i.timisu

Leon hasn’t been the same since he returned from one of his missions two weeks ago. He had been deployed in deep Romania, told to investigate an unknown disease spreading throughout the region. Pale, sickly victims who fed on their companions. At first thought, it sounded awfully like zombies.

He refused to answer any of your questions when he returned. He kept a thick silence as he laid in bed with you that night, the darkness of the room swallowing you both whole. You were worried. Had something happened to him?

Even after questioning him, he didn’t open up. Not immediately. His silence worried you intensely, each day crawling at your insides and scratching at your flesh. It drove you crazy. He wasn’t the same, his skin held no warmth, he was paler, and his eyes fell dull. Like he had died, yet he stood in front of you breathing.

You felt like you were going crazy. Peeking over your shoulder every few minutes, sneaking a glance at him seated on the couch, posture sulken and relaxed. An old TV show plays on the screen a few feet in front of him, his eyes glued and mind occupied. He was in his whole own world.

Distracted with your head turned towards him, you don’t realize your knife slipping, accidentally nicking your finger instead of chopping the fruits settled in front of you on the counter. A sharp gasp leaves you as you step back, clutching your finger delicately. It didn’t hurt too much, but definitely caught you by surprise.

Inhaling deeply, you turn to reach for the medical drawer, only to be met by the sight of Leon standing behind you. You gasp loudly, knocking into his firm body and colliding your nose into his chest.

“You okay? I smelt— heard, uh, you hurt yourself.” He mutters lowly, hand reaching for yours, as gentle as always. You flinch at the coldness of his skin, fingers handling your finger as he examines the cut. Not too deep, but deep enough to cause blood. A bit of blood.

“My knife slipped, hun. It wasn’t anything bad.” You reassure, blinking up at him as he stares intently at your fingers. His eyes were locked down on the blood, lips parted and pupils dilated. You could feel the hunger in his gaze, and it scared you. You hadn’t even heard him get up, his footsteps or breath behind you.

The air brushing against your shoulder makes you shiver as you watch him bring your finger closer before suddenly pulling back. With a heavy sigh, he runs his fingers through his hair before softly patting your hip. “Be careful, yeah? I’ll get you a bandaid.”

It’s late at night when you awake from your slumber, eyes slowly drifting open and adjusting to the lack of light inside your shared broom. You can feel his body behind you, tucked into the bed under the blankets. His back faces you as you peek over your shoulder, breath slow.

Cautiously, you climb out of bed, lifting a weak hand to rub your temple. It’s well past midnight, and the silence of the house is all you can hear. Knowing Leon’s presence was next to you always soothed you, having such a hunk of meat for a husband, knowing he would always protect you.

But now you couldn’t help but feel unease. He looked the same as Leon, sounded the same, yet he didn’t feel the same. You didn’t know who was pretending to be your husband, and it scared you.

You get up from the mattress, slipping on slippers and quietly walking out of the bedroom. You don’t hear the sheets moving behind you.

The living room was pitch black when you entered. Living with Leon meant living in a cozy house with top notch security, which helped you feel safe from the threats outside the walls. Now you were afraid of what laid inside the walls.

Fiddling around, your eyes land on one of the decorative candles you have set on the dining table. You light it, holding it up as you begin to rummage the countertops for your sleeping meds. It wasn’t rare for you to stir in the middle of the night and crave your meds to fall back asleep, it was an annoyance but had become routine.

Across from the fridge you had double ovens stacked on top of each other on the wall, metallic, expensive and glimmering when the moonlight shines across it. Passing by them, you see your own reflection by yourself and alone in the dark kitchen. You don’t give it second thought.

You reach up, fingers aimlessly searching through the higher cabinet for the familiar feel of your meds. You couldn’t see so high up, so you were using your senses.

Slowly, a masculine hand comes into view and reaches into the cabinet beside you. Your blood runs cold. You didn’t see anyone behind you, you didn’t hear them either.

Your entire body freezes up before you suddenly dig your elbow into the man’s gut behind you, a loud groan of pain escaping him. You recognize the voice immediately and turn around to shove him back, glaring at his scrunched up blue eyes.

