Sometimes I writes, sometimes I read

Both caught in the middle of the mess, fighting for your lives. You didn’t know what point in the day you ran into each other, but he saved your life that day. If you’d been on your own for another hour you probably would’ve died from paranoia alone. But then Leon showed up.

Young, blonde, round faced and still full of his innocent rookie charm. Between his arsenal of police-issue weapons, and the sawn-off shotgun you’d found under the counter of the store below your apartment, you both survived the day.

You’d been picked up by the government early on. You learnt they snooped into the records of all the survivors of Raccoon City and they picked you out as an office worker who had much potential to be trained up as an agent. With Leon they weren’t so lucky, they had to wait to get him to join. When he did, founding the DSO upon his arrival, he was like a seeker missile with how fast he found you on his first day of work.

And if he wasn’t out getting his hands dirty, he was sitting in whatever free cubicle was nearest to yours.

“Another coffee Kennedy?” You asked, leaning over the divider above his computer screen. His head perked up, eyes softening. He was obviously very focused today, usually he’d already be looking your way by the time you started walking in his direction.

“If you’re going that way, thanks.” he said, handing his empty mug into your outstretched palm.

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.” you replied, sliding around his cubicle until you nearly stood at his side. You watched his eyes flick, down then up again, you could tell his eyes wanted to linger, but he was trying to be decent in not ogling you when he knew you could see him doing it.

“You don’t have to go out of your way for me.” He said. You stepped closer, crossing your arms and tapping his mug on your hip.

“Again, I wouldn’t offer if I was.” your voice softened, “You’ve taken bullets for me and refuse to let me return the favour, the least I can do is get you a fresh coffee.”

“You could always buy me a drink instead.” he suggested, offering you one of his smirks. One of his eyes nearly shut at how he was nearly smiling, creases around his eyes crinkling. Even with the light catching the grey in his whiskers, he could still remind you of that rookie from all those years ago.

“One of those fruity ones with a little umbrella and slice of lime?” You said, starting to turn on your heel.

“Those are my favourites, now you’re talking dirty to me.” he said, throwing your cheek back at you.

“I’ll make sure to add that to my usual order of scotch.”

You drove Leon insane. It wasn’t always like that though.

Sure when you first met all those years ago he would’ve given you a second glance, you were pretty and any guy like him would want to give you the time of day if you asked - but then he got to know you. He was a goner.

He was a little older than you, only by a few years, but a lot of time passed between you and no doubt he grew as a person too - but to see you grow from a pretty young lady to a woman who demanded attention without ever asking for it was, as Grace would say, ‘a whole thing’.

Leon rarely saw you outside of work, and then it was more often in the office than in the field, but he didn’t mind. Getting distracted by you was a lot safer when the only thing at risk was turning in a report late.

And you were a distraction.

No one else in the building made a white blouse and pencil skirt look as good as you did. Black heels and a long expanse of your stocking covered legs on display.

He remembered clearly the first time you’d caught him eyeing you - he was too busy following your figure as you walked away, thinking about those heels… well it didn’t matter really. What mattered was how far back he leant in his chair, and how it gave way under his weight. He crashed to the floor, chair falling over beside him. He landed hard, and if anyone wasn’t looking at him gawking at you, they would be looking at him sprawled out on the floor like a fool.

It was years ago now, back when he first joined the DSO offices, but he still copped flack about it.

“Another coffee Kennedy?” Speaking of the devil, there you were. Perched over his cubical divider, looking down at him with a half smile. It took him a second to register what you were saying, he was too distracted at the way your glasses were half-down your nose.

“If you’re going that way, thanks.” he said, handing his empty mug into your outstretched palm. You fingers brushed, and he watched as your perfect manicured fingers curled around his mug.

Fuck, he was in trouble.

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.” You walked around until you nearly stood at his side. He loved when you wore slacks, it showed off your thighs so nice, but he was weak for your skirts. How could something so basic look so good? But he couldn’t linger on the way your hips smoothed down to your thighs, or how that soft bump of your stomach looked above the apex of your legs. You deserved better than to be openly gawked at, he knew it.

“You don’t have to go out of your way for me.” He said, trying to remember what you were here for, what you were talking about, but then you stepped closer. Your arms crossed, pressing your chest together and up, a button of your blouse strained, but he refused to look. He decided to just look at your eyes.

As if that was any less distracting.

“Again, I wouldn’t offer if I was.” your voice softened to something smooth, “You’ve taken bullets for me and refuse to let me return the favour, the least I can do is get you a fresh coffee.”

He’d take more than bullets for you, he’d catch a grenade with his teeth if you asked him to and never ask for anything in return. He doubted he was the only one - surely he wasn’t the only one, not with how intense you made him feel.

“You could always buy me a drink instead.” he suggested, offering you a smirk. You looked at him and he couldn’t help how that look faded and was replaced by a real smile. You could strip away whatever womanising part of him was still left and render him a virgin cop-in-training any day of the week with nothing more than a whiff of the perfume you’d been using since you were nineteen.

“One of those fruity ones with a little umbrella and slice of lime?” You started to turn on your heel, thank god, and better yet replied to his quip with familiar and comfortable territory. He can do jokes in his sleep.

