Space Nerd

hello hello!! i'm so excitedddd for this one you guys! but i just want to put a little disclaimer, i am not in any way experienced with anything having to do with law enforcement, so i probably will get things wrong, but i don't really care because leon is the only cop i care about and he's fictional anyway yay 🩵

this is going to be a mini series, so hopefully no longer than 10 chapters, and it will be updated once every two weeks to allow me to tackle more projects alongside it 💙

“Dispatch to Unit 31, status?"

"31, code four."

"Copy."

A small sigh leaves Leon’s lips at hearing the radio comms. It’s been code four all around for the past hour, and he couldn't be more grateful for that. Swing shifts are the worst. With people coming out of work, traffic in the roads, and bars filling up, it's usually the busiest time for a patrolling officer.

Glancing at the clock, he reads the time: 10:34 p.m. Less than an hour and a half before the end of his shift. He can already picture himself passing out as soon as his head hits the pillow, drowsiness already settling in his senses, which he combats with much needed caffeine.

He stopped at a Wawa’s a few minutes earlier to pick up piping hot coffee and the last surviving Boston cream donut—fully aware of the irony of doing so in uniform.

The steaming liquid sloshes in its lidded container sitting in the cruiser’s cup holder with every turn of the vehicle. With a hand on the wheel, the blonde’s eyes are focused on the road, looking for somewhere he can stop to eat his little treat before wrapping up his shift.

A parking garage comes into view. Free on Sundays, empty, quiet, and in a decently safe area of D.C—it's exactly what he needs. 

Five minutes later and he’s sipping on his coffee quietly, taking bites of the sweet pastry that he chews slowly. It’s not exactly the best tasting food, but he wasn't expecting any better from a convenience store. If anything, the cheap flavor is comforting, nostalgic, and he enjoys the silence of the night with the familiar taste on his tongue.

Despite his seemingly relaxed appearance, Leon, having been a police officer for six years now, knows that being alone means to always be on guard. He makes sure to check his rearview mirror and surroundings every now and then, keeping his instincts on guard at all times.

It’s exhausting, and makes him appreciate all the more the moments he’s not in blue, but for now he finishes his food with as much relaxation as a man on duty can allow himself.

Once done, he wipes his sticky fingers with a napkin, then gathers the trash into a plastic bag before stepping out of his vehicle. Like routine, he throws a glance around him to survey his surroundings, before making his way to the nearby garbage bin.

Dusting his hands once he’s discarded the bag, he stretches his neck until it makes a cracking sound before exhaling deeply. He really can't wait to go home.

When he turns to head back to his car, his heart lurches as he gets quite literally jumpscared by the sudden appearance of a girl. She's standing by the cruiser, her eyes wide and her expression wild with a faint smile on her lips. Almost like she's at the zoo and she just saw her favorite animal for the first time. 

Leon clears his throat to recollect himself, eyeing her appearance to quickly make an assessment of her. Oversized clothes—a large hoodie and ripped jeans—dirty, old sneakers, chipped nail polish, and clearly unwashed hair. He can't tell if she’s purposely trying to look homeless or if she actually is. 

“Can I help you, ma’am?” he puts on his ‘work’ voice.

The young woman does not respond. Instead, she simply continues staring at him with that same sort of awe filled expression that he finds hard to decipher. He’s usually not easily intimidated, but put simply, this girl gives him the creeps.

“Ma’am?” he repeats, and she finally blinks, as if pulled out of a reverie.

“H-hi…” she murmurs with that odd smile still on her face. Then, as if realizing how uncanny she must look, she quickly schools her expression. “Hi, h-hello, mister—uh, Officer… I, um, need help.”

Taking in her stammered response, Leon’s frown deepens. “What kind of help?”

Her eyes dart around, as if searching for something, before she meets his gaze again. “My car broke down… and I don't have insurance to call.”

Clicking his tongue, he gives her a pointed look. “You do realize it's illegal to drive a vehicle without car insurance in D.C, right?” 

“Yes, s-sorry…”

He sighs, already dreading the headache of dealing with this when he could be on his way back to the precinct to clock out. “You don’t have anyone to come pick you up?”

The girl fiddles with her long sleeves as she shakes her head. “No… I’m new in town. Also my car usually just needs a push, nothing too bad. It’s just so damn old,” she chuckles, strained and too loud for her mediocre joke.

With a sharp exhale through his nose, the policeman finally relents. “Alright… Where is it?”

“Uh, fourth floor. I-I just came down here to see if anyone could help me…”

“Right, then. Lead the way,” he gestures towards the elevators.

As she walks ahead slowly, their footsteps echoing in the empty garage, he keeps a safe distance out of precaution. He still has a bad feeling about this, and it doesn't help that she keeps turning around to steal quick glances at him.

“What brought you here?” he asks, prodding for more information about the odd stranger.

“Oh, um, I work at this food place down the street,” she points vaguely in the eastern direction. “I did closing alone tonight.” Another nervous chuckle.

Once they reach the set of steel doors, he watches her hesitate for a split second before pushing the ‘up’ button. Now that he’s standing closer, he can see more clearly the red blood vessels in her eyes giving them a glassy appearance. Then, it all clicks. She's high.

Leon follows her inside the elevator, then presses the correct number while keeping a watchful eye on her. “Ma’am, are you under the influence of any drugs or alcohol?”

Her eyes widen at the sudden question, and she laughs, then looks panicked, then laughs again. “Just a couple of edibles! I swear!”

“And you are planning on driving your car while high?” he scoffs, placing his hands on his hips.

She tracks the movement with her eyes, visibly gulping, before focusing on his face again. “Uh, it's not a c-crime if I haven't done it yet, right?”

The deep sigh he makes is made of pure frustration. “Alright, I’m gonna need to see some I.D,” he makes a motion with his hand.

“No!” she immediately retorts, before coughing nervously. “I-I mean I don’t have it on me… It’s in my car.”

Just as she says that, the elevator dings as it comes to a stop, prompting the man to mutter a sarcastic ‘perfect’ under his breath. 

“After you,” he grumbles.

Her breath audibly hitches at the command, and she doesn't move for an entire two seconds where she just stares at him, before finally stepping out of the lift.

Leon is growing more and more suspicious of the girl, and he’s now starting to realize it may not have been very wise of him to follow her upstairs. With a hand on his radio, he looks around for any lurking threats. After all, this could be a scheme to get him jumped—you never know what to expect these days.

The floor is completely empty, however, with only a few sparse cars parked throughout. They pass car after car, and the young woman shows no sign of stopping just yet. She doesn't even reach in her pockets to pull out a key. 

He definitely has a bad feeling about this.

Once they nearly reach the far end, she slowly comes to a halt. When he also stops a few feet behind her, there is an eerie silence encompassing them that is only interrupted by the buzzing of a flickering light in the corner. She doesn't say anything, just stands there with her head tilted down and her hands trembling lightly.

“Ma’am?” he rasps out, a churning sensation in his stomach.

Finally, she slowly turns to face him, her breathing weirdly uneven, but it's her expression that makes him want to step back. She has that same wide eyed smile she had before, the corners of her mouth twitching and making her look even more uncanny.

Then, she drops to her knees. “CanIpleasesuckyourdick?”

Leon blinks, completely unmoving for a second, before he frowns in utter confusion. “What?”

“S-sorry, um…” she clears her throat and he almost sighs in relief thinking he must've heard her wrong, only for her to reiterate her unhinged demand slower. “Can I, uh… please s-suck you off?”

This time, it's his turn to let out a strained laugh, like he can't believe what in the ever loving fuck she just said. Clearly, she's a lot higher than she claimed, and it's certainly not just ‘a couple of edibles’.

He can see her pleading eyes, her weirdly shy expression, and if he was any other man he might be willing to take the offer just for the ego boost alone. How many guys can say they had a pretty stranger beg for their dick? But that's the thing, pretty strangers don't beg for dick. At least not unless they’re clinically insane.

When she stays kneeling, looking up at him with a hopeful expression as if waiting for him to actually consider her offer, his worry increases tenfold. This feels like the start of a true crime story. He looks around again, his head turning in every direction to catch whoever might come out from a shadowed corner.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he mutters with a locked jaw.

“No… I know it's weird, but I mean it.”

Officially done, he rests his hand on his holster with a stern face. “Alright, that's enough. Stand up.”

In response, she gives him puppy eyes, like a child who wasn't allowed candy. “B-but please! I can be quick if you don't have time!”

“Christ… Are you insane?” he scoffs, and the accusation seems to affect her as she retreats into herself, sitting back on her heels. “Stand up or you're getting arrested for harassing an officer on duty.”

With her head bowed and a small voice, she argues further. “But… I’ll make it so good, I promise…”

Leon feels his eye twitch in irritation. This is the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him, and he can't believe the sheer unhingedness of this woman.

“You know what? I’m not doing this shit tonight, I’m leaving,” he shakes his head, then begins to turn and walk away. “You stay put. I swear to God if you follow me—”

He’s cut off by the sound of shuffling behind him, and sure enough, she's already scrambling on his tail on her damn hands and knees. He feels like this has to be an elaborate prank or else he just met the craziest person ever.

“Please d-don’t leave! I just— I really need this,” she pleads as she continues to crawl closer. “I know you're a good cop, Leon, but damn it, it’s a blowjob! Just take it, it’ll be good. Please!”

The sound of his name brings him into a screeching halt, and suddenly it's no longer just about a crazed individual, but something potentially a lot worse.

“How the fuck do you know my name?” he snaps coldly, and sees her visibly shiver from his tone.

“Uh… Lucky guess?” she tries with an awkward smile.

Leon looms over her with a death glare, his hand back on his holster. “Do you think this is funny?”

“No…”

“Then answer my fucking question.”

He knows his name plate only displays ‘L. S. Kennedy’, so the fact she so casually dropped his first name when he cannot remember meeting her before makes his hair stand up.

With her head bowed like she's being told off by a teacher, she takes a moment to gather her thoughts before murmuring, “I guess you don't remember me but… One time, near Union Station, you were with another officer and I heard him call your name… I asked you for directions that day, but looks like you, um, forgot.”

Leon nearly chokes from her claim, and he would think he’s having a weird dream if not for the cool, humid breeze on his skin feeling all too real. 

“How is that— Who—” he pauses as he struggles to formulate a proper question. “Are you stalking me?!”

“What?! No!” she answers quickly with a fervent headshake. “No, no, look… I just remembered you, a-and saw you come out of your car just now and thought I would, you know, make an offer.”

“Is that what you call harrassment?” he scoffs loudly. “So you planned this shit, huh? You don't even have a car, do you?”

She stays quiet, and that confirms his accusation. This has reached new levels of weird if she truly remembered him from a one time encounter, though he’s not sure if he buys that.

“So what the hell is this? Some kind of fetish?”

“It’s not a fetish. Like I told you… it’s an offer.”

“Yeah, no, that's just called solicitation,” he tsks, his tone dripping with disappointment. “Do you go around giving out ‘offers’ to random cops?”

“No. I’ve never done this before,” she huffs, seemingly offended. “And I’m not asking for money so you can't arrest me.”

Leon feels his jaw clench in pure annoyance. This woman is unbelievable. “Well I sure as hell will if you don't stand up. How many times have I asked you already?”

To his great dismay, she still asks for confirmation as if her demand isn't batshit crazy. “So you’re really saying no?” she murmurs as she slowly stands up.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m not interested,” he clicks his tongue, relieved she's no longer on her knees.

After a moment of silence, he’s about to ask for her I.D again when she speaks quietly. “...I can deepthroat.”

That’s it. 

“Hands behind your head,” he grits out while reaching for his handcuffs.

Her eyes widen like the possibility of actually getting detained somehow hadn't crossed her mind. “Wait, wait, wait! Y-you can’t— I can't get arrested! Look, I’m sorry for what I said. Just f-forget I said anything, please.”

Leon does not care for her regretting once things became serious. This woman is a danger to public safety—including herself, because he is certain plenty of other men would have taken her oh-so-kind offer and then her body would end in a ditch. 

“Hands. Now.” He barks once he’s made his way to stand behind her. Without hesitation, he grabs her wrists that she had raised weakly one by one to restrain them. “You thought I was playing? This isn't some funny prank to pull on an officer.”

She’s tenser than a rock as he snaps the cuffs in place, and then she suddenly makes a sound. A sound Leon tries to ignore, but is certain is in fact a pleasurable moan. 

“Did you just…” he chokes on his own breath. 

He handcuffed her and she moaned. This is unprecedented levels of unhinged.

She doesn't respond, seemingly mortified, and when he begins hauling her back to the elevators she asks quietly, “am I under arrest?”

Clearly, the concept bothers her greatly if she looks so defeated. Good, Leon thinks to himself. She needs to learn a lesson, even if he’s still hesitant to fully arrest her. Why? He isn't sure. But he theorizes it's a mix of pity from the obviously tormented soul, and apprehension of having to deal with her any further.

Especially if she keeps making weirdly tempting offers.

“No. But you will be if you don't cooperate. I’m taking you downstairs for the breathalyzer.”

“I’m not drunk, Leon, I promise!” she gives him those damn puppy eyes again. Christ, why does he always get the lunatics?

“Quiet. And it's officer Kennedy to you.” He pushes the lift call button repeatedly, a sense of urgency filling him with every passing second.

“I’m not lying this time!” she protests again.

He audibly grunts in frustration as he pulls her inside the elevator. “Stop talking or I’m charging you for resisting arrest.”

That seems to do the trick, and she finally keeps quiet as they make their way to his cruiser. He can't help but notice the repeated glances she steals his way, and how the arm he’s holding is awkwardly stiff against his palm. 

Once near the car, he lets go of her to grab a BAC device from inside, then brings it to her mouth with a cold expression. “Blow.”

As soon as the order is out of his mouth, he cringes at the double entendre of the situation. But then, he watches her dart her gaze in sudden shyness as she wraps her lips around the tube, as if she wasn't making outrageous requests a minute ago. 

The numbers on the quadrant flicker as it calculates her alcohol intake, and he can't help but feel there's something oddly intimate about the moment. As soon as he’s able to get a reading, he steps back with a frown as he reads the results: sober. She wasn't drunk after all. Still doesn't change the fact she is most definitely too high to be walking around alone this late at night.

“I told you,” she grumbles under her breath, her arms shifting uncomfortably in the bounds.

Giving her a lingering look, Leon feels himself somewhat lower his guard. Yes, this still takes the cake for the most bizarre encounter he’s ever had, but outside of being oddly horny, she seems to be harmless. He just feels bad for her more than anything.

“What’s your name?” he suddenly asks, his voice softer now.

“Uh…”

Quirking an eyebrow, he observes her with interest. “Don't tell me you forgot your name.”

The girl looks around nervously before meeting his eyes with her bloodshot ones. “If you're not arresting me, can't you just let me go?”

He remains quiet for a moment, then finally clicks his tongue with a nod. He has no legal reason to continue detaining her, especially since he’s letting her behavior slide and not making an arrest. She just looks like someone who needs help more than a criminal.

Gesturing for her to spin around, he undoes her handcuffs when she complies, and this time, she seems to put extra effort into not making a sound. It would be funny if it wasn't infuriating.

“Alright… Off you go,” he mutters as he steps back. “Next time, don't take too many edibles if you can't handle them.”

“R-right,” she nods, and with a final wide eyed look his way, begins to walk away.

Leon watches her from his spot, a sense of worry settling inside him about the fate of this poor, deranged girl. He wouldn't be surprised if her face was on the paper the next day if some sick asshole finds her. Especially if she asks for sexual favors from random men.

He wonders what could drive someone like her to act like that. Drugs, sure, but there is more to it. No one acts like this unless they’re mentally unwell, and from the sight of her demeanor, she clearly isn't.

As he sighs deeply, debating if he should offer her a ride home but not sure if it's the right decision, she stops in her tracks and slowly turns to him with that hopeful expression she had earlier. 

Oh, God. What now?

“Hey, Le—I mean Officer… Do you think it could be possible if, um, since you don't want me to t-touch you… you could maybe, uh, just like, I don't know… spit in my mouth or something.”

Leon’s expression remains completely unmoved for a moment, as still as a statue as his brain short circuits with her incredulous demand. 

This is the weirdest fucking day of his life.

“Alright…” he exhales, and he sees the flicker of hope in her eyes before he continues. “You’re under arrest for disorderly conduct and public intoxication. I’m taking you in.”

Next chapter coming soon.

Your marriage with Leon was relatively new, being shy of just four years, most of your friends made sure you knew good and well how they felt about the relationship. Of course, many of your friends were supportive, because if you were happy and he treated you well nothing else mattered. They knew he was older, knew he had a job, spoiled you and cared for you like no one’s business.

But in every conversation where your friends would talk about their own boyfriends or their relationships, there would always be one person to remind you of the obvious.

It was painful, honestly. You knew the age thing would be controversial to some, and you knew the complications of it all. Hell, Leon was the one that kept rejecting you despite your adamance to be with him.

But you saw past the age difference and more at the man he was.

And being the doting, caring husband he was, he always put you before him. It didn’t matter the case, the situation or the scenario, if it benefitted you and made you happy, it was done. Which is why you were currently sprawled out naked on the warmth of the messy bed, legs spread apart as he propped himself between the softness of your thighs.

The two of you tried, key word: tried, to enjoy each other’s presences. A natural, soft kind of intimacy saved for nights where he wasn’t tired and felt particularly eager on pleasing you. And he so desperately wanted to please you. To soak in the warmth of your body against his, to press his lips against your neck and hear your soft little moans as he nudged his cock against the wetness of your walls.

Except that plan, that thought in his mind was evaporated about as quickly as steam from a pan. By the time he fished out his cock between slow mouth kisses and gentle squeezes of your ass, the damn thing just flopped out. Not hard, not even a half chub. It was like looking at deflated balloon, just soft and embarrassingly so.

The embarrassment had crawled up his spine and rushed to his neck so fast he nearly got dizzy. Of course, now was one of the times his dick decided to stop working. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to fuck you. How could he not when you were looking up at him so pretty and expectantly, glossy lips and wide eyes watching his every move.

It was terrible. Worse than anything he’s ever dealt with or any person he’s ever fought.

The arousal was there, the want was there. You were right there. But it was like his mind and body were disconnected, unplugged from the port. He tried giving himself a few strokes, busying himself with the smell of you and the taste of your skin hoping (and praying) that he would just get hard.

For a moment, he couldn’t even meet your eye. He was terrified. Would you take it the wrong way? Would you be disappointed? God, what would you think?

He tried to busy your eyes from anything but him, peeled off your shorts and guided you against him as he tried to work with what he had. The last thing he wanted was for you to see and immediately think the worse; the disappointment, the rejection, the dissatisfaction, the unattractiveness. Throughout all his inner thoughts and the waves of worries, he only thought about you.

And that’s how you suddenly wound up with a pillow under your hips and one leg pulled over his shoulder. He didn’t care for himself anymore, and despite the lack of warmth from your bodies pressed together just five minutes ago, he was more than happy to focus on the pretty wetness of your pussy.

His mouth was placed sloppily against your cunt, eyes glued onto your face to soak in every little gasp and reaction you had. His tongue dragged up in long almost frantic slides, moving up and down, then side to side. Your hips jerked forward, feet digging into the mattress below you as you moaned softly.

His lips were swollen and glossy with the thin sheen of your own juices, mouth inching further and further up to suck at your clit. Two of his thick fingers were shoved knuckle deep into the weeping mess of your cunt, pumping in and out in slow squelches. His digits turned, scissoring and curling against your walls as he flicked the tip of his tongue against your clit.

His other hand gripped tightly around your thigh, squeezing the flesh and guiding your hips against his face to literally smother himself in the taste of you. He let out a low, vibrating groan into your pussy, eyes fluttering slightly as you ran a hand through his hair.

Your fingers curled into his hair, back arching as his mouth latched around your clit again. His nose buried against the dampness of your skin, fingers pulling out with a quiet, wet pop. You let out a whiny moan at the loss of his fingers, pussy clenching around the cold air. “W-what, why’d you stop?”

You can feel his grin against your folds, eyes shifting up from the slick in front of him to the verbal disappointment on your face. “Patience, baby. Just getting a better angle, ‘s all.”

You huffed impatiently, shifting back as he gently tucked the pillow further under your hips. He planted his lips against your inner thighs in teasing, soft kisses as he angled your hips up just another fraction or two. Staring down at him, you let out another little noise of impatience only to be met with a smug grin from your husband.

“God, baby. Don’t get all worked up now.”

“Leon. Hurry up.”

He laughs, warm and muffled against your thigh before giving you a slow nod. He nips at your inner thigh, enjoying the way you squealed and squirmed against the bed. “Okay, okay. ‘M sorry.”

He gives you approximately two seconds to prepare yourself before immediately diving back into your pussy. He presses a firm hand against the soft of your stomach, forcing you still as he mouthed open kisses to your slit. Whimpering shakily as he firmly pressed a calloused fingertip against your clit, he dragged the base of his tongue along the slick of your arousal.

He peppers your folds in kisses, spreading your lips apart to gently slide the tip of his tongue against your fluttering entrance. He’s met with momentary resistance, before gently pressing his tongue an inch further.

“Oh, fuck.” You gasp heavily, fingers digging into his scalp as you subconsciously buck your pussy against his face. He sloppily slides just the tip of his tongue inside, curling the pink muscle and rotating it slightly. His thumb presses firmly against your throbbing clit, rubbing quick, tight circles against the nub.

Between your frantic squirms, moany gasps and the audible sounds of your pussy, Leon’s subtle sounds of approval are barely heard. A growing warmth spreads from the top of your head to the bottom of your toes. Tugging mindlessly on Leon’s hair, though he doesn’t seem to mind, his eyes are entirely fixated on you. He watches as your body tenses, hips stuttering forward at the heavy pinch of your clit.

Your orgasm washes over you abruptly between airy moans, an intense heat sprouting in your gut before breaking off into a long simmering buzz. Your thighs twitch against his head, his large, calloused palms wrapped around the flesh of your thighs to soothe you. He pulls back slightly, watching your chest rise and fall in labored breaths as he laps at the mess of juices against your slit. He licks the gloss from his lips, splattered with your own arousal and juices before hesitating.

You’re completely oblivious to the moment, slowly coming down from your high as he strokes your thigh. His eyes dart down momentarily towards the growing tent in his boxers and the persistent throb of his cock finally coming to life. Without thinking twice, he lets out a small chuckle, gaining your attention as he moved to wrap an arm around your waist.

“What’s so funny?” You asked between labored breaths, shimmying against him as he gave your hip a small squeeze. You ran a hand up to his forearm, glancing down as his other hand moved to free himself for the second time tonight.

“No nothing, hon’.” He rubs his thumb up and down the expanse of your waist, looking down at you as he allowed his hand to roam. “Just thinking.”

You smiled slightly, a bit dazed and confused as you tilt your head at him. “About what?”

“How many times I can stuff that pretty pussy full.”

the moment you stepped in close, the thick, heavy wave of his natural scent hits you. it was the pure, unfiltered scent of leon. sharp copper and a deep musky undertone of concentrated sweat that has soaked into his skin and clothes over days of physical exertion. it was intoxicating, making your mouth water.

before he could say anything, you wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face into the crook of his neck. leon lets out a low chuckle, his hands awkwardly hovering above your hips. “c’mon, sweetheart, I’m dirty. let me go wash off first,” he groaned.

instead of pulling away, you slide your hands up his broad chest, feeling the damp heat radiating through his shirt. your nose drags along his jawline, catching the saltiness of his skin. 

with a soft, needy whimper, you nudge his arm upward. the compression shirt was absolutely drenched under his arms, holding the absolute potent concentration of his musk. you press your nose directly into the damp fabric of his underarms, taking a massive whiff. 

leon stiffens, a low groan catching in the back of his throat. his fingers twitch, finally digging into your waist to hold you steady. “you really are obsessed with this, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave.

“you smell good,” you smiled at him cheekily.

wanting to taste him just as badly, you lean up to kiss him softly, lingering on his lips just long enough to catch his ragged breathing before descending down his body. your hands work quickly, unbuckling his heavy tactical belt and pulling down his pants.

as his thick length springs free, the scent of his heat hits you instantly. you lean in close, taking a deep, worshipful inhale of his shaft, letting the heavy scent fill your nose before dragging your tongue slowly up the underside to lick the leaking tip.

“god, I could get high off you,” you moan against his skin, parting your lips and taking his swollen head into your mouth. 

leon lets out a ragged groan, his head snapping back as his fingers tangle in your hair. he leans against the wall for support, his thighs trembling slightly as he surrenders to your touch. he supposed he could let you have your way.

unable to hold back, his hips began to move on instinct, slowly thrusting into your mouth until a sudden sharp gasp left him. “g-gonna come,” he groaned.

he shudders violently, his grip tightening in your hair as he comes all over your face and mouth. breathing heavily, you look up at him through your lashes. your face is warm and painted in his release. you couldn’t help but smile as you were surrounded by his musky scent and covered in his fresh cum.

masterlist

© lilacgrayskies on tumblr

stage 1

The moment Leon steps into the station, his eyes land on you. Sitting behind the front desk, chatting to a man and laughing as you play with a pen. It’s like something in him locks onto you just then, like his mind fixates on you and suddenly he can’t see anyone else. 

The man showing him around doesn’t notice Leon’s distraction. Simply talks to him about the water coolers and the break room while Leon nods along, humming in agreement at all the right times as he stares across at you now typing away at your computer. 

He can see you’re not a cop, evidenced by the white blouse, silky satin fabric molding over your skin, and the black pencil skirt hugging your figure. He’s never been one to let himself get distracted by a pretty face or fall at a woman’s feet-there’s a reason he excelled at his training while other students became preoccupied after all, but he finds himself distracted nonetheless. 

It makes something in his gut stir, makes it drop strangely and he suddenly needs to be near you. His fingers twitch ever so slightly, envisioning his grip on your waist, before he blinks and realises you’re staring back at him, amused curiosity painted all over your features. 

His cheeks flush instantly, blooming with heat as he bites his bottom lip embarrassedly and fidgets with his gun holster in nervousness. 

His guide sees him not paying the slightest bit of attention and follows his gaze, but instead (thankfully) assumes Leon must be focused on the cop standing a few feet in front of your desk. He’s the classically handsome type, and Leon realises that this is the cop you were talking to only a couple of minutes ago. 

“Oh Chris? He’s accomplished alright, more arrests than anyone here and the highest records for pretty much anything you can name-best in the shooting range as well, until you showed up I guess-”

Leon feels a burst of pride, still partly feeling like he’s in the academy and trying to be the best, accomplish the most. The pride is quickly replaced with embarrassment when he realises that he also selfishly somehow wants you to see that he’s better than this man. That he’s beaten Chris’ record, and that Leon could be the one standing by your desk as you laugh and smile instead of this big burly officer. 

His cheeks flush even more, glowing red as he tries to figure out what the heck is going on with his body and his mind. He’s never been this enamoured by a pretty face before-he appreciated the beauty of some of his fellow cadets, recognised his vague attraction to some classmates, but he can’t remember a time he was ever struck dumb by the sheer presence of someone. An after effect of being raised in a fairly religious and abstinent environment, he supposes. It still makes him feel odd though, makes him wonder why he feels so hot and nervous all of a sudden. What’s even more baffling is why his stomach keeps flipping when you adjust your bra strap, why his gut feels tight when your skirt rides up ever so slightly as you cross your legs. 

Leon’s guide is still talking about Chris, saying what a man he is and how he treats everyone the same, what a perfect officer and all round good friend and coworker he is. Again, Leon questions himself. Why so bothered?? Why suddenly so annoyed about a man I’ve never met and by all accounts seems to be an upstanding citizen?