“Leon Scott Kennedy—“ You hiss, hand clutching your chest as you try to level your breathing. He stands in-front of you almost sheepishly, gently rubbing his stomach where you had struck him, a frown on his lips.

“Honey, what was that for? I was trying to help.”

“Help?! Where the hell did you come from?!” You snap back, clutching at your chest and leaning back against the counter behind you. He may have a good amount of years on you, but he was going to make you die young from a heart attack.

“I’m sorry, so sorry..” He whispers, gently pressing against you and nuzzling his stubble into your tangled hair. His limbs press cold against you, making you flinch softly. Thick arms wrap around your waist, your hair standing up on your own. He was cold, still, and with your head pressed against his burly chest, a small part of you tells you to lean in and listen for his heartbeat. To remind you this is your husband.

But you find none.

The following days are hell for you. You know there's something wrong with him, but you can't name it. You’re worried sick about what to do and if he’s even okay, but whenever you ask, he waves you off. Shrugs or laughs and tells you ‘You overthink, hun.’ It's nauseating, sharing a bed with a man who wears the skin of your husband but not the soul. Yet he still reaches for your hand in the dark, his cold touch only further pushing you away.

You were scared. Terrified, even. The nights grew longer, days more tiresome; you were unable to make them through without noticing things you didn’t want to notice. His lack of heartbeat, the unnatural chill lingering on his skin, his dead-silent breaths, darkened eyes, the hunger that flashes in them when he looks at you. Not the hunger a husband should have— something cannibalistic instead, something disgusting and rotten to the core. You’re terrified of your husband.

You can't pretend you don’t notice any of this, or that you’re able to wait it out until he decides to open up, or the delusional hope that’ll it wash over. The phone in your hand shakes as you call up the only number you could think of in the moment that would be able to help you.

“Hello?” You speak hesitantly, your voice hushed. You’re tucked into the dark corner of your living room late at night, Leon asleep in your bedroom. You had checked several times to make sure. A single candle is lit beside you on the small table.

“Chris Redfield here.”

“Chris!” You quickly whisper to him your name, alerting him you were Leons wife. He’s quick to recognize you, worry immediately grasping at his tone. Your body tightens in fear as his voice reaches to you. “Chris, I need your help. Leon—”

“Leon? You’re with him?” He gasps.

“Y-Yes?” A hard blink.

“You have to get out of there. We’ve been trying to contact him for days, he disappeared from our care and isn’t answering any calls and turned off his location services. He’s not safe.”

It's almost hard to hear Chris with how loud your heart is beating. Horror grabs at your legs, keeping you frozen in shock on the couch as you croak out a weak, "What's wrong with him?” Even if you knew you should get up immediately and run, you found it impossible to move your legs.

A moment of hesitation fills the call before he speaks. “He went on a mission to Romania and ran into Umbrella, if you know what that is.”

“Yeah, I do. And?” You usher, your voice small.

“They were making a virus, and he got infected. Its dangerous, he’s dangerous. The only reason he hasn’t killed you yet is probably because he loves you. But he’s not himself, he won't be able to make that difference for too long, so you need to get up, grab your stuff, and get out of that damn house!”

His sharp voice makes you snap back into reality. Your voice shakes as you stand up, holding the candle in your hand shakily as you wobble down the hallway. “T-The virus— What is it doing to h-him?”

“He… It's… It's a sick duplication of vampirism, is the best way to describe it.”

“He’s a vampire?”

You look up from your candle, slowly making eye contact with deep blue irises with no light in them. He stands before you, gaze flat and set down on you like a predator would do with its prey. The air runs cold as he silently closes his palm over the candle, bathing you both in darkness.

Chris calls out your name in confusion, but Leon slowly takes the phone from your hand, his fingertips making you shiver. He silently ends the call and sets the phone aside, staring down at you with an unpleased frown. Your body trembles, and he notices.

“Sweetheart,” He whispers, gently stepping forward until your breath brushed against his, “Why would you go to Chris when you could have just talked to me?” A large hand sets on your back, creeping up and pressing through the thin fabric of your silk-cami. You struggle to respond, mouth open but no words able to escape your throat. You never wanted to be scared of your husband.