“Those are my favourites, now you’re talking dirty to me.” he said, attempting to make himself sound less like a pining fool as you walked away.

“I’ll make sure to add that to my usual order of scotch.” You threw back at him. He could feel his jaw grind behind his smile as you left him with the clack-clack of your heels and a perfect view of your swaying hips.

Yeah, Raccoon City was the worst day of his life, leaving him with day after day of trouble. But at least you were the good kind of trouble.

Leon Kennedy fucking hated his job sometimes. To some extent, he always has. It’s unforgiving, thankless work he does, and he feels like he’s on the precipice of officially being too old for this shit.

He was especially irked over his current predicament. He and a newer agent had been deployed to the Arklay Mountains, the very region that had drawn him to Raccoon City nearly thirty years ago. The DSO had caught wind of suspicious activity, strange energy readings, and surveillance footage pointing to someone poking their head into Umbrellas' past. Naturally, they had sent the resident Raccoon City expert to investigate.

He had found evidence of an underground lab—one Umbrella had long ago left abandoned. He’s searching for something, anything, that will provide insight into what could warrant someone rummaging through abandoned research that was decades old.

The old linoleum flooring squeaks under the rubber of his sole as Leon rummages through yellowing papers.

“Find anything?” Your voice calls out from the next room. Leon glances your way, a small smile tugging at his lips. You’re a pretty young thing, and competent enough at your job that Leon, for once, hadn't minded much when they’d assigned you as his partner. Through the years, he’s grown hesitant about having to work with others; he always has a habit of getting too attached, only to lose them in the end. Leon can’t stomach the thought of losing you. The mere thought is enough to make him queasy.

“Not yet,” he calls back. The lights flicker ominously, and Leon hovers a hand over his pistol, dropping the papers as he cautiously examines the room. There’s a sour sweetness in the air, his nose crinkling at the smell as he moves deeper into the lab. The walls are cracked and crumbling as he examines the space. Vines have begun to sprawl over the rubble, thick and covered in thorns. Leon pauses, examining the plants. It shouldn’t be too out of the ordinary, after all, this place was long ago abandoned and far away enough from the missile strike that perhaps whatever radiation or destruction took the city didn’t fully reach this far in the mountain. Still, Leon thinks he’s seen these vines before. His flashlight follows the thickest vine; perhaps it’s just a trick of the light, but it almost looks like it’s pulsating, breathing even. The beam of his light slowly ascends upwards, the vines twisting and vibrating with life.

In the corner of the room, there is a flower. It’s fleshy and pink and dripping. Leon cringes at the sight, tilting his head as he examines it. His gut is screaming at him to run, and he’s learned before that plants in Umbrella labs tend to be bad news. He takes a cautious step backwards, his boot squeaking against the floor. The flower growls, shuddering as the petals bunch up, pulsating.

“That can’t be good,” Leon huffs. He raises his pistol to fire when the flower lets out a wheeze, gas slowly pouring out into the room. Leon can’t escape it, can’t hold his breath. It’s hot and heavy against him and seeps into every orifice.

As the perfumey gas lingers in the air, Leon coughs, the sickly sweet scent invading his nose and burning his nasal cavity. It smelled like musk and rose and chemicals, and the second he registered the smell, he could feel something in him heat up. It starts as a spark in the pit of his stomach, one that causes him to hunch over with a groan. The spark then sinks lower and lower, and it feels like his center of gravity is off as the heat takes hold of his groin. A bead of sweat forms on his brow as the spark grows hotter. He stumbles back into the light, coughing and wheezing.

Leon sees you through the glass window, and you finally notice him, hunched over and sputtering. You're quick to sprint over, banging on the glass as your muffled voice calls to him. You try the door, which is conveniently jammed. He raises a gloved hand, a placating gesture as he tries to stand up straight. A hiss leaves his mouth as the movement plucks a string within him, his insides coiling in tightness as he makes his way to the door. Leon isn’t stupid; he has an educated guess on whatever the gas he just inhaled was, lord only knows that was probably the least fucked up of all the Umbrella experiments he’s learned of through the years.

Leoon has to slam his shoulder into the wood to get it to budge. He stumbles out with a cough, and you're there to catch him. His massive body slumps against yours as he tries to steady himself, the blood from his head rushing south as he grunts at the feeling.

“Oh my god, Leon, are you okay?” you ask, concern in your tone. Leon knows he must look like shit, but he can’t help but give a thumbs up.

“Feel like a million bucks,” he rasped, using your shoulder as he wearily stands straight. His eyes meet yours, and he feels his face flush and his mind grow heady as he looks at you. For a brief moment, he allows himself the selfish desire of admiring your beauty, a desire he’s had since you joined the D.S.O.

He tries to squash down that thought. He’s grown good at ignoring his wants over the years.

“Jesus, you’re burning up,” you gasp, leading him away from the lab. “Let’s find a place where you can sit down and rest for a second.”

Leon lets you take the lead as he limps alongside you. His core feels like it’s on fire, and every movement he makes only stokes the flames inside him. He has to bite his tongue to avoid whimpering, feeling lightheaded. You lead him down to an old break room, securing the old metal door behind you as you help lower Leon onto a ripped plush chair.