His brows furrow confusedly when you smile at Chris and wave as he walks past, and his stomach suddenly doesn’t feel so good. The feeling is baffling, he doesn’t even know you. He hasn’t even met you yet, has only stared at you from across the room-and yet you’ve done something to him. You’ve made something happen to his body, given him an odd feeling that he doesn’t know how to get rid of. One that makes his uniform feel two sizes too small and the station feel humid.

As his guide moves on to the bullpen next door he tries to bury the feeling and ignore whatever is happening with his body. It’s more difficult than he anticipates, especially since he doesn’t actually know what’s happening. 

The heat and the tension eases slightly when you’re out of view, but there’s still that tugging feeling within him where his pulse is oddly loud and present and he just craves your presence. How weird. 

The rest of his day is spent meeting his fellow officers and superiors, eating the cake they bought to welcome him and setting up his things at his new desk. The heaviness within him fades after a little while, and you don’t appear again for a few hours so he relaxes again. Focuses on making some friends and familiarising himself with the computer systems instead of what you did to him. 

Chris and a few guys insist on taking him out at the end of the day, want to take him to the bar down the street and get him drunk and get him laid. 

Leon flushes brightly yet again at their words and wonders if you’ll be joining them. Then he immediately scolds himself for thinking so boldly about a woman he wasn’t even introduced to-he doesn’t even know why he has this urge to meet you so badly, doesn’t even know what the feeling in his lower belly was and why he kept thinking about the colour of your bra strap. Inappropriate, Leon. Get a grip and start being respectful, be good, like you were taught. 

He manages to stick with just a couple of beers when they get to the bar-you didn’t join them and he felt something that he couldn’t tell if it was relief or annoyance-and pretend he’s getting tipsy as the other men get drunk. 

With devoted religious parents, he can truthfully say he never really rebelled or experimented. Many kids would go the opposite way and act out, drink and smoke and steal and fuck-Leon often wonders if he should be proud or possibly ashamed that he didn’t particularly go either way. Simply figured out his parents life wasn’t for him and slowly stopped going to church, focused a little more on the end of his high school days and on getting into the academy. 

The only part that bothers him is his lack of…knowledge. 

It pains him that there’s many facets of regular life that he’s almost completely unaware of. Things most people were taught about in school or by their parents just passed him by, weren’t deemed important or were considered sinful by his church and his parents. He’s somewhat made his peace with drinking, though for a few long years he struggled with the onset of shame that would floor him whenever he picked up a drink. 

He’s never gotten drunk. Only slowly works his way through pints as his companions go hell for leather. He’s never had any desire to smoke or steal either, never had any desire to cloud his mind or dull his senses and committing any kind of crime seems outrageous if you’re trying to become an accomplished member of the police force. 

One thing that still baffles him though? 

Sex. 

Even purely just the logistics of it. 

By the time his parents passed and he’d stopped going to church, he was way past the point where most teens learn about sex. And being raised in an abstinent, premarital-sex-is-a-sin, masturbation-is-a-sin household, well, there weren’t many opportunities to learn about such things. 

Other students weren’t exactly telling him in detail what happens when you have sex either, after all why wouldn’t he know?? 

By the time he got to the academy it seemed odd and embarrassing to ask. 

What would he even say?

What’s sex? How do you have sex? How do you get laid? What happens when you have sex???

No, it ended up being easier to just smile and laugh when his fellow cadets joked about ‘hitting it from the back’ and pretend he was just a little more shy than the rest of them, rather than admitting that he has no fucking clue what they meant.

So when Chris asks if he has his eye on any of the women sitting at the bar, he flounders for a second. Buys some time looking around carefully and smiling while he thinks about how much Chris has drunk, whether he’ll remember much of this in the morning. 

Leon furrows his brow and chuckles a little, placates Chris by drinking some more of his pint and then shaking his head a little. 

Shrugs and says, “Too tired for that Redfield, can’t be bothered with that fuss when I’ve got a nice pint here-”

Knows from experience that he’s most likely to be left alone if he makes a demeaning comment about women rather than dodging the question. It settles uncomfortably in him whenever he does it, but is vastly preferable to telling a bunch of grown men that he’s out of the police academy and has still never had sex. That he doesn’t even really know what it is, only pecked a girl on the lips once when he was about six, that he’s never watched any kind of pornographic content and that he doesn’t even know how to go about touching himself. No, much easier to make a little uncomfortable comment and leave it to the other guys to change the subject. 

The evening doesn’t go on for much longer and before many more drinks are consumed Leon finds himself supporting Chris as they all stumble out of the bar. Leon manages to pour him into a cab and shut the door on him as he rolls around in the backseat and scrabbles drunkenly at the car window. 

With a lot of effort, Chris manages to roll it down and hangs his head out, beckoning Leon closer and wearing a wide grin. 

“Dude-dude you should-you gotta go back in there-you see the-that blonde chick at the-at the bar? Yeah-yeah man you gotta-dudeee you gotta check that shit out! First day at the station man! Gotta-gotta go-gotta get your dick wet, rookie!”

Leon holds back a laugh when the cab starts driving away and ‘rookie’ is dragged out as Chris’s head gets pulled backward, leaving a ‘rookieeeeeeeeee’ echoing around the busy street. 

His walk home is relatively uneventful, just thinking over the events of the day and his new colleagues. It’s an odd feeling, knowing he’s just met men who will depend on him to save their lives at some point, and that he might rely on to save his one day. At least they’re amiable, he thinks, at least they seem like fun and he’s gotten along with them so far. And at least no one realised how naive he is. 

The only spanner in the works was you. 

He still doesn’t know what exactly happened to his body when he saw you, it wasn’t like when he saw criminals or perps and instinctively knew they were no good, and it wasn’t like when he saw men like Chris and thought they’d make suitable friends. It was just…something else. 

-

Leon’s sober again by the time he reaches his apartment, the limited two pints and cold night breeze working fast. 

He methodically goes about his routine, dropping keys into the bowl by the door, towing his shoes into the rack, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, walking to his room and slowly stripping his watch, holster and badge off onto the dresser. 

And still, he thinks of you.

First day at his new job, fresh out the academy, new friends, new apartment-and you’re on his mind. 

He starts his shower and lets it run for a few minutes, holding his hand under it briefly before turning the temperature dial to his preferred. Loosening his tie, his mind wanders back to the way you leaned back in your chair. How he’d seen you stretch your arms a little around the back of your chair as you’d frowned at your computer screen. It makes him frown, the memory making his heart beat a fraction faster just like it had when he’d seen it. 

As he unbuttons his shirt he thinks of yours. The white fabric, sleek satin flowing over your figure and shifting with every slight movement. It occurs to him with a jolt that he took in much more about you than he thought he did at the time. He hadn't realised he’d paid so much attention to the way the sleeves were rolled up and sitting comfortably above your elbows. But now, his gut feels tight again as he remembers the colour of your bra ghosting through your blouse, just barely there but apparently visible enough to do something to him. 

His shirt is thrown into the corner of his bathroom with a little more force than usual, frustration pawing at him as he tries to decipher what he’s feeling. When his fly is undone he pulls his socks off and shucks his trousers and underwear down in one, wincing as the material brushes past his cock. It slaps up against his stomach, obscenely red and sensitive as the tip brushes his abdomen-Leon sucks in a sharp breath and scrapes his hand through his hair at the feeling. 

Breathing out slowly, he steps into his shower and winces again when the water hits him and makes his cock twitch. He ignores it though, just picks up his shampoo and tips his head into the stream of water to rinse his hair thoroughly. 

Unsurprisingly, his mind drifts again. 

He absentmindedly spreads body wash over his torso and under his arms as he thinks about your smile. How you’d appeared as though you were trying to hide it while Chris talked, like you were trying not to let on how amusing he was being. It was a sweet sight, he remembers. Knuckles resting against your jaw as you pressed your lips together and spun a little to each side in your chair. 

Consumed by his memories, Leon doesn’t notice he’s been washing his bicep for a full minute. He just stares at the tiles opposite as his hand scrubs back and forth methodically, yet in his mind his eyes are drifting over your hidden smile and down to your crossed legs. 

The image of your supple skin below the hem of your skirt is crystal clear in his mind, and his cock jumps again as he relives the moment the material rode up when you moved. 

He sucks in another breath at the sensation and his hands drift down his stomach to his lower belly, scratching gently along his happy trail. Leon thinks back to the one and only time he was ever remotely educated about…relations, and turns in the shower to rinse away the suds from his body. 

It was a short affair, an encounter which pretty much consisted of being told that he’d meet a nice young woman, marry, and conceive beautiful babies. He was told that he and his wife would have sex the night they married, that that would be his first time unless he wished to commit a great sin. There was a brief comment-more an allusion than anything-about using his…privates, before they laughed and said “Well, you’ll know what to do when it happens!” 

The sentiment hasn’t been particularly helpful, Leon thinks as he remembers the countless comments he’s just had to smile and laugh at, nod and brush off because he doesn’t know what people are talking about. All the times he’s opted out from drinking games, trivial ‘never have I ever’ rounds because he’s done nothing. He’d chosen to stay away from encounters like that after he’d sat through a game where he’d just looked confusedly around at people putting fingers down for things like ‘choking’ and ‘bareback’. 

What the hell either of those things had to do with sex, he’d never found out. 

Leon had only survived that evening by bowing out early, excusing himself with the lie of too much alcohol and the pretence of ‘don’t kiss and tell’. Which is how he survived most of his academy years, actually-sadly. 

Leon blinks and pulls out of his memories. Tipping his head down, he tries to focus on the rivulets of water streaming over his cheeks and running off his jaw, rather than the pulse he feels in his member. His hands lift momentarily and pause a few inches away from his stomach, trembling ever so slightly as he debates what to do. 

The urge to put his hands on himself has never been very strong with him, his body has never ached this much before-it’s always been slightly bothersome when this happens but relatively easy to ignore. Besides, he didn’t even know what to do; much simpler to just wait out whatever the feeling was in his gut. 

Tonight though, he can just feel so much. It feels as though he’s on fire, like his heart is beating in every part of his body and like something is going to happen. 

After what feels like a painfully prolonged amount of time-though is only a few seconds-his hands fall to his hips, rubbing nervously over bone and still shaking as he thinks of your fingers sliding under the strap of your bra. 

When he’d seen it you’d been pulling it back up your shoulder, but before Leon knows it his mind conjures up the image of you pulling it down, down over your arm and slipping your hand from it. 

With a gasp he jerks his hands away and grabs the temperature dial, wrenching it to the coldest it can manage. He immediately flinches at the freezing water before closing his eyes and letting it wash over him, knowing this always helps him feel normal again. Gets rid of the strange throbbing that pulses through his body when he wakes up like this sometimes. 

When he steps out of the shower and towels himself off, there’s an oddly bereft feeling in him as though his body is craving something. Leon swallows down the uncomfortable feeling and tugs some briefs on before going about his nightly routine and sliding under his covers. 

He doesn’t sleep for hours, tossing and turning under the covers while his skin feels sensitive and uncomfortable, like he’s not wearing it right, like his body can’t sort itself out. He slips into unconsciousness in the early hours of the morning, mind exhausted and body strung out-you still manage to throw a wrench into his mind yet again, making him think of your hidden smile right before he falls under the blanket of sleep. 

-

stage 2

Leon wakes up with a moan on his lips, spilling out as his thighs flex and his hands fist in his sheets. 

His eyes shoot open immediately and he gasps at the onslaught of sensations he can feel. Abdomen tight, gut twisting, hips jerking and toes curling. The most prominent thing he feels, however, is the tip of his cock caught between his stomach and the waistband of his briefs. It’s red and angry, swollen with need and almost weeping onto his abdomen. 

Leon plunges a hand into his hair and uses the other to rip the covers off of his body-they’re soaked in sweat anyway. His briefs are grey and he suddenly wishes he’d put on black ones so he couldn’t see the small wet patch of something growing by the top. His hands tremble like they did in the shower the night before, and as he goes to move his leg he whimpers, feeling the material chafe along his sensitive shaft. 

It hits him a little just then, makes his eyes well up as he tries to reconcile with the fact that he doesn’t even know what’s happening to his own body, the fact that he’s never felt so much, how it’s too much and not enough and his body craves more but he’s so scared of what will happen if he moves again. The sensation borders on painful, body so strung out every movement feels a thousand times more. 

With a muffled sob he pushes his head back into his pillow and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to stay as still as he can until it all just goes away-until his body stops throbbing. 

It’s a painful few minutes, hiccups escaping every so often as his hips reflexively move and he has to bite his lip to stop more sobs spilling out, but eventually his body calms somewhat, he softens a little and can manage to slide off his bed and stumble to his bathroom. He turns on his shower and sets it to freezing immediately before leaning on the counter and braving a look at himself in the mirror above his sink. 

The reflection makes him flinch a little. There’s a splotchy red flush spreading across his chest and up his neck, painting his cheeks alarmingly. Eyes red as well, pink rimmed and slightly bloodshot with heavy waterlines still-some of his hair sticks up in odd directions but Leon’s gaze is stuck to his abdomen. 

It floors him for a minute as he stares at himself, lips parted in surprise at his own appearance. 

There’s a dark splotch on the waistband of his grey briefs, uncomfortably wet against the tip of his cock. His eyes are glued to the space just above though. A dribble of something decorates his skin, pearly white and slipping slowly down to seep into his briefs. 

He swallows uncomfortably as he thinks back to his teenage years, back to the few rare mornings where he woke up almost like this-skin painted with something he doesn’t know and mind hazy with some sort of endorphin rush. 

He’d never asked anyone about what it was, never googled and tried never to think about it again. 

Was it meant to happen? Was it normal? Should it happen more often? Never? Did all guys do it? Was it needed? Did it happen during sex? 

Questions he figured he’d never get the answer to. 

His cock is still half hard and pressing weightily against the fabric of his underwear, but he ignores it in favour of slowly lifting his hand toward his stomach. Involuntarily his eyes narrow a little, squinting so he doesn’t have to watch clearly what he’s doing. Tentatively, he presses one fingertip into the puddle on his skin and instantly retracts it. 

His gaze hesitantly drops down, as though he thinks his reflection is lying to him somehow. Vaguely, his mind registers that his hand is trembling yet again, but he can’t see anything apart from the liquid collected on his index finger. 

Pressing his lips together, he turns the tap on and runs the water over his finger, washing away the evidence of his morning. 

He peels his briefs off delicately, wincing all the while at his sensitivity and throwing them in his hamper before stepping into his cold shower. He starts shivering as soon as the water hits him, and briefly wonders if this is how it’ll be from now on. If something happened when he met you and now he won’t be able to control his body. It seems as though that’s the way it’s going. 

It’s a somewhat pitiful couple of minutes, just standing there in the freezing water as he waits for his body to relax fully. After a short while he turns the temperature up-but still just stands there. Eyes closed, head hanging down and hands resting on the tiles in front of him. 

-

He doesn’t see you today.

A wave of relief washes over him when you’re not on the front desk as he walks in, followed immediately by a wave of curiosity and anxiousness. 

Are you just not at your desk? Are you not in the building at all? Are you sick? Weirded out by Leon staring at you yesterday?? Oh god what if it was him-

He does his best to banish all thoughts about you as he sits down at his desk and grins at Chris-who’s slumped back in his chair, sunglasses propped crookedly onto his face and snoring lightly. Hiding his smile, Leon opens and slams a desk drawer shut, watching Chris bolt upright and wince as his glasses topple off his nose and clatter to the floor. 

“Rough night?”

For a second all he receives is a groan in response before Chris looks his way, frowning and squinting at him. 

“How-you’re not dead. Why aren’t you dead like the rest of us rookie? Traitor-” 

His smile falters for a split second as he remembers last night and this morning's showers, before shrugging at him and grinning again. 

“First day on the job? Thought it might be best not to kill myself with alcohol poisoning. You do you though, it was pretty impressive to be fair Redfield-”

Chris just groans again, takes a full minute to reach down and pick up his sunglasses before sighing and slipping them back on-upside down. 

“Yeah yeah, whatever rookie-might have liver failure but I got a girls number so ain’t it worth it-”

He falls back asleep in his chair almost immediately after he finished speaking and Leon finds himself glad, relieved that he doesn’t get asked about any women or numbers or getting laid or more things he doesn’t have the first clue about. 

An uneventful few hours go by, but he meets Jill and gets given a shit ton of paperwork so he can ‘get used to the computers’. The man who gives him the stacks of files looks disappointedly at the evidently hungover officers dotted around the room before he tells Leon this, who he takes one more look at Chris (who’s elbow slips off the arm of his chair and makes his head thwack down onto the wood, before he gives up and falls asleep there instead) and chooses to just take the papers. 

About an hour later he’s made some decent progress, but gets jerked out of his focused trance when he hears a yelled ‘MORNING CHRIS!’ come from the opposite end of the room. 

The pen he’s using jerks up out of his hand onto the floor and his face takes less than two seconds to flush bright red again. 

You. 

You again. 

You making his cheeks flare with heat, heart stutter and gut tighten. What have you done to me?

He can’t help staring as you stroll into the room, evidently stifling a laugh at Chris’ dishevelled state and holding a stack of files in your arms. You’re wearing the skirt and the blouse again, but the bra Leon can ever so slightly see behind the white fabric is a different colour to yesterday. 

He wishes he hadn’t seen that because his pulse picks up the instant that registers in his mind. It gets worse still when you stop to talk to Chris and rest the files on your hip gently, leaning to one side slightly and accentuating your figure. 

Leon swallows before looking back down at his papers. But the outline of your body is printed on his eyes like he’s looked at a light bulb for too long and he can’t resist looking back up at you. 

His heartbeat quickens dangerously and his uniform feels hot all of a sudden when you look up, catching his eye and smiling as you make your way to his desk. With a thump, you drop your files onto the stack next to him. 

Leon hesitates when lifting his face to yours because he just knows how bright his cheeks are, he can feel the heat and is sure you’re about to be set alight from it. After a few seconds he does so-and finds himself struck dumb yet again by the sight of you smiling. Except this time his jaw goes a little slack because you’re smiling at him. Not at Chris, not at Jill, not anyone else. You’re smiling directly at him, just for him. Not a polite society smile either-a genuine warm expression that makes him realise how dry his lips are. His tongue darts out to wet them as he tries to think of what to say to you, but then you’re bending and picking up the pen he’d accidentally thrown into the air when you walked in. 

Still silent, he reaches to take it when you hold it out to him-smiling all the while god help him-and his fingers brush yours. Unexpectedly, his cock twitches behind his zipper and he has to work quickly to school his features. 

And then you offer him a soft ‘nice to meet you, Leon, let me know if you need anything-’ before walking back the way you came and leaving him sweating with a dry throat, red cheeks and uncomfortable tightness in his uniform trousers. 

“Pretty ain’t she?”

Chris’ words shock him out of his trance and make him splutter a little as he tries to think of an answer. 

He struggles somewhat, because his mind is distracted by the fact that yes, that’s what it is-he thinks you’re pretty. Really pretty, some kind of pretty he hasn’t seen before. 

With the other cadets and students he’d spent the last few years with, he appreciated their looks sometimes, could recognise their beauty but was never exactly attracted to them per se. Never really had a desire to act on anything or try something new-and now, for what he thinks is the first time in memory, he finds you really pretty and wants to do something about it. What that something is, he’s unsure. Unfortunate, yet not surprising. Sadly. 

He gives Chris a vague ‘mhm’ in response as he looks back down at his desk, attempting to focus back on his paperwork but failing.

“Don’t give me that rookie, know you were thinking it. We’ve all tried-”

That makes his head shoot up again, eyes widening as he looks at Chris (unsuccessfully) holding back a smirk. His heart speeds up slightly and he thinks quickly-does that mean you’re with someone? Is another officer appreciating your pretty smiles and seeing them more than Leon ever will?

“Everyone’s-what? You’ve all what?”

Chris laughs at that, bold and loud as he slips his sunglasses up onto the top of his head.

“Oh don’t look all innocent and wide eyed like you weren’t thinking of it mate-but yeah everyone has-”

He sighs as he finishes speaking before turning his head and muttering a little, “Everyone says that dude on the desk over there got closest but it was me I’m tellin ya-”

It makes Leon’s stomach flip uncomfortably, the thought of you and Chris together. He suddenly feels a little sick, when he imagines you sending sweet smiles to him, perching on Chris’ desk and letting him see more than just ghost of your bra through your shirt-

Leon blinks himself out of his spiral, gasping quietly with his second unsettling realisation of the morning. That he wants to see more of you, see what others haven’t. 

He curses himself when he sees that his hands are trembling again, overwhelmed by the connections his mind makes-that he knows you need to be attracted to someone to have sex with them, and you need to be somewhat nude. That he is attracted to you and wants to see more of your body. His leg jogs under his desk a little, bumping against the wood every so often.

He’s felt pent up before, felt like he was about to burst with energy and like he just had to do something-but he’s never felt like this before. It confuses him somewhat, the heady mix between that and of the overwhelming need he felt this morning. Shakily, he picks up his pen again and prays he won’t see you for the rest of the day, in case he loses the rest of his sanity at one glimpse of your smile.

-

Days pass almost the same way.

He wakes up sweating and gasping, unable to move because he doesn’t know what will happen. He takes a cold shower, finds himself unable to look at his own reflection. He goes to work and can’t decide whether he wants to watch you work all day or if he hopes he won’t see you at all. 

And each day ends with him going back to his apartment and wishing he spent more time with you, that he talked to you and saw your smile and the blouse you wear and the face you make when Chris tells a bad joke. You’ve consumed so much of him, make him think of you when he sees certain characters on TV, make him picture the way you frown at your computer when he picks up his laptop.

After a couple of weeks of this, of feeling his entire body pulse and heat with the smallest comment from you, he wakes in the middle of the night.

A quick look to his left tells him it’s just gone three in the morning and he wonders why he even woke at all. His neighbours aren’t playing loud music as they have an annoying habit of doing, there’s no motorbikes outside, not an intruder or even something falling over in his flat. He furrows his brow and moves to slide out from under his covers.

He barely makes it a centimetre before a whimper is forced out of him though, suddenly all too aware of the sticky mess saturating his briefs. His head is thrown back against his pillows as he gasps, letting his hips jerk up instinctively before forcing them back down to the bed.

Leon snakes a hand under the covers and over his stomach, but he hesitates when he reaches his abdomen. His skin is wet and coated in something, much like the morning after he met you-but it’s everywhere, covering his toned muscle and soaking his underwear. He pulls the sheets back and winces at the sight, wet patch covering the front of his briefs and stomach painted with a glistening sheen of something, smeared ropes all over his skin.

Absentmindedly, he registers the cloud of pleasure that hangs over his thoughts, the immense satisfaction flowing through his body. The fabric of his underwear is plastered wetly to the outline of his shaft and he reaches down again to brush his fingers over it. He accidentally traces the thick vein on the underside of his member and whimpers again, thighs trembling at the slightest bit of stimulation. 

He remembers his teen years and the few times this happened to him. He’d just brushed it off back then, taken a shower and forgotten all about it. But now he can’t. 

He can’t because all he can think of is that he’s pretty sure he was dreaming of you just before he woke up.

In his mind is the vague image of you without your blouse, lying back on his bed and teasing the cups of your bra with your fingertips. The thought makes his cock twitch and his breath hitches as the tip brushes the sodden material. His mouth drops open as he gently pulls the material away and tugs it down to his thighs, and he thinks of the pleasure he felt when he woke, unable to stop lowering his hand and rubbing his thumb over the sensitive head of his dick.

Something in his gut tightens and he lets out a broken moan when his member twitches at his touch, the tip leaking onto his skin again and adding to the mess he’s already made. 

He stumbles into his bathroom and almost falls into a cold shower, not knowing what to do apart from this. 

It feels a little like the only respite he has these days, the only thing that has managed to return his body to normal over the past couple of weeks. 

He doesn’t sleep very well for the next few hours, wondering what the next day will bring when he sees you.

-

stage 3

Leon feels his heart beat faster the moment he steps inside the station, but you’re not behind your desk. 

He reluctantly acknowledges the pang of disappointment he feels and shakes his head lightly as he walks to his desk, trying to rid himself of the distraction you inevitably cause. When he sits down he must have a frown on his face because Chris takes one look at him and tells him you had to accompany the captain somewhere-Leon feigns disinterest as he clears his throat and logs into his computer for the morning, but his fellow officer just raises his eyebrows and turns back to his own files. 

Given that you’re not there, Leon makes it through the rest of the work day without any trouble. Except for one incident. 

Unsurprisingly, it involves sex. 

It happens when he’s in the break room, using the battered coffee machine and soon wishing it worked a whole lot quicker. But it refuses to listen to his silent pleas and churns slowly, makes Leon wait for his drink while he listens to an officer-he might have been called Dave?-talk about what he did on his weekend. 

Well, more like who he did. 

Leon opens the cupboard above him, hiding his head from the officers, but his hand hesitates when he goes to grab a coffee cup. 

“Man you should’ve seen this girl-pornstar tits I’m tellin’ you-”

His eyes widen as he slowly grabs a mug. 

“No fuckin way don’t believe you-you’re always makin shit up like this-”

“I’m serious this time, god it was insane-coulda stared at those tits all day and I’d die a happy man-”

“You just stared at her? Little guy fall short did he?”

Leon closes the cupboard and sees the first guy whacking his friend on the bicep, and turns the words over in his mind, trying to figure out what they mean. 

“Course I fucked her, man-can’t see a mouth and an ass like that and be expected to not stick my dick in one of ‘em-”

Her mouth?!? Why would that happen what does her mouth have to do with it?

The other officer throws his head back, laughing loudly. 

“Aight aight, she fuck like a pornstar too then?”

Maybe this would be easier to follow if I’d seen porn. Should I? Oh god am I going to watch porn?!?

“Fuck man you bet your ass she did-you ever back shot a girl? When I pul-” 

“Oh gross man I don’t need to know about your jizz get the fuck outta here-”

They both walk out of the break room laughing and muttering to each other while Leon stands at the counter, slowly stirring his coffee. 

As he walks back to his desk, he feels a little as though he’s in some sort of daze. His mind keeps overturning what he heard, just confusedly cycling through ‘backshot’ ‘pornstar tits’ ‘little guy fall short’ and ‘jizz’. He didn’t think he’d heard so many things he was unaware the meaning of since he’d been in school. 

And it’s not like he has a teacher to ask about why he’d put his dick in someone’s mouth.

But. 

There is porn. 

His cheeks heat a little as thinks about it, and he realises he’s been staring at the wall for a few minutes. Blinking, he comes back to himself and tries to carry on with his paperwork. 

The rest of the day isn’t very productive though, as he spends it all distracted by the thought that he’s made up his mind. He’s going to watch porn, for the first time ever, tonight. 

-

When he gets home he’s jittery, like he drank too much coffee-even though he only made the one cup and then was so distracted he forgot to drink it. 

He’s torn by the urge to grab his laptop and finally learn what he should have years ago, or to try and relax first. Make dinner, have a shower, watch some tv and then…experiment. 

Leon makes dinner first and settles onto his couch to watch some tv, but unsurprisingly finds himself unable to focus for very long. His eyes keep darting to the side, flicking to where his laptop lays on the sofa beside him. A few minutes after he finishes eating, he swears quietly and gives in, grabs his laptop and tugs it onto his lap. 

He watches the tv for a few seconds before steeling himself and opening up the browser. 

Slowly, he types,

porn

And presses enter. 

He squints at his screen slightly to dampen whatever he’s about to see, and hesitantly scrolls through the page of search results. Sighing and going back to the top, he settles further into his sofa as he reads. 

pornhub

The mouse hovers over the first result. 