“H-He— he said—”

He hushes you, his other hand going to brush your hair out of your soft cheek, before cupping it and gently squishing. “He was lying. I’d never hurt you, my love.”

You can't help but notice he didn’t correct the idea of him being infected.

“What.. about.. the virus part?” You choke out.

He hesitates, eyes slowly drifting down your body before snapping back up to yours. A frown washes over his face.

“I love you, you know that?”

“What?”

A soft cry leaves you as he suddenly latches his teeth into your neck, fangs breaking through your skin. The sensation tingled, a small sting, before your body slowly starts to feel lighter in his arms. You can feel your blood slowly being sucked out into his mouth, his soft tongue occasionally darting out to lick over the two punctured holes. Shaky whimpers leave you as your arms fly out, pushing and swatting at his large body.

“I love you, my sweet girl,” He whispers, pressing you against the wall behind you, his hand on your back reaching to gently grasp the back of your neck, tilting your throat just right for his mouth. Your legs flail around before falling limp, your body completely limp against his. “You’re such a good girl for this, I’ll reward you, okay? Just relax.”

His words only make you tear up, whimpering into his hair as his sucking slowly renders you useless in his arms. Wrapping around his shoulders, you push up into him, finally giving up control. You craved to be in your husband's arms again and to feel intimate with him after weeks of being apart, even the thought of him being a supernatural being didn’t scare you anymore. He was still your husband, and you loved him unconditionally. The pain in your neck slowly numbed.

He pulls away slowly, blood trickling down his chin as he stares down at you longingly. Gently, he connects his lips with yours, hands moving down to scoop up your body and hold you against him. Your legs wrap around his waist like second-hand nature, hands moving to cup his stubbled face as you kiss back deeply. Your tongues move against one another slowly, the taste of your blood making you moan. It was salty and metallic but gave the kiss taste.

Before you know it, your back was against the familiar warmth and plushness of your mattress, his heavy body grounding you into the bed. It was like dead weight drowning you into the sheets. Cold kisses, lingering caresses, slow touches and the rustling of clothing being pushed to the side. You don’t know when you end up naked, but next thing you know he’s between your thighs, hungrily lapping at your wet folds.

A sense of euphoria washes over you as you relax, body yielding to his touch. You cant control yourself at this point; you’ve fully surrendered to him. You feel as if you’re drunk on his touch, unable to breath without it. The moment he sank his fangs into your neck was the moment you were permanently his for eternity.

“Do you wanna be with me forever, sweetheart?” He whispers against your skin, large hands spreading you open by putting pressure on your thighs. Even while inhumane between your legs, you were always the first thing on his mind. The thought of being with you until the end of the world was all he craved.

“Forever?” You croak, another moan leaving you as he dives back down, sucking your clit between his lips with focus. Fingers rubbing soothing circles into your thighs, massaging your legs until you’re putty in his hands. The sensation of him is everywhere, starting from your head to your toes.

“Mhm. Just gotta trust me, love. Can you do that? Will you be a good girl?” He finally pulls away, leaning up to make eye contact with you. Warmth flutters from your heart at his voice, still as sweet and caring as the day you met him, hence why you married him. He always put your needs and love first.

“I l-love you, of course..” You nod eagerly, locking your lips with his passionately. His burly arms wrap around you, groaning in content as he quickly pushes his briefs down, thick cock springing out against his abdomen. Heavy, painfully hard, irritated and aching to be burrowed into your body. He doesn’t hesitate when he aligns himself with you, pulling back from the kiss to slowly intertwine your fingers and press a soft kiss to your cheek, watching closely to your expression as he pushes inch by agonizing inch, stretching you wide on him.

You almost can't breathe, overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions, the pleasure, and even the pain. The hunger but love in his eyes as he slowly thrusts, whispering loving praises to you. He ushers you everything will be okay, and that when you wake up you’ll understand.

His teeth clamp down on your throat, fangs breaking through your skin once again. You cry out in pain underneath him, flinching and hugging him tighter. He groans at the taste of your blood filling his mouth, lapping it up hungrily while rolling his hips deeply into your tight warmth. You smelt like home and tasted like heaven.