“What the hell happened?” You demand.

“Some plant had taken over the lab, released some gas,” Leon groaned. He watches as the color slowly drains from your face.

“A plant–what did it look like?”

“I don’t know, lots of thick vines with thorns, a gross pink flower at the top,” he shrugs, face scrunching up with a hiss as the movement sets off a wave of overwhelming sensation over him.

“Oh God,” you mutter, pulling out the files you had discovered, rummaging through them frantically.

“What? What did you find?” Leon asks, looking up at you. He can smell you from here; he’s never noticed how sweet you smell.

“Well…” your voice trails off.

“Just rip the band-aid off and tell me the bad news, kid,” Leon huffed, feeling the heat wash over him in a nauseating manner. It was like his entire insides were on fire, twisting and turning within him. He was losing the ability to think clearly, and it took more and more energy not just to salivate at the thought of ripping your clothes off.

“Um, well–” you hesitated, shuffling the papers in your hand as you gulped and nervously glanced up at him. His eyes narrow at you as you try to steady your nervous breathing.

“It’s not just a bioweapon,” you start. “It looks like they were researching and testing behavioral override responses—removing inhibition, forcing biological drive into—” Your voice stutters at the last sentence, as if you were embarrassed. Cute.

Leon lets out a long breath, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Yeah–” he cuts in. “I get the gist.” He rubs a hand over his face, wiping away the sweat. “Great, does it mention if it's temporary?” Leon sighs.

“It can be,” you all but whisper.

“You’re killing me here, kid,” Leon groans. The heat is becoming unbearable, and he can feel the perspiration on the back of his neck, rolling down his back.

“It says if the subject follows through with the act of intercourse, the aphrodisiac will wear off and the subject will return to normal once achieving climax…” You trail off again, and Leon thinks you’ll be the death of him.

“If the act is not followed through with, the subject will soon suffer cardiac arrest due to lack of release, according to nine out of ten test trials.”

Perfect, well, isn’t that just great? Damn near thirty years of his life dedicated to fighting bioterrorism, and he’s going to die from not getting his rocks off. Pathetic.

“Of all the traps they could’ve left behind…Just put a bullet in my head, why don’t ya?” he groans, his head falling back as he pants softly. His mouth feels dry, and his clothing feels tighter than normal. Silence falls over the room, and Leon closes his eyes as he tries to think of how to fix this, how to calm down. It’s not the first time he’s been infected with something, but regardless, you should get out before he snaps.

“I could help,” he hears you say.

Well, that was unexpected. Leon raises his head, long strands of hair sticking to his damp forehead.

“What?” is all he manages to say.

“I’m not going to let you die, not when the remedy is so easy.” Easy, right? It wasn’t like this was his perverted dream come true. He’d rather have taken you the way you deserved to be taken. It had always been his hypothetical plan to wine and dine you all the way to his house, where he’d throw you on his silken sheets and have you gripping his comforter and screaming his name while he showed you how a real man treats a lady.

You take a step towards him, cautious at first, a hand outstretched as you reach for his shoulder. His hand caught your wrist, holding it gently as he let out an uneasy exhale.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice thick as he tries to swallow his excitement.

“I’m sure,” you whisper softly.

His heart skips a beat at your softly spoken confirmation. “Sit on my lap,” he orders. He tries to make his voice steady and strong, but it comes out as more of a whimper. Nonetheless, you obey, shedding your jacket as you slowly slide onto his lap. He hums in the back of his throat, hips bucking up at the sensation of weight against him. The mere pressure of your body alone is already making his head spin.

His mouth is on yours in an instant, his large hand cups the side of your face as he all but melts against your warm lips. He thinks you taste like sugar as his other hand slides up the curves of your body, starting from your waist to the underside of your breasts. You lean into the kiss, relaxing as his fingers slowly slide back down as they worm their way under your shirt. Your skin is soft and warm, and touching your flesh sends tiny electric shocks through his fingertips. Leon lets himself be greedy as his hands tug your shirt upwards, grunting as you pull away from the kiss to work the shirt over your head.

“Loose this too,” he mutters, tugging at the band of your bra. You just smile at his quiet neediness and toss it over your head as well, leaving your torso bare for him. Leon exhales in pleasure as he tries to savor the sight of you.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his hand roaming from the softness of your stomach up to the swell of your breast, pinching at your nipple as you squirm on his lap. The slight friction feels delicious, and Leon can’t help but grin like a wolf. He leans forward and takes a bud in his mouth, tongue swirling around it as he places a hand on the small of your back, keeping you pressed against him as he toys with your breasts. You moan and writhe slightly, the friction picking up as you grind against him.

“Leon,” you sigh, your fingers entangled in his hair as you tug on his strands, nails scraping against his scalp. Leon hums in satisfaction and pulls away with a wet pop from your breast, the stubble on his chin scraping at your clavicle as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck.

“I’ve wanted this for a while,” he admits into your skin, undoing the buckle of your tactical belt, discarding it on the floor. He pops the top button of your pants open and taps your thighs.