That’s what guys use, right?? I swear I’ve heard people mention pornhub?

With a click, he’s suddenly taken to a black background and dozens of thumbnails for various videos. 

As soon as he looks at the first one, he jerks his hands away from the keyboard and feels his eyes widen, cheeks flushing once again as he takes in the image of a woman with her mouth wide open, tongue hanging out and just the tip of a man’s cock in view, laying on the flat of it. Leon’s cock throbs painfully in his sweats, aching and pulsing as he stares at his screen. 

Clearing his throat, he tentatively looks along to the next thumbnail-an image of a woman lying back on a bed, legs spread open and exposing herself. His cock twitches as he looks at the space between her thighs, hardening rapidly as he realises that whatever coated his stomach that morning is…leaking out of her. 

A pop up flashes up on the screen, asking if he wants like minded singles in his area (anna is only 3 miles away and wants to do sex with you!) and it jerks Leon out of his trance. With a start, he shuts his laptop and shoves it onto the coffee table in front of him, leaning back and breathing heavily. His sweatpants are tented, bulge showing prominently and a small patch is dark grey, as though a droplet of something has landed on it-or soaked into it. 

He reaches a hand down, knowing exactly what’s going to happen. As expected, the moment his fingers brush over his bulge, his hips buck up and he tries to stifle the whimper that crawls up his throat. 

Dropping his hand back to the couch, he grabs his laptop again and opens it, keeping his gaze squarely focused on the top of the screen where he presses the back arrow to return to the search bar-and away from the images that make him tremble and throb. 

He decides it might be easier to take it a little slower, to actually learn some things before plunging into the deep end. Which is why he finds himself typing ‘how to touch-’. He quickly backspaces and deletes it though, scoffing at the idea that he’d have to look at some sort of sex-ed for kids/teenagers. 

Then he frowns, and realises he probably actually knows less than the average teenager. Sighing again, he types. 

how to touch myself

Wincing at his ignorance and the phrasing of his search, he presses enter and tucks a leg under himself to scroll comfortably. 

Most articles he finds are for people with vaginas and he attempts to ignore the constant ache in his member every time he reads something about a woman pleasuring herself. After a few minutes of browsing, he finds an article that seems to have what he needs. 

It’s rather clinical to begin with, but he supposes it’s what he needs, given that he barely even knows what happened this morning let alone how to touch himself when he’s conscious. 

From the first few paragraphs, he learns about orgasms and that he ‘came’ while he was asleep-also called a wet dream! He learns that it happens to teenagers a decent amount and ‘is nothing to be ashamed of!’ which immediately tells him that most people are embarrassed, and therefore makes him feel ashamed anyway. 

He learns all the clinical technical words for things, feeling slightly overwhelmed by all of it-and he also finds out about some slang and more casual words for things. He finally reads what the word ‘jizz’ means, and thinks back to earlier in the day, trying to figure out what the men were talking about. 

Clearing his mind once more, he looks back to his screen and keeps reading-next the article details how different people find different things erotic, how he might like to be touched in different places, he might not like to be touched at all, he might like someone else to touch him. It’s rather impressive, the way his mind only takes a split second to picture you. He thinks of when you handed him his pen and your fingers brushed his, the brief sensation of your skin against his and he decides just then, thinks firmly that yes, yes he does want to be touched by someone else. He really wants to be touched by someone, and he really wants it to be you. 

His mind drifts for a minute, eyes almost glazed over as he wonders what it would be like. It’s so fucking intense already when he wakes up already hard, or when he trails his fingers over himself, and he can barely even imagine what it might be like with your hands instead of his. Your smile directed at him as your fingers trace over the sensitive veins on his cock. With a quick glance down, he sees the wet patch on his sweatpants has grown slightly bigger, and he turns back to his laptop. 

After a few more minutes reading, he also learns that it will likely feel better lubricated with…something. The article suggests lube, spit, lotion-or, if he’s with a partner, their bodily fluids. Leon grimaces at that, before thinking back to the first articles he flicked through and remembering what will happen if he’s with a woman and, somehow, manages to arouse them. Even though he’s alone, he lets out a small ‘oh’ and hunches further over his laptop, still attempting to ignore how hard he is. 

Reading on, he learns a little about how to use his hands on himself, how sensitive his balls can be, that he can play with his nipples if he likes-by the time he reaches the part about trying anal his head is swimming from the overload of knowledge and he closes the tab, leaning back into the cushions and staring across at the tv. It’s playing some cooking show, but he wouldn’t be able to focus on the chef chopping spring onions if he had a gun to his head. 

By now, the way his cock is throbbing is almost unbearable, constantly jumping behind the material of his sweats and leaking obscenely from the tip-something he now knows is called precum, as a matter of fact. 

Slowly, but with a racing heart, he places his laptop on the table and leans back once more, fisting one hand in a cushion next to him. His left hand tugs at the strings on his sweats and he undoes the bow, slipping his fingertips into the waistband before pausing and thinking it’ll feel better with his right hand. 

He swaps the cushion over to have something to grip, and pushes his right hand into his trousers. 

The second he touches his member he lets out a moan, long and loud and he trails off into a gasp. Slightly clumsily, he wraps his hand around his shaft and whimpers out a quiet ‘fuck’ at the intense feeling-hastily, his hips buck up to fuck himself into his grip. 

The wave of pleasure he felt this morning rushes up at him again and he pulls his hand from his sweatpants, panting and looking down to where the flushed head of his cock peeks out under the waistband. Precum beads at the tip and he watches intently as it drips onto his abdomen, gradually sliding into the v of his hips. He briefly thinks back to the article, to how it said it might feel better with something to help him along, and he raises his right hand a little, spits in his palm and pushes it back into his sweats. 

The feeling makes him whimper and jerk again, thighs trembling and eyes squeezing shut as he spreads his spit along his cock. He flattens his hand out and slides his palm along the underside of his shaft, feeling the veins against his skin and how the heel of his thumb brushes against his weeping tip every so often. 

It barely takes twenty seconds before he’s letting out a stream of moans, whiny ‘oh oh oh’s echoing around his apartment, accompanied by the lewd squelchy noise of his spit and precum mixing. 

It almost hurts, how much he feels right now, the onslaught of pleasure that’s suddenly hitting him after all this time-and the fact that he knows now, he knows what to do and what’s going to happen, he knows he’s trying to make himself come, that god willing one day someone will do this to him, that he might be able to come inside someone-

Fleetingly, his mind pictures the woman from the second thumbnail with her legs open and come dripping out of her-but it’s you suddenly. Your face contorted in pleasure and your legs he’s seen peeking out from under your skirt, and it’s his come, his warm seed spilling from you because he’s just fucked you, just had his cock inside you and it just happens, his eyes fly open and his lips part as he moans obscenely loud. It echoes off his walls, high pitched and whiny again as he feels his cock throb, ropes of come splattering across his stomach and over his fingers. 

Without thinking he moves his hand again, sliding his palm wetly over his length once more before gasping and pulling it away, unused to the stimulation. 

Leon lays there, panting, for a few long minutes before he can even bring himself to lift his head up. What he sees makes his eyes widen-his abdomen and his hand and the top of his sweats coated in his own come, just like this morning but he made it happen this time. He touched himself for the first time, touched his dick and and knew what he was doing and knew what he was making happen, and to the thought of you no less. 

A burst of shame fills him as he remembers how he thought of you, before he tries to banish it and take things one at a time. First-a shower is in order. 

He stumbles when he pushes himself off the sofa, stabilising himself on the arm of it as he winces at the material chafing his length. With slow steps he manages to get to his bathroom and into the shower, smiling a little when he realises he won’t have to have cold showers every morning and evening now-he can just…touch himself. He knows how to now, and, quite frankly, he already feels a little desperate for the rush of pleasure it gave him again. 

When he gets out and towels himself off a few minutes later he’s still smiling somewhat, until he remembers he’ll see you tomorrow. He’s going to have to work in the same space as you for hours and hours, all while knowing the pleasure he can so easily give himself to the thought of you. 

It’s gonna be a long day, that’s for sure.

part 2

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The second however, was nothing of the sort. It was your friends, the bachelorette herself, uncles bar. The bar itself felt like it was out of an old western movie, the people inside of it similar. You could tell most people were here to drown their sorrows after whatever hell of a day they'd had.

You were people watching while your friend talked with her uncle, the others taking pictures with the weirdly accurate cow statue by the door.

He stood out, somehow, this looked to be his scene really, but for some reason your eyes were drawn to him instantly.

He was older than you, that you could tell. The part of his face you could see had a scowl covering it, the wrinkles muddying some of his features. He was blond, but there were grays peaking through the messy hair and slight scruff covering his chin.

You couldn't look away. Something about him kept pulling your gaze back no matter how many times you tried to fight it. Thankfully you had just enough drinks in your system to act on it.

It was a move typically used on you, but one that got your foot in the door. You watched as the bartender refilled his drink, motioning towards you when he looked confused. You waved when he looked over at you, your smile probably bordering on creepy.

The man nodded with a small smile, drinking half of whatever it was in one go. In the short time you took to look over at your friends he made his way over to you.

"It's normally the other way around you know." He said, pulling your attention away from the group. He was more captivating up close. The rough tone in his voice adding to the look of him. "The older man buys the drink for the pretty young lady, didn't expect the opposite." He chuckled, making you have to swallow harder so you didn't drool in front of the poor man.

"I didn't expect to be doing it." You barely managed to say.

"Leon, Leon Kennedy." He said with a smirk, holding his hand out towards you like this was some job interview.

You replied with your name, following his format despite the mild confusion at the professionalism. His hand matched him, the calluses against your skin making your face burn slightly.

"You uh—you come here often?" You asked, wanting to smack yourself at the awkward question.

"I do. You don't." You found yourself staring at his lips as he spoke, and by the turn of them he saw it too. "Your party find the wrong bar?"

"My friends uncle owns it, she wanted to come say hi." You quickly responded, nodding towards where your friends were laughing with the man.

"Damn really making me feel old there, I went to school with the man."

You rushed out an apology only to be laughed off by the older man. The conversation started to flow into a casual exchange.

Leon told you about how he knew your friends uncle, the whole story of them reconnecting after Leon got promoted and moved a few blocks away. He told you what he deemed the cooler stories of his job, ones that if he wasn't so tattered and buff looking you'd have thought was a lie from an action movie you didn't watch.

He asked about your friend, how the two of you knew each other and what the big celebration was for. Despite his line of work he seemed to miss the big "bachelorette" sash she was wearing.

It was hard to tell how long the two of you were talking. You didn't realize any time had passed until you heard your friends calling your name by the door.

"Fuck um shit-"

"I think your friends are waiting for you." Leon commented, stating the obvious.

"Yeah we have like three other places they want to go to, fuck." Your voice strained as your annoyance at the circumstance grew.

He was about to make a joke, you could tell by the look in his eyes after he'd done it twenty times already tonight. Your friends cut him off, walking over and pulling you off of the stool you were too comfortable on.

Thankfully you came to your senses as you all approached the door, managing to pry yourself out of their hands for a moment and making your way back over to Leon. He was following your steps as you ended up standing right in front of him.

"Will you be here in an hour?" You asked, eyes practically burning through his.

"I can be." He said, voice an octave lower than before. "Three more places is going to take you longer than an hour sweetheart." It took everything in you to keep yourself upright at the new nickname.

"An hour is how long it'll take until they won't notice I left." You stammered, any confidence you had long gone. "I'd go with you right now if I could."

"Take your time, go have fun." Leon whispered, barely audible over the somber music. "If you still want this, afterwards, I'll be here." The slight self deprecation in his tone had you reeling.

One final look back to your friends had you walking across the bar with a scowl. The only thoughts running through your head being ones of Leon and how you're friends were delaying you from seeing the man in his full glory.

"When I said you should try and get laid, that is not what I meant." Your friend, the bachelorette, laughed the second you stepped out of the bar.

"At least he's kinda hot, old but hot." Another one defended you, sort of.

There were a lot of jokes thrown as you all made your way to the club a few blocks over. Comments about finding someone your own age, but none of it phased you. All you could think about was getting back to that old fucking bar.

—

You did make it back. Forty seven minutes later. The second you pushed open the door your eyes scanned the now fuller crowd.

He hadn't moved. Still sat on the same stool you left him in. The only thing that had changed was the drink in front of him. The bottle of water was almost entirely gone, depleting more as he brought it to his lips.

The second he put the bottle back down he looked towards you, almost as if he felt eyes on him. His lips turned up when he saw you, nodding towards the free stool next to him.

"Hasn't been an hour yet." Leon commented as you sat down. "Sneak out early?" He laughed at his own joke.

"The 'bachelor's' showed up. Unannounced." You groaned, thinking back to the interaction. "They can't keep track of that many people, perfectly annoying opportunity."

"You don't seem enthused despite the escape." He fully turned towards you, cocking his head with an inquisitive look.

"They kept trying to set me up with one of them, even tripped me into him at one point." You groaned again, sliding down to rest your head against your forearm that was flat on the counter.

"Ah, the young, hot, bachelor not your type?" He chuckled, leaning his head on his hand to keep eye contact with you.

"Not since I saw you." You mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear it.

"Oh sweetheart." He matched your volume.

His eyes softened, staring at you as if you'd just told him your life story. After a few moments he sat up, you followed suit watching as he called over the bartender. He slid a bill that was definitely larger than what he owed across the counter before standing, holding his hand out to you.

You took it, following him as he led you out of the bar. His hand tightened around yours as he started to walk away from the bar.

"Are you okay to walk a few blocks or do you need me to carry you?" Leon asked, pausing in his path. "If you still want to go home with me, that is." You laughed, stepping closer to him.

"I don't need you to carry me to your place." You whispered, leaning so close to him that your lips brushed against his cheek. "But, if I ask nicely, would you please?"

Leon didn't respond, instead quickly sliding an arm behind yours legs and pulling you upwards until your arms wrapped around his neck with a gasp. You felt your heart pounding as you held yourself against him, sure that he could feel it.

"No need to beg, I'll give you whatever you want from me."

—

Leon took you straight to his bedroom, setting you gently onto the soft sheets of his bed. And then, sat next to you. There was an awkward silence that filled the room, forcing you to sit in the tension mixed air for way too long.

He seemed nervous, as if you weren't desperate to be in his bed for the last few hours. The man was large, intimating beyond description, but he was the nervous one.

"Are you okay?" You asked, anxious to break the silence. "Didn't come home with you just to sit on your bed you know." You attempted to joke.

"Of course, it's just—it's been a while." He shrugged, finally turning to look at you. "With my job, I don't get out much. Never much of a priority anymore."

"If you don't want-"

"I do." Leon cut you off, reaching one of his hands out to your face and brushing a strand of hair behind you ear. "Is this what you want? You have someone your age waiting back at a bar for you if you'd prefer."

You laughed, genuinely and loudly catching the man off guard. You moved your body closer to his, only stopping when your leg was right against his.

"Honestly?" You whispered, leaning your face closer to his. "The only thing I've thought about since I bought you that drink was how you'd look above me."

Leon leaned in, lips pressing against yours in a soft and careful manner. You reciprocated, moving your lips against his in an attempt to set a quicker pace.

Much to your shock he followed, not fighting for control as most would. Testing your luck, you grazed your tongue against his lips. Almost instantly his parted, allowing you to slide your tongue into his mouth meshing perfectly with his own.

He groaned into the kiss as you brought your hands to his shoulders, digging your fingers into the muscles. Large hands shot to your waist, holding carefully but unmoving.

"You can sit on my lap, if you want." Leon whispered into the kiss.

You quickly moved to do so. Knees caging his thick thighs as they dug into the mattress. His bulge evident against your covered core from this position, you shuttered before shifting to allow more of it to press against you.

"Why do I feel like you're going to do whatever the fuck I want you to?" You asked, a seductive tone lacing your voice despite the slight joking manner.

"You did buy me a drink." He said with a small smile.

You pulled back, expecting a different reply. Was this extremely strong, older, literal government weapon really going to let you be in control? You felt like you were hearing things, you didn't expect him to be so compliant. The thought of it was a rush you had to admit.

"Are you actually?" It was hard to hide the shock in your voice, and your chest felt heavy when Leon suddenly wouldn't meet your eyes.

"That was the plan. Fuck, I feel like I'm twenty again." He chuckled to himself. "When I say it's been a while I mean it." Leons face dropped with every word.

"How long is a while?" You asked once more, trying to be comforting by moving one of your hands to play with the strands of hair that laid against his neck.

It was obvious the question made him nervous, you were close enough to hear his breath hitch before quickening.

"At least a decade."

"A decade? How the fuck has it been a decade? You're so hot?" Your rapid questions made him laugh, finally making eye contact again.

"Told you I don't get out much. Bad relationships and habits; who would've thought dating your coworkers would be a bad idea." His hands started to move, fidgeting with the edge of your shirt.

"In your line of work that sounds dangerous." You whispered, sliding your hand further up his scalp.

He nodded, leaning into your touch almost too forcefully. The room stayed silent for a while, hands softly grazing each other in what should have been an awkward embrace.

Instead, it felt oddly, intimate. Something you shouldn't expect from a man practically twice your age you met in a bar hours ago. Yet, the longer you looked at him, watched as he touched you so carefully, it felt comfortable.

"You didn't forget how to do anything?" You break the silence, leaning forward so that your lips are hovering over his.

"It's like riding a bike, right?"

You smiled, pressing your lips against his once more. It was soft for all of ten seconds before you deepened the kiss, Leon quickly following your lead.

Large hands continued to fidget with the hem of your shirt, not daring to go beneath the fabric despite the obvious desire. You grabbed hold of one of his wrists, slipping it beneath the shirt.

He groaned, taking the hint he and slide his hand further up your torso. He took his time finding your breasts, skimming along the bottom of your bra until you pushed your chest into him.

"You definitely didn't forget how to kiss." You whispered as you separated for air. "Want this off." You tugged at the bottom of his shirt.

"Yes ma'am." Leon smirked in reply.

His shirt was off and thrown to the side before you could blink. You felt your jaw drop as you were met with his chest.

He was toned, blond hair spread across pale skin. There were too many scars to count, littered along the expanse of his torso. Some looked older than you, others looked as if he could've gotten them last week.

You carefully grazed your fingers across some of them, causing Leon to shiver at the touch. One of them made him whine, a smile on his face as he did so. God you needed to hear him do that again.

Leaning down slightly you pressed your lips against his shoulder, softly tracing your tongue along an older scar. He sighed contently, eyes fluttering closed as you repeated the action as you continued lower across his collarbone.

The position was quickly becoming awkward, having to crane your neck to reach. So you pushed him down, placing the palm of your hand against his chest and pushing with the lightest bit of pressure had him folding.

Leon's head hit the pillows, eyes opening to look up at you. His hair spread across the dark colors, causing you to pause for a moment to take it all in.

You didn't speak as you traced your hands across multiple of the blemishes. Your mind was coming up with stories behind each one. It was starting to overwhelm you, his complacency and the sheer look of him.

"I know there's a lot." Leon said. "I understand it's not what you were expecting it's-"

"I didn't think you could get hotter I'm sorry I need a second." You cut him off.

Leon laughed slightly, the worry settling into his voice once again gone. "Really?"

"Yeah really." You replied, probably snarkier than needed. "I fully expected this to be a we fuck and I sneak out in the morning thing. Now I have the hottest fucking man I've seen laid in front of me and I can't think of what I want to do with what has to be a reward for something in a past life." You rambled, only cutting yourself off to breathe.

With some newfound confidence from your words he brought his hands towards you once again. Leaning up slightly he managed to guide your shirt off, leaving you in only the bra you were starting to wish was fancier now.

He kept his hands on you, holding your waist to keep you still where you sat on his pelvis. His thumbs started to trace random shapes against your skin as you started to slow your breathing.

"We have all night." Leon whispered. "You can do whatever you want, every single thing you want I'm yours for."

You took a second to compose yourself from his words. Moments later you finally undid your bra, dropping it onto the floor next to his bed. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he stared at your breasts, his hands twitched upward, hardly stopping himself.

"Like the view?" You giggled, bringing your hands back down to trail across his chest.

"I'd be an idiot not to." His voice was deeper than before, a slightly strained tone as he continued to look up at you.

"Does your job allow marks not caused by psychos?" You asked, a plan of the night starting to form in your head.

Leon laughed, the act shaking him and causing you to almost lose your balance. He whispered a small apology, helping to steady you before stopping.

You moved yourself back, allowing you to comfortably lean down and press a kiss against his collar bone once again. His cock twitched beneath the pants he still begrudgingly had on, pushing it into your stomach with the new position.

You took your time, his words echoing in your head. You wanted to map out every scar, feel how every one felt beneath your lips. An intimate act no doubt but something that felt painfully necessary.

Leon had no complaints. Letting out slight groans when your lips grazed across newer scars, sinking into the mattress at the older. His hand came to rest against the back of your head, applying no pressure as you moved.

Once you were confident that your lips had touched every uncovered scar, you started to move lower. Leon didn't react until your hands landed on the worn belt buckle, looking up at him with an expression he hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime.

"You're pretty close." He whispered, keeping his eyes on yours. "These pants aren't as thick as they seem, not much separation."

"I'd prefer if there wasn't any." You quipped back.

He whispered something, not loud enough for the syllables to reach your ears. But he nodded, taking a deep breath as your hands made quick work of the belt that could've been older than you.

It didn't take long for you to be face to face with his boxers, the bulge inches from your lips beneath the dark fabric. Testing the bounds you pressed your lips against it, hearing a loud groan from the older man.

The noise spurred you on, dragging your tongue across the fabric slowly. You watched as Leon shook, hand clenching into a fist against his sheets.

"Still think we have all night?" You asked, your voice dripping in sarcasm.

"I'm not in my twenties sweetheart. "It'll take a lot—fuck—a lot to get me across that finish line." His words were interrupted as you dragged your finger along the outline of him.

All you did in response was smirk, liking the idea of a challenge. You hooked your finger beneath the waistband and slowly pulled it below his cock. Leon let out a groan, shifting his hips enough to allow you to pull the boxers lower.

His cock was heavy, somehow larger than you believed. You could see it twitch under your gaze, making the allure only that much more intense.

The skin felt warm under your lips, even with the gentle touch. Leon's fingers dug into your skull for a split second before relaxing.

"You really enjoy teasing don't you?" He whispered, eyes burning into yours as you looked up.

You laughed, deciding to run your tongue along the base of him instead of replying. He muttered something under his breath as you continued your movements. His hips bucked slightly making you gasp.

"I think you enjoy my teasing." You spoke up after a few minutes of the action.

Leon groaned, obviously growing impatient at the slow movements. It didn't take much until you wrapped your lips around him, slowly sinking your mouth down onto his cock.

Curses flew from his lips, his eyes locked on you. You kept yourself steady, trying to focus on his gaze as you bobbed your head along him.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you're good at this." The hand on your head didn't budge despite the other clenching the sheets; still acting as a simple reminder of the touch. "Should let me do the same."

You pulled back at that, creating a popping sound that made you cringe but seemingly did wonders for him.

"Do you want to?" You asked, staring up at him still.

"Been thinking about it for hours now." He chuckled, sitting up slightly, resting on one of his elbows.

"Do you even remember how?" You joked, laughing as he scoffed. "Sorry sorry. I'll let you if you beg maybe."

It was a joke, it was very clearly a joke. Part of you was starting to wonder if he didn't really understand sarcasm, the only humor he could comprehend being those silly quips he kept making early.

Since he did beg, or ask very nicely really. He pulled you up carefully, sitting you on his thighs. There wasn't an ounce of shame in his words which shocked you, but at this point everything about him did.

"Will you, please, let me taste you?" He started, eyes burning into your own. "However you want, I'm yours to use tonight."

Hearing those words in the deep gruff voice of Leon Kennedy had your breath stop. You had to regain your composure before nodding.

Without a word you stood up. You quickly pulled down your pants, trying to ignore how awkward it was to do with an audience. Leon sat up as you managed to finally get them down your legs, underwear following.

You made your way back to the bed, sitting next to him and pressing a soft kiss against his lips before leaning back against the pillows with a wink.

He caught on, climbing on top of you almost instantly. Leon reignited the kiss, still allowing you to control the pace. His hands started to roam your body, never staying in one place for too long as they traveled lower.

You gasped into the kiss as a rough hand ghosted over your cunt. He groaned as a finger easily slid through your folds. The tip of one of them pressed against your entrance.

Leon pulled away from your lips, just enough to allow his hand between the two of you. You felt your heart skip as brought his finger to his lips, licking the remnants of you off with a moan.

"Can you slap me?" Leon asked suddenly. You gave him an odd look, a whiplash of emotions going through you. He caught on smirking slightly before he spoke. "Need to make sure I'm not dreaming, since you taste like one."

"Oh my god!" You laughed, shoving him away from you.

He joined, finding humor in his own joke. He continued chuckling as he leaned towards you again, pressing his lips against your chest.

Slowly he moved lower, looking up at you every so often as he did. Just as you were about to plead with him to do something, his lips finally moved towards your core.

He first kissed your inner thigh, looking up at you until you nodded permission. You felt his breath against your entrance, almost wanting to scream in desperation.

"Leon." You whined, hand flying to his hair, barely resisting pulling him towards you.

"Feel okay?" You nodded.

That was enough for him. His tongue ran along your slit, nose budding into your clit. Somehow, you think, the position didn't seem close enough for the man. As just as soon as he started, he was pulling your legs to rest on his shoulders.

He increased his intensity, getting more comfortable in his abilities the longer this went on. You could feel him moan against you, the vibrations aiding to the burning coil starting to form in your stomach.

"Don't be afraid to hurt me." Leon whispered, bringing his hand to rest against yours where it resided in his hair. "I can take a lot." He laced his fingers with yours, tightening your grip on his hair before forcing you to pull him closer.

You gave in, tugging harshly at the blond locks as he tried to devour you. Your thighs started to try and close around his head; Leon smiled against you the hand that was on your thigh unmoving, no attempt to stop you.

"So close—shit Leon don't you need to breathe?" You moaned, almost unable to finish the question

He shook his head, the movement barely noticeable due to the grip you had on him. He said something, muffled far too much by you and the noises being made by his mouth.

He didn't even move when you came, completely unwavering as you dug your nails into his scalp. Every move of his tongue was calculated, working your through your orgasm until you pushed him away.

Leon didn't stray far. While he followed your lead, his mouth moved from your sensitive pussy to your thighs. He pressed soft kisses against the plush skin, trying to ignore the weird feeling of your cum on his face being spread across your skin.

"How'd I do?" Leon asked, slowly kissing his way back up your torso.

"How do you think?" You laughed, trying to sit up on your elbows to better look at the man while catching your breath.

"Can you say it, please?" His voice got quiet, eyes closed.

You took a second, trying to take in the pitiful look that had formed across the mans face. The way the light was shining on the both of you accentuated the grays littering his stubble and now messy hair.

Part of you didn't want to give him what he wanted just to tease, the other part just couldn't believe he did, really want it. Having a man twice your age, begging you for praise was not in any fantasy you'd ever had; it should've been.

"You did such a good job, being so good for me baby." You coo'd, catching yourself slightly off guard by how effortlessly it came out.

That seemed to be exactly what the older man wanted to hear. A smile spread across his face and the bright blue eyes met yours again. He moved further up your body, not stopping until his lips were inches away from yours.

"Do you still want to do this? We can stop now if you want." Leon whispered, breath hitting your face with every word.

"I think I'll die if you don't fuck me honestly." You tried to prove your point by guiding his hand back down to your cunt, making him feel how wet you still were.

Without looking away from your eyes, he pushed his middle finger into your entrance, slowly pushing it deeper until he couldn't any more.