“Leon, I’m— I cant— please,” You cry, trying to pull away from his teeth. It was starting to hurt, not like before— no, this time it was agonizing. Like he wasn’t planning on stopping until you were fully drained and nothing but a corpse underneath him. “Y-You’re scaring me..”

“No, no, no, baby,” He pulls away, his lips covered in your blood. He licks it away as he dives down to bite into his wrist, blood spilling down his forearm. The sight terrifies you, and you hiccup underneath him, trembling. Gently, he nuzzles you closer to his big chest, pressing warm kisses to your hairline. “You said you trust me, right?”

“M-Mhm.”

“Then be a good girl and drink this, okay?”

Your eyes slowly drift down to his bloody wrist, the thought of even consuming his blood nauseating you to your core. Your lips move to say no, but you can’t help but remember what he said. Together forever. So gradually, as if you were hypnotized, you lift your head and take the blood into your mouth. It stains the inside of your mouth as you lap at it for a short moment before pulling back sharply, as if you were snapped back to reality.

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He hums, pushing you back down to lay underneath him. The blood staining your lips only makes him groan, starting back up a strong pace. His hips push against yours, snapping harshly. The sounds of skin-to-skin echo throughout the bedroom. His teeth latch back onto your neck, his hands holding you tight against him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” He groans between long sucks, feeling your body slowly grow lighter in his grasp. Finally pulling back from your throat, he can see the light in your eyes slowly dim underneath him. With a weak smile, he presses one final kiss to your warm lips. “I’m gonna be here when you wake up, okay?” He brushes his thumb to your bottom lip, pressing down slightly before releasing you. It would be the last time he’d feel your skin warm and alive.

In your last few moments, you can feel your orgasm wash over your body, releasing on his cock as he moans deeply and burrows into your neck, clutching you tightly. His thrusts grow sloppy and inconsistent before he spills deep into you, holding onto you like a lifeline— yet there you were, dying slowly.

With one last shaky breath, he nudges his nose against yours, fangs glistening in the moonlight. “I’ll love you forever sweetheart, till death do us part.”

And when your body finally falls limp in his arms, he awaits till you rise once again, skin cold to the couch as fangs grow where humane canines once laid.

It’s everything else.

From the way your shoulders tense every time someone looks your way during a conversation. How your fingers curl into your sleeves like you’re bracing for impact. To the way your voice starts out steady, only to thin out and trail off the longer you speak, like the words are quietly abandoning you mid-sentence.

It’s subtle.

Easy to miss.

But not for him, no, no.

He doesn’t point it out.

Of course he doesn’t—this is Leon we’re talking about. Subtlety isn’t always his strong suit, but somehow, with you, he manages.

He just… adjusts himself around you, like it's second nature.

His voice softens when he talks to you—not by much, just enough that you notice the difference. He gives you space when you need it, but never enough that you feel like you’ve been left behind.

When conversations start moving too fast, he slows them down in ways that don’t draw attention—redirecting things just enough to give you an opening.

And when you take it, when you manage to get your words out, he listens.

You were pleasantly surprised with how well he listens at times.

“Hey,” he says one afternoon, leaning against your desk like he’s been there the whole time. His voice is quieter than usual, meant only for you. “You did good in that briefing.”

You blink at him, caught off guard by the welcomed intrusion. “I—I didn’t really…”

“Yeah, you did.” There’s a small smile tugging at his lips. “You caught something the rest of us missed.”

You stare at him for a second. Hesitant, briefly wondering if this is a trap.

It’s not. It’s Leon. He doesn’t do traps. He falls into them.

“T-thank you,” you manage, softer than you meant.

He gives a small nod, like that settles it.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he adds, pushing off your desk. “You’re better than you think.”

And then he’s gone, like he didn’t just say something that sticks with you longer than it should.

You hate how easy he makes it sound.

After that, it turns into something unspoken.

A routine.

He doesn’t hover—he’s too careful for that—but he’s always within reach. Close enough that you don’t have to look for him, but not so close that it feels obvious.

