as he surveyed you. “Love the bedhead look, so chic, wish I had hair so I could replicate it.”

You blinked owlishly as you realized he was teasing you and chuckled softly. “I think you could pull it off.” Stepping back, you moved to let him set the tray on the table.

“Nah, tried it once, looked fabulous, but the hair was an evil kleptomaniac, which kinda put a damper on things.”

You decided not to question him further on that little tidbit of information and instead sat down to see what he brought you.

The smell was so good that it had your mouth watering instantly. It was a pasta dish, simple but delicious, with bowtie noodles in a creamy rose sauce, sliced chicken breast, and a triangle of garlic bread. You half-expected him to invite himself in to chat while you ate, but he didn’t. To your surprise, he left, citing the need to finish preparing for his presentation.

 What was going on?

The real test would come the following day, after he finished his presentation—he aced it, of course, despite some xenophobia during the question period—and you both had the rest of the evening free. Typically, you’d both have a few drinks. Leon would find a piece of eye candy to latch onto, while you would eventually go back to your hotel room alone.

You were bracing yourself for it this time. Seeing him with other women was disheartening in a way you could not quite explain. It brought the feeling of something heavy settling in the pit of your stomach, a leaden weight that refused to be moved. You’d tried reasoning with yourself that he was an adult and that it was none of your business what he did in his spare time, but it felt almost like a slap in the face nonetheless.

One of these times, you’d be the one to take someone up to your hotel room.

Take that, Leon.

You were sitting at the hotel bar’s polished marble counter and on your second drink when she walked in. You recognized her right off as a member of the conference and exactly Leon’s type—tall, legs for days, and blonde with an air of sophistication. She’d already been eyeing your boss, still finely dressed in his pinstriped suit and tie, and was heading his way. The two of you weren’t sitting together at the bar by chance. He’d arrived after you and was now chatting with that woman.

Here we go.

Turning away, you sighed softly as you swirled the contents of your cocktail and took another sip.

“May I join you?”

You swallowed a gasp as a smooth-talking man slipped into the seat beside you.

“Um, sure.” You replied, giving him a smile.

He ordered you a drink, and the two of you got to talking. He was also attending the conference, and his business was based elsewhere in NYC. You couldn’t help but notice how sweet and charming he was, and thought perhaps this was your chance.

You did not notice Leon sporting a menacing glare in his direction from across the bar. He was barely able to attend to the leggy blonde in front of him and was practically grinding his teeth as you stood with the man at the bar and accepted his invitation to dance.

The blonde was trying her hardest to bring his attention back to herself. “I like dancing.” She declared in hopes that he’d say something along those lines instead of watching his eyes follow his assistant and the man from the bar.

“Let’s dance then.” His answer was clipped as he abruptly stood and took her hand.

“Oh!” She gasped, practically being dragged there. She had already surmised that this was his eagerness in trying to close the deal with her, and was more than happy to comply.

Leon just wanted to get as close to you as possible.

Now, it’s possible you were a little tipsy at this point, with three drinks under your belt and not in the greatest of headspaces. You got caught up with the fact that someone was giving you attention for once. You were inadvertently making Leo jealous, too. Good, see how he liked it.

Within an hour of meeting this guy, you were allowing him to pull you into his embrace as you slowly danced around with the other couples.

Softer, jazzy type music was playing from a live band, and you were quietly chatting with Guy while you slowly moved around the dance floor. He seemed nice enough and genuinely interested, and it didn’t take him long to slip you an extra room key in hopes you’d make your way up there.

Your heart was pounding as you watched him walk away and clutched the little card close while marvelling at the opportunity suddenly presented to you. An invitation for sex that might as well have been served on a silver platter.

None of this went undetected as Leon was following your every move. The moment you left the lounge, he was hot on your heels. Jealously and protectiveness had outweighed all sense of logic at this point, and soon he was stopping those elevator doors just as they were closing to get on with you.

“Heyyy, chiquitita, off to bed? I’d be more than pleased to escort you.” His jovial nature this time seemed a bit forced, and you narrowed your gaze slightly.

“Actually…I’m heading somewhere else.” You hedged, raising an eyebrow at him. “What happened to Miss tall, blond and ditzy?”

It was a challenge, and he knew it; still, he tried to play it off. “She was fine, not my taste today.”

 Time was running out for him to stop you as the elevator doors opened. “Oh, what a shame, well, here’s my stop.” You were ready to step around him when his arm shot out next to your head while his forearm pressed against the cool brushed aluminum wall, effectively caging you in.

“Wait.” He implored softly, now showing you the barest hint of vulnerability. “Don’t go to him. If a release is all you’re needing, then—”

You pushed hard against his chest, suddenly furious with him as the elevator doors quietly slipped shut.

“You are unbelievable! The one time a guy notices me, and you pull this shit? Screw you, and this stupid, jealous crap you’re trying to pull.”