“Take them off,” he grunts, working off his own belt and unzipping his pants. He tugs down his boxers just enough to free his cock, immediately fisting the enlarged length, precum dribbling from the tip as he watches you longingly as you strip the remainder of your clothes off. He pumps himself, feeling the heat scorch his insides as he pants softly, hips bucking upwards to meet his hand.

“Come on and ride me, gorgeous,” he groans. Par the drug-induced haze and life-threatening time crunch he’s under, Leon thinks he’s died and gone to heaven as you straddle him and slowly sink your tight, warm pussy down on his cock, impaling yourself with a moan as you slowly take him all.

“Fuck–” Leon chokes out, feeling himself lose all sense of sanity as you begin to bounce. Your hips rock against his as you drag yourself up and down on him. It’s warm and wet, and he wishes he could savor the feeling of your slick folds gripping him tight, sucking him deeper into your cavern. But Leon is a selfish man, and he needs more. A few more teasing bucks from you, and Leon has had enough. He grips your waist and looks up at you with blurry vision as his hips buck upwards, a cry leaving your lips as he fills you up. Again, his cock slides out only to buck back into you with vigor, setting a punishing pace as he feels himself get lost in you.

“Such a good girl for me,” he rasps, watching with a blissed-out expression as you moan and writhe on his cock. It’s the most beautiful sight, watching you unfold, and Leon hopes in the back of his mind you’ll let him do this again. Your trembling, he can feel your pussy spasm around him as short little gasps leave your mouth.

“Please,” you whine, and Leon has to give you what you need as well. His thumb presses against your lip in a silent demand, and you obey without hesitation, parting your lips and sucking on the thick digit eagerly. Leon grunts in approval, pulling it from your mouth and pressing the slick finger against your swollen clit, rubbing it with fervor as he watches you come undone against him. He can feel the slickness coat his dick as you arch your back, eyes rolled into the back of your head. He’s proud of you, really. He just isn’t finished with you yet.

A quick smack to the ass has you yelping as his pace slows down.

“Up,” he orders, his voice coming out strangled. “I want you on all fours.” He sucks in a breath as you slide off of him, mouth salivating as he catches sight of your pussy all covered in slick. He’ll have to discover what you taste like later.

He eyes you hungrily as you kneel on a dusty couch, lowering yourself as he commanded you to. His body feels like it will burst into flames as he pushes himself from the chair, his cock throbbing as he kneels behind you. He can practically hear your heart racing as he presses you down, shifting your weight onto your elbows as you prop your ass in the air for him.

He licks his lips, his hand trailing up your spine as he notches the tip of his cock at your abused entrance. The feeling of this alone has you squirming in desire. “So needy for me,” he slurs, filling you up with a single thrust. You cry out, and Leon can’t help but shudder at the sound of your sinful-sounding moans. The way you're thrusting against his cock has him wondering if you got a whiff of the aphrodisiac, or maybe you're just drunk off his cock. Either way, he’s more than glad to give you what you want and more than happy to take what he needs. His muscular body dwarves you as he leans over you, rutting into your wet heat. His bicep wraps around your throat, two fingers worm their way into the inside of your mouth, hooking onto your cheek as you all but drool around him.

“This pussy’s fucking mine,” he rasps, his breath hot against your ear, hips thrusting faster as the heat spurred him on. He can feel his groin grow tighter, and the fire is ablaze inside him. “Can’t believe I waited – ah fuck – this long to try it.”  

You're all but a babbling mess underneath him. Whining and twitching against his thick cock. Leon thinks it’s cute, the way you come undone so easily around him. Your pussy clenches around him just right, and he can finally feel the knot of heat inside him snap. His hips stutter, his arms tightening around you as he fills you up. A low guttural groan leaves his lips as he finally stills inside you. His cock twitches, the final remnants of his seed leaking from him as he slowly pulls out from you. His cock, finally softening, and the heat that raged as an inferno inside him has subsided.

Leon was fine. Well, he was actually much better than fine; he felt better than he had in a long time. He slowly moves off of you, gritting his teeth as he slides down next to you on the couch. You sink against the cushions, too tired to care about the filth. You weakly turn your head to the side, eyes heavy from exhaustion, as you smile at him.

“Think it’s out of your system?” you ask. Leon exhales a chuckle, his lips forming a smirk.

“If that didn’t get it out of my system, I don’t know what else would. If you’re concerned for my well-being, we could always go again,” he suggests. Now it’s your turn to chuckle.

“Ask me again tomorrow, any more right now, and I might break,” she says.

“Tomorrow? My, aren’t you presumptuous?” he teased. He leans over and kisses the side of your temple.

“Maybe someplace more romantic than a haunted lab?” He suggests. “Unless you're into that.”

You roll your eyes at him and smile. “Oh, Agent Kennedy, are you going to take me on a date?”

“And so much more,” he promises.

After he helps you back into your clothes, the two of you make your way to the surface, where the sun has started to set, casting rays of orange and violet across the desolate Arklay Mountains. Leon glances over at you as you bark your coordinates into the radio, ordering the extraction team to hurry up. Even after everything that had happened, you still sounded composed and in control.

For a long time, Leon had convinced himself that wanting things was dangerous. Every time he'd let himself care, the universe had found a way to rip it away from him. It was easier not to hope. Easier not to ask for more.

You finish your transmission and look over at him.