During briefings, he somehow ends up within your line of sight every time. When conversations get crowded, his voice naturally cuts in—not overpowering, just enough to keep things from overwhelming you.

It’s subtle.

You pretend not to notice…but you do.

Sometimes, when things get a little too loud, he’ll slide a cup of your favorite drink toward you like he just happened to grab an extra.

You’ve tested this.

He did not grab an extra.

You don’t call him out on it.

Mostly because you like it.

And slowly—so slowly it almost feels accidental—you stop tripping over every word when you’re around him.

Sentences come out easier. Thoughts don’t feel as fragile.

You laugh once—really laugh—before you can stop yourself, immediately covering your face out of pure instinct.

Your cheeks blooming a shade of pink.

Leon pauses mid-sentence.

The look on his face is almost startled, like he didn’t realize how much he wanted to hear that.

“See?” he murmurs, quieter now. “Knew you had it in you.”

You lower your hands just enough to glare at him.

“I always had it in me,” you mumble.

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, yeah.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

He doesn’t even try to hide the hint of amusement.

Then…the new guy shows up. The fire nation to your peaceful little bubble.

He was a transfer.

Confident in a way that feels loud even when he’s not talking, like he’s constantly taking up more space than necessary.

At first, you try to be polite.

But he stands too close. Talks too fast. Doesn’t give you time to catch up, let alone respond. He doesn’t notice how your answers get shorter, thinner, or how your hands start to shake the longer that he stays in your space.

“C’mon, you don’t have to be so quiet all the time,” he says one day, leaning over your desk, some of your things being pushed aside—like the space belongs to him. “We’re teammates, right? You can loosen up a bit.”

“I—I’m—” Your throat tightens, the words catching before they can form properly. “I just—”

He laughs.

Like it’s nothing.

Like you’re overreacting.

“Relax, I’m just talking to you.”

You consider, briefly, passing away on the spot. Maybe even digging your own grave while you're at it. At this point it feels like a viable option.

The space feels too small. Too loud. Too much.

Your chest tightens, breath catching somewhere it shouldn’t—

“Hey.”

Leon’s voice cuts in, calm but firm, with just enough weight behind it to make the room pay attention.

The new guy straightens slightly. “What?”

Leon steps in beside you, close enough that the shift in space is immediate.

“Give her some room,” he says, tone easy—but not optional.

“I was just—”

“I know.” Leon cuts him off, not sharp, but firm enough to stop him anyway. His gaze doesn’t waver. “You’re crowding her.”

There’s a brief stretch of silence.

The kind where you can hear your own pulse, feel your fingers tightening against the desk. But then Leon shifts slightly, his arm brushing yours.

The action was barely noticable.

But it steadies you.

You resist the urge to grab onto his sleeve like a lifeline.

You have some dignity.

The new guy scoffs, mutters something under his breath, and eventually backs off.

And just like that…you can breathe again. All thanks to the action hero extravaganza that is Leon S. Kennedy.

Leon glances down at you after a moment.

“You good?” he asks, voice lower now.

You nod too quickly, then stop, forcing yourself to take a breath before trying again.

“I think so.”

He watches you for a second longer than nececours—noting how your voice wobbled slightly.

“Alright.” His tone softens just a bit. “You don’t have to deal with that, you know.”

“I k-know.” You hesitate, fingers twisting around your bracelet. “I just… I don’t always—”

“—get the words out?” he finishes.

You nod, a little sheepish.

Leon exhales quietly, then shifts so he’s not towering over you.

Less intimidating.

As if he was ever intimidating to begin with—to you that is.

“Then you don’t have to,” he says. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Your brows knit. “…what?”

He shrugs, like it’s obvious.

“If someone’s making you uncomfortable,” he continues, like it’s obvious, “you don’t have to explain yourself.”

“Just look at me.” His gaze meets yours—steady, certain. “I’ll handle it.”

Your chest tightens—not like before. Something warmer settles in its place.

You glance at him, then away, then back again.

“…okay,” you say softly.

He gives a small nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

Later, when things have quieted down and most of the office has cleared out, you find yourself drifting back to him.