He rested his forehead against yours as he slowly pumped the finger into you, much slower than needed. You wanted to whine, to try and make him move faster; but, he looked focused.

You felt his cock twitch against your thigh as he finally added a second, thick, finger into you. The stretch had your head thrown back for a moment, pulled back up by Leon's other hand.

"Keep your eyes on me, please sweetheart." The words made you feel like you were on fire, the weirdly intimate feeling from before coming back.

All you did was nod, trying your best to keep your head level against his, eyes staring into his. The eye contact was difficult, but you were reeling in his desperation to please you, to be good for you, that you managed.

"Leon please just fuck me already." You groaned, trying to push against his fingers.

"What if you're not ready yet? I don't want to hurt you."

You sighed, watching that submissively self deprecating look take over his features. It was a sweet worry, but you were far too desperate to appreciate it right now.

"Leon." This time your voice was harsher. His eyes went wide at your tone, better showing how blown his pupils were. "Thought you were going to do whatever I wanted?" You did your best to keep your voice stern.

"I am, aren't I?" He asked, voice low with worry.

"I asked you to fuck me, and you argued." He tried to speak, immediately caving when you shushed him. "So unless you don't want to, I don't see why you aren't listening to me." Your voice wavered slightly, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I do, want you so bad." His fingers quickened, thumb now slowly gliding across your clit.

"Then be a good boy and do what I ask, okay?"

Leon pulled away, nodding with record speed. He pulled his fingers out of you, bringing the hand to his mouth. You expected a repeat of earlier, but instead Leon spit in his palm, hand shooting down to his cock seconds later.

You looked down, watching as his hand ran across his shaft. It wasn't long before he rested the tip against your cunt, pressing against your entrance.

He looked up at you again, a questioning look on his face. The second you nodded he pushed himself into you. He moved slowly, allowing you to feel every inch of his large cock as it stretched your walls.

The second his hips were flush against you he paused, partly for your own comfort, but mostly to regain his cool. His breath was fast, it was memorizing watching the way his chest fell so fast.

"Let me know—know when to move." Leon stammered, his voice somehow deeper than before.

"Move, please." You whined.

Leon listened. He started slow, barely pulling out before pushing back in. His pace was slow, but the drag of his cock along your tight walls made it feel more intense.

You took in the view of him above you as he increased his speed. The way sweat was glistening off his chest with the light, the concentrated look settled deep within the wrinkles by his eyes.

You were able to keep your eyes on him until his thumb came down to your clit, matching the pace of his thrusts.

"God sweetheart you feel perfect." Leon moaned, ducking his head until it rested in the crook of your neck.

"So do you fucking hell." You whined, trying to fuck yourself against his cock. "Can you go harder?" You asked between moans, not wanting to push the man.

Leon laughed against your neck. He pulled back for a second, just enough to look you in the eyes before replying.

"Anything you want from me is yours." He whispered.

He didn't give you a second to take in the heaviness of the words. Instead, he pulled himself out of your cunt, leaving the tip inside. Instantly he pushed back in, repeating the act over and over again causing you to scream as you threw your head back into the pillows.

You heard him say something but the words didn't register. He leaned down towards you once again, lips pressing against your shoulder as he continued the brutal pace.

He shifted his hips slightly, managing to angle himself enough to push his cock perfectly into your g-spot. You felt him grin at your reaction, moaning as your thighs tightened around his waist.

"Fuck Leon, I'm close." Another whine, only making the man thrust harder.

"Me too honey me too." You could feel his cock twitching against your walls. "Need you to loosen your legs so we can."

You shook your head, tightening the hold you had. Leon let out a disapproving grunt, and yet he made no effort to push against you.

"Don't worry about it, wanna feel you." You whispered, clenching your walls around him.

"God you're dangerous." He almost laughed, cutting himself off with a groan.

It didn't take long until you came, pulling Leon closer to you as your vision started to go white behind your eyes. You couldn't make out the words he was saying, but you could feel his lips moving against your skin.

Through the haze you heard him groan, hips stuttering and a warm feeling washing over you as he came deep inside of you. You felt his cum start to leak out as he slowly pulled away.

Leon's hand slowly traversed down, brushing against your leaking hole making you shiver with senestivity. His index finger slowly swiped across the combination of you both, collecting it on his skin before pushing it slowly back into you.

He shushed you as you whined, weakly pushing away from him due to the stimulation. His lips met yours in a soft kiss, smiling into it as you both calmed down.

"You're so hot." You whispered, finally catching your breath.

Leon laughed, laying down beside you on the bed. He was quick to pull you against him, your head now resting against his chest.

"You're the hot one sweetheart." He mumbled, pressing a kiss into the top of your head.

You groaned, annoyed that he wouldn't accept the compliment but far too tired to put up a fight. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him.

"Next time I'm buying the drinks, okay?" Leon joked just as you were falling asleep.

You knew the Kennedys from a safe distance. The tired, uptight wife and hardworking husband, the kid off in boarding school, the picket fence in a gated community. Working with Leon’s wife meant you knew very little about him. He had some kind of secret government job, whatever that meant. She complained about how often he was away, leaving her alone with their whole life to run, and honestly you empathized with her. But it was hard for anyone not to notice the state of their marriage, even at little office Christmas parties and picnics.

A simple kiss on the cheek from him had her batting him off like a fly, and god forbid he hold her at all. It would be a painful push-and-pull to witness, if you weren’t so drawn to him. If his eyes didn’t wander so dangerously. You could swear you saw him around the office more these past few months, dropping off a forgotten lunch or just “stopping by”, never failing to catch you for a conversation. His hands lingered on your wrists or arm, only pulling away when his wife neared. He gave you just enough to be left wanting, if that even was his intention.

You had stayed late at the office that day, covering for your coworker on vacation. When you finally finished, you drove straight to your favorite bar nearby and ducked inside just as it began to rain. Dark clouds rolled in, creating the illusion that it was later than the clock read. Inside, you sat at the bar and ordered your drink before taking a glance around at the other patrons.

Mostly tired folks just off their shift, chatting with a friend or on their phone nursing a beer. To your left, however, sat a familiar brunette man.

“Leon!” You said, louder than intended.

His head snapped up from its drooped position and he knit his eyebrows at you in weary confusion. “What’r you doing here?”

From his stupid question, it was clear he’d been here for at least a couple of drinks longer than you. “Just got off work,” you scooted down to a stool beside his, “I could ask you the same question,” you paused, “but I won’t.”

“Thanks.” His half smile said enough. You both knew who was the likely reason for his lonely evening.

Not a word passed between you until the bartender set your drink down on the table and you took a sip. “So, what’cha been up to at work?” You poised hopefully.

Leon took a swig of his beer. “Boring, government stuff. Lotta paperwork,” he cleared his throat, “and a lotta dumbasses.”

You chuckled knowingly and nodded, “that sounds all too familiar if I’m being honest. Just a bunch of mindless corpses.”

He looked at you again, and heat rose in your cheeks. His lips were damp and plump from drinking, his eyes softer than you knew them to be, and god that stubble. You didn’t know a man who could pull off the tired-and-unhappy-husband-drowning-his-feelings-in-alcohol look better. But Leon pulled off just about every look better than most men.

“What about you? It’s, what, 6:30?” He checked his watch. “Only 6:00, still. Not your bedtime yet?” He teased.

You groaned and took another sip, “Sandy’s been off in Fiji for about a million years, so I’m finishing up her reports for the quarterly meeting. Fuckin’ Sandy.”

“Fuckin’ Sandy,” he echoed with a laugh. His whole demeanor changed in laughter, a smile splitting across his face and his shoulders shaking with mirth.

You ordered some fries from the bartender and soon enough, you and Leon were chatting away and sharing the basket. Each of your drinks were gone within the hour, your inhibitions dropping with each sip. Leon’s shoulders relaxed and he began cracking terrible jokes you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at. His gaze drifted over you constantly, from lips to neck to places you swore you were imagining. You couldn’t help it, either. That navy blue Henley hugged Leon’s features sinfully, the sleeves pushed up his thick forearms, daring you to keep staring far past what was appropriate.

His voice brought you back to the present. “How’s, uh, whatever his name is?” When you made a confused face at him, Leon elaborated, “your boyfriend, I assume. He was at the Fourth of July party this summer.”

A slight panic rose in you. “Oh! Uh, yeah we’re not dating. Not anymore, I mean.” You fidgeted in your seat, conflicting emotions battling away in your mind through a fog of intoxication.

Leon nodded silently, a small smirk ghosting his lips. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled, slurring the first word.

“You don’t seem sorry, Leon.”

His smile faltered, some internal battle raging behind his eyes. “I probably shouldn’t have had that last drink.” It was hard to tell if he was joking.

You leaned forward and gingerly laid a hand on his resting on the bar. “Probably,” you whispered. It only took a slight turn of his head and you were face to face, alcohol-rich breath mingling in the air between you. You felt him inhale when you touched his knee, but he didn’t pull away. You leaned in to his ear and slid your hand up his thigh, giving him time to push you off. “Maybe we could be honest with each other somewhere more…private.”

He let out an uneven breath. “Private, right.” Leon glanced over his shoulder at the other drunk patrons nervously. “Don’t try anything funny,” he joked.

—

Leon hesitated for but half a second outside the hotel room, staring into the dark void past the open door. And there you stood inside, framed by black, beckoning him to join you. And lord forgive him, that dissolved the very last shred of willpower he had. He shut the door behind you and started. “So, what should we-“

Your lips were suddenly hot on his, tongue sliding through his mouth with a rare longing. He relaxed into you after a moment and wrapped his arms around your waist, firm and reassuring. When you reached down and found his half-hard dick under his jeans, he cursed, “eager, are we?” You replied with a squeeze.

Hands fumbling with the zipper, you shoved his jeans down and palmed him through his underwear, reveling in each expression you coaxed out of him. Leon Kennedy, a full grown man, touch deprived and rutting against your hand before you’d really even started. You almost thought it was cute.

He kicked off his jeans and kissed you again, his weathered hands holding your face and deepening the lip lock further. You walked backwards and unbuttoned your shirt, then hit the wall harder than intended as Leon’s lips hungrily devoured yours. He broke the kiss only to trail down your neck, lapping and sucking at your sensitive skin. When he reached the hem of your bra and looked to you, it was hard not to drop to your knees at his expression. Determined, turned on, and fucking polite. At your nod he unhooked your bra and slipped it down your arms slowly, relishing in every new inch of skin.

“Fuck,” he exhaled at the sight. Leon’s lips found your left nipple and a groan erupted from your mouth, your fingers tangled in his grey-streaked locks as you pulled him into your breast. His tongue swirled around your bud feverishly, coaxing out the gentle pleasure blooming in your chest. Your other breast was engulfed by his hand, groping and kneading and playing with your aroused peak. He devoured you with a desperation rarely seen in men his age, as if Leon would rather suffocate himself on your tit than breathe air so devoid of your taste.

His free hand slipped under your waistband and underwear, finding the wetness that had been growing between your legs since you saw him. “All this for me, gorgeous?” He met your lidded eyes and when you whimpered in confirmation, he couldn’t hold back his cocky grin.

“Fuck off,” you moaned. Leon’s finger circled your clit and then pressed down, hard. You squeezed your thighs around him but he pushed them apart again, determined to make you fall apart on his fingers. Your hips ground down onto his hand, begging for more friction and he obliged. After all, Leon was just as desperate as you were. He watched your jaw go slack with each languid stroke, slick coating his fingers. You yanked your waistband weakly, watching as he dropped to his knees and pulled off the last pieces of clothing on your body.

His lips skated over your bare thighs, hot breath drawing goosebumps from your skin. His eyes met yours as he settled just above your core, light kisses teasing the soft flesh of your mound as you gazed down at him. Leon’s hair was in his eyes, mussed and perfect down there between your legs. And when his lips wrapped around your clit, your fingers clutched onto his scalp for dear life. You felt him groan into you, like he was devouring a dessert he rarely had the pleasure of tasting. The vibrations wound the coil of pleasure in your stomach impossibly tighter, your stubborn resolve crumbling by the second.

“Say it,” he spoke between each lick, his fingers teasing at your entrance, “tell me exactly what you want.” He sucked your clit between the last few words, punctuating them with your own moans. Two fingers slowly pushed into your tightness, breaking through and finding purchase deep inside, curling into your gummy walls. The pressure building in your cunt was becoming too much, too intense. You bucked into Leon’s mouth at the added stimulation, and he spoke again. “Tell me or I’ll stop, baby.”

“Please Leon, I need to cum! Fuck, please Leon,” you barely choked out, mind hazy with his fingers and mouth speeding up, working on you in sweet tandem. “I’m close, Leon I’m gonna- please-“

Your head lolled back as the pleasure peaked, then crashed over you. His mouth stayed firmly on your clit as you rode out your orgasm, tongue swirling and lapping at it. It was at least ten seconds before you were back in your body again and tried to push Leon off.

He took a last lick up your folds before standing again, cock hard and dripping with pre. It stained the grey fabric of his boxers, and you could imagine his taste so acutely. You took a long look as he slid them down, the extent of his length now staring you in the face. Leon was thick and impossibly hard, pulsing with need, a mouthwatering vein trailed from base to tip. And there was a neat patch of light brown hair blooming from his crotch that framed the pretty thing. He stroked it lazily, flushed cockhead disappearing under his fingers with each pump.

Leon cracked up at your expression, “take a picture sweetheart, it’ll last longer.” You scoffed at his dumb joke and blushed in spite of yourself.

Without warning, he slipped his arms around your waist and hoisted you up, carrying you to the bed halfway across the room. You hit the duvet with a squeal, then watched as Leon lifted his shirt off over his head. It dropped to the floor revealing his practically edible pecs, his bulging arms that always strained against the too-small t-shirts he donned, and the v that pointed straight to his leaky cock. It was your personal wet dream incarnate. He crawled across the bed, muscles flexing slightly at each movement until he was on top of you, arms caging you in.

You grinned up at him, pushed him over by his shoulders and took his place on top. Leon wisely hadn’t put up a fight, weak to whatever you wanted from him. Your lips connected in a deep kiss, heat and longing and guilt all passing between you, shared like your saliva. You moaned at the taste of yourself in Leon’s mouth, his chin still wet with your residue. Sitting back up, you took in the sight of him under you. He was breathless, pupils blown and hair a mess. You couldn’t help but press kisses into his neck, his chest, and down his bicep, but you paused when you reached his left hand.

Leon went stiff under you, but your kisses continued. Over each finger, then down to the sensitive inside of his wrist. You slid his gold wedding band off smoothly and met his gaze as you tossed it towards the pile that was his pants on the floor. He erupted in a moan, and his hands flew to your waist.

“Getting ahead of yourself?” You teased, but Leon just yanked your hips down so he was pressed right up against your dripping cunt. His hands were iron when you slid back and forth, his head catching on your swollen clit. He guided your hips over and over, swallowing his grunts with each pass. You whimpered in frustration, “I wanna hear you, Leon. Wanna hear how much better I am than her.”

Leon’s heavy breaths slowed, chest rising and falling under you. He lifted your hips and you lined him up wordlessly, a string of wetness already connecting your heat to him. You dropped your hips down, and his eyes rolled back as his cock filled you. The stretch was unbelievable, filling your eyes with tears and blurring your vision.

“Fuck, are you okay? We can stop if-“

“Please fuck me Leon,” you found his gaze, “fuck me the way she never lets you.”

The soft, empathetic look melted from his face. Leon’s dick slid out momentarily, before fucking back up into you. Both you and him watched as his cock disappeared inside you again, groaning and cursing at the sight. “She’s sucking me in, sweetheart. Wants me to stay-“ he moaned.

He slammed up into you again. “Leon,” you were barely coherant, “s- so big.” The sounds filling the room were obscene, whimpers and curses and the slap slap slap of your lovemaking.

Leon looked entranced, mouth agape at your bouncing tits above him. His brain was useless, reason completely overrun with desire in this moment. The bruising grip he had on your hips released momentarily to flip you under him, ass up. He pushed inside you again and started up the pace once more. His hand pressed down on your neck, pushing you into the plush pillows as he fucked your wrecked pussy from behind. At this angle, you could feel him even deeper, and he was pounding into that part of you that made your toes curl.

“Fuuuuuck take it, just like that. Take that big fucking dick, just what you were made for,” Leon was muttering, and you didn’t know if he was even aware of it. “Tightest cunt I’ve ever had, won’t be able to have another man once I’m done. Gonna ruin this pussy for everyone else.”

His words sent a new gush to your cunt, and you clenched around him. Leon’s hand reached around and found your clit, dripping and pulsing and hot with need. You rocked your hips back into him as the familiar burn of pleasure rose inside you, and he slapped your ass hard. He was close too, his desperate hand rubbed and stroked your button with a telling fervor.

“You wanna cum? I can feel her gripping me so- so fucking tight, you need to cum on my dick, sweetheart?” Leon’s words had an edge of cruelty to them.

You could only whimper and nod, so fucked-out by his thick cock sliding in and out of your tightness. You felt his chest press against your back and he planted a kiss between your shoulder blades, so much sweeter than his words. The pleasure was reaching a breaking point and all thoughts were flushed from your system, only the need for more, more, more of him. Leon all over you, only yours. You came with a cry, his cock pressed into that spot so deep, making you nearly go cross-eyed.

And just went you wanted to beg for more, he pulled out and stroked himself furiously over you. His sticky cum covered your ass, some stray ropes hit your back, and you felt more trickling down over your aching cunt. Leon groaned behind you, no doubt taking in the sight. You looked back and he grabbed a couple tissues from the nightstand to clean you up. He wiped his spend from your skin and flopped beside you, visibly tired.

After a few moments of silence, he broke it with a laugh, “I think you killed me.”

“Old man needs some ibuprofen?” He didn’t even give you an annoyed look, he was so blissed out. You laid there beside him and stared at the ceiling, trying to come down.

You moved farther under the bed, suddenly wishing it was against two walls instead of in the middle of the room. The moonlight cascaded onto the bed like a spotlight, a target. 

Two walls wouldn’t save you, but maybe it wouldn’t feel like you were strung up in the open, awaiting trial. Awaiting an execution you knew you deserved. 

The door swung open, the hinges creaking. 

“My lady?” 

Long black boots greeted you, familiar yellow laces running up the front. It seemed almost like a dream to be met with Pierrot now: one in which the world flipped on its head, and monsters could lie with princesses. He entered your room just as he had done a thousand times before, and yet never had he come without fear. Soldiers weren’t allowed in your room, especially not monsters. His voice was hesitant as it called for you, but not quiet. He wasn’t trying to hide anymore. 

The world had flipped, but nothing was gained without also giving something up. 

You closed your eyes, willing yourself to wake up. To dream of a house by the coast instead. 

It wasn’t his fault. 

The thought was easier to voice in your head than out loud, where the words would blend together with the shrill sounds of cries. 

Was it your fault? 

The bells on his costume jingled as he walked toward the bed. He wanted you to hear him.

When you finally opened your eyes, Pierrot’s face filled your vision, peeking into the space under the bed where you cowered. His eyes drowned in sadness when he saw your shaking hands and your gaze roaming his sullied skin. You saw him aching, just as you did, and you wanted nothing more than to pull him into your arms and hold him there forever. 

But you could still hear the sounds of the gardener choking on his own blood just outside your window. 

Was it the Doctor’s doing? 

He always seemed to have a fascination with death, or the prolonging of it. Or maybe Harlequin, who loved to make a spectacle of things? 

You’d always known what they were capable of, and yet seeing it in front of you…

Pierrot looked as though he might shatter with one harsh word from you, and he made himself small, as though his sagging shoulders would allow you to forget how he towered over you. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

You swallowed, mouth dry. The look he gave you made your heart break, but you were still afraid. “Pierrot…?” 

He spoke frantically, extending his hand toward you but unable to reach without jostling the bed. “I never meant…Nothing will happen to you, I promise. Please, come out.”

He had never hurt you before, but things were quickly changing. Was he changing, too?

Pierrot backed up to allow you space to crawl out. Your knees scraped painfully on the floor as you did, but you could hardly feel it with the fear that numbed your racing heart. 

He kept his distance as you stood, although his arms twitched toward you. The hands that had been trained to kill only longed to hold you now. 

“Where are the others?” you asked, knees feeling weak as you stood for the first time in hours. Your back ached from how you had contorted yourself under the bed. 

You eyed the open door behind Pierrot. It would only take a few steps to reach.

Pierrot looked at you, eyes wide. Desperate, like a cornered animal. You wondered if you looked the same. 

“Away, for now,” he said. “Please don’t run, my lady. I might enjoy…”

He didn’t give you a choice, suddenly wrapping his arms around you and tucking you into his shoulder. 

“It makes me want to hold you tighter,” he said, stroking your back. “Forgive me…I know you’re scared, but I can’t help myself.” 

He smelled like iron. Nothing like the usual sweet scent his clothes held from the cooking he liked to do; the treats he would sneak you. 

“It…It’s okay, Pierrot,” you said. Was it?

“I’ve wanted you for so long, and your warmth…I want to take you right now,” he murmured. 

The wretched noises spilling in from the other parts of the castle compelled you to push him off of you, to fight even if your nails were dull compared to his claws. 

But the truth was, you had always been soft on Pierrot. 

He was stronger than Harlequin and faster than Jester, but they had never needed you as Pierrot did. It seemed a Herculean task to deny him, even while his face was still stained with blood. It was a small mercy that he had thought to wash away the red from his hands before he touched you. 

Pierrot was in front of you, lips pressed to your own, just as you’d always wanted, but now you trembled in his hold. 

Your room was adjacent to your father’s, after all. 

Pierrot needed you the most. He always had, and now more than ever. This time, there were no humans to tell him he couldn’t have you. No humans would be left alive in the castle, except for you. 

It should have been easy to tell him no, even if your body would reveal the truth, but you were weak. You still wanted him, even as you choked down sobs at the thought of your father lying face down a short walk away. 

Pierrot undressed you gently, even while he was feverish with need, wishing to tear the clothes from your body. “Do you see what you do to me? My body burns for you…” 

You could finally be together, but everything was wrong now, wasn’t it? 

All you wanted was to feel something. Anything, even if it wasn’t sandy beaches. 

“Show me,” you said. 

He laid you down on your bed, your head falling onto your cold pillow, and crawled between your thighs, pushing them up to rest on his shoulders. Pierrot watched you from below, almost in disbelief. He smiled at you shyly, a blushing virgin despite everything. 

It was disgusting, really, how easily you became wet at the slightest brush of his tongue across your folds. Neither you nor Pierrot knew what you were doing, but he seemed to act on instinct alone, touching and tasting you in all the ways that had been forbidden only hours ago. He held your hand when he did it, and that only made things worse. 

“I love you, my lady. I always have, even when I wasn’t supposed to,” he said, eyes shining as he held you.

You squeezed his hand, and he returned to sampling your flesh. 

His movements were desperate, his arms gripping your thighs, and his thick tongue exploring you as though there was a chance you would disappear before him at any moment. He must’ve still been stuck thinking that someone would be trying to pry you away from him, but he had made sure there wasn’t anyone left. 

“Your fear…it tastes so sweet,” he said between kitten licks against your clit. “But you shouldn’t think of anything else, my love. You should forget everything else, except for me.” 

Then, he placed his mouth firmly against you and sucked. You squirmed as the pleasure warmed your belly, hips bucking against his mouth, begging him to consume more of you. You’d never believed such pleasures would be possible for you; the future only held arranged marriages to humans who could never reach so deep into you.

The touch of another was different from how it had felt to play with yourself in the quiet of the night, and you could hardly contain your moans even as the shame poured over you in waves. 

Did Pierrot plead with Jester to keep you alive? 

Did your father plead the same thing to Pierrot?

You liked to think that the others were as fond of you as you were of them, but you knew Jester wasn’t quite so sentimental: you were still one of them, after all, and how far you had fallen already. 

What would the king’s advisor, a man who had treated you as his own daughter, think of you now, allowing the monster who had killed him to feast on your cunt? 

Was it as Jester said? That he deserved to fall? That they all did?

You didn’t want to blame the monsters. 

A caged bird would always peck out the eyes of its master to fly free. 

Your father had given Jester command and power and expected his fealty to remain even when the king raised his hand against his own. He was foolish. Weak. He deserved it for what happened to her, but he was still your father, and so you mourned the man that poked the bear. 

It was nature’s law that the weak would fall to the strong. 

But what did that mean for you when your weakness only allowed you to beg for more as Pierrot pushed another finger into you, mindful of his claws? 

He bent down to lap at your clit when the stretch became too much, the pain and pleasure melding together sweetly. 

Had those same claws been the ones to end your father’s life? 

You would have thought Jester, or maybe Harlequin, would want the ‘honours,’ but it hadn’t been too long after you heard his last breath, hiding under your bed, that Pierrot had found you, with no sign of any of the other monsters following behind him. 

Somewhere deep inside, you could admit that it didn’t matter. Nothing could keep Pierrot from you, and maybe you didn’t want anything to. 

He was beautiful, even with his mouth messy from your juices and blood caked in his hair. He looked at you so sweetly, as though nothing mattered but you, and he smiled and blushed under your own gaze in turn. 

Pierrot was mindful of your comfort, but there was only so much he could prepare you to take him. You had to be quick if you didn’t wish for someone to come looking for you two. The thought made you shiver; the others surely wouldn’t be as forgiving as Pierrot. Would Harlequin try to squeeze the air from your lungs? Would Jester enjoy bleeding you out? 

Maybe they wanted you dead, and maybe they weren’t wrong to feel that way. 

You hadn’t helped them when they needed you, when your father threatened to starve and beat them. You had tried before to save her, your beloved companion, and yet–

She didn’t deserve it. 

You hadn’t helped your father when he cried out, remaining hidden under your bed as though you were a child. 

Maybe he deserved it. 

You were weak. So weak.

All you could manage was to pick up the pieces after they had already shattered all over the floor. If the wolf who weeped was still a killer, then what was the wolf who couldn’t stop her own father from leaving the ones she loved battered and bruised?

They deserved more than washcloths to clean their cuts and mere kisses to make them better. 

Pierrot didn’t seem to mind your weakness. 

He helped you forget, the tip of his cock teasing up and down your folds, nudging your clit before he finally pushed himself into you, slow and steady until you were filled to the brim with him. There was something comforting about the way you two were joined, as though you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began. 

Where you didn’t have to hate yourself, because that would mean hating Pierrot too, and you weren’t capable of such a thing. 

He clung to you, head buried in your shoulder, as he fucked you. His thrusts began slowly and tenderly, but soon Pierrot lost himself to the feel of your body beneath him and began to shove himself into you without pretence. He humped your cunt desperately, not able to bear being separated from your heat for more than the second it took for him to pull out and thrust back into you again. 

“Love you, my lady! L-love you so much it hurts,” he whined. 

Your hips ached as he pressed them toward your chest, and the stretch of your hole around him was almost too much to bear, but somehow you longed for more. You guided his hand down between your bodies to play with your clit, and his thrusts fell out of rhythm when it caused you to squeeze around him, the pressure building up and threatening to spill over.  

You closed your eyes and pretended that you weren’t here in your room, blood shrouding his love, and cries of lust and torment swirling together. You imagined the two of you on the coastline, far away from the kingdom. It might be messy to have your first time on the sand, but you didn’t care. All that would matter was finally being able to have Pierrot, to watch him push into you as the sun set behind him and feel that there was no one in the world except the two of you. 

You came to the thought of him filling you in this distant world where you lived in a little house on the beach. 