"What?" you ask, catching him staring.

Leon just smiles, “You’re cute when you're bossy.”

You snort a laugh, shoving his shoulder slightly. “And you’re a pervert.”

Leon laughs along, trailing beside you as the evening sun sets. Maybe wanting things wasn't such a bad idea after all.

The monster’s clutching you too tight, you're gasping for air. Your dominant arm is free, grenade in hand, even if your other arm is squashed in against your side. The fucker’s whipping you around like a litigiously unregulated county fair ride; black edges your vision and your head pounds horribly. You manage to arm the grenade with your teeth and grip it, breathless, waiting.

You need the hydra to screech again. You need the great stinking mouth open, throwing saliva and mucus past rows of needle teeth, the perfect basket in which to throw your one and only egg.

Leon’s already caught on.

A single splattering gunshot splits the air and the monster jerks, limbs flying skyward as it screams in fury; you’re helplessly along for the ride, heaved almost directly above it – and here’s your window.

You drop the grenade. It goes right down the gullet.

The explosion ruptures the monster’s body cavity in a great geyser of green and black gore. Its limbs thrash and flail, whipping high, slamming into the ground. You brace as the arm gripping you speeds for the ground, but then it swings you around and back up, your stomach lurching violently, and –

It throws you.

Your heart and lungs hitch, suspended; time runs slow as you arc high, tumbling, too high, way too high – and start falling. You see where you’re going to land and curl yourself into a ball, protecting your head and neck.

Your body blows a hole right through the lake ice, plunging into the freezing water below.

Leon’s already running.

The hydra is nothing but a tangled, limp, caved-in pile of slop, disregarded the second Leon saw you go airborne. He’s running, stripping off his jacket, ripping open the buckles on his chest rig, tearing off his tac belt, leaving a trail of weapons and ammunition and nylon webbing strewn in his wake. He reaches the bank in his street clothes, shoes skidding to a stop just before the water, breath loud in his ears and visible in the air.

The jagged crater you left in the ice is still sloshing dark, slushy water.

You haven’t come up for air.

“Fuck.”

He looks down at the scuffed grey ice pack, gauges the distance to you, and sprints.

The ice groans and cracks under his feet; he keeps moving. He closes the gap, every pounding footfall turbulence that fractures the lake ice in great echoing snaps, the whole thick sheet weakened by the violence of your intrusion. Finally, with a leap that calves the ice beneath him, Leon dives into the freezing water after you.

The shock of the cold pulls on Leon’s lungs, he has to fight against the primal instinct to gasp. His limbs are immediately leaden, but he doesn't stop moving. The flat grey daylight barely filters through the murky ice above and the water is dark with disturbed silt. He kicks towards the lakebed in search of you, his pounding heartbeat a timer counting down.

Something that looks like a branch solidifies into your arm, limp hand floating in a slack reach skyward. Leon grabs your wrist, hauling your dead weight towards himself, hooking his arms underneath your shoulders and swimming up for the gap in the ice.

He heaves in air when your heads breach the surface.

You do not.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls through gritted teeth, and manages to slide you up onto the ice pack, pushing you clear as he kicks his legs up behind himself and drags flat onto the ice beside you. He moves you onto a thick, uncracked stretch of ice and pushes you onto your back, plugging your nose and forcing air into your mouth.

You choke, spurting dirty lake water, rolling onto your side and spitting up more, coughing and heaving. You try to prop yourself up on your elbow, your throat raw and tight, nose stinging and burning. Your eyes are blurry when you open them, your ears are waterlogged. You squeeze your eyes shut and blink them clear enough to see what keeps pulling at you.

It’s Leon, wet and pale, saying something to you, his eyes intense. You squint at his mouth, trying to read his lips because your ears might as well have been left underwater for all the good they’re doing you.

Get up

We need to move

Can you “hear me? We have to go, now!”

As if to punctuate his statement, the ice below you jerks, a crack scything underneath your body like a bolt of lightning. You recoil onto your hip and Leon pulls at your arm, pulls you up, the ice creaking and popping under your shoes.

“Run!”

It’s a bit much to ask.

You do your best, stumbling after Leon, short on breath and coughing. You’d impacted the ice with your left shoulder, the force ramming your curled arm into your ribs, hard. That side is tight and painful, and you know you’re too frozen to feel the full extent of it yet. It’s really not gonna be pretty.

Your foot catches on a rising gap in the ice and trips you; you slide and weakly scramble back to your feet. Ahead of you, Leon’s almost to the shore.

You’re almost there.

You hit the bank on your hands and knees, gasping. Your fingers, clawing into the crumbling dirt, are pale, the nail beds blue. You can barely feel the dry grit of the cold earth under your hands.

Leon grabs the collar of your jacket and yanks you to standing.

“Keep moving. Keep moving, come on.” He grabs your hand, already running, pulling you after him.

You half-register the scattered bullet clips, weaponry, and leather jacket on the bank as you run in Leon’s wake. You pass the fuckass hydra; it’s nothing but a gelatinous stinking puddle that you quickly leave behind.