His expression conveyed both shock and awe as you laid into him, but he did back up to give you space while the elevator climbed to the next floor, both yours and his.

“I was just looking out for you.” He tried, the excuse was weak, and you both knew it. It did very little to quell the flames of discontent within you.

“No, screw you and the stupid, fucking double standard. So, it’s fine if you go off screwing every pair of legs that gives you the time of day, but the one time—the ONE time I try it, you—”

“That was before!” he interjected, finally losing his cool and throwing his arms down.

“Before what?!” you demanded, and when he didn’t answer you right away, you asked again, louder this time. “Before. What?!”

“Before I started to care about you!” he finally exclaimed, and the doors opened on a little old couple trying to get down to the lobby. Neither of you had gotten off at your floor, so the elevator had gone back down again.

You and Leon had fixed each other with tense expressions while the little old man and woman chatted sweetly with each other. You were still trying to process what he just said. Maybe he was messing with you? He’d had a few drinks up until this point; was it a drunken mistake? No, drunk words are sober thoughts after all, and you were forced to consider that maybe, he might possibly be telling the truth.

Leon cared about you. He didn’t want you going off to some random man’s room when he was right there to give you what you needed. That still didn’t excuse the fact that he was being a complete asshat about it.

You huffed softly, crossing your arms as the couple walked off, and Leon quietly pressed the button for your floor again. To your surprise, he also pressed the bottom to the floor your ‘date’ was waiting on.

“I’m sorry.” He finally said. “You’re right, and it’s none of my business who you decide to spend your off-hours with. My suggestion was callous and fueled by unfounded jealousy,” he sighed softly and continued, “I want you to be happy, but please be careful, you don’t know this guy, although I would hazard a guess that he’s not a bad guy.”

You relaxed, visibly as you nodded. “Thank you, Leon.”

He smiled then, “That’s the first time you called me Leon instead of Sir.”

Blushing and scrambling for an excuse, you said, “Ha, it’s just because I’ve had a few…don’t read too much into it.”

Once again, elevator doors opened, and this time, Leon stood aside. He said nothing more as he watched you finally exit the elevator. His gaze never wavered even as the doors slowly closed and you glanced back, one last time.

You huffed softly to yourself as you slowly walked down the hall. Stupid Leon…who does he think he is? How dare he? He thinks he can just…

In the midst of your fuming, you’d ended up right at the door of your supposed date. Your heart was pounding; the key had been retrieved from your pocket, yet you were unable to complete the final motion of tapping it against the sensor to unlock the door.

This is stupid, just do it!

You were still in the same spot a minute later, frozen and becoming increasingly self-conscious of anyone seeing you.

Swallowing a groan of frustration, you had to admit, the thrill of engaging in a one-night stand with a perfect stranger was less than appealing, and when you pictured yourself in a lover's embrace, someone else came to mind. He had a cocky grin, emerald-green skin and two red crescents cutting across each eye.

You were doomed, but you felt guilty about not going, so instead you went back down to the hotel bar to find the blonde from earlier. You slipped the keycard into her hand on the pretense that it belonged to Leon and dropped the floor and room number for the man you were with earlier. Someone might as well be getting laid tonight.

Five minutes later, you were knocking on Leon’s door. It was dumb, and you certainly didn’t need to do this, but you felt compelled to let him know you’d changed your mind.

He opened the door with a look of concern, shirtless with a pair of grey sweatpants on.

You spoke first, complete with a dramatic shrug. “I didn’t go, alright? Are you happy now?”

He was more than happy , so much in fact that he crossed the distance between you, slipped his hand around your waist and pulled you in for a kiss with enough passion to make your head spin.

Your first instinct was to wrap your arms around him and try to take control of the kiss, and he was more than happy to oblige, angling his mouth to kiss you more deeply. You just wanted to feel something good for a change, a choice that was more or less influenced by the alcohol you’d consumed earlier, but also sheer stubbornness.

Unfortunately, logic had to rear its ugly head as you felt Leon trying to guide you into his room and close the door behind you. The click was enough to make you pull back and take a breath, catching his lust-filled gaze with your own. This…couldn’t happen, you’d fought so hard to maintain a professional relationship with him, and now here you were about to toss it all out the window.

This couldn’t happen…

But fuck, you wanted it to.

“Something wrong, mi amor?” he brushed the side of your cheek with his fingertips and cradled the back of your head with his other hand. Those hands held so much promise, the hidden pleasures they could bring and yet you were about to refuse him.

“I…can’t, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…kissed you back.” Gently, you pushed on his chest, and he released you. Let it be said that Leon was a man of his word and would never coerce a woman into sleeping with him. He didn’t need to. Still, there was a hint of regret in his eyes as he let you go.