Maybe the others would be there, too. Harlequin would sing you his tales, without the audience of nobles ready to deride him. Jester would catch you fresh fish, instead of spearing the chests of his enemies. The Doctor would have endless hours to dedicate to his gardening, instead of spending all his time in the dungeon, practicing lacerations on prisoners. Ticket Taker would be able to relax more, only having to worry about budgeting for your little household instead of the whole castle. She would be there too, with sweet smiles and pink bows, and she would bathe in the sunlight. You would take care of them, for a change. 

They would love you, even when you were weak. 

They would live, even when you were weak. 

But once the pleasure faded, reality bled back into focus, with Pierrot’s eager thrusts rocking the bed and a mantra of sweet nothings pouring into your ear. Your body twitched underneath him, still sensitive from your orgasm but forced to take more of his love.

Your father was dead, and so was his advisor. The gardener, for sure, and likely the maids who had dressed you since you were a little girl. The daughters of the other nobles, who had been your dearest companions. 

It reminded you of before, of when she–

Everyone who had ever loved you was gone, except for Pierrot. 

Was it his fault? 

“My lady,” he moaned. “I want to fill you with me, m-make you mine.” 

Pierrot’s hips bucked against your own as he sank himself into you one final time. You could feel his cum, hot as it flooded your walls. 

They deserved to be free. 

He deserved better than you. 

Pierrot clung to you, his cock softened, but remained inside of you. He was sure not to crush you beneath him, but he huddled as close to you as he could, pressing every part of himself against you. 

You moved farther under the bed, suddenly wishing it was against two walls instead of in the middle of the room. The moonlight cascaded onto the bed like a spotlight, a target. 

Two walls wouldn’t save you, but maybe it wouldn’t feel like you were strung up in the open, awaiting trial. Awaiting an execution you knew you deserved. 

The door swung open, the hinges creaking. 

“My lady?” 

Long black boots greeted you, familiar yellow laces running up the front. It seemed almost like a dream to be met with Pierrot now: one in which the world flipped on its head, and monsters could lie with princesses. He entered your room just as he had done a thousand times before, and yet never had he come without fear. Soldiers weren’t allowed in your room, especially not monsters. His voice was hesitant as it called for you, but not quiet. He wasn’t trying to hide anymore. 

The world had flipped, but nothing was gained without also giving something up. 

You closed your eyes, willing yourself to wake up. To dream of a house by the coast instead. 

It wasn’t his fault. 

The thought was easier to voice in your head than out loud, where the words would blend together with the shrill sounds of cries. 

Was it your fault? 

The bells on his costume jingled as he walked toward the bed. He wanted you to hear him.

When you finally opened your eyes, Pierrot’s face filled your vision, peeking into the space under the bed where you cowered. His eyes drowned in sadness when he saw your shaking hands and your gaze roaming his sullied skin. You saw him aching, just as you did, and you wanted nothing more than to pull him into your arms and hold him there forever. 

But you could still hear the sounds of the gardener choking on his own blood just outside your window. 

Was it the Doctor’s doing? 

He always seemed to have a fascination with death, or the prolonging of it. Or maybe Harlequin, who loved to make a spectacle of things? 

You’d always known what they were capable of, and yet seeing it in front of you…

Pierrot looked as though he might shatter with one harsh word from you, and he made himself small, as though his sagging shoulders would allow you to forget how he towered over you. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

You swallowed, mouth dry. The look he gave you made your heart break, but you were still afraid. “Pierrot…?” 

He spoke frantically, extending his hand toward you but unable to reach without jostling the bed. “I never meant…Nothing will happen to you, I promise. Please, come out.”

He had never hurt you before, but things were quickly changing. Was he changing, too?

Pierrot backed up to allow you space to crawl out. Your knees scraped painfully on the floor as you did, but you could hardly feel it with the fear that numbed your racing heart. 

He kept his distance as you stood, although his arms twitched toward you. The hands that had been trained to kill only longed to hold you now. 

“Where are the others?” you asked, knees feeling weak as you stood for the first time in hours. Your back ached from how you had contorted yourself under the bed. 

You eyed the open door behind Pierrot. It would only take a few steps to reach.

Pierrot looked at you, eyes wide. Desperate, like a cornered animal. You wondered if you looked the same. 

“Away, for now,” he said. “Please don’t run, my lady. I might enjoy…”

He didn’t give you a choice, suddenly wrapping his arms around you and tucking you into his shoulder. 

“It makes me want to hold you tighter,” he said, stroking your back. “Forgive me…I know you’re scared, but I can’t help myself.” 

He smelled like iron. Nothing like the usual sweet scent his clothes held from the cooking he liked to do; the treats he would sneak you. 

“It…It’s okay, Pierrot,” you said. Was it?

“I’ve wanted you for so long, and your warmth…I want to take you right now,” he murmured. 

The wretched noises spilling in from the other parts of the castle compelled you to push him off of you, to fight even if your nails were dull compared to his claws. 

But the truth was, you had always been soft on Pierrot. 

He was stronger than Harlequin and faster than Jester, but they had never needed you as Pierrot did. It seemed a Herculean task to deny him, even while his face was still stained with blood. It was a small mercy that he had thought to wash away the red from his hands before he touched you. 

Pierrot was in front of you, lips pressed to your own, just as you’d always wanted, but now you trembled in his hold. 

Your room was adjacent to your father’s, after all. 

Pierrot needed you the most. He always had, and now more than ever. This time, there were no humans to tell him he couldn’t have you. No humans would be left alive in the castle, except for you. 

It should have been easy to tell him no, even if your body would reveal the truth, but you were weak. You still wanted him, even as you choked down sobs at the thought of your father lying face down a short walk away. 

Pierrot undressed you gently, even while he was feverish with need, wishing to tear the clothes from your body. “Do you see what you do to me? My body burns for you…” 

You could finally be together, but everything was wrong now, wasn’t it? 

All you wanted was to feel something. Anything, even if it wasn’t sandy beaches. 

“Show me,” you said. 

He laid you down on your bed, your head falling onto your cold pillow, and crawled between your thighs, pushing them up to rest on his shoulders. Pierrot watched you from below, almost in disbelief. He smiled at you shyly, a blushing virgin despite everything. 

It was disgusting, really, how easily you became wet at the slightest brush of his tongue across your folds. Neither you nor Pierrot knew what you were doing, but he seemed to act on instinct alone, touching and tasting you in all the ways that had been forbidden only hours ago. He held your hand when he did it, and that only made things worse. 

“I love you, my lady. I always have, even when I wasn’t supposed to,” he said, eyes shining as he held you.

You squeezed his hand, and he returned to sampling your flesh. 

His movements were desperate, his arms gripping your thighs, and his thick tongue exploring you as though there was a chance you would disappear before him at any moment. He must’ve still been stuck thinking that someone would be trying to pry you away from him, but he had made sure there wasn’t anyone left. 

“Your fear…it tastes so sweet,” he said between kitten licks against your clit. “But you shouldn’t think of anything else, my love. You should forget everything else, except for me.” 

Then, he placed his mouth firmly against you and sucked. You squirmed as the pleasure warmed your belly, hips bucking against his mouth, begging him to consume more of you. You’d never believed such pleasures would be possible for you; the future only held arranged marriages to humans who could never reach so deep into you.

The touch of another was different from how it had felt to play with yourself in the quiet of the night, and you could hardly contain your moans even as the shame poured over you in waves. 

Did Pierrot plead with Jester to keep you alive? 

Did your father plead the same thing to Pierrot?

You liked to think that the others were as fond of you as you were of them, but you knew Jester wasn’t quite so sentimental: you were still one of them, after all, and how far you had fallen already. 

What would the king’s advisor, a man who had treated you as his own daughter, think of you now, allowing the monster who had killed him to feast on your cunt? 

Was it as Jester said? That he deserved to fall? That they all did?

You didn’t want to blame the monsters. 

A caged bird would always peck out the eyes of its master to fly free. 

Your father had given Jester command and power and expected his fealty to remain even when the king raised his hand against his own. He was foolish. Weak. He deserved it for what happened to her, but he was still your father, and so you mourned the man that poked the bear. 

It was nature’s law that the weak would fall to the strong. 

But what did that mean for you when your weakness only allowed you to beg for more as Pierrot pushed another finger into you, mindful of his claws? 

He bent down to lap at your clit when the stretch became too much, the pain and pleasure melding together sweetly. 

Had those same claws been the ones to end your father’s life? 

You would have thought Jester, or maybe Harlequin, would want the ‘honours,’ but it hadn’t been too long after you heard his last breath, hiding under your bed, that Pierrot had found you, with no sign of any of the other monsters following behind him. 

Somewhere deep inside, you could admit that it didn’t matter. Nothing could keep Pierrot from you, and maybe you didn’t want anything to. 

He was beautiful, even with his mouth messy from your juices and blood caked in his hair. He looked at you so sweetly, as though nothing mattered but you, and he smiled and blushed under your own gaze in turn. 

Pierrot was mindful of your comfort, but there was only so much he could prepare you to take him. You had to be quick if you didn’t wish for someone to come looking for you two. The thought made you shiver; the others surely wouldn’t be as forgiving as Pierrot. Would Harlequin try to squeeze the air from your lungs? Would Jester enjoy bleeding you out? 

Maybe they wanted you dead, and maybe they weren’t wrong to feel that way. 

You hadn’t helped them when they needed you, when your father threatened to starve and beat them. You had tried before to save her, your beloved companion, and yet–

She didn’t deserve it. 

You hadn’t helped your father when he cried out, remaining hidden under your bed as though you were a child. 

Maybe he deserved it. 

You were weak. So weak.

All you could manage was to pick up the pieces after they had already shattered all over the floor. If the wolf who weeped was still a killer, then what was the wolf who couldn’t stop her own father from leaving the ones she loved battered and bruised?

They deserved more than washcloths to clean their cuts and mere kisses to make them better. 

Pierrot didn’t seem to mind your weakness. 

He helped you forget, the tip of his cock teasing up and down your folds, nudging your clit before he finally pushed himself into you, slow and steady until you were filled to the brim with him. There was something comforting about the way you two were joined, as though you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began. 

Where you didn’t have to hate yourself, because that would mean hating Pierrot too, and you weren’t capable of such a thing. 

He clung to you, head buried in your shoulder, as he fucked you. His thrusts began slowly and tenderly, but soon Pierrot lost himself to the feel of your body beneath him and began to shove himself into you without pretence. He humped your cunt desperately, not able to bear being separated from your heat for more than the second it took for him to pull out and thrust back into you again. 

“Love you, my lady! L-love you so much it hurts,” he whined. 

Your hips ached as he pressed them toward your chest, and the stretch of your hole around him was almost too much to bear, but somehow you longed for more. You guided his hand down between your bodies to play with your clit, and his thrusts fell out of rhythm when it caused you to squeeze around him, the pressure building up and threatening to spill over.  

You closed your eyes and pretended that you weren’t here in your room, blood shrouding his love, and cries of lust and torment swirling together. You imagined the two of you on the coastline, far away from the kingdom. It might be messy to have your first time on the sand, but you didn’t care. All that would matter was finally being able to have Pierrot, to watch him push into you as the sun set behind him and feel that there was no one in the world except the two of you. 

You came to the thought of him filling you in this distant world where you lived in a little house on the beach. 

Maybe the others would be there, too. Harlequin would sing you his tales, without the audience of nobles ready to deride him. Jester would catch you fresh fish, instead of spearing the chests of his enemies. The Doctor would have endless hours to dedicate to his gardening, instead of spending all his time in the dungeon, practicing lacerations on prisoners. Ticket Taker would be able to relax more, only having to worry about budgeting for your little household instead of the whole castle. She would be there too, with sweet smiles and pink bows, and she would bathe in the sunlight. You would take care of them, for a change. 

They would love you, even when you were weak. 

They would live, even when you were weak. 

But once the pleasure faded, reality bled back into focus, with Pierrot’s eager thrusts rocking the bed and a mantra of sweet nothings pouring into your ear. Your body twitched underneath him, still sensitive from your orgasm but forced to take more of his love.

Your father was dead, and so was his advisor. The gardener, for sure, and likely the maids who had dressed you since you were a little girl. The daughters of the other nobles, who had been your dearest companions. 

It reminded you of before, of when she–

Everyone who had ever loved you was gone, except for Pierrot. 

Was it his fault? 

“My lady,” he moaned. “I want to fill you with me, m-make you mine.” 

Pierrot’s hips bucked against your own as he sank himself into you one final time. You could feel his cum, hot as it flooded your walls. 

They deserved to be free. 

He deserved better than you. 

Pierrot clung to you, his cock softened, but remained inside of you. He was sure not to crush you beneath him, but he huddled as close to you as he could, pressing every part of himself against you. 

How naive.

His scaly tail curls possessively around your legs, pointy tail nestling between the soft flesh of your thighs in a teasing manner, hoping— praying to garner even the smallest of reactions as he fights the urge to press the evidence of his desperation there instead.

But you remain undeterred, a sickningly sweet giggle escaping your lips as you insist on that motherly role that you placed upon yourself. Mistaking Durin's clear advances for him being too pure, too ignorant to understand what his actions might mean.

Humming, your hand moves to tug scoldingly on the base of his tail —using actions to discipline him instead of words, like he is some rabid housecat— fingers tracing random patterns on the hot sensitive skin surrounding it afterwards as an apology, too weak for his charms to stay mad at anything he does.

His wings shudder uncontrollably, tail's grip tightening on your legs as his thighs twitch for purchase. Purchase that Durin is desperately denying himself when he tries to muffle his loud whimpers against your neck. Distracting your worried self from checking on his ruined pants — pants he ruined from your touch alone— and stuttering hips, lest you take away that warm touch he craves so much of.

Your hands move to play with his hair as you hug him impossibly closer to yourself, thinking him afraid from some imaginary shadows like kids of whatever age range you assume his mental aptitude to be as you whisper reassuring sweet nothings into his ears.

Bits of clarity start coming back to him in the form of the many sensations he is feeling across his body, making him realize just how much of a mess he made out of himself; His face is hot, vision unclear from unshed tears of pleasure, and cheek sticky from him drolling uncontrollably like some godamn actual baby.

The tightness in his pants is gone, replaced with that uncomfortable slimy sensation of having his sticky load clinge awkwardly into his thighs.

Durin's face warms up even more the reminder, his grip on your waist growing firm again as his mind clears enough to let him leave the jelly state.

"[Name]?" Looking at you with those big sad orbs of his, he rubs his thighs experimentaly to test how bad it is. "C-can we take a bath, together, please? I'm feeling better now."

"Sure thing, lovely. Do you want me to heat it up?" You ask, not waiting for an answer as you give him a peck on that cute forehead of his before leaving to heat up the water.

He watches you disappear out of the bedroom with hazy, longing eyes. Hands fisting the mattress, lamenting another chance lost.

But at least it was a quick, relatively painless process now that both of you knew what to expect from the other after going through it so many times since his abrupt entrance into this world. Your initial uncertainty coupled with his skittishly shy demeanor at the onset had at first made this task take much longer than it needed to, yet now you were flying right through the exam in record time. You might even be able to pass for a trained professional someday if you kept at it. 

“Hanryy granshuhs?” 

Shaking your head, you ease the compressor out of his mouth and lean back to take a good look at the dragon — no, the young man seated in front of you. Physically he did not appear all that different from the Captain of the Investigation Squad, your direct commander and boss, sometimes confidant but always a proper pain in the ass; and you can’t help to wonder if that was by design. It was hard to say with your middling level of knowledge in the alchemical arts. As the expert here he should have been the one performing these routine checkups, not you. 

Because you certainly hadn’t manipulated life into this faultlessly well mannered being who was sitting in front of the stately desk in the captain's personal office, so why were you the one who was being made to tend to him like this? 

“No changes that I can see. It really is remarkable, you know. Not even a hint of cellular deterioration, no rapid breakdown of organic compounds to destabilize the nervous system. Nothing. You certainly seem to be in one piece as far as I can tell. There isn’t a damn thing wrong with your physiological biology.”

Durin looks pleased with that diagnosis. Or perhaps it’s mere relief at having this done and over with that pulls his lips into a smile, but either way you were decidedly in agreement with him. You didn’t like having to stick and poke him every week anymore than he enjoyed having it done to him, and you’d seen a few too many of the captain’s other synthetic creations slowly deteriorate over time to feel anything but glad that the same wasn’t happening to him. Good news all around. 

Taking a step back, you chuck the used depressor into the nearby garbage bin and peel off the surgical gloves you’d donned to toss them out as well. “Albedo has truly outdone himself this time, if you ask me. You’re perfect in every way that matters. Although I suppose you could stand to grow a bit taller.”

A charming pink flush spreads across his cheeks at that thoughtful musing, but the door swings open before you can assure him you’d only been joking about that. Your attention comes up and fixes on the genius in question as he steps into the room, pointed gaze taking in the scene inside his office with the usual critical discernment he always displayed. 

“How did the exam go? Everything is still as it should be, I hope?” 

“He’s right as rain, Captain. Nothing at all for you to worry about.” You tell him while Durin, looking sheepishly embarrassed, hurries to pull his shirt back on and dress himself. “All of his teeth are still intact. Gums and tongue are a healthy color. His temperature is normal. Bloodwork looks fine to me. However I will remind you again that this is hardly my area of expertise. There’s every possibility I might be overlooking something.” 

That earns you a small smile and a nod of acknowledgment as Albedo steps across the room to come stand with you and his crowning achievement. His … brother of sorts, if you’d understood his vague explanation on the matter correctly. 

“Don’t worry, I trust your judgment. I appointed you my second in command for a reason, you know. But I’ll give everything in your report a thorough review once I finish up some paperwork for Jean first, just to double check that nothing of concern was missed.” A pause, while he seems to consider something he deemed important enough to dwell on, deep deliberation making his brows furrow slightly. “Thank you for all of your help with this, by the way. Your contributions have been invaluable to me during this unique … transition period.” 

You can’t but feel more than a little flattered at being on the receiving end of the captain’s praise, so rarely was it given out when very few ever managed to meet his expectations. Although he had gotten a bit better about it as of late, ever since that mysterious Traveler first left Mondstadt to embark on their long journey, it still wasn’t something Albedo handed out very liberally or freely. If he bothered to say it then you knew he meant it. 

“Think nothing of it, Captain. It’s been a pleasure to assist where I can. I’m just happy that your research finally reached its culmination and Durin here is the very picture of health. There’s not been even a hint of the common cold so far.” 

Your attempt at levity does not sway him. His crystalline gaze bores into you for another moment longer, looking straight through into the very core of your brain as if he could make out the connecting atoms and lipids to map the structure without needing to dissect your head first. It’s somewhat unsettling, to have him looking at you like that but, at length, he slides his attention away to fix on his draconic creation instead. 

“And how are you feeling? Have you gotten used to this new body yet?”

Glancing up from the careful buttoning of his waistcoat, Durin bobs his chin in a slow nod. “More or less. I still find myself a bit uncoordinated at times, clumsy. Especially if I forget myself and where which limbs are supposed to go. But I’ve pretty much mastered how to properly hold a fork and knife now.” 

“That’s excellent to hear. You accomplished that even quicker than Klee did.” Albedo says with genuine warmth in his voice, unmistakable pride dancing in his eyes. “Are you enjoying your time with my vice captain so far? Is she teaching you many useful skills?” 

“O - oh,” Durin’s attention flicks towards you and then drops to stare down at his lap. The pink flush returns to his face with a vengeance. “Yes, she’s been … very kind to me. Patient. Everyone has. I’ve already learned a lot about the human world thanks to all of your friends.” 

You and Albedo share a quick look with one another. 

“Calling us friends might be a bit …” You start to say, groping for the right word, but the Captain cuts you off. 

“I don’t think that’s necessarily an inaccurate designation. While we are colleagues first and foremost, it would be disingenuous to say that’s all we are. We’ve certainly known each other for long enough to be more than simple acquaintances, I’d wager.” 

You briefly consider that. He wasn’t exactly wrong. Between babysitting Klee and now Durin for him, it almost felt like you were being absorbed into the patchwork family dynamic through osmosis. Albedo certainly didn’t trust the oft times scatterbrained Sucrose enough to leave his little sister in her unsupervised care, and Timaeus was sometimes even worse in that regard. But he trusted you. He’d even said so himself. 

In fact, he’d been reiterating that particular sentiment more and more often lately. How peculiar, now that you thought about it. 

“That is true,” you start to say, but Albedo once again cuts across before you can finish speaking. 

“I’m going to be here late tonight and Klee is with Kaeya for the day, getting into who knows what sort of trouble together. Why don’t the two of you go get something to eat and visit the bathhouse before you retire for the evening?”

Something in your gut twists at that deliberate mention of the baths, and you shoot Albedo a silent, questioning look. What was he getting at now? 

“Normally I would, of course, take it upon myself to see that Durin’s daily hygiene needs are met,” Albedo goes on, staring pointedly at you the whole time. Like he was trying to convey something unspoken without having to actually give it voice, but you couldn’t even begin to guess at what new cockamamie ideas might be turning in his head at this crucial juncture. Didn’t he already have what he’d always wanted? “However I’m unfortunately quite boggled down with paperwork which Jean has personally requested that I complete at my earliest opportunity. I’m afraid I must leave his care in your hands, if you would be so willing to accommodate.” 

You just stare at him. 

He stares back. 

Slowly, you allow your brows to knit in a clear sign of confusion, unsure what to make of this development. 

Albedo purposely rolls his eyes towards Durin where he’s still seated on the chair between both of you, putting the final touches on straightening out his freshly donned coat. The Captain was clearly trying to tell you something but when you follow his line of sight to look at the alchemical miracle given flesh and bone, you don’t see whatever it is you’re supposed to be seeing. 

You start to bring your attention back around, mouth already working to form the word ‘what’ when sudden realization slams into you like a brick. Eyes growing big, you snap them towards Durin again and do an alarmed double take. His cheeks were still red with lingering color and he was refusing to glance up from his self appointed task of dressing himself. Except now that you were looking at him through the clear lens of epiphany, you now realize that his jacket was already perfectly straight and he was fiddling with it only to look busy while he listened in with great interest to the conversation taking place over his head. The little scoundrel. No wonder he hadn’t stood up yet, knowing it would only draw attention to himself. 

Your mouth seems to have gone dry as you hesitantly peer over at Albedo as if in search of an answer to the question you didn’t dare to ask. The blond merely shrugs though, inclining his chin towards the door in mute signal. Unfortunately you and him had never discussed any of the meanings behind this inaudible communication system he seemed to think you should innately understand, and you shoot him an utterly lost shake of your head. 

Finally breathing out a soft but no less terse exhale, his patience with games evidently worn thin, Albedo at last opens his mouth to speak. “Naturally I’ll be happy to compensate you for taking on these extra responsibilities outside of your normal schedule so don’t worry about any of the costs you might incur. I’m willing to pay for everything, of course. As long as Durin’s needs are appropriately seen to you will have my thanks. Does this arrangement sound agreeable?” 

That question was not directed at you, and the horned young man shyly lifts his face at being addressed. “No complaints from me. These checkups always leave me feeling hungry and … a bath does sound nice.” 

You slowly blink your eyes as if to rid them of a hallucination that’s befallen you, trying to make sense of what’s happening. Ever unperturbed, Albedo nods his head to indicate that the matter has been decided. 

“Then let me fetch my wallet. You’re welcome to wait outside if you’d like.” 

Despite his newness to this world and its at times confounding minefield of polite niceties, Durin has still learned enough in his short time here to recognize when he’s being dismissed. With one last tug at his sleeve and a split second glance in your direction, he unfolds himself from the highbacked chair and makes his way to the door. 

The moment the latch catches with a fleetingly brief click, you round on Albedo like a woman possessed. “What was all of that about, huh?” You hiss at him, mindful to keep the volume down lest this necessary conversation be overheard. “Don’t I even get a say in this anymore?” 

The Captain of the Investigation Squad sends you a cool, frustratingly unbothered look. “Certainly you do. I’m not some tyrant taking away your freedom of choice. That would be antithetical to the Anemo Archon’s creed, wouldn’t it?” 

He moves to step around you, aiming for the intimate end of his work desk where he likely kept his mora tucked away, but you follow hot on his heels like a spurned shadow.

“Then I can say ‘no’? Is that still my right?” 

“You can. But you won’t.”

“Oh, and why is that? Don’t tell me you’re going to make me an offer I can’t refuse or some such nonsense.” 

A bemused smile tugs at Albedo’s mouth even as he reaches down to slide the topmost drawer open, withdrawing from its contents a weighty looking satchel that clinks and rattles at even the slightest movement. As far as purses go, you’d wager this one was quite hefty and you let your mouth drop open in surprise. 

“You keep that much in your office? Without even locking it up?” 

“I don’t see any reason to. Not many among the rank and file knights would have the courage to steal something right out of my desk given my … curious reputation in the city.” 

Your shoulders defensively bunch up towards your ears at that, sufficiently cowed by his answer. You knew exactly what he meant. The commoners of Mond weren’t quite convinced yet of the efficacy nor the need for alchemy, particularly the specific brand of alchemical transmutations that Albedo specialized in, and the baffling circumstances that had resulted in the Captain himself standing on trial for murder had only further called the art into question. You’d been on the receiving end of it too. Both as a practitioner yourself and as his appointed second in command. The shuttered double glances in the streets, uncertainty bred from lack of understanding. Most of the general populace were without even a baseline knowledge of how the science worked and so they were cautious towards its existence, unless it was a potion bottled up and ready to drink. 

As with most things, Mondstadtter’s were perfectly happy to throw caution to the wind if it meant having a good, strong cocktail to wash down their gullets, methodology be damned! 

“Besides,” he goes on, weighing out the stuffed pouch in his gloved palm. “Occasionally Klee will find her way up to my office and I don’t mind if she helps herself to the mora I keep here. Better to leave it easily accessible so that she might buy herself a snack at the food stalls or a new toy that’s caught her eye than to lock it away and risk her burning the whole building down to get to it. I have more at home anyway.” 

Albedo holds out the purse then and you mechanically offer your hand, fully expecting him to simply shake out a few gold coins to cover dinner for two and a stop at the public baths. Much to your surprise, though, he drops the entire thing into your waiting palm and you nearly drop it at the unexpected weight. 

“Wha - you’re giving me all of this? But why?” 

“I said I’d compensate you accordingly, didn’t I?” 

“This is way beyond that! I can’t possibly accept all this mora, Captain, please. It wouldn’t be right. Just take it back and give me only enough to cover what you’ve asked me to do, nothing more.” 

You try to shove the purse back at him, desperate to be rid of it, but Albedo waves you off before crossing his arms over his chest so you physically can’t force him to take it. The clever bastard. 

“Don’t worry about it, I insist. I want you to have it. For all of your extra help up til’ now as much as for … taking care of him tonight.” 

You quickly decide you don’t like the way he’d said that. Neither the particular wording he’d used nor the tone he’d used to speak it, and your brows take a very expeditious trip up to your hairline. “What is that supposed to mean? What exactly are you expecting me to do with him?” 

He makes a face at you like you should already know the answer and if you somehow don’t then the clues were right in front of you, just waiting to be pieced together, but you can’t accept that. You won’t. Surely he wasn’t suggesting what you thought he was? It’s such a blatantly absurd thought that it crossed the line over into being utter nonsense. There had to be a different explanation here. 

Unfortunately Albedo sees your stubborn refusal to accept the truth where it’s painted all over your face in broad sweeping brushstrokes and he blows out a slow exhale through his nose, annoyed that he has to spell it out. “Forgive me for being blunt but the way Durin looks at you … if I’m not mistaken I believe he’s taken a liking to you. Or to use the colloquial language of Mond it might be more apt to say he’s developed a crush. You’ve enamored him.” 