The thin, brittle air razors through your lungs, freezing and metallic. The bitter wind axes at you. You can’t feel your extremities; you keep stumbling and it’s slowing you down. Leon looks back just in time to watch you actually fall, tripping in a rut, knees slamming into the ground. He runs back to you and helps you up. You’re both breathing shallow, wracked with tremors, teeth chattering and skin close to blue.

“Almost there. Come on.”

Leon’s car is half-hidden behind a broken fence and an overgrown shrub, parked haphazard on the dry, patchy grass. He hits the driver’s side door with more momentum than he meant to, pressing his thumb to the door handle; it unlocks and he yanks it open. You hear the whole car unlock, the lights flashing, and he slaps the driver’s door shut in favor of the backseat.

“Get in. Get in!”

You slip in the back passenger’s door just as he slides in on the other side, the both of you slamming the doors on the freezing wind. Leon immediately grabs the hem of his soaked shirt, peeling it over his head and dumping it over the headrests into the trunk. It lands with a wet plap.

“Wet stuff in the back,” he says, twisting over the seats to grab something out of the trunk. It’s a duffel; he grunts in frustration when his numb fingers fail at first to catch the handle but then he drags it into the backseat while you’re struggling out of your soaked jacket and shoving it over the backrests. It lands with an even wetter plorp.

You’re still wearing your chest rig; your numb, stiff fingers can’t get the fucking plastic buckles to open.

“Fuck!”

There’s a sharp snk noise; Leon shoves your hands clear and slips a folding knife under the nylon webbing of your rig. The straps pull taut and dig into your injured side, but then he’s cut clean through the belts and he’s helping untangle it from your arms. The buckles clatter against the back windshield as you throw it in the trunk. Leon uses the knife to make quick work of his shoelaces, kicking his soaked and muddy shoes into the footwell, then he leans across and holds your ankles steady, cutting your bootlaces while you peel your shirt up over your head. Your side screams at the stretch and you rasp out a cry of pain.

Your left side is already violently bruised, livid and dark against the pale blanch of your goosepimpled skin. You’re caught for a moment by the horrible picture it makes, trying to remember to breathe.

“Jesus,” Leon says in agreement. In your periphery, he’s struggling with his waterlogged skinny jeans and there’s suddenly a lot more skin above the line of his waistband; the denim sucked his boxer briefs halfway down his hips before he managed to shove the jeans to his knees and off. He throws the jeans in the back, pulls the waistband of his underwear up, and again he’s in your space undoing your useless fucking tac belt that your frozen fingers can’t open. His hands are just as cold and numb as your own, why the fuck do they work better than yours?

Wind gusts against the outside of the car, scratching the scraggly branches of the nearby shrub against the doors. You feel a draft even through the sealed door. Your teeth are clacking uncontrollably.

“Can we get the fucking heat running?” You shove your pants and boots into the trunk, smearing mud on the leather seat. Leon’s rooting through the duffel again.

“No.”

“No?”

“The keys are in my coat.”

“The fuck kind of agent are you? Hotwire the car.”

“Smart, when I can’t feel my hands,” he says, and shoves the duffel into the footwell, tearing open a passport-sized plastic package with his teeth and turning towards you on the seat. “Come here.”

He shakes out the mylar safety blanket and you realize exactly what’s going to have to happen, here. It’s a thought you’ve had triaged as a last-resort solution while stripping semi-nude in the backseat of his car; now it turns out it’s your only solution. He’s scooting to lay down across the backseat and you’re going to have to get on top of him. He’s scooting to lay down across the backseat in nothing but wet cotton boxer briefs and you’re going to have to get on top of him in nothing but a wet bra and panties, and then he’s going to close you both in under the mylar blanket to trap heat like you’re a fucking turkey in a roasting pan.

Fuck.

You clench your jaw against your chattering teeth and don’t let yourself hesitate. There’s no can or can’t here – you’re both freezing, this is life or death. So you climb up over him in the limited space available, helping to pull the mylar blanket around you and tuck it in under your shins, under his head and shoulders, sealing you together into a lumpy, creased foil bubble.

It’s not pitch black like you'd hoped. The mylar filters the grey daylight into a dim, intimate dusk. You can still see Leon’s face clearly, on your hands and knees above him; you could count his eyelashes if you could bear to look him in the eyes. You keep your head down and focus on the uncontrollable chatter of your teeth, the way your whole body is shivering unpleasantly, and not the way his knees are framing your hips. He’s too tall for the backseat.

Your disloyal stomach flutters when you feel his hand brush your darkened side.

“How are your ribs?” He presses his thumb carefully against the darkest patch, low on your ribcage, where your elbow impacted. You hiss and jerk away.

“Tenderized, Leon. Ow."

“How bad?”

“I don’t… think anything’s broken.”

“Deep breath in.”

You oblige, slow and careful, your ribs expanding over your lungs. It stings horribly, your skin feels too tight, but nothing stabs you. His hand rides the motion of your ribs, feeling for telltale hitches or jerks. It’s nothing but clinical.

“Alright,” he says, quiet. He eases his touch but doesn’t drop it away. You’re staring at your hand in the crumpled landscape of the mylar blanket over Leon’s shoulder, because everything else is his naked skin.

His hand moves from your side to your arm, fingers close to the bend in your elbow like he means to fold it.

“You gotta get down on me."