“Querida?” He questioned, looking concerned. “I’m sorry, I’m the one who shouldn’t have—”

You didn’t blame him, but you also didn’t give him much more time to explain himself; instead, you backed out of his room quickly – a soft blush covering your cheeks as you made your retreat. “Goodnight, Leon.”

Back in your own room, you flopped on the bed with a groan. “What is wrong with you…?” Now you had no one to warm your bed. Stupid Leon for making you feel all conflicted, and damn him for being a good kisser and making you question everything.

Try as you might, you couldn’t shake the fact that you found him attractive and, dare you say it, actually liked him. He was still a pain in your ass, but he’d sort of changed lately. He didn’t even entertain that woman who’d been flirting with him.

It was not typical behaviour for him, and now that kiss…you felt all twisted up inside. A month ago, you’d decided that enough was enough and you needed to take that next step up the ladder, so you’d started applying for jobs and had actually gotten an interview. This potential job would be a game-changer, a chance to really show off what you could do. And it wasn’t as if you could have a relationship with Leon anyway in your current state, and he was not the type of man you’d typically go for.

Now, your rational mind was pointing out the hard facts you simply could not ignore. He couldn’t possibly have feelings for you; you weren’t his type, either. You’d both been drinking, caught up in the moment, that was all it was. You were colleagues, work partners, and that’s all you ever would be.

All you ever could be.

**

“You’re hired, you can start as soon as your new hire paperwork is submitted.”

Hearing those words filled you with a sense of elation. You couldn’t believe you’d gotten the job. Out of all the candidates, they’d chosen you. Now all you had to do was complete the paperwork and submit your two weeks' notice…to Leon, who had no idea you were going to be leaving him.

You couldn’t afford to be weak now. This was your career, and nothing was going to stand in your way, not even him.

You pondered the best way to broach the subject as you began typing up your letter of resignation.

There would be no easy way to tell him. Better to rip the band-aid off and leave it on his desk Monday morning, along with his morning latte. He’d understand… wouldn’t he? Would he even care? Would your absence be felt, like a wound needing to be stitched and bandaged? Would he be happy for you, hiding a deep ache every time he walked by your empty desk?

His reaction was far different from what you’d expected. The look of confusion when he was presented with the letter had quickly been replaced by a cold sort of understanding he wasn’t adept at hiding.

He was happy for you, he said, barely reading it before tossing it back on his desk. You could no longer read him after that, but you could glean from his tone that he was not as pleased as he appeared. His responses were a little too quick and clipped for your liking.

“This is…great, it’s good, so good in fact that you shouldn’t even bother coming in for the remainder of your time.”

Now, you were confused, protesting softly as you tried to decode his ‘Leon speak’.

“But, Sir…I’m not sure I understand…”

“Oh,” he waved a hand dismissively. “You’ll still be compensated for your time, but I need to start training your replacement. I’ve had my eye on Miranda; she’ll do nicely.”

His words stung. To be told that you could be replaced so easily might as well have been a slap in the face, but by Miranda? Really?  She was eager to please, but there weren’t many thoughts bouncing around that blonde cranium of hers. What was he playing at? She’d never be able to work out his complicated schedule, let alone all the other ridiculous things he asked for. Was this because of that night at the conference? He couldn’t get you, so he was now jumping at the chance to replace you with someone more... accommodating?

“But don’t you need me to—" You try not to stammer, shocked as you are.

“Nope! I got this.” He didn’t even know what you’d been about to say, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t need you—for anything anymore, apparently. “Better go clear out your desk. You can pick up your severance cheque on the way out.” There was a finality in his tone that you knew would be impossible to contend with.

You’d heard it before, when a business deal had gone south and he had ended negotiations right then and there. Now he was using it with you, and all you could manage was a stiff nod and a softly spoken, “Yes, Sir.” You would not let him break you or see your tears. You would keep a stiff upper lip and clear out your desk over the next hour.

If that was the way he’d like to end your partnership, then fine. Go ahead and burn that bridge, Leon.

You were glad you never did end up sleeping with him. It would’ve made this even more difficult.

You cast one last glance at his office, only to see him in the same position as when you left. You said your goodbyes to your coworkers and exited the office for the final time.

It wasn’t until you stepped out onto the street with the box holding all your belongings that tears stung your eyes. How dare he? After everything you’d been through? How could he so easily discard you like a piece of trash? You’d thought he’d changed, but he was still the same jerk he’d always been. Unfeeling and uncaring, selfish and concerned only with self-preservation, all wrapped up in a cold, calculating demeanour.

 Jerk

Little did you know that Leon was anything but fine. Panic gripped him as he watched you walk out of the office and subsequently out of his life because, like an idiot, he’d pushed you away. Easier to leave someone before they leave you, after all. That fact hadn’t even registered with him. It wasn’t until the day was long over and the workplace empty of all employees that he dared walk by your old office.