“Okay … and? That doesn’t mean I have to do anything about it.” 

“Mm. Perhaps not. But this is a uniquely interesting opportunity, isn’t it? Not one we’re likely to happen upon again anytime soon. Unless, of course, his heart is as fickle as some of the soldiers are.” 

His gaze takes on a far off quality then, clearly considering this possibility with what he deemed to be the appropriate amount of gravitas, but you can’t stop yourself from barreling full steam ahead. This was ridiculous. 

“I’m sorry, Captain, but I don’t quite follow. Can you just tell me what it is you’re thinking? My tolerance for guessing games is shot.”

Slowly and without moving his head, Albedo fixes his attention upon you again. “To be frank, I think this might be a good chance to test the — completeness of his transformation. Based on the labs we’ve already run he should be fully human now, save for the extra appendages on his head and his back. But it’s precisely the existence of those vestigial traits that makes me wonder what else is still potentially more dragon than man. A complete transition should mean that he can couple with a human woman and - -“ 

“You want me to sleep with him!” You blurt, unable to hold your dawning horror back any longer, but the Captain is quick to shush you. 

“Keep your voice down. I’m only putting forth a hypothesis based on the previous blood samples we took but I believe he should be able to successfully copulate. He seems healthy in every other way, virile even. I just don’t know if your DNA and his would be … compatible, to produce any offspring. And unfortunately there is only one real way to test this theory.” 

Your head positively reels and you feel sick. This was the very last conversation you’d expected to have when you woke up today, least of all with Albedo of all people. In truth some part of you is surprised to learn he even knows anything about the process of reproduction in the first place, given how disinterested in the topic he seemed to be. Although, in light of this revelation, you now supposed that was only where his own involvement in the act was concerned. Go figure. 

“Captain, this is insane … I’m not sure why you would think to ask this of me.” 

“Well, I certainly can’t test it myself, can I?” 

You narrow your eyes at him, glaring daggers when your face starts to grow hot. This blasé attitude of his was in many ways what found him in the center of a murder trial not all that long ago. One would have thought he’d learn his lesson by now. 

“Be that as it may,” you hiss, fisting the satchel of mora so hard your knuckles ache in protest. “You’re making too light of this situation for my tastes. What do you suppose I’m going to do with a baby if your hypothesis proves true and his seed takes root in my belly? And what if it’s not even human? I have no interest in caring for an infant right now, of any species.” 

Albedo lifts a single brow at that, and you rush to tack on, “Or in the future for that matter!”

“That’s understandable then,” he relents, humming a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “But I’ve heard that there are remedies for such problems. Of course I’ve not had any experience with them myself, but if you were certain that you didn’t want to keep it should that outcome indeed come to pass …”

He lets that hang in the air, leaving it unfinished and unspoken but the implication was loud enough to more than make up for it. Terminating the pregnancy you very well might end up with if you actually went through with this was always an option. A perfectly good and reasonable option, you would even say. You certainly weren’t going to second guess yourself when the alternative would almost certainly spell the end of your career as you knew it. 

But the point still stood that you’d rather not be pregnant at all, or have to go through the trouble to rid yourself of one. There were plenty of other things you’d much rather do than that. Swimming the total circumference of Cider Lake completely naked being right at the top of the list when this was the alternative. 

“And if I refuse? What happens then, Captain?” 

“Is that really the question you should be asking right now?” 

You frown at that. “I’m not sure what you mean. That question seems perfectly reasonable to me.” Especially when you would be the one who has to deal with the consequences. 

“It’s certainly a fair thing to wonder,” he relents, uncrossing his arms before turning to glance up and out the window that stands watchful guard over his desk. Sunset was already starting to fall over the land, turning the cottony cloud covered sky a menagerie of vibrant colors. It reminded you of Durin’s eyes, actually. 

“However,” Albedo continues, musing to himself. “If I were in your shoes I would choose to look at it from a different perspective. Rather than what’s been done to me or what might be done, I would instead ask what my cooperation means to the experiment. Can it be accomplished without me? If so then who would take my place? Is it a worthwhile sacrifice for me to consciously make or would my contributions be better served elsewhere?”

He allows this to settle too, just giving it the space to fill up and occupy the empty patches of open air inside his office for a drawn out stretch of seconds. Then he turns, glancing back at you with an indecipherable expression. 

“What do you think the answer might be, dear assistant?” 

Your guts feel like they’re freezing over inside of you. It’s such an awful realization and the sense of nausea that comes with it very nearly knocks you off your feet. 

“You’ll just ask someone else to do it if I won’t … is that it?” He was serious about that too. You could see it in his eyes, how he looks at you. 

Albedo neither confirms nor denies, merely tipping his head slightly to one side like an inquisitive bird, but he doesn’t really need to, you suppose. The implication is there, and you hear it as clearly as any church tower bell. 

It was probably your fault for assuming he would be satisfied with this, that he’d be happy with the end results of his research and the fruit it bore. That he’d stop once he accomplished his goal of creating a synthetic human being, even if it was a bit more dragon than he’d likely envisioned it to be. There were still things to be done, questions to answer, and truths to uncover. And the worst part of it was that you couldn’t even fault him for it. Durin’s ability to reproduce would serve as the final test of his completeness. It would indicate whether or not he was as whole as you or Sucrose, or Timaeus, or Jean. 

You just really wished you weren’t the one who had to shoulder the responsibility of carrying out this test to find out.  

“Fine.” You say at last, when the silence has stretched on for so long that it was starting to grow uncomfortable. “I’ll see what I can do, Captain. I won’t take the initiative but if he comes to me I … I won’t turn him away.” 

“That’s good to hear. Thank you. And just remember, there will be plenty of compensation for your troubles.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Trouble was an understatement. You felt so sick just thinking about the possibility of an unwanted pregnancy that you’d barely eaten anything at dinner. 

Durin had questioned your lack of appetite, of course, over your largely untouched plate, and he was asking you again if everything is alright as you make your way towards the bathhouse together. You couldn’t tell him the truth though. This situation was already sticky enough as it was without further complicating it, and it was only going to get even stickier if Albedo got his way. Damn him. 

“I promise I’m fine, but thank you for worrying about me. You’re very sweet.” 

Walking alongside you, Durin looks a bit sheepish but pleased at your words. A confusing mix of emotions, he can’t seem to decide if he wants to smile or not, so he lowers his head in an attempt to hide the wobbling curve of his mouth. You had to admit, he was awfully cute. 

Not cute enough for you to reconcile the possibility of carrying his child, but still. 

“If you’re sure then … I won’t press anymore. I just thought something might have been worrying you. Back at headquarters it seemed like Albedo was talking to you in his office for a long time, so I wondered if it had something to do with that …” 

Of course. You can’t even pretend to be surprised that he’d noticed how many minutes passed while he waited out in the corridor before you’d finally appeared in the door. He may have been naive to many facets of human society but he wasn’t stupid. Far from it. If you weren’t careful what you let slip he might even start to piece things together on his own. Better to nip this in the bud then. 

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing for you to be concerned about.” You assure him, keeping your voice light and pleasant to hopefully assuage any of his lingering concerns. “It might not seem like it but Albedo is still a highly respected knight, and a captain at that. There are a great many things he needs to take care of and as his second it’s my job to help him wherever I can. We were just talking about boring stuff like that.” 

Durin seems to believe that, for his shoulders visibly relax and his tentative smile loses some of its tightness at the edges. You were starting to understand that he was a bit self conscious and he didn’t want to be a burden to anyone or cause problems for those around him. Albedo likely understood that too, which was probably the reason for all this secrecy surrounding the million mora question instead of just asking him outright. 

Do you want to fuck my second in command and see if you can make a baby together? Yeah, that would have gone over real well. 

The cobblestone streets are still crowded despite nightfall and you pass by a laughing group of men making their way to one of the many taverns in the city. Durin curiously watches them go by but he doesn’t seem to have any real interest in joining in on their revelry and merrymaking, given the way he subtly shifts closer to you as if he thought they might try to snatch him up. If what Captain Kaeya had said was true the dragon didn’t have much taste for alcohol, at least not yet, but you wondered if that would ever change. Total sobriety was hard to maintain in the city of freedom. 

Near the south side of the impenetrable wall stood the most popular bathhouse in Mondstadt, a squat brick building that stretched out like a languorous cat at ease under the shadow of the church. It was easy to overlook if you didn’t know it was there but the near constant foot traffic typically clued in even the most unwitting of tourists from neighboring nations that something of great import was housed here. 

The two of you have to wait in a short line at the front of the establishment, queuing behind a handful of freshly off duty knights, a small rabble of peasantry and what looks to be a traveling merchant from Liyue. Everyone moves through quickly though, and finally it is your turn to pay as you step up to the polished wood countertop behind which was stationed the lone attendant. 

She takes one look at you, smiles, and then turns her attention to Durin. “Two for the public bath?” 

“Yes, please.” You say, fishing into the purse Albedo had given you but a sudden thought makes you pause. Turning your head, you too look at Durin who starts to fidget under all of the attention he was getting. That was to be expected though. The horns and tail weren’t exactly a common sight here. 

That’s not why you were staring at him though, already long since accustomed to seeing his curious appendages that they don’t even register as out of the ordinary anymore. No, you were thinking back on that conversation with the captain. You’d told him you would try, and that you wouldn’t reject Durin if he came to you on his own. But did that not mean you were somehow obligated to give him the opportunity to take a proactive approach if he was really as smitten with you as Albedo had said? He couldn’t very well do that in a crowded public bath. 

Burn it all. 

“Actually,” you amend yourself, slowly glancing up at the attendant again. “Can I get one of the private baths, please? I don’t want to draw too much attention, if possible.” 

The girl's eyes lingers on Durin’s horns for another moment longer and then she nods in agreement, evidently seeing the wisdom in that call. Mora exchanges hands and she tells you where to go, indicating a room that sits at the far back of the building. 

“You can’t miss it,” she says with a practiced smile. “You’ll see bottles of oils and soap, shampoos and lotion. They’re all included in the price so use whatever catches your fancy.” 

Thanking her for her help, you take Durin by the shoulders and quickly steer him inside, your face feeling hot enough to fry an egg on. You couldn’t believe you were actually going through with this, for starters. And what did the attendant think of you paying so much just so you and him could be alone together, for another. Given the way she’d described it, you had a sinking feeling this particular bath was one usually bought by prostitutes and their clients. You were just humiliating yourself at this point. 

But it was too late for second thoughts now, and you keep your head down as you make your way through the damp, humid corridor, sounds of splashing and loud conversations swarming around you from all sides. The tiles under your boots are smooth and you nearly slip once or twice in puddles left behind by children running to and fro, silently praying to the Anemo Archon that you don’t run into anyone you know here. You just might wilt and die of embarrassment if someone like Captain Kaeya — or worse! Headmaster Varka saw you like this. 

Luck seems to be on your side though and you make it to the last room on the right which you decisively push Durin into before either of you can get cold feet. There’s no door for you to close behind you, but the relative privacy is felt immediately. It’s quieter back here, away from the much more occupied, larger public baths towards the front. The general din of noise is much further away now too and in the absence of noise you can make out a bard strumming a lyre somewhere nearby. 

It adds to the ambiance of the room as you pause to take in the pool of glistening water where it’s built into and carved out of the floor in front of you. Speckles of light dance off the painted tiles on the walls to give it a hazy, dreamy quality that almost makes you feel like you’re under the gently lapping surface of a lake. And when you tilt your head back to examine the ceiling, you’re greeted by a rather lurid rendition of a maiden in coquettish sprawl, her bare breasts small and pert, hips set wide and inviting. 

Your cheeks positively blaze. This was definitely a room meant for ladies of the night to make their livings in. 

Feeling more than just a bit awkward, you hesitantly turn to Durin. 

He’s not looking at you though, his big, ultraviolet eyes fixed on the shimmering bath. It didn’t seem like he’d even noticed the fresco overhead yet. 

“Is this agreeable?” You ask, having to stop and clear your throat when it comes out more of a croak than anything else. “I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable in the more crowded rooms but maybe … this isn’t any better?” 

Slowly shaking his head, he sends you a sheepishly small smile. “No, this is perfect. It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it before.” 

He wasn’t exactly wrong about that but you felt you’d be remiss not to point out the obvious. “Are you sure? It’s not going to be weird if it’s just the two of us bathing alone?” 

Durin blinks at that, a surprised, slow motion flutter of his eyelids that announces in no uncertain terms that he hadn’t quite thought that far ahead. The poor guy. You honestly feel a little bad for him, especially when his face lights up like a lit solstice tree. 

“Oh.” He blurts when the realization fully sinks in. “I - I don’t see anything wrong with it, do you? It’s just a bath.”

“Yeah.” You agree, not sounding like you really believe that. “Just a bath.” 

For a drawn out moment you just look at one another. Man and woman, dragon and alchemist. You wonder, not for the first time this evening, why Albedo wasn’t simply satisfied with the life he’d already created. That alone was miracle enough not to need to look for another. If you were half as proficient in the arts as him and you’d imbued the essence of life into the person standing before you, the thought of finding out if he could in turn procreate never would have even crossed your mind. 

But that’s probably why Albedo was the master and you the student. You still had a lot left to learn, even if you weren’t quite as hapless as Sucrose or as easily distracted as Timaeus. Your commitment to the science of alchemy was what had earned you the Captain’s recognition in the first place, so you take half a step back and reach for the front of your jacket. 

Understanding flickers behind Durin’s eyes and he quickly turns in place, giving you his back and some modicum of privacy while he shrugs out of his own coat. Both of you work to undress yourselves in tension filled silence, though you can’t decide if it’s only imagined on your part or if he felt it too. The subtle, silent shift in the dynamic. The expectation of … of what, you couldn’t even begin to guess. 

Did Albedo really want you to become pregnant just to sate his curiosity? And was that even what Durin wanted? Did he get a say in this at all? You certainly didn’t seem to. 

And you practically rip your clothes off, knowing you’ll second guess everything until you talk yourself down from the ledge if you stop long enough to really think about it. You’re naked before he even gets down to his trousers, carefully taking his time with each individual button and catch, so you step forward into the water and seal your fate.

The temperature is comfortably warm, not hot, but you still hiss a quiet sound at the sensation on your bare skin. The ledge of the pool comes up to about mid waist but when you sink down to sit on the tiled bottom the water rushes up almost to your shoulders. Keeping your arms curled over your breasts in a last ditch effort at modesty, you lean back against the opposite wall and settle in to get comfortable. Or try to, anyway. It’s remarkably difficult when you were so on edge. 

For another moment or two all that fills the room is the quiet sound of shuffling, clothes rustling, and then from the corner of your eye you see Durin turn himself towards the bath. Cautiously lifting your gaze, you find that he hasn’t quite learned to feel true shame regarding his genitals yet, and you get an uninterrupted look at his soft cock where it dangles between his legs. In fact, he seems to be much more concerned about his face than anything else, and he reaches up to cover it with his hands even as he steps to the edge of the pool. 

It was a little silly, sure, and ass backwards to boot. But there’s something undeniably charming about his unorthodox behavior too. He was still learning how to be human and evidently Albedo had not yet stressed to him that showing your cock to a woman you’ve only recently met was something of a polite faux pas. Idly, you wonder if he expected you to teach Durin that too. 

The water ripples and shifts around you when the dragon lowers himself in, taking the spot across from you and to the far left so that the two of you are sitting perpendicular to one another. The awkward distance is not lost on you in the slightest and you heave a long suffering sigh, realizing you were going to have to be a bit more proactive than you’d wanted to be. 

“You don’t have to stay all the way over there. You’re welcome to come sit with me, if you want.” 

Tipping his face towards you, Durin sends you the most pathetic, kicked-puppy-dog look you’ve ever seen, and it wrenches at your heart something fierce. “A - are you sure? I don’t want to force myself into your space and make you feel uncomfortable.” 

“It’s alright. Besides, who’s going to wash your back over there? Captain Albedo usually helps you with that, right?” 

Durin slowly nods, looking like he was thinking about that rather deeply. Then, to no surprise at all, he shifts and rocks to his feet, carefully walking across the short width of the bath to come to your side. You get a much better look at what he’s working with the closer he gets to you; the shape and size of his silken ballsack, the protective wrinkle of flesh over the dangling tip of his cock and the coarse, dark thatch of hair that crowns his pelvic bone. He looks just like any other man you’ve ever seen naked before, not even an extra nipple or puss filled boil anywhere to denote that something might be wrong with him. 

That makes your heart lodge itself in your throat when you realize what it likely means for you. Albedo was probably right about his virility, his ability to copulate. The only real question at this point was whether or not any sperm he might produce would be compatible enough with your biology to gestate and carry to term whatever he might implant in you. Honestly you still weren’t entirely convinced if it would be draconic or human in nature, and you were less and less sure if you wanted to find out. 

Completely unaware of your spiraling alarm, Durin sinks down to sit next to you where he draws his knees up so that they breach the surface of the water. He stares down at them rather than looking at you, but it doesn’t take long before you catch him surreptitiously sneaking glances towards your chest. So either Albedo was correct about that too or he was just curious about what might be the closest pair of tits he’s ever seen. You didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. 

“So,” you start, desperately groping for some kind of ice breaker. Unfortunately this was such a uniquely bizarre situation that you couldn’t think of anything that might work to dispel some of the awkward tension or the sinking dread that came with it. Finally you have no choice but to settle on, “Are you enjoying your time in Mondstadt so far?” 

He nods, murmuring. “Very much so. There’s a lot I still don’t understand, and I don’t always feel like I belong here either, but … it’s a nice place. I like the city a lot.”

“I like it too. But I guess that goes without saying, doesn’t it? I live here, after all.” You make an attempt to laugh, sounding more like a groan, so you quickly stopper it. A moment of quiet passes over the still bath. “Is there — anything you’d like to do, Durin? In Mondstadt, I mean. Or maybe something you’d like to see?” 

“Mm. I’m not sure what else there is to do or see. Klee has already shown me around to all the different toy shops but I don’t know how to play with any of them the way she does. Lisa showed me the library and the books, but … I don’t really understand what most of them mean yet. I guess I don’t quite know what I’m supposed to be doing with this new body.” 

Your heart softens dramatically at that admission. It was an odd predicament to find oneself in, wasn’t it? Not quite human, not a man but not a boy either. He just was. Nothing more and nothing less. A singular existence that was thrust into this world without any real direction or purpose. Perhaps, in that sense, the impermanent quality of Albedo’s other creations was a blessing in disguise. None of them had ever needed to figure out what they were going to do with their futures because they never had one. 

Drawing a slow breath to temper yourself, you tilt your head back to peer up at the fresco again. Had he still not noticed it? “I get what you mean. Our experiences are as different as night and day, but I do understand it. Even for those of us who were born into this world the old fashioned way it can be hard to figure out where you belong. Sometimes we just fall into whatever role is easiest or the one that was decided for us by our parents, holy decree or destiny. There’s not really a built in manual for this sort of thing, unfortunately.” 

Durin shifts beside you, finally bringing his head up to look at you full on. “Is that how you came to work with Albedo on the Investigation Team? Was it the easier choice?” 

That manages to make you laugh, and this time it sounds genuine. “It really wasn’t. I was meant to take over my mother’s bakery but, well … I suppose you could say I had bigger dreams. Or more foolhardy ones. But if you really stop and think about it, baking isn’t that much different from alchemy, is it?” 

You turn to look at him expectantly, pleased to find Durin smiling again. “I wouldn’t know.” He admits. “But I’m glad you found your way here. It wouldn’t have been half as fun learning the ins and outs of human society without you there to teach me.” 

“I’m glad too. And who else would Albedo have doing his dirty work for him if not me? Timaeus? Please!” 

“You don’t like him?” 

“No, it’s not that. Timaeus is just … not always the most reliable fellow, if you know what I mean. He’s dedicated much of himself to studying alchemical arts under the Captain’s tutelage but he’s still a bit wishy washy at times. Flighty. He still occasionally gets himself into trouble.”

Durin curiously tilts his head to one side at that. “And you don’t?” 

“W - well … that’s up for debate, I suppose.” You grumble, looking away. And you’d been so close to forgetting all about Albedo’s ridiculous ask of you, dammit. 

The dragon eagerly scoots himself closer to you then, almost sitting on your lap now. “I overheard him talking to one of the knights before, about someone in Liyue. Timaeus said she was beautiful and kind to him, but in … in bed she demanded much of him. More than he could sometimes give. The knight laughed and told him he should invent a potion to help him keep her happy.”

Your stomach twists itself into a knot as you slowly turn back to him, dreading the pin drop. 

Blinking guilelessly, Durin goes on. “Is that the kind of trouble you meant? Is it … something bad?”

You truthfully have no idea how to answer that. Where did you even begin? “That’s, uh … I’m not so sure we should be talking about Timaeus’ personal affairs like that. What - what all did he say?” 

He ponders that question for a moment. “Only that she loves when he uses his mouth but he gets tired and his jaw hurts after a while. I didn’t really understand what that was all about. And he said he likes when she gets on top but … she doesn’t know when to quit. That she just keeps going even after he’s already finished. The knight said that was a good problem for him to have. Were they talking about … food, perhaps?” 

Your eyes go round as saucers as Durin falls silent, clearly deliberating over this conundrum and trying to make sense of it in his mind. Dammit, Timaeus, what kind of conversations are you having in broad daylight! You felt like you could just scream. 

“It’s not — no, they weren’t talking about food. I’m not entirely sure how to explain this in a way that makes any sense … or if I even should, for that matter.” 

Durin tilts his face towards you again, clearly keyed in and hanging off every word. Whatever momentary embarrassment he’d felt at the start was now long gone, nowhere to be found in his attentive expression. 

You can feel the pressure of his stare burning a hole in the side of your head as you frantically wrack your brain for a semi decent response, but you aren’t sure if you should tell him the plain truth or try to skim around it. Your good common sense badly wants you to pick the latter, safer option so you can avoid having to go through with this hairbrained scheme and yet … you’d already told Albedo you would try. No promises had been made, sure, but you did give him your word. And you didn’t doubt for one second that if you failed in this he would just send someone else to collect the dragon’s seed and run his experiment with a different womb that was perhaps more willing and able than yours was. 

It’s not even so much that the Captain was being cruel, you didn’t think. He was just single-mindedly focused on his research, his craft, and he wanted to know how successful he’d really been in creating something from nothing. It was one thing to give sentience and agency to a synthetic being but another matter entirely to bestow upon it the means of reproduction. The functionality to replicate, carry on its genetic coding into the next generation. This was the crowning pinnacle of alchemy as a science … wasn’t it? 

It feels like the floor is falling out from underneath you as you force your spinning eyes to focus back in on Durin’s expectantly upturned face again. This was too much pressure for you to handle, too much at stake. 

Roughly, you clear your throat. “Durin, do you know anything about … babies?” 

Surprise registers in his expression. That was clearly the farthest thing from his mind in regards to this discussion. “Oh. Uh, a little bit, I guess. Why?” 

“Do you know how they’re made?” 

He opens his mouth, hesitates, seems to think about it and then slowly closes his lips. Ponders that for a drawn out beat. “They come out of women. Their mothers carry them in their stomachs.” 

“And do you know how they get there? In their stomachs?” 

That seems to truly stump him, and you can’t really blame him for that. It doesn’t really make a whole lot of sense to you either, the whole business of sperm and eggs, and nine months of gestation. Blessed Anemo Archon, you didn’t want to go through all of that. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

It feels like you’ve got a rock wedged inside your throat and you once again try to cough it loose, struggling to decide if you were doing the right thing here. If it wasn’t you it would be someone else though. It’s better to at least try and say you did, so Albedo could have his answer and you wouldn’t ever have to speak of it again, than to push it off on the next person. 

“It’s a bit like alchemy, if you want the truth. Taking two different materials and combining them to make something new, something better. Men are the ones who put babies in their mother’s stomachs and then it’s their job to carry them and give birth. You can’t make one without two participants coming together first. They don’t just appear out of thin air.”

He considers that. “Only men and women?” 

“Well, there are some cases where two of the same gender might … wait, that’s going to complicate things. Let’s stick to the basics for now, shall we?” 

His expression turns a bit wry as he sits up straighter, and you can see the dark, serpentine shape of his tail flicking out irritably in the water behind him. He was trying so hard to understand, you didn’t want to confuse him anymore than he already was. 

“I think I get what you mean … so like you said earlier, it’s a bit like baking. Typically men have one ingredient and women have the other. And when they come together — that makes a baby?” 

“That’s a very apt metaphor, yes.”

“Then …” Durin hesitates again, sending a slow look of consideration at your chest, still mostly hidden under the water and behind your crossed arms. He can see the tops of your breasts though, the fleshy swells that clearly stand out in contrast to the flat planes of his own. Something seems to click into place behind his eyes then and he peers up at you with a great deal of interest. “Does that mean you and I could make one?” 

You should have known he’d be far too clever not to make that connection, even if hearing him say it still makes your stomach somersault over itself. “We could try … would you like to? I’m not sure if it’ll work though.” 

“Mmm … what happens afterward when the baby is born?” 

That manages to make you smile. At least someone was thinking responsibly here, and it certainly wasn’t Albedo. “Typically it needs constant care from its mother for about a year or so. When we, ah, carry a pregnancy to term our … breasts become full with milk for the baby to drink. And they eat a lot, or so I’ve heard.” 

Genuine awe reflects in his face now as he drops his attention back down to your chest but this time he doesn’t politely look away. Your tits have his full attention now, even more so than before. Which was surprising, given his apparent fascination with them. A part of you wondered if they made him yearn for the mother he’d never had and the closeness he’d missed out on, that unobtainable bond. 

“You feed them? With those?” 

“Mhm.” Nodding, you slowly lower your arms in favor of cupping under your breasts to lift them. The nipples are soft from the warmth of the water but as soon as the air hits them they start to gradually tighten, growing stiff right before your eyes. “The milk comes out of here so we hold them to our breast when it’s time to feed. Something like this, I suppose …” 

You wouldn’t really know, having never nursed a babe before, but Durin doesn’t seem to mind your lack of firsthand experience. His gaze is transfixed to your bare little teats all the same, and he almost seems to subconsciously hunch closer as if to get a better look. You’re not exactly used to having someone’s full attention zeroed in on your breasts like this though and you quickly become embarrassed, starting to fidget, but that doesn’t deter him either. 

He keeps leaning closer and closer, and you suddenly realize he’s aiming right for your left breast like a man enthralled when abruptly he stops. Seems to realize what he’s doing. 

Sheepishly, he rolls his eyes up towards your face. “Can I …? Just to — try it.” 

That’s not so strange a request for him to make, you try to tell yourself. He’d never gotten to experience it for himself, had likely never seen it before either, and something far, far back in the very darkest parts of his primordial animal brain may have craved it more than anything else. To latch and to suckle, to feed, was to know a special kind of peace that was completely unknown to him. Of course you recognized how dangerously close to the line of indecency you were inching now but … 

“I don’t mind. I’m not lactating though, so nothing's going to come out no matter how hard you suck.” 

A faltering breath slips out of him, belying his excitement. His eager anticipation. “That’s alright. I just want to see if it’s as … nice as it looks.” 

Hands braced on the tiled floor of the bath, fingertips brushing against your hip, he lowers himself the rest of the way to come up even with your now loosely coiled teat. You can tell at just a glance that it’s still soft, malleable, when it was a bit too warm in here to make it tight and hard. His mouth hinges open revealing the sharp point of canines again and you start to feel faint. What if he bit you? He could really do some serious damage to the delicate flesh if he wanted to and yet … 

You make no move to stop him as he closes the distance, sealing his lips around the tip of your breast, and you give an immediate, subtle jolt like he’d electrocuted you. The inside of Durin’s mouth is hot and wet, and you feel everything in startling clarity when he starts to work his jaws. Suction that pulls your nipple towards the back of his throat before easing up, the enthusiastic flicker of his tongue as it drags over the sensitive bud. Teeth gently worrying the areola to grip and better latch himself on. The nuzzle of his face when he buries his nose as far into the plushy give as he can without suffocating in it. 