Standing next to him, you don’t feel like you’re shrinking.

Which is new.

Nice…

A little suspicious, even.

“…Leon?”

He glances over. “Yeah?”

You hesitate—but only for a second this time.

“Thank you. For earlier.”

He studies you briefly, like he’s thinking something over.

Then he shakes his head lightly.

“Anytime.”

You look at him for a second longer than necessary.

“…you’re kind of nice, you know.”

He snorts. “Don’t let that get around.”

You huff quietly. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Good,” he says. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“What reputation?” You glance at him again, unimpressed. “Brooding government agent?”

“Careful,” he says, glancing at you. “You’re getting bold.”

You smile, this time you don’t hide it.

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

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist when I post these fics 💙

♡ so when you two found yourselves stuck at yet another red light, you decided to take a leap of faith

♡ how harmful could it be to ask about his late wife? it’s only respectful, if you take away your profile, given that he brought her up first.

♡ you pretended to forget and first asked him for her name, then what she did for work, and if he still thought about her.

♡ he seemed taken aback, but the more he talked about her the more he warmed up

♡ his shoulders relaxed a few millimetres, and he had a certain lingering smile of adoration on his cheeks. you had never seen him show so much emotion, well, ever.

♡ while the sight was aching, to say the least, you couldn’t help but feel a weird sense of jealousy

♡ not because you were worried about a beautiful dead woman, but you were put off by how a small part of you wished he was talking about you that way

♡ you tell him that she sounds lovely and you wish you could’ve met her, but what you didn’t think he’d ever say, he did.

♡ “she actually… looked a lot like you.”

♡ you felt a weird mix of emotions braising in your stomach and swelling your heart. part of you felt honoured to be compared to a woman he seemed to love very much, and another part of you felt… a different kind of good.

♡ for a moment you forgot he was father of the kids you’re caring for, a man you hardly know anything about, a man who will always be ten steps ahead in life’s experience compared to you.

♡ for a moment you saw a handsome man who hadn’t had an outlet for his love in years, a man who felt comfortable to confide in you about it. you saw a man with potential.

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.”

Your face was serious not a moment later when scuffling could be heard on the other side of the door. The two of you made eye contact and nodded before you reached for the handle and he leveled his gun, ready to shoot anything that moved on the other side. With a quick motion, you pushed the door open, and there was barely a second to react before an infected lunged out of the opening. Leon pulled the trigger without blinking and the infected fell to the floor with a thud. However, two more were behind it, Leon was still recovering from his first shot, and you were fighting off one that had lunged at you. This left the man vulnerable just long enough for the other infected to swing wildly with a syringe in its hand and jam the needle into his arm.

Leon felt the liquid in the syringe enter his bloodstream and grunted and shot his assailant. It pulled the syringe out at a shitty angle as it fell, and the agent cursed in pain as the needle tore his flesh some more. By then, all three infected were dead on the floor, and it all had happened in a matter of seconds.

“Mother fucker,” Leon spat as he finally glanced down at his arm to see a steady trickle of blood seeping from the botched injection. However, the bleeding was the least of his worries. “What the hell was in that thing?”

You inspected his wound with worried eyes, and he could see the true fear hidden under your careful expression. Again, the perks of being together for so long.

“We should look in the lab for any details before we move on,” you said with a light tremor in your voice.

Leon hummed in agreement and let you lead him inside the room with a delicate grip around his bicep. He wished he could say something, anything, to comfort you, but you both knew just how fucked up anything concocted in a lab like this would be. The mere fact that you let him sit idly while you searched around was a sure sign you were really worried. Usually, you would give him some shit for an injury, something about getting old or taking one for the team.

But not this time.

You scoured the room with careful and methodical precision. You were meticulous as you looked for any clues, but Leon could see the tremor in your hands and the quiver in your lips that gave away your fear. He knew better than to get in your way, so he sat in an office chair and let you work.

It took about ten minutes before you gasped in shock as you flipped through the screen of a tablet. Leon stood and walked over to you, hovering over your shoulder.

“Find something?” he asked, wincing as his shirt chafed across his chest.