You want to laugh but your side only lets you make a pained huff through your chattering teeth.

"Nice one, icebrain. Lemme loop HR in real quick."

“The air pocket only works if one of us is warm,” he says, steamrolling the comment. And he’s right.

Fuck.

"I don't know where you think my knees are going."

You have to play some strange and painful backseat Twister, the foil blanket complicating shit by clinging to your damp skin and hair, but then you’ve puzzled yourselves together so you can drop onto him with a put-upon huff.

He hisses and pushes you back up by the shoulders.

“Fuck, how much water is in that thing?”

You both look down at your high-impact bra. Squeezed between the two of you, it's now weeping drops of frigid water down your stomach. It's also left an imprint across Leon's chest, wet enough to bead up and roll towards his armpits.

“You can’t be wearing that.”

“Leon–“

"No, this isn't an argument. That's over your heart."

Yes, but. It's also over your breasts. Preventing them from being all over Leon. All over Leon's naked skin.

"Do you trust me?"

You don't even hesitate, because that's the easy question.

"Yes."

It's a zip-front bra. His fingers touch the zipper.

"Okay?" His gaze is holding yours, strong, a promise to keep his eyes up.

It’s taking all your energy to appear calm and unaffected right now.

“Yeah. Fine."

It’s a relief, actually, the compression easing as he pulls the zipper down, releasing entirely when the sides come apart. It’s easier to breathe. He pushes the straps from your shoulders, brushes them down your arms until you can drop the soaked bra into the footwell, tucking the foil blanket back in place. His chest, still cold, feels warm against your freezing breasts.

He rubs the damp, freezing skin of your back, paying special attention to the deep impressions left by the bra seams like he can smooth them out, putty under his fingers.

“Do you know you're doing that.”

He stops. You shift, shoulderblades rolling under his hands.

“I didn't tell you to stop,” you say.

“Yes ma'am.”

Your head is turned away from his, because otherwise your nose would be right against his cheek. You have to maintain at least one boundary in the smoking ruin of all the others. He keeps stroking your back; the gentle flats of his palms, the firm pads of his fingers. You’re starting to feel like putty.

Your eyelids are heavy.

“Is it bad to fall asleep?”

He pinches you hard and you jolt away from it, knocking against the seatback. Your injured side flares with pain.

“Fuck! You ass,” you gasp, poking him hard between the ribs. He jerks under you, cursing, and you brace for retaliation, but he’s gone still.

And you register why.

His face is right under yours, noses almost touching. You’re sharing breath.

And something else is different.

“…Where are your hands?”

You know where they are. He moves them from your hips up to your back again.

“Good boy.”

You don’t know what fucking possessed you. It sounded like a joke in your head, but released into the narrow space between your faces it’s far more charged than that, because of course it is. You’re hearing it now, where it’s too late to take it back. You still have a brain like a frozen chicken cutlet, fucking cold and smooth, he has to understand–

He’s breathing out hot against your mouth, pushing his hands down to the small of your back, pressing your body tighter against his, and it ignites something sharp and fervid in your belly.

“Shit,” you whisper, and kiss him.

He meets it. He kisses you back like he’s just been waiting, gathering the damp hair at your nape with one hand, blunt nails scraping the skin of your neck. His other hand goes lower, the heel of his palm digging in, fingers gripping your ass. You gasp and roll your hips, body lighting up.

“Fuck,” he says into your mouth. “Careful with your side.”

“You be careful with my side.”

“Damn.”

“Shut up.” You fist his hair and pull his head back, kissing the taut line of his neck under his ear, scraping your teeth against the skin. He’s got both hands on your ass now, sliding his fingers under the sides of your panties to gather the fabric into a thong, palming the cool skin of your bared cheeks. You hum, rolling your hips again.

“You’ve got a fixation.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, unashamed. He smooths his hands down your thighs where they’re framing his sides, his fingertips digging in. You’re sitting on his pelvis, grinding on nothing but the flat of his low abdomen, his thighs closed behind your ass, his knees pressed to the car door. You kiss his mouth, open and loose, and speak against it.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you that cold?”

“Don’t be rude.”

You stop moving, pushing up to stare down at him. “Are you serious?”

“No.” He opens his legs, shifting his hips, and you gasp when you feel him against your ass. You shift back, rubbing yourself against the hardening length of his dick, the lake-wet fabric of your underwear dragging together, no longer cold and clammy where you’re touching. His breath tumbles hot from his open mouth, hips rolling to meet you.

“Fuck, Leon.” If this is him with shrinkage, how the hell has he been packing all that into skinny jeans all these years?

He’s watching you, his eyes half-lidded, hands on your naked waist. You sit up more, tipping your head back, running your hands along his forearms as you drag your wet pussy along the firm heat of his cock.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he tells you, molten. You groan, arching.

“Jesus. Keep talking like that.”

“Yeah?” He tugs you by the arms to bring you lower, kissing your neck with an open mouth, his scruff lightly scratching your skin and making you shiver. His hands find your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples, and your breath hitches. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to touch you like this.”

You laugh, just a teasing exhale against his lips. “What, cold and injured?”

He’s pulling the fabric of your panties to one side, holding it there, out of the way. You moan when he rubs his fingers through your drenched folds, slow.