It was a lot of sensation all at once and you whimper a soft sound as you tip your chin to better watch him nurse from your tit. Or try to, anyway. You almost felt a little bad that you had no milk to offer him but he seems perfectly content just mouthing at you, eyes closed as if in blissful relief. 

Unfortunately for you the rhythmic sucking does something awful to your cunt and you press your thighs together under the water in an attempt to stop yourself from squirming. It felt undeniably good to have his mouth on you like this and that horrifies you a great deal. Science wasn’t supposed to be pleasurable, you weren’t supposed to enjoy it. If you couldn’t even maintain your clinical impartiality now, at the very onset of this trying ordeal, then what did that mean for the rest of this so-called experiment? 

You can’t quite find the wherewithal to put a stop to this farce though, and merely keep holding your tits above the water in offering to him. The forgotten teat feels lonesome and neglected, slowly stiffening to a finer point as if in sympathy of the treatment its twin was receiving, but you don’t dare reach up and stimulate it yourself. That would be going too far, somehow. A breach in your allegedly detached role here. You’d told Albedo you wouldn’t send him away if he came to you of his own accord, yes, but you also said you weren’t going to actively participate. If Durin wanted to try and breed you, you’d let him, yet … 

“Ohhn!” You blurt the sound, entirely unbidden, when he catches the nipple in his mouth between his teeth. He doesn’t bite down though, thankfully, merely toying with it for a drawn out moment before letting go again. 

Pulling back just enough to suck in a surprisingly ragged breath, Durin immediately lurches back in to reattach himself to the tip of your breast. Except this time he fumbles forward at the same time, practically crawling on top of you now, and you can’t help the way you gasp at his sudden ferocity. He’s hungry, starved, desperate for the nourishment only a mother can give, but you are regrettably without any to provide. 

That almost manages to break your heart, and you find yourself cooing soft nothings into his hair as he clumsily clamors into your lap. Finally seating himself on your legs, Durin has to hunch even more dramatically to reach your nipple in this position but that doesn’t stop him either, just like nothing else up until now has. He’s forced to use his hands though, and he greedily palms at both of your tits to lift and squeeze them, pawing at you like a mindless animal. A stuttering, half smothered sob rattles out of him, quickly silenced by the meat of your breast filling his mouth again. 

With your own hands free now, you reach up with one to palm the back of Durin’s head, appreciating the silky soft, fine hair under your fingers, while the other circles around his back to draw comforting patterns into his skin. His leathery wings twitch sensitively each time you brush against them, a little too big and awkwardly placed on his anatomy for you to avoid touching them entirely, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Over his shoulder, you can see his long, scaly tail aggressively whipping through the water behind him as much as you feel it moving against your legs. 

After what feels like many minutes have come and gone in this manner, he at last brings his head up again with another desperate gasp. He’s panting, flushed and on the verge of tears when he shyly glances at your face, and you offer him a smile that you hope is reassuring. 

“I’m … I’m sorry. This isn’t really … appropriate, is it?” 

“It’s okay.” You tell him softly. “I don’t mind, and it seems like you really needed this. The only thing I’ll ask is that you show the other one some attention too, hm?” 

He blinks. Slowly smiles, then practically grins in as much as he’s capable of grinning. You don’t have to ask him twice, that much is clear, and you hold your breath in your aching lungs when he bends down to bury his face in the meat of your neglected tit and latch onto the nipple. 

As he sets in to work this one to straining attention, you glance down at the now abandoned breast to find the teat swollen and darkened with increased blood flow where it sticks out from between his grasping fingers. He’s practically got a death grip on you now and you aren’t so sure if you’ll ever manage to pry him off after this. At the rate he was going you weren’t even going to get to the breeding part … 

That thought gives you a moment's pause. Was he really going to be satisfied with this if all you did was hold him and let him nurse all night? Would you be satisfied, for that matter? Even putting aside your discussion with Albedo, you couldn’t exactly deny that you were very slick between the legs now. You were just a little too sensitive, your breasts much too receptive to touch and friction for you to pretend like it wasn’t having any effect on you at all. But was it inspiring a similar response in him too? 

Curious and eager, you slide the hand on his back down and around to drag along the curve of his stuttering ribs. He groans a distracted sound in response but doesn’t so much as question what you’re doing when you trace a path down the center of his body, skirting over his bellybutton (wait, why did he have one of those?) and straight into the thick patch of wiry curls on his groin. A little further and you find his cock where it bobs gently in the water. It’s not so soft anymore though and a strange thrill of delight sparks in your gut when you realize he’s hard, ready and waiting. 

You wrap your hand around his girth and give it an experimental pump, making him twitch almost violently in response. Immediately letting up his voracious hold on your teat, Durin sits up to look down at himself in the water, panting to catch his breath. 

“Wh - … what are you doing now?” 

“Just testing something.” You murmur, offering his length another slow motion pump that has him whimpering and screwing his eyes shut at the sensation. Overly sensitive. Poor thing. “This is what men use to put babies in our stomachs. It, ah … goes inside of us, and yours seems to be working just fine as far as I can tell.” 

“In - nghn! In - inside?” 

“Mhm. Down here. Between my legs.” Reaching up, you grab one of his wrists and pry it off your breast so you can direct it under the water instead. Durin seems almost drunk on his feet, drowning in some heady, kaleidoscopic dream far removed from reality, but still, he doesn’t try to fight it. Just follows your direction, letting you guide him, until his fingers brush against the outer pudge of your labia. 

He gives a tiny little jerk of surprise, eyes widening slightly, and you quickly understand why when he starts to feel over your cunt with curious, skittish fingertips. It was different from his own equipment and what he was sporting, and he evidently hadn’t realized that men and women were different in this way too. Maybe it would help him understand the mechanics a little better, give him something to conceptualize. And if he just so happened to knock your clit enough times in his curious mapping that you tipped right over the edge and came … well, you wouldn’t complain much about that at all. 

Burn everything, you couldn’t even remember the last time you’d been this worked up, and just from having your tits sucked at that. It was madness. 

“Will I really fit in … here?” He finally dares to ask, and you almost catch yourself laughing. 

Durin wasn’t nearly big enough for fitting to be a problem — but when he experimentally flexes his hips forward, instincts apparently taking over, to send his cock bumping against your cunt lips you start to feel well and truly faint. You wanted it and you wanted it bad, but the ever looming threat of his seed taking root in you was still a sobering prospect. Albedo would be happy to have his answer but what would that leave you? Honestly you didn’t even want to think about it. 

“You would, and quite easily too. It might not seem like it right now but our bodies were meant to come together like this. Do you … want to see?” 

He doesn’t even really need to think about it, quickly bobbing his head in the affirmative. It was sweet, how attentive and transfixed on you he looked in that moment, eyes hazy and distant but unerringly locked upon you. It was enough to almost make you blush. 

Gently, you give his shoulders a coaxing nudge until he picks up what you want, leaning back to give you some space. You reach for the ledge behind you and haul yourself up, warm water cascading down your body in heavy sheets that splash back into the pool. You’d never felt so much like a goddess of legend as you do in that moment, utterly naked and wet, primed for the attentions of your rapt acolyte who stares up at you in fascinated silence. 

You don’t even make an attempt to cover yourself now as you sit down on the ledge of the bath and bring your feet up to brace wide on the tiles. Durin’s gaze naturally drops to the fleshy seam in your body, the soaked curls plastered to the mound of your cunt, and some distant spark of understanding seems to flash behind his eyes. He was starting to understand and with that enlightenment came the wanting, the yearning, the primal drive to sink himself into you straight down to the hilt and never leave your warm embrace.

Crawling closer to the side of the bath, he brings one hand up to carefully pet over your soaked hair. Just that small amount of touch from him makes your innards throb, begging to be stretched and pumped full, but you bite down on your lower lip to stop yourself from rushing him. Instead you simply watch him feel over you, caressing down the length of your swollen sex before coming back up to press into your labia, spreading them apart. 

You can’t quite halt the gasp that rattles in your chest at the sensation of being bared so fully to his hungry gaze, knowing he could see each individual fold and crease inside your cunt, the delicate pearl of your clit and the excess of sticky slick that coats it all. You already knew you’d be slippery to the touch but he still runs a finger through the gossamer mess to test its consistency. Curious even now when he was staring down heaven. He really was Albedo’s brother after all. 

“I see now,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “This part of you is naturally lubricated. So that’s how we fit together.”

You start to open your mouth to say something but Durin manages to catch you completely off guard when he abruptly shoves his finger into your pussy. It’s sudden and it’s rude, but the long neglected nerve endings all but sing in delight at the rush of pleasure inducing friction. Your knees buckle where they’re bent out on either side of you, toes curling into the tiles as you toss your head back with a low mmmmm! of satisfaction. 

Unable to deny yourself the indulgence, you rock your hips up into his hand and settle into a slow, unhurried rhythm of fucking yourself on his outstretched digit. Durin watches you for a prolonged moment, observes, processes what he’s seeing, and then starts to move his wrist in time with your grinding motion. He doesn’t know what he’s doing enough to make it feel truly good for you but that’s alright. It still stokes something unbearably hot in you to have his attention like this, some part of his body stuffed inside yours. Even if it didn’t fill you half as much as his cock would, it was still nice. Pleasurable. 

Gods, you wanted so badly to cum. 

“Ahhn … Durin … feels good. You’re making me feel so good.” 

He mutters something in response that you can’t quite make out over the pounding of your own heartbeat, not that it really mattered either way. Your baser urges have effectively taken over, hijacking your higher functioning mind for their own purposes, and it seemed to be the same for him too. Despite his lack of experience, his lack of knowledge, Durin’s body seems to innately know where to move and how to position itself, and he stands up in a rush of cascading water to do just that. 

His long wings stretch out to either side with a shuddering motion that shakes most of the water droplets off the leathery membrane but he doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it, the full brunt of his attention fixed on the welcoming seam between your legs. Tentatively, he reaches out to grab hold of your waist while he lines himself up with your entrance. He can’t seem to draw a full lungful of breath anymore, softly panting and gasping as he stares down at himself, and you drop your chin to watch too. The ruddy pink glans winks up at you where its fleshy foreskin was drawn back to reveal the flushed slit and the clear ooze of arousal that beads there. 

And your heart stops inside your chest the moment you see it. It’s like you’ve completely forgotten how to breathe. Durin was not only whole enough to have a fully functioning cock and balls that produced eager secretions, but he was also very unlikely to be shooting blanks. Call it a premonition or even woman's intuition if you liked, but there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he was going to get you pregnant if you kept going. 

“Wait.” 

He twitches to an abrupt halt, already halfway through the motion of rolling his hips forward to sink himself inside you. His cock impotently flexes in the scant space between you and him, looking like it was stretching out for you with a mind of its own even as Durin questioningly lifts his wide blown eyes to your face. 

“I’m sorry.” You rush to say, hating to see that kicked-puppy look directed at you because of something you’ve said or done. “I just … I don’t think I can do this. Not this way.”

“Oh. I - it’s alright.” He stammers, quickly prying his hands off your waist so he can take a polite step back in the sloshing pool. “I guess I was getting a bit carried away, huh? I hope I didn’t overstep too much. I’ll just … I’ll go.” 

“No!” You reach out to snag his arm, stopping him before he can do more than start to turn. “You don’t have to do that. I want to keep going but … I think it might be safer if we approach this a different way.”

Durin clearly doesn’t understand what you mean and you quickly realize you’re just going to have to level with him. 

“Do you remember what we were talking about earlier? If you and I could … have a baby?” At his hesitant nod, you go on. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t sure if we would be — compatible with each other. Biologically. But I don’t think that’s a risk I want to take right now. I’m not ready to become a mother yet, Durin. If you still want to have sex I’d be happy to continue. We have other options.”

He relaxes slightly at that, clearly not disinterested in what you were offering him. “What should I do?” 

Releasing him, you slide down to stand with Durin in the pool of water before spinning in place to give him your back. You bend over then, reaching behind you to grab at the meat of your ass and pull, letting him have a good look at the puckerer of your rear entrance. 

“You’re going to stick your cock right here. I can’t get pregnant this way, and we both get what we want out of this. Everyone’s happy.” Except, of course, maybe Albedo. 

Durin’s brows shoot up in surprise though, looking down at you with clear wanting etched into his face, and yet he still hesitates. Uncertain. “Is that really okay? It seems less … elastic than the alternative.” 

“Don’t worry about that. You’d be surprised at how much this can stretch.” 

Feeling quite pleased with yourself for being so clever, you turn forward to glance at the convenient tray of assorted bottles sitting in easy arms reach. You’d noticed it right when you’d first entered the bath but had tried everything in your power to ignore it up til’ now. 

Stretching for it, you drag it a little closer with a small scrape of metal against the tiles, picking up the nearest bottle and uncorking it to get a good sniff. You repeat this a few times until you catch the unmistakable whiff of olive oil in your nose, shooting him a quick grin over your shoulder. 

Carefully dribbling some of the sticky substance onto your fingers, you reach back again and slip those digits into the cleft between your cheeks. You find your back entrance easily enough and smear the clinging liquid over the pucker, rubbing it into the skin while Durin watches on in rapt fascination. He practically burns a hole in your skin from staring so hard and that just makes you run even hotter, groaning a threadbare little sound when you start to test the give. 

Slowly applying pressure, the tip of your finger just barely sinks into the vulnerable center of your ass, momentarily breaching the tight ring of muscle before you let up, allowing it to clench shut again. You do this once, twice, three times, and then finally slip your finger in up to the first joint. A heady sound tumbles from your mouth as you wriggle it around, coating the interior rim with lubricant and encouraging the hole to loosen for you. This was far from the first time you’d resorted to this particular method to avoid any unwanted consequences but it had been quite a while since you last engaged with someone like this. It was probably going to take some work to get yourself ready. 

Your one saving grace was that Durin was not an overly well endowed man unlike a certain, hulkingly huge Grandmaster you knew. His cock matched his stature, far from small but nothing too unwieldy either. He’d fit as long as you made sure you were slippery enough to accommodate him. 

Humming a quiet sound of anticipation, you carefully slide your finger out and bring your hand back around to dribble more of the handy lubricant onto it. You’re about to reach back to resume your stretching when you suddenly feel Durin’s hands descend upon your upturned ass, grabbing two eager handfuls and spreading you open. Jolting in surprise, you twist to look back at him just in time to watch the dragon swoop down and shove his face between your cheeks where he takes a long, wet swipe with his tongue right over the wrinkle of your entrance. 

You squawk at the unexpected sensation, not having been prepared to feel him mouthing at you like that, but the sound quickly morphs into another low groan as he settles in to lap up the oil. Undoing all of your hard work, yes, but you like the way it feels a little too much to scold him for it. Not a good sign, all things considered. 

“Ooohn, Durin … you don’t have to do that. The oil will suffice.” 

He comes up off you with a whooshing breath, panting softly behind you. “Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself. You look so — juicy like this. I think I’m starting to understand what Timaeus was talking about now …”

“That’s good.” You murmur, too distracted to give much thought to the topic of Timaeus and his long distance girlfriend at the moment. 

Stretching your arm back, you find your entrance and start to carefully push in. But this time Durin helpfully keeps your cheeks spread, making the center of your entrance slacken and stretch, and you eagerly wedge the first two digits inside the fleshy little hole with a muted groan of pleasure. 

And when you slowly withdraw them another moment later, Durin gently replaces your fingers with his own, prodding at your guts when he breaches the squeezing ring to keep your ass stuffed while you apply more oil. Back and forth, the two of you work in surprisingly harmonious tandem to get you ready for him, until you can’t take it anymore and your cunt is weeping excessively. 

“Fuck,” you whine, fingers thrusting in out of your ass but it’s not enough. You need something bigger, thicker. Hotter. “I don’t think I can wait anymore, Durin. Can you stick it in?” 

“I … can try.” 

A short shuffle follows in which you pass the bottle of oil to him, instructing him to coat himself in the sticky substance before trying to insert it. Your fingers are removed for the last time and a heartbeat later you feel him nudging right up to you, slim thighs pressed to the backs of your wider, softer ones. Then the blunt head of him finds its way to your back entrance where it briefly docks, hesitating, before he starts applying pressure. 

Your ass relents almost immediately and your body easily accepts the bulbous glans, twitching sensitively when it pops past the outer ring. The rest of him keeps coming on a relatively smooth glide, gradually forcing your hole to widen around the thickest part of him. And then he’s in, seated inside you as far as he can go. For a moment you see double, eyes crossing at the intense sensation of being so thoroughly plugged, impaled on the whole of his length, but even that seems to pale in comparison to what he’s feeling. 

Devolving into a near sobbing mess of whimpers and whines, Durin fervently clutches at you like a lifeline while he sways unsteadily behind you. His hips are locked in place and he seems unable to move, but you can tell he desperately wants to. It’s likely too much all at once. Too many sensations, too much sweltering heat encompassing his cock, too tight of a squeeze. He’s utterly helpless buried inside your ass like this and, seeing that you have no other choice, you stiffly begin to rock against him. 

At the same time you slide a hand between your legs so you can rub your cunt while the other clutches the edge of the bath so hard it hurts. You whisper heated reassurances at him, telling him what a good job he’s doing, but it seems to do more harm than good. His fingers dig into you where he’s holding on for dear life with enough force to leave behind bruises in their wake, his stuttering gasps becoming even more dramatic. You start to worry he’s going to pass out. 

But then you feel it. The intense throb of his cock deep inside your ass. The enthusiastic flex. He was getting ready to cum. It’s already bearing down on him with a force he likely had no concept of prior to this and he lurches behind you, hands scrabbling for purchase on your stomach, your hips.

He shoots off so abruptly it catches you unawares even though you’d been half expecting it. Your mouth warbles open as if to moan in sheer, uninterrupted ecstasy but nothing comes out. You can’t breathe. Every single muscle in your lower body is locked in dizzying tension, so tightly wrought it makes tears spring up in your eyes. Your legs nearly crumple and give out under you, fingers working furiously over your clit and — 

You cum too, shuddering so uncontrollably you collapse onto the ledge of the bath where you can freely judder and shake through the cresting spasms. Durin follows you down, pressing his face into your back to seethe — no, to sob his relief into your damp skin. It’s too much for him, and not nearly enough for you. You want more almost as soon as you finish trembling but … that was a dangerous game to play, if you weren’t careful. It would be oh so easy just to give in to temptation, invite him to settle between your thighs and encourage him to cum as much as he wants, until he has nothing left to give. You couldn’t afford that price though. 

Slowly gathering yourself, you carefully push up to twist your head around, peering over your shoulder. You almost take your eye out on one of his damn horns. “Are you alright, Durin?” 

After a moment’s thought he nods, although he still refuses to lift his face from your back. 

“It’s alright if you still need a minute. That seemed … intense for you. But we have to get ourselves cleaned up soon, okay? I’m sure someone else is going to want this room eventually.” 

Sniffling rather sadly, he shifts on top of you and moves to straighten up. “I’m sorry …” 

“It’s nothing to apologize for. As long as you enjoyed yourself that’s all that matters.” Never minding the fact that it had only taken a few minutes, two at the most, for him to find his release and he hadn’t done a lot of moving in that time either, so you weren’t sure how much he’d really gotten out of it. The only thing that had saved you was how tightly wound you’d been after all the build up and edging leading into him actually putting it in. 

You were happy to let it slide though, mindful of the fact that it was his first time and he’d likely had no idea what he was getting into. It made sense that he wouldn’t last long but … now that the high was starting to wear off you were beginning to have some second thoughts about all this. You’d had sex with the miracle creation, sure, but not in a way that would tell Albedo one or another if he was virile or not. 

He didn’t need to know that though. You could just tell him you’d gone through with it and when nothing ever came of the coupling he’d surely let it go, write it off as a small failure in a much larger success, and move on with his life. You would do the same and so would Durin. Neither of you ever had to even speak of this again for as long as you might live. It’s not as if the captain was going to personally examine you to see if you were telling the truth. 

Except — you quickly realize it’s not going to be quite that easy when the dragon simply refuses to let you go. He clings to you as if he’s glued on even when you try to slip out from under him, ignoring your protests. You can still feel his hot, hot seed settling deep in your guts as you struggle to unlatch him but it’s no use. He wasn’t just clingy, but needy! 

Oh, this was just turning into quite the predicament, wasn’t it?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Days pass after the unseemly incident in the baths. Durin remains attached to you at the hip. Albedo does not seem convinced of your story in the slightest. Your life feels like it’s spiraling out of control. 

Weeks pass after the unseemly incident in the baths. Something strange starts to happen. You just feel a little sick at first, like you were coming down with a cold, and then the bouts of nausea hit you. Your body doesn’t feel right, but the doctors don’t see anything wrong with you. In a final bid for some kind of answer, you quietly visit a midwife at her home and have her perform an exam that comes back quite negative. You weren’t pregnant, just as you’d thought. Life goes on.  

A month passes after the unseemly incident in the baths. Something is really wrong now. At first you think you’re just gaining a little weight from the stress and the near daily meals Durin insists on so he can make googly eyes at you over the sticky roast on your plates. But your stomach seems to be the only thing growing and when you touch your hands to it, the protrudence is firm under your palms. Unrelenting. Like the pressure of something inside you was building, forcing it up and out in the only available direction. Once again the nurses and the midwives have no answers for you. 

Two months pass after the unseemly incident in the baths, and suddenly your stomach is too round to hide from Captain Albedo’s attention anymore. He’s very interested in what’s happening to you, asking a never ending series of questions — when did you first notice these changes, what time of day do you feel at your sickest, what have you been eating, are you still sleeping, on and on, and on. You’re not exactly happy about it but, having no other choice when every other avenue has already failed you, you finally give in to his request of performing his own examination. He may not have been a doctor anymore than you were, but if anyone could figure out what was wrong with you it was probably him. 

Two months and six days after the unseemly incident in the baths Albedo tells you you’re pregnant. 

But not really. 

“I’m sorry, what?” You demand, shock coloring your voice to such a higher pitch it doesn’t even really sound like you anymore. 

“Well,” he starts, perfectly calm and collected as if he weren’t delivering the most confusing, life altering news ever conceived by mortal minds. “You are indeed carrying something to term but it’s not a baby. It’s also not in your womb, hence why none of the other professionals were able to provide an accurate diagnosis.” 

You impotently sputter at that, struggling for a solid minute to get your mouth and your brain working properly again. “Then what the hell is it? A garden gnome?” 

“I’m not sure you’re going to like the answer.” 

If only your stomach weren’t so round and cumbersome, you would have leapt right up off the exam table and throttled the life out of Albedo’s perfect, beautiful neck. He was going to pay dearly for this once you managed to get back on your feet. 

“Just tell me what it is so I can figure out how to get rid of it. Please.” 

Expression softening slightly at the desperation in your voice, Albedo starts to peel off his sterile gloves. “I’m afraid you’re carrying a brood of eggs, my dear assistant. Please don’t look at me like that, I don’t have an explanation for it either. I wouldn’t have thought it possible but … the facts don’t lie. I take it you stretched the truth when you relayed that story to me about your time spent in the baths?” 

You grumble something very unkind under your breath but Albedo merely hums his agreement with the sentiment, not at all bothered by your fib apparently. 

“It’s certainly an unexpected turn of events,” he goes on. “But it’s rather interesting too, isn’t it? You should have long since expelled whatever Durin left in you and yet it looks to me like your lower intestine is working like some kind of makeshift womb. I can’t be sure yet if it’s a potential byproduct of my alchemy or … perhaps my mother’s, if any lingering traces of it still remained from Durin’s heart. However there is good news.”

Feeling numb and detached from your own body, you peer up at him in pure befuddlement. “And what’s that?” 

“I’m confident that the eggs you’re carrying aren’t fertilized. They likely never came into contact with any zygotes to begin the process of true reproduction. It’s just that, for some reason, something in Durin’s semen tricked your biological cues into thinking it had been successfully impregnated. You’re essentially carrying an empty clutch.” 

Your head feels like it’s spinning. Were you about to throw up again? This couldn’t possibly be happening. But he was right. That was good news. You’d been worried enough about being a mother of one, never mind a whole brood. 

“Okay. That’s great. I can deal with a few empty eggs. How are we going to get them out?” 

A distant flash of sympathy sparks behind Albedo’s cool, lake-blue eyes. “I’m afraid we don’t. They’ve rearranged the structure of your organs to create the faux womb they’re currently housed in which means I wouldn’t have any idea how to safely remove them. We’ll have to wait for them to come out naturally.”

“Oh.”

“Also,” He hedges. “Just so you’re aware, it’s more like a few dozen. It was difficult to get an accurate count but … I’m sure you can tell by the size of your stomach that you’re quit — full, at the moment.” 

You shoot a horrified look down at your round belly, nightmarish images flashing through your mind in a dizzying rush. Panicky jitters quickly start to swell up and you awkwardly shove up onto your hands, trying to escape what’s happening to you. It’s no use though. You were trapped in your own body. There was no way out of this, it was already too late. Pregnant, but not really. The tears are streaming down your face before you even realize it. 

Looking visibly uncomfortable now, Albedo carefully sidles up next to the exam table so he can gently place a hand on your quaking shoulder. “I’m not going to say it’s alright because I know you won’t believe that to be true. I understand that this situation seems awfully bleak right now but … if I may speak freely, I have to admit that you probably made the right choice even if it was not what I asked of you.”

Blinking through the mist in your eyes, you turn your head up at him in confusion. “H - huh?” 

“Your — approach with Durin. If you’d had intercourse the proper way I’m not so sure your uterus could have handled the strain. And that’s not even mentioning the birthing process. A human's cervix isn't exactly built for passing eggs.”

You laugh, not because it’s funny but because you have no idea what else to do. How should you react to the knowledge that by letting that damn dragon fuck you up your ass you may have saved yourself from an agonizing death? At least your back end could stretch wide enough to hopefully pass the things without much lasting damage. You already knew that from past experience. 

In fact you’d even told Durin that. You’d be surprised at how much it can stretch. Maybe … just maybe this wasn’t as bad as you’d first thought. 

That slim, minuscule little crumb of hope is the only thing that gives you the strength to keep going in the following days. 

Two months and one week after the unseemly incident in the baths, you sit Durin down and explain what’s happening to you. He’s understandably surprised, having never seen a pregnant woman before, or at least not one he recognized as such, and so he’d never made the connection in his mind that everyone else already had. Kaeya was still teasing you every time you crossed paths with him, always asking you who the lucky father was. You still hadn’t quite figured out how you were going to explain this away once you were rid of the eggs, but you had half a mind to take one of them and chuck it right at the Cavalry Captain’s smug face. 

Durin, however, is nothing if not sympathetic, almost sickeningly so. He clearly feels guilty for your current state and the role he played in it, yet he quickly accepts that no amount of apologizing is going to fix this mess or undo any of it. 

Instead he steps up in an unexpectedly responsible way, constantly checking on you and ensuring you have enough to eat, giving you back massages when the added weight you’re carrying puts too much stress on your joints. He even starts to bring you things, stuff that you rightfully assume are mere gifts at first, but you soon catch on that it’s a bit more than that. A seemingly never ending supply of blankets, pillows, shawls, sheets, cozy sweaters and even a few stuffed toys on occasion, when he happens upon one he thought you might like. He wasn’t making peace offerings, you realize with no shortage of alarm. 