“I think so,” you said, tilting the tablet toward him, “‘Project LactAid’ a series of injections designed to help families struggling with conceiving and rearing children… ok...”

You stopped talking as you read more and Leon wished he had his reading glasses.

“Babe, what color was the serum you were hit with?”

He furrowed his brow, “Uh, purple, I think.”

You hummed in response and hit something on the screen. A new page opened and the font at the top was big enough for Leon to finally read it clearly.

LACTATION BOOSTER

Wait. What?

“Sweetheart, please tell me what it says,” Leon urged, his chest tingling.

He had and idea of what was going on now, but he needed you to say it out loud.

“Fuck, um. It’s a drug to help mothers with difficulty lactating, but uh, it seems it also works on males,” you said with a stupefied voice, “It looks like, since people with your, um, anatomy technically have mammary glands…”

“I get it,” Leon sighed and rubbed over his chest, wincing at the sensitivity.

You looked at his chest and frowned, “It says it’s not deadly, but it will lead to the same tenderness and sensitivity as regular lactation.”

Leon remembered how sore and grumpy you were when you were lactating after each of your kids were born. The way you literally would sob with relief when the children would finally latch and relieve you of the overbearing fullness you felt. The sensitivity of your nipples preventing you from wearing clothes whenever you could get away with it. How you would even push him away from you during sex if he accidentally brushed your swollen breasts.

And now Leon would have to deal with that.

“How long do the effects last?” he asked tiredly.

“About six hours,” you murmured.

There was a beat of silence before Leon grimaced and fell into the office chair again. He pulled his compression shirt away from his chest and sighed at the relief he felt when his nipples were unburdened. You stood in front of him and massaged his scalp gently.

“You gonna be ok? I can wrap this up alone and come back for you,” you offered sweetly.

“Go ahead,” Leon agreed, “I’ll ping you on comms if I need you.”

You gave him one last lingering look before leaving the office and closing the door with a soft click.

Leon sighed and let his hands fall to the fastenings of his harness, eagerly unlatching it and setting it on the abandoned desk beside him. He smoothly took his shirt off next and set it on top of his harness. It was like a breath of fresh air, and Leon looked down at his chest curiously. Already, his pectorals had gotten larger—not much, but just enough to be noticeable.

“Jesus,” he groaned.

This was, by far, the most bizarre situation he had gotten himself into. His pecs were sore and swollen, and, fuck. He needed something to relieve the pressure. He slumped back in the chair and clutched his hair as he sighed yet again.

He tried to remember what had worked for you back during your lactation periods. Obviously, resources were limited here, so Leon needed to get creative.

Then, he remembered something.

Nights alone together, once the kids were asleep, his hands gently massaging your breasts. Your mewls of pleasure as he massaged milk from your breast in a low trickle, alleviating your soreness and lapping it up as it spilled out.

Leon shook his head. Ok, this was a lot less sexy than that, but he assumed the principle was still the same.

“What the fuck. Why not?” he muttered to himself before tossing his gloves off.

With nervous hands, he began to massage his chest the way he remembered you needed. It was… strange. He was used to you playing with his pecs in bed, even toying with his nipples and biting him. But this? He never played with his own chest. And he’d definitely never felt himself up while lactating. He shuddered at how good it felt, how much he needed it. Each palpation was tentative, but growing more and more bold as he found the right spots to get relief.

Leon felt the milk dribble out before he saw it. A warm, wet sensation on his nipples and fingers. He brought a hand up to his face and stared at the creamy liquid on his fingers.

“This is actually happening. Holy shit.”

The urge to lick his fingers flitted through his mind with the briefest flash, but he hastily ignored the thought and put his hand back on his chest to keep massaging.

“Ngh, ah,” he groaned as the pleasure of his ministrations began to shift from relief to something more… sensual.

Fuck. No wonder you got horny when he’d done this before. It felt too good. He felt his dick begin to stir in his tactical pants. He moaned and squirmed as he continued to massage his chest and his nipples continued to leak. It dribbled down from his chest and onto his torso—muscles tensing when the liquid began to cool atop his skin in the chilled air of the office. The sensation of it was a titillating companion to the pleasure stirring in his chest, and his cock began to fill in earnest.