You’d left your desk light on, forcing him to go in and click it off. Realization hit harder in that moment as the room was bathed in shadows. It was too large, too empty, devoid of you and all the warmth you carried.

He leaned over your old desk, gripping the edge slightly. You were gone, and he only had himself to blame.

Just when he’d come to the realization that he did indeed love you.

**

Weeks passed, and you settled into your new job. Leon stayed silent on his end, and you’d assumed he was absolutely done with you. Despite how he’d acted, an obviously terrible reaction to your leaving, you missed him. You missed his stupid face and the way he always smiled like the sun shone out of your ass whenever you’d completed a task or provided him with something to sign. You were still furious, of course, and in no way ready to forgive him, but still, you found yourself reminiscing about the times you’d enjoyed yourself.

You missed his warmth and the calm contentment of working alongside him. Damn him for making you care, especially in the last few months of working for him. There was a deep ache in your heart whenever you thought about him. He’d hurt you, and there was no closure to be found as long as he seemed intent on maintaining a closed line of communication.

Very well, you might need some time to heal, but you would be strong and move on from him. You wondered how he was faring in your absence. Was Miranda as good a replacement as he’d thought she’d be? Bitterly, you came to the conclusion that he’d probably already slept with her and barely even thought about you. People don’t change that easily.

Leon was absolutely miserable. Miranda’s work ethic had paled in comparison to yours, and he’d barely used her. The atmosphere in the office was noticeably somber too. There were no more pranks on his part, and he’d barely left his office, even to take a lunch break.

This did not go unnoticed by his twin. He was the eyes and ears of the entire building after all, nothing got past him, and right now, his brother was hurting. It was up to him, apparently, to knock some sense into him—not the best choice, Mikey or Raph would’ve been better for this, but alas, they were busy.

“Ah, good afternoon, dear brother of mine.” He’d said while striding into his office, much like Leon did whenever he went upstairs to his.

Leon was staring moodily at a coffee cup; the drink had long since gone cold since his new assistant had fetched it for him. She’d gotten lost on the way to the coffee shop in the bookstore and instead had purchased it from the Starbucks across the street. Not only was his drink prepared incorrectly, but she’d also taken the liberty of adding whipped cream to it—ew. “What is it?” he asked in a bored tone. “If this is about the sales in this month’s past quarterly…”

“It is not,” Donnie said, moving to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “You still haven’t apologized to my girlfriend for your callous remark at the Gala. Since you have so much extra time on your hands from firing your assistant, I believe now is the time.”

Leon scowled, scoffing lightly as he threw his hands up. “Really? That’s why you came all the way down here?”

“Yes, just because you screwed things up with her doesn’t mean you can’t still make things right with my girl. Maybe then you’ll see how much of an idiot you’re being and actually fix your mistakes for once.” He gave his brother a pointed look to drive his point home.

The slider was quiet as he contemplated his words. “It’s too late…” he said finally, “I was losing her, so I pushed her away. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Does admitting it out loud make you feel better?”

With a rueful laugh, Leon shrugged. “I guess? It doesn’t change anything. She’s still gone. I should just let her live her life, and…”

“It’s never too late. That’s quitter talk and not the mentality of this company’s face man, now is it?” Donnie gently pressed. “She deserves to know the truth.”

“I…it’s stupid.” Leon shook his head. “I drove her nuts when she was my assistant, that’s why she left…she wanted to get out. She wanted to leave…me.”

With that, Donnie got up, popped the lid off Leo’s untouched drink, and threw it in his face. The resulting sputter of shock went completely ignored.

“Did you even spend five minutes learning what her actual career path was? It wasn’t to be your assistant forever, you dumdum. You were so afraid of losing face that you ignored everything and treated her like crap on top of it all. Well, guess what, you look dumb now, your worst fear realized and look at that, you survived. Now get your head out of your ass and go talk to her.”

Leon gaped at him, shock evident as he snatched some tissues to dab up the mess on his shirt and face. “Okay, say you have a point…what should I do?”

“Well, first clean your face because let me reiterate, you look dumb. Second, grand romantic gestures are your forte, not mine. Watch some romance movies, particularly the one called Two Weeks Notice.” He returned to his seat with a self-satisfied nod.

“Thanks,” Leon said, smiling for the first time in weeks. “I’ll apologize to your girlfriend next time I see her.”

“See that you do,” Donnie said, preparing to leave without sparing him a second glance. “And not that you need it, but good luck.”

Leon was left not only with his thoughts but also with a sticky mess to clean up. True to his word, he finally apologized to Donnie’s girlfriend and then set about concocting a plan to talk to you. A lot of things needed to be set in motion, and it all had to go perfectly.

He just needed to borrow Shelldon.

End Part 1 - Follow for Part 2

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Scent of a Mate

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