He was giving you nesting materials. 

You’re not so sure about that though, unconvinced that it would do anything for you that your perfectly comfortable bed wouldn’t. Despite your misgivings about this entire situation, and him by extension, you still didn’t want to completely spit in the face of his kindness. He hadn’t intentionally or maliciously done this to you, after all. Technically you’d done it to yourself. 

So one afternoon, when you’ve amassed quite the collection, you take the time to set up a nice little nest in the corner of your room in the barracks with all the gifts he’d given you. It probably wasn’t the most ideal place to birth your clutch but it was just going to have to do. 

And life goes on, confoundingly. 

Just shy of three months after the unseemly incident in the baths, you awake early in the morning to a terrible cramp in your gut. 

It’s so intense, so immediately violent, that you practically fly right out of your bed with a sudden lurch. The debilitating pain stops you in your tracks though and you freeze there, just like that, in an awkwardly splayed position, halfway through the motion of rolling to your feet. You’re wide awake despite having been dead to the world only seconds prior and you frantically try to think your way through this. 

Your body seems to be trying to seize in on itself with a slow, pulsing spasm that starts near the middle of your spine and gradually works its way down which you can only assume meant one thing. It was time. But you were nowhere near ready, not mentally and certainly not physically. 

Sadly you don’t seem to have a say in the matter, and another deep, agonizing cramp works through you in the next moment, assuring you that there would be no putting this off. The eggs were coming out now. 

Everything quickly turns into a confusing, disoriented blur after that realization. Unimaginable pain unlike anything you’ve ever felt consumes your conscious mind until it’s all you can think about, all you can feel, all you can taste. You desperately try to breathe through it but the blinding spasms of muscle you didn’t even know existed slowly working the clutch down towards the only way out steals the oxygen right from your lungs. It feels like you’re going to be sick everywhere but you never quite manage to throw up. Instead you sweat profusely and gasp for air like a beached fish, ripping into the sheets with your clawed fingers. 

At some point you seem to have wet yourself but when you struggle up into a sitting position to look down at the bed you see not the seeping stain of piss. Rather you’re greeted by … by some kind of thick, clear goopy substance that has more than a passing resemblance to jelly. You understand that it’s coming out of you, making a mess of you and everything close enough to come into contact with it, and yet it’s impossible to truly reconcile it in your mind. Durin had certainly done a number on you. 

What feels like several hundred lifetimes passes by but you know it can’t have been more than a half hour of laboring at the very most. The sun is still rising over the horizon to cast an increasingly brighter glow through the only window in the room, spotlighting the scene playing out on your bed, when you feel the first egg start to breach. 

It’s an excruciating thing to experience, that horrible slow motion pressure forcing your ass to gradually give way and split open until it feels like it’s going to rip you in two. The egg is too wide though, too firm, and it sinks back inside your body where it seems to hover right at the precipice of freedom. You toss your head against the pillows, fighting every roaring instinct in your body not to scream yourself hoarse and raw. Not here, not now. You couldn’t have every single knight in the barracks come running just to find you in this awful state. 

So you clench your teeth and push, putting everything you have into expelling this burden as quickly as possible. The egg starts to breach again, shoving the rim of your asshole right to its breaking point. You’re sure you’re going to pass out before you can deliver even one of these damn things but you keep trying, bearing down as hard as you can. 

And it works. It’s no quick or easy process by any means but the egg thankfully keeps coming this time. Wider and wider your poor little hole stretches until it at last manages to accommodate what seems to be the widest part of its circumference. You have to keep working at it for another moment longer before you manage to get it far enough out that physics takes care of the rest. 

Finally the egg pops right out of you with a noisy wet slurp as more of that mysterious clear goop follows after it in a rush. Your ass wildly contracts in the aftermath, desperate to return to its usual size and shape, but it just can’t. Not after that. And, perhaps most surprising of all, the sensation of your now gaping hole unable to close registers in the deepest, darkest animal part of your brain as being somehow pleasurable. It doesn’t feel good, not truly, but … you’d never felt yourself so terribly stretched out that the muscle wouldn’t even snap back into place. How must you look right now, spread out shamefully on your back with your nightgown half ripped off and your asshole open wide, ready and waiting? 

You couldn’t think about that right now though, especially not when it was exactly that which had found you in this predicament in the first place. 

Heaving at the brief moment of reprieve, you carefully roll yourself upright to take a good look at what just came out of you. The egg sitting on the ruined sheets between your shamelessly spread legs is not half as big as it had felt, which chagrin’s you a great deal. It was smooth on the exterior shell but even from where you were sat you could make out a faint, violet-blue hue covering its circumference that appeared to create a visual effect of … scales? You’d never seen one like this before. Although you supposed, in all fairness, dragon eggs weren’t exactly a common sight. 

The contractions start up again before you can give that any further thought, and you helplessly groan as you sink back down to the bed. You quickly realize that passing the first egg had not made the process any easier, and you have no choice but to labor through the next delivery much the same way. Push, hiss, push. Push, gasp, push. That rhythmic pattern seems to help somewhat, and you even grab under your knees to hold them up to further aid the process. 

Finally the second egg escapes the clinging grip of your ruined asshole and falls to the bed where it joins its twin in the mess of mystery goo. The noise they make when they click together assures you that Albedo had been correct and they were indeed empty. That was one good thing in all of this. 

The process repeats itself and you soon feel the next one coming, bracing for the worst of it. Unfortunately no amount of that sticky secretion seems to make it any easier to push them out and repetition doesn’t either. Your ass is beyond destroyed, gaping wide and sensitively flexing around nothing at all, and yet the next egg still somehow manages to stretch it out even wider. It’s well beyond what should be physically possible, and you can’t understand why they’re not simply sliding right through the wrecked ring of muscle now. It doesn’t make sense. 

You don’t have the brain power necessary to spare to think too deeply about that too deeply though, panic surging up in your tight chest when the third egg halts its descent, stuck half way out and half way in. It hovers there for a horrible stretch of seconds and then — sucks back up inside when the contraction lulls. Despite your best attempts to stay calm you start to hyperventilate. You can feel that firm round mass pressing on your entrance, the tip of it barely breaching your body, but it’s stuck. Even trying to push doesn’t do any good. 

The only choice you have is to wait for the next full bodied cramp to come, and you spend the following few minutes stiffly writhing on top of your bed, gasping frantically for air. 

When you finally start to feel your guts contracting again you almost sob in relief. Bearing down in time with the pulse, the egg starts to slip out again. More and more your ass opens up around its girth until you at last work the widest part of it through. You take a quick break then to breathe, dizzy from the effort as much as the sensation of having all of your most sensitive nerves pressed in on. With one final push and a smothered cry, the egg breaks free to hit the sheets in a fresh deluge of clear fluid, soaking into the mattress. 

Allowing yourself a moment to rest, you lie there and try to catch your breath. This was insane. You couldn’t do it. You’d only birthed three so far and Albedo had told you there were at least a few dozen. It was going to kill you before you could ever know relief. 

Another contraction abruptly starts up, coming in shorter intervals now, and you allow the panic to take hold as you gingerly roll off the bed to your feet. You wanted to flee, escape what was happening to you. Everything hurts. Your ass won’t close even now when you’re struggling upright, death grip on the back of the wooden headboard to steady yourself, and you were positively soaked from the waist down. It’s easily the worst thing you’ve ever experienced, but you know you’ll just have to power through it. 

So you crouch, dropping to the balls of your feet and hike your nightgown up with one hand while the other squeezes the bed frame so hard the wood begins to creak. You push like that, hoping gravity will help the process even a little bit, but it doesn’t. 

You still spend the next few minutes laboring through the birthing process while the egg slowly makes its way down to your ruined sphincter where it gradually breaches, sinks back in, breaches again. The toll it’s taking on your body is immense and your pussy aches in neglect, weeping excitedly despite how much you wished it wasn’t. There’s simply too much pressure on your guts though, the bulk of the eggs pressing in on your cunt through the thin wall that separates one from the other. You don’t think you were going to cum like this, such an absurd thought to even have given the situation you were in, but … 

The fourth egg finally pops free with one last push, clattering onto the floor underneath you, and the subsequent spasms throughout your body does indeed feel strangely orgasmic. Your gaping, sticky asshole flexes impotently and your pussy mirrors it as if in sympathy. It almost manages to shock you when you were already shellshocked and exhausted, reeling from the overwhelm of everything that’s happening to you. It was a lot to wrap your head around and the next contraction was already starting. 

Snarling a bestial sound, you pivot around and crawl towards the nest of blankets in the corner of your room. You quickly rip the nightgown off your sweat soaked body, tossing it aside as you kneel in the center of the fluffy mass. Your nipples are hard and straining in the cool morning air, and you glance down at yourself to see your stomach still quite round where it extends off the front of your body, even more pronounced than your tits. You really did look pregnant and you feel immense shame at how much that thought actually excites you. The psychological effects of carrying Durin’s clutch had clearly done something irreversible to your brain. 

On your knees like that, you push and push to work the next egg down, quietly sobbing over the fifteen or so minutes it takes to expel its mass from your body. The immediate relief you feel once it finally pops free nearly bowls you over, but just as every other time it’s regretfully short lived. 

You lie down on your back then, looking over your tits and your belly for a long, uncertain moment before hesitantly reaching between your legs. Your arm has to curl at an awkward angle with your stomach in the way but you find your clit soon enough and desperately start to rub it, thinking maybe this will help. Praying that it might distract you from the pain, at least. 

Pussy swollen and sensitive, you’re surprised at how your body still has the capacity to feel any amount of pleasure given the constant, prolonged abuse it’s suffered. But it does work to some extent, you’re glad to find, and it doesn’t take long at all for you to cum while the sixth egg gradually forces its way down towards your wide open asshole. 

You’re unsure if it’s a result of all the pressure on your guts, the sickening girth that forces your cunt into a tight squeeze as it passes, or if it’s the sensation of your back entrance unable to close and gaping shamelessly, but the orgasm rocks through you with such violence your eyes start to roll in your head. It doesn’t do much to mitigate the discomfort you’re feeling but it does take a minuscule amount of the edge off, and for that you were grateful. 

Much to your surprise, however, the added spasms in your cunt seem to push back on the egg, giving your body extra pressure to push it out with. The tip of it starts to slip out, keeps coming, your ass stretches around the thickest part of its circumference and — it pops right through the loosened ring with an audible, wet slurp. 

Groaning wildly through tightly clenched teeth, you keep rubbing your pussy with increasing desperation, reminding yourself that you were already halfway through this trying ordeal. Six eggs lay scattered around your room in the barracks; three on the bed, one on the floor and two were now safely nestled in the sheets you’d made your nest with. Maybe you could do this after all, and it wouldn’t kill you in the process. 

And that is exactly how Durin finds you. 

Spread out on your back with one hand tugging at your achingly stiff nipple while the other fingers your cunt open, digits working fervently to the rhythmic soft, sticky clicks while you labor through the delivery of the seventh egg. 

He stops dead in the doorway, just staring at you in alarm. But you can’t quite bring yourself to stop, the next egg already starting to breach your stretched asshole, so you just keep working your fingers even as you turn your head away in shame. 

A terse moment of relative silence passes over the room in which you fully expect him to turn tail and beat a hasty retreat. This was hardly the sort of scene most men would willingly insert themselves into, far more keen on the making of babies than the birthing of them. 

Instead you hear a faint shuffle, the click of the door and then the lock sliding into place followed by the purposeful approach of his boots on the wood floor. No small amount of surprise registers in the back of your mind and you tense, unintentionally sucking the crowning egg back up inside you. You frantically whimper and whine as you snap your attention back around, horrified at what this interruption means for you. 

Finding Durin kneeling down next to you gives you pause though and you peer up at him in question, struggling to catch your breath. He gives you a quick look over with your full tits, round belly and the mess between your legs. Your fingers still stuffed inside your cunt up to the knuckles but no longer moving. Just resting there. 

His attention slowly comes back up to your face then, taking in your sweat coated skin, the matted hair. And he smiles. A small, tentative grin, but a grin all the same. 

“I would have come sooner if I’d known it was time. Have you been … at it for very long?” 

Huffing and puffing under your breath, you crane your neck back to glance up at the window over the bed. The sun was so bright it seemed to blind you. 

You shake your head. “No. Only an hour or so. They come fairly quick, close together but …” A pained grunt interrupts you, hissing when the next contraction starts and you feel the egg begin to crown again. Oh, you really did not want an audience for this. “They, nnghn! They get … stuck sometimes. It’s hard to push them out all the way before they go … oohnn, back in. Aaghhn! W - what are you … doing here, Durin?” 

“The morning assembly came and went, and you didn’t show up. Albedo was going to check on you himself but I insisted that I wanted to do it.” Pausing, he sends another slow look over your tits, your belly. Taking it all in. “Can I help you? I feel awful seeing you like this.” 

“I’m, oohh … not sure what you could do. Birthing is a — one person sport, I’m afraid.” 

You attempt to laugh, hoping some levity might ease the thick fog of tension that hangs over the room, but it doesn’t work. The breached egg slides further down the canal, forcing your ass open wide. It slips back a centimeter, hovers there for another excruciating moment, and then starts coming again. It was ready now. 

Smothering the scream that tries to rip its way out of your throat, you throw your head back into the mound of pillows and sheets, frozen in place by the swelling pain. It takes everything you have just to focus on pushing, fingers forgotten inside your squeezing cunt, but Durin is surprisingly quick to jump into action. 

He rips his right glove off and then reaches down to join your stilled hand between your legs. Rather than pulling your digits out first, he merely shoves his in right next to yours and suddenly you have two sets of fingers wedging your cunt open. You lurch at the sensation of both your holes being forced to stretch wide, rocking helplessly on your back where the cumbersome size of your stomach keeps you prone. 

The egg was almost completely out now, helped in no small part by the added pressure on your guts, and you shudderingly bring your head up to glance down at yourself. You give it one last push and the round mass slides free, landing in the blankets. In the same breath your pussy erupts and you disbelievingly watch as you squirt all over the place, soaking Durin’s sleeve as much as the nest itself. It keeps coming too, one deluge after another, each weaker than the last while your pussy wildly contracts, until it finally slows to a mere dribble. 

That was — 

“Woah.” He breathes, evidently as shocked as you are. “Is that … supposed to happen?” 

“I don’t know. But don’t stop. Please. Keep going.” 

Your frantic begging snaps him out of it, and together the two of you work your cunt over the following minutes until you start to feel the next egg. You’d delivered eight already, there couldn’t be that many left, surely? 

It doesn’t feel that way though, especially when your asshole starts to breach again. You cling to him wildly, mindless in your suffering, while he tries his best to talk you through it. But anything he says is utterly lost in the deafening sound of your heart in your ears, meaningless in the agonizing process that was not getting any easier. 

The ninth egg finally joins the others after much laboring on your part, and Durin gently removes his fingers from your soaked cunt so he can gather them up. He moves them further down in the nest to ensure you had enough room for what you sorely hoped were the last few left. You were exhausted and you didn’t know how much more of this you could take. 

He doesn’t immediately return to you though, taking a moment instead to shrug out of his jacket, his shirt, and then finally his boots and slacks. You’re quite surprised to find him suddenly naked too, your mind momentarily drifting back to the baths, but you don’t get the chance to question him. 

The next contraction starts up, making you seeth, and Durin hurries back to your side. Except this time he lays down with you, careful not to put any pressure on your stomach even as he lowers his face to your breast where he latches onto the straining nipple. You squawk your surprise at him, automatically bringing your hand up to slap against his forehead and shove him off. An unexpectedly intense cramp seems to drain the energy from your arm though and you have no choice but to give in, panting heavily while he suckles rather contentedly at your teat. 

His topmost hand reaches across your chest then to briefly squeeze the opposite breast before sliding down over the curve of your belly. He takes a moment to simply caress you, feeling over the potrudance almost lovingly, affectionately, and you can’t help but wonder if he can feel the firm outline of the remaining eggs still inside you. For better or worse you weren’t quite brave enough to test it yourself, fearful of what you might find if you put a hand to your belly before this was over. 

So you simply let Durin do as he pleases while you focus on working the egg through the canal to your stretched loose entrance. His mouth is distracting in a way that you can’t decide whether it’s good or bad, but you don’t have the breath to chide him for it even if you’d wanted to. 

You feel it then, your hole starting to breach, the egg crowning, and you seethe an animalistic sound as you push, body straining to finish this horrible task it’s been burdened with. His fingers slide down off your middle at the harried sound and slip into the space between your legs where he takes a moment to feel over your puffy, swollen cunt. That does not appear to be his objective though, and he reaches further down to lightly run his fingers around the wide rim of your asshole where the egg is slowly coming out. 

If you could you would have cursed him and his entire existence, making do instead with softly crying out for mercy. You even pray to the Anemo Archon, asking him to do something, anything, to take away this blinding pain. He doesn’t seem to be listening though, or your pleas merely fall on unsympathetic ears. Either way you’re forced to feel every little thing, the stretching, the pressure, the excess slick of that jelly-like substance which splurts out of you once you’ve finally managed to pass the egg. 

You’re utterly disoriented in the aftermath. Ten down. Only a few more to go. 

But Durin’s fingers haven’t retreated from your gaping asshole yet and you squeal a wordless sound of protest when he rudely thrusts two of the digits inside. There’s no resistance, no pushback. Your ass feels as slick and malleable as your pussy does now, and he’s free to work you over as enthusiastically as he wants. You can’t do anything to stop it when he starts to sloppily fuck you with his fingers. The next contraction begins and your sphincter uselessly tries to squeeze down to push him out but it’s futile. The muscle was totally ruined. 

He just keeps going, entirely undeterred, even going so far as to slip a third finger past the weakly clinging rim to really stuff your ass with them. You beg him to stop, sniffling sadly even while the next egg gradually works its way down towards where he’s got you plugged. 

It’s only when he seems to feel its mass pressing in on his fingers does he finally pull them out to a wet, messy slurp. Your asshole feels like it’s on fire when it opens up wide again, allowing the egg to crown. Eyes rolling and teeth gnashing, you bear down on it as hard as you can until the widest part of its circumference is through and it’s half sticking out. You’re sure it’s going to suck back in where it will wait until the next contraction but you will it to expel, struggling just to draw air into your lungs. 

At last it comes loose and falls to the sheets where Durin carefully nudges it off to the side. You hiss in relief, going boneless on top of the mound to rest for just a moment before you have to do it all again. One more, maybe two. You were so close now. 

Durin is saying something then but you can’t make out the words, blinking out of your tired stupor to glance in his direction. He’s abandoned your puffy teat now and has sat up, peering down at you with concern and sympathy reflected in his pinched expression. 

“Wha - at?” 

“I said I’m going to roll you onto your side. I think this might help.”

You’re not so sure about that, unconvinced that anything would help at this point, yet you have no energy to argue with him. You just let him do it, groaning when he carefully gets his hands under you and eases you over to face the wall. 

He situates himself behind you then, pressing his body flush against the line of your back. You figure out what he’s doing quickly enough when he reaches down to grab at the meat of your ass, gripping and tugging to spread your cheeks apart. Alarm is a hot livewire in your chest as you weakly attempt to shove up onto your elbow, already sucking in a breath to tell him not to do it. 

You don’t quite make it in time though, and you squeal when the head of his cock easily slips inside your asshole with very little friction to show for it. It really does feel like you have a second pussy now, so wrecked beyond repair that it simply takes whatever it’s given without complaint. 

Durin softly shushes you while you proceed to sob, lamenting every single choice that landed you here in this situation. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing though, smoothly driving himself in you straight up to the hilt where he remains wedged for a moment. The brief, fleeting kisses he rains down on your temple and hair don’t mean much of anything to you in that moment but you’re fully at his mercy like this. Even if you’d wanted to fight him off you were too round, too cumbersome, too exhausted for it to do you any good. 

So you don’t even try, simply whimpering under your breath when he slides his hand down to grab under your top knee, lifting it from the other. His long, serpentine tail comes up as well to wind around your limb and help hold it in place, dark scales softly scraping your skin. He starts to move then, instincts taking over to guide the sedate thrust of his hips as he fucks up into you from behind. Your ass takes it without incident, greedily sucking him in deeper and deeper until it feels like he’s tickling the lower half of your ribs. So deep. So very, very deep. 

Even when the next contraction starts up and you snivel, trying to seize in on yourself, he just keeps working his cock in and out, in and out, wheezing softly against your back. Crying out as he starts to pick up the pace, really driving into you now, you lift your head to glance down at the lurid spread he’s got you in. Your tits look full and heavy where they rest on your body, shifting with each motion, and your stomach still appears quite fertile, only slightly deflated. You’re all soft and fleshy, like some kind of goddess of virility and conception, someone who may have been worshipped in another place and time. 

You realize then, in a far off, dreamy sort of way, why Durin couldn’t seem to control himself any longer even though you were still laboring. You looked so warm and inviting. Motherly. Even if it was another faux pregnancy he wanted to plant his seed in you, again and again, and you … well, you would have been lying if you said you weren’t enjoying this just a little bit. 

He feels good moving inside of you, much better than the first time when he was so overwhelmed that he froze, unable to so much as roll his pelvis into yours. Even when the egg gradually moves down your aching passageway he just continues to fuck your ass to the rhythmic soft, sticky squelch of your body readily accepting him with each upward slide. 

The first time the tip of his cock bumps against the incoming egg you feel him jolt, evidently surprised to feel its presence. But he simply adapts, switching to shorter and shorter strokes while it works its way to the end of you. It’s only when that firm mass is right at your entrance, ready to breach, that he finally pulls out completely. 

And to your reeling shock, the egg pops right out to follow after him, falling into the space between the two of you. Screwing your eyes shut, you groan a deeply tortured sound when Durin immediately shoves himself back up inside you again, encouraging the clinging slick of birth out of you with the steady motion of his cock. He gasps his pleasure into your shoulder, clinging to you so fervently you can’t shake the feeling of being trapped. 

But then, another moment later, yet another contraction bears down on you, and you suck in a ragged breath. 

“It’s coming.” You blurt, blindly grabbing at anything you can reach, the blankets under you or his arm where it’s locked across your front. “Another egg. There’s still one more.” 

Durin reassuringly coos at you in response but he’s hardly convincing in that harrowing stretch of seconds wherein you realize that this ordeal is still not over. This would be the thirteenth. You couldn’t believe you’d actually carried that many inside of you this whole time. 

Sinking your nails into the skin of his forearm hard enough to draw blood, you hiss back at him over your shoulder. “You’re dead as soon as I’ve recovered enough strength to choke the life right out of you. Remember that.”

Yelping a startled sound, the dragon ducks his face into your shoulder where he can hide from your wrath but still, even now, he doesn’t stop fucking into your ass. You viciously seethe at that, forcing yourself to release your hold on him so you can reach down to play with your cunt instead. Glancing down at yourself while you do it, you watch your fingers move over your painfully swollen clit and just beyond that you can make out the smooth glide of his cock where it pumps at your back entrance. He’s equally as coated in the mysterious slick as you are but it doesn’t seem to bother him one bit, nor does it discourage him. 

He clearly enjoys the warm embrace of your asshole around his cock far too much to let that or the descending egg stop him. Same as before he keeps going until he feels it bearing down on him, your inner sleeve so stretched out now that you barely have to push. Durin shortens his thrusts, jabbing shallowly at your guts for an extended beat until he has no choice but to pull out. 

The egg slips out hot on his trail to another rush of goopy lubricant but it sticks at your puffed up rim when it’s half of the way out. You choke on some mindless animal sound, breath coming out in quick, short bursts as you work your clit over harder, faster. It’s a horrifying thought but you can tell you’re about to cum again. You’d lost track of how many times it’s been now, far more concerned about keeping track of the eggs, and your cunt throbs in protest, just as exhausted as the rest of you. 

There’s no stopping it though. You’re hyper aware of every single muscle tightening, every single nerve ending buzzing with the pent up kinetic energy. What you hoped was the final egg starts to sink back in then, forcing your asshole to stay wide open around the thickest part of it, and you outright sob. Take a deep, grounding breath and bear down on it. The round mass starts to slide out again, further and further and —

It finally pops out with one last squelch, leaving you reeling at not only the immediate, all encompassing relief that surges in but also how very empty you feel. You’d done it. Thirteen eggs and you’d laid every single one of them. 

You’re so caught up in staring down at the mess between your legs, the final egg sitting innocuously just below your ass, that you almost don’t even notice your tits are leaking. It takes a prolonged, disoriented moment for your gaze to focus in on the tips of your breasts where tiny, beading droplets were slowly dribbling from your nipples. The entire world seems to fall out from underneath you. That didn’t make any sense. You weren’t actually pregnant. 

“Oh.” Durin squeaks as he peers over your shoulder to see what you’re looking at. “Albedo told me this might happen.”

“I … I’m sorry?” 

He nuzzles into you then, clearly getting comfortable with his chin docked rather innocently against your upper arm and his hands softly massaging shapes into your softened belly. “I didn’t really understand it myself. He said something about your body being so convinced that it was — with child that you may start to produce milk too. Something about … sympathetic lactation?” 

Oh, well wasn’t that just great? 

You start to open your mouth to complain, rant and rave about every single wrong you’ve had to endure, but the words catch in your raw throat when he rolls his pelvis forward, sending his cock skirting up the length of your pussy. It’s a completely impotent gesture, harmless, but it still sets off alarm bells in the back of your head. 

Snapping your attention down, you look to see his cock slotted along your slit, still sticky and covered in that clear fluid, but as hard as you’ve ever seen it. He’s so stiff the foreskin has drawn back, allowing the pink glans to wink up at you even as a chilly note of fear curls through you. He couldn’t be serious. After he’d just watched you struggle to birth the first clutch of eggs he’d saddled you with, he wanted to do it again? 

“Durin …” 

“Can I? Please.” He asks so sweetly that you may have been inclined to acquiesce if only you didn’t already know what sort of disastrous consequences it would incur for you. Whatever freak accident of biology that allowed him to deposit his eggs in your guts would almost certainly do the same inside your womb. 

And you really, really didn’t want to think about that right now. 

“No. Once was more than enough for this lifetime, thank you. Let go of me.”

He doesn’t, of course. It’s just like back at the baths. Refusing to release and unhand you, Durin simply clings to you all the more fervently while his cock oozes a sticky bead of secretion onto your thigh. It’s hot, almost steaming where it lands. 

That makes you hesitate. You’d nearly forgotten that at least some part of him was still dragon more dragon than man. You were a fool for ever going along with this. 

“Durin, please - -“

In a sudden rush, he turns you over onto your stomach and mounts you from behind, his leaking cock blindly jabbing in an upward motion over your cunt. It’s like he physically can’t stop himself, completely caught up in the instinctive need to breed, breed, breed. 

And he already had you trapped inside his cozy nest of blankets and shawls where he could keep you until it was time to deliver his next brood. Would it still be unfertilized though? If he forced his length into your pussy — 

“I’m sorry.” He mutters into your hair, whimpering softly in his desperation. Still helplessly thrusting against you. “I just want it so bad. I want … nnghnn, I want to make you mother. For real this time. Can I, please? Oh, please, can I? Please?” 

The head of his cock skirts over your gaping asshole then, catches completely by chance, and you wheeze a horrified sound of reluctant pleasure when he doesn’t even stop to consider which hole he’s using. He just shoves right up inside you, knocking you forward with a jolt, and your ass readily accepts it without question. 

Hands clawing at the sheets, you can do nothing except lie there and take it as Durin wildly pumps his seed into you with a sudden, frantic cry. The tears are streaming again but you hardly even notice them. This was your life now, it seemed. 

An unwilling broodmare to a needy, naive dragon.

⭐