As always happened when Leon was horny, you came to mind. He imagined you there, standing over him, cooing sweet words at him as you guided him through his pleasure. You would encourage him and tell him how lovely he is as he leaks all over himself. You would kneel in front of him and pull down his pants to free his aching dick—ironically, it was also leaking.

He hastily dropped his hands from his chest to undo his fly and shove his pants and briefs down just enough to free his erection. He whimpered when the cool air of the office hit his heated skin and his dick throbbed with need. He massaged his chest a bit more before dropping a hand down to stroke his dick. His motions were slicked by his precum with the breast milk still on his fingers and the realization was far more arousing than it probably should be.

Leon was so lost in pleasure that he didn’t hear the office door open. Didn’t notice you step inside and freeze at the sight of him. Didn’t notice you until he called out your name in pleasure and elicited a gasp from you.

His eyes flashed open and his hands flew from his body. The two of you stared at each other for a long moment, silent save for the sounds of his heavy breathing.

You stepped closer. The shock on your face had morphed into something else. Something familiar. Something that had Leon feeling hot and bothered again.

“I can’t believe I left my needy boy behind,” you cooed as you kept moving closer, “You’re leaking all over, baby. From your tits and from your cock. Not gonna lie, you look very very sexy right now.”

You’d always jokingly called his pecs ‘tits’, but it hit differently now than ever before. Instead of being annoyed or fondly amused, the word was like bolt of pure lust shooting through his body. His dick twitched needily and your gaze snapped to it hungrily.

“You know, I never understood why you liked watching me leak all over the place back when I was breastfeeding,” you mused as you pulled your gloves off, “I thought I looked gross. But I get it now.”

You reached out and ran a feather-light touch over his nipples, mouth parting as you felt his breast milk coat your digits. Leon whimpered at your touch and had to force himself to keep his eyes open to focus on you. And he was glad he did as he watched you put your fingers in your mouth and lick up the milk he’d produced. Your eyes fluttered shut and you released a delighted moan at the taste and it sent a hot flash of need through Leon’s body.

“Please,” he begged, “Please, help me!”

You opened your eyes and looked down at him for a moment before dropping to your knees between his parted thighs. You pulled his pants down all the way to give yourself better access to his dick and Leon whined when you pressed a gentle kiss to the head.

“Keep milking yourself for me, babe,” you purred, “I’ll take care of this little problem.”

Leon couldn’t form a response. He simply obeyed and let out a pathetic moan as you began to suck him off the way you knew he liked. Not one to challenge your orders, he brought his hands back up and continued to massage the milk from his chest.

In the back of his lust-addled mind, between thoughts of just how amazing this was and how much he loved you, Leon realized this was insane. He was lactating because of an enemy drug in the middle of said enemy’s laboratory offices and now his wife was sucking him off while he milked himself.

Bizarre, yes. Hot? Unbelievably so.

You were working your magic on his dick and Leon was close far faster than normal. He pitched his hips forward with a groan and spilled down your throat without warning. After twenty years together, you’d learned how to take it easily, and you slurped up his cum greedily as always.

“Fuck, baby, fuck!” Leon cried out as his body twitched in the aftershocks.

You pulled away from his cock and soothingly massaged his thighs as he caught his breath, hands limp at his sides, nipples still leaking milk.

“Thank you,” he whispered eventually.

“My pleasure,” you teased as you stood up and kissed his forehead.

A pause.

“Wait, did you finish the mission already?”

You laughed lightly and stroked his cheek, “Baby, I was gone for an hour. It was a piece of cake, too.”

Leon breathed a sigh of relief, “Good, good.”

“While I was out, I did see a lounge with a comfortable-looking couch,” you said with a twinkle in your eyes, “And you have about five hours left of this serum…”

You trailed off knowingly and Leon felt his spent cock twitch again already with interest. He smirked up at you and placed his hands on your hips.

“Mm, this time, let’s get you naked as well, yeah?”

You grinned cheekily, “Come on, milkman, let’s go get freaky.”

Leon chuckled and followed you out of the room.