“Naked and wet,” he growls, teeth grazing your shoulder. You whimper and thread your fingers into his hair, gripping, gasping when he circles your clit. Your hips jerk erratically; he’s mouthing kisses up the side of your neck, nipping lightly, then speaking against your skin, his voice subterranean.

“What do you want?”

Holy shit. You don’t remember what it feels like to be cold, anymore. Your body’s on fire. You’ve maybe never been this turned on in your life, and all this after a fucking ice bath.

“Take yourself out," you tell him. "I wanna feel you.”

The first drag of your wet cunt along the satin heat of his naked cock has him groaning, his hips rocking helplessly. You glide on him like that, wetting his dick, feeling it jump and throb between your pussy lips. You prop yourself up on his shoulders, pressing him down into the seat, grinding your clit firm against the head of his cock with little gyrations of your hips. He’s gripping your waist, mouth open, just watching you.

“I’ve never seen you so speechless,” you tell him.

“I’ve – shit – never seen you riding me.”

“Mm. Lucky day.”

“I know.”

“Any last words?”

“What?”

You cant your hips back, reaching down to guide the glistening head of Leon’s cock to your entrance. His fingers tighten on your sides, breathing in sharp.

“Be careful,” he says.

“You’re sweet,” you tell him, bearing down with little adjustments, caging his dick in place with your fingers. The tip of him presses into your tight wet heat and Leon gasps, head thumping back against the seat. You stare at the display of his body below you; the taut stretch of his neck, the flush of his chest, the tight muscles of his stomach as he works to keep his hips still, letting you control this. You take him into you in increments, the burning stretch of him blurring into white-hot pleasure, the length of him making your thighs shake before you’re finally fully seated, the throbbing heat of him bottomed out inside of you, filling you deep. You drop forward, hands on his shoulders, panting.

“Are you okay?”

You manage a nod. “God, Leon.”

He moves his hips, just a small adjustment, experimental. You gasp, lifting to half-mast him, sliding back down. He’s so thick.

Your thighs are shaking too much and you don’t exactly have the room to adjust. You lean down, desperate.

“Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need telling twice. He grips your ass, pushing you down into every thrust of his hips, long and slow at first so you can feel every inch, grinding tight against you when he bottoms out. He uses your breath by his ear as a barometer, picking up the pace, the wet glide turning into a wet slap, and turns his head to catch your moans in his mouth.

“Think you can come like this?”

“Limited menu of options, garçon,” you pant. There’s no fucking space back here.

“Tip your hips down,” he says.

You do; he slams in deep, grinding, putting delicious pressure on your clit. You cry out.

“Fuck, like that Leon!”

He pulls your earlobe into his mouth, sucking lightly, resuming the faster slap of his hips.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, filthy, and jesus christ, he is going to get an orgasm out of you. Almost just did.

“Shit,” you gasp. “Are you close?”

“Do you want me to be?”

You clench around him and he groans, hips stuttering.

“Fuck. I am if you do that,” he gasps. You do it again and he buries deep to grind on you, like he’s warring you, fighting to set you off first.

“Fuck, I’m close, I’m close,” you whimper, bouncing on him, stalling for time. He’s got you right on the edge and you don’t wanna go over yet. “With me. Come with me.”

He curses, fucking into you hard and fast, thrusts starting to go erratic. You keep a litany of babble going in his ear, obscene, feeling him catching up, drawing tight; and then he’s bottoming out hard against you, groaning brokenly as he pulses deep inside of you, your walls convulsing as the final slap of his hips sends you tumbling over the edge with him.

When you come back down to earth, the foil blanket is askew, his leg sticking out in the passenger’s side footwell, your forearm dangling in the driver’s side footwell. You’re lying bonelessly on top of Leon, riding the heaving of his chest as you both catch your breath. He pulls the mylar down to the middle of your back and the cold air raises new goosebumps on your flushed skin.

"I think that did the trick,” he says.

You hum, your eyes closed, face pressed to the side of Leon’s neck. He runs his thumb lightly along the dewy column of your spine.

“How’s your side?”

“Stings.”

He’s still inside you, starting to slip free as he softens. He gently pulls out and your forehead creases, a grumpy noise escaping you.

“Hey,” he says, soft. You don’t lift your head, it feels like too much effort. He shifts under you and you grumble your displeasure, but he’s just resettling you so you’re not leaning your bruised side so heavily against the seatback. He cards his fingers through your hair, pulling it back from your sweaty temple.

“I’m going to sleep,” you murmur. “Try to pinch me again and see what happens.”

He laughs, just a short rumble low in his chest.

“Worked out fine the first time.”

You smile, eyes closed, and tuck your arm in under his body.

“Beginner’s luck.”

There’s a lot of shit to do. There’s kit to grab from the beach, samples to take from the hydra, clothes to dry, reports to fill out, bruises to heal, complex developments to talk through with your partner.

But right now, there’s just Leon’s heartbeat and steady breathing beneath you, his fingers combing lazily through your hair, and you’re pretty sure it’s all gonna work out okay.

On AO3

Guys quick tip don’t take survival advice from a gratuitous x reader they probably died lmao

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