Kai

The facility is supposed to be abandoned. No bio signatures on the initial recon scan, no movement from hostiles after an extended stakeout, nothing. An abandoned underground lab for an experimental arm of Umbrella, potentially full of important documents on bioweapons research.

Your mission is to gather as much information as possible, should any of the viruses created there pop up on the black market or worse.

Easy, compared to the shit you're usually assigned.

Leon agrees.

Well, you think he agrees. He treats every mission as seriously as the last. You've grown to appreciate his consistency. It makes him easy to trust, which is essential in this line of work.

He's the best partner you've ever had. Thorough, direct, and smart. He never questions your abilities and relies on you just as much as you rely on him.

And, god. He's kind. Funny, too, when he wants to be. One time on a weeklong stakeout in the middle of nowhere, Argentina, he explained to you, in detail, the plot of The Count of Monte Cristo, all because you said you'd never read it. You hadn't even known he liked to read.

He's hard to crack, though. Professional to a fault, more dedicated to the cause than anyone you've ever met. And he's handsome.

How could you not fall in love with him?

You keep your ever-growing feelings to yourself. Asking him if he feels the same isn't worth ruining your partnership, isn't worth being someone else who wants something from him that he maybe can't give. Not when you can have him this way -- at your side with your life in his hands, his in yours.

In some ways, this is more intimate than any regular relationship you've ever had.

You'd spent the chopper ride here watching him as he looked out the window, even though you knew he felt your gaze. He's always doing that, always taking in everything around him with militant attention. You wonder what he sees that most people don't. Connections, patterns, maybe even beauty. You've never asked. Whatever it is has kept him alive this long. It's kept you alive, too.

And so, the mission.

You drop from a very long hatch into dark, stale air. The ladder leaves your hands aching and your shoulders tight, but there's no time for recovery.

Training takes over. Leon leads, with you at his right flank. Flashlights on, service weapon at the ready.

"Stay sharp," he says.

Sometimes you tease him about it, his constant readiness for a threat. But you feel it this time. Something's not right here, scans be damned.

Flecks of dust and grime float through your bright beams. The corridor ends maybe 15 meters in front of you in a set of metal doors, no windows. The security pad on the left side blinks a dull red.

"Emergency power," you say.

It was in the brief as a possibility but not a guarantee. Leon approaches, and you follow, digging into one of your belt pockets for the access card some other agent had to steal last week for this purpose.

"You want to do the honors?" you ask.

Leon shakes his head. "Be my guest."

The red light blinks green with a hover of your hand, and the unlocking mechanisms creak to life. The doors open slowly with a hiss. You're greeted with a dark lobby, dull yellowish lights lining the base of the walls.

"Must be on throughout," Leon says. Sometimes these places are zoned, or some other needlessly complicated system of power distribution. "Hopefully that means doors will keep opening."

He's still tense, arms outstretched to shine his light into the new space, shoulders taut. You feel it too, a prickle at the base of your neck.

"If not, I'm sure the power systems will be super easy to find with no issues," you say lightly.

He huffs, as close to a laugh as you can hope for at the start of a mission, but it's a win.

"Ready?" he asks.

You dip your chin. He glides into the room, clearing one side as you clear the other. There aren't any signs of disturbance, but that's how it goes with these places. The closer you get to the exit, the more normal it seems -- because all of the horrible things happen behind closed doors.

And no one makes it out.

"Clear," Leon calls. You echo it.

There are two single doors that reveal a bathroom hallway and the security office, as well as a set of double doors that resemble the locked entrance, another keypad glowing red at one side. Leon finds a map of the facility in the office and spreads it on the desk.

"That locked door will take us to an elevator that goes down to the labs," he says, tracing the path with a finger under the beam of his flashlight. "Three of them, all on different levels, connected by staircases instead of the elevator shaft, only accessible by keycard and on the other side of an anti-contamination corridor."

"Isolated," you observe. "In case of an outbreak?"

"It's bare bones compared to the other Umbrella stuff we've seen. This must be really out-there shit. Less resources, less of a footprint, less of an issue when it goes wrong."

You try to commit the map to memory. Leon will undoubtedly fold it into one of his pockets, but it's hard to consult a piece of paper when you're running from a B.O.W..

Level B1: MENIS, Level B2: KAMATOS, Level B3: PYRETOS

"Greek," Leon mutters. "More creative than T-virus, that's for sure."

This is just like him, surprising you after countless missions as your partner.

"Do you speak Greek, Leon?"

He shrugs.

"Not really." He tightens the strap on his glove, a cue that he's frustrated. You know most of his tells by now. "I don't know the last one. Fire, maybe?"

"Not really, he says," you tease. "What else are you hiding, Kennedy?"

He rolls his eyes at you, but if the lights were on, you're sure you'd see some pink in his cheeks. Battle-hardened agent he may be, Leon S. Kennedy still blushes for you.

If only...

No. You swallow the pang in your chest and roll your shoulders. "Start with B1 and go down, then loop back up?"

It wouldn't be out of the question to divide and conquer, but the slimy unease dripping down your spine prevents you from suggesting it.

He grunts his agreement, eyes still on the map, frowning.

As a pair, you work so well together because of your communication. It took practice, sure, but now you know each other across a crowded room, through the heat of a fight, in the dark. You don't let things go unsaid.

Well, most things, your traitorous heart says.

"Leon," you say. "It feels off, right? We're missing something."

Blue eyes meet yours. He sighs.

"Yeah," he says. "Guess we just have to find out what."

You can't help it -- you put your hand on his bicep and squeeze just a little, holding his gaze. His fringe hangs in his eyes. In another life, you'd push it back.

"Be careful, okay?" you ask him, faces so close you can feel his breath.

Leon got shot on your second ever mission together. It was a clean wound, through and through, except for the fact that he'd already been shot in that shoulder back in Raccoon City. The bullet fucked up the already fragile joint, so he needed surgery and was benched for six weeks (he was back at your side in four).

There was nothing you could have done. It was nobody's fault. But you felt responsible for waylaying your new partner, who was one of the most well-known agents in the whole damn place, so you went to see him in the hospital to alleviate your guilt.

"They have you with anyone while I'm out?" he asked you.

They did, actually, but hadn't told you who. Leon was troubled by it.

"Well, be careful," he said, as if he didn't trust anyone else to watch your back, even then.

"Only as careful as you," you replied, pointing at his shoulder.

That was the first time you made Leon Kennedy laugh.

Now, it's something you say to each other in the field. A mantra, a reminder, a promise.

Leon gives you a small smile.

"Only as careful as you," he replies, like he always does. We keep each other safe.

You release him and busy your hand at your belt immediately, god forbid you touch him more.

He rolls his shoulders back and checks the chamber of his sidearm.

"Into the depths, huh?"

"Into the depths."

--

Level B1: MENIS

The elevator opens to a dead contamination chamber. Nothing happens as you walk through the three zones where you'd expect to be scanned, doused, and dried. Another set of metal doors opens with a hiss when you tap the keycard. The smell of death hits your nose and makes your eyes water.

There are at least 10 bodies piled on the other side, most of them in pieces.

"Fuck," you curse, sidestepping a caved-in head.

"Looks like the party started without us," Leon says quietly.

"Great," you mutter. "God, that's nasty."

There aren't any claw marks or avid stains or other tell-tale signs of B.O.W.'s you see with this caliber of violence. One look at Leon and you know he's realized the same thing. You tilt your head down the hall. He nods, following your lead deeper into the floor.

Red emergency lights pulse along the base of the walls, illuminating the blood splattered pretty much everywhere. You pass the occasional corpse, most of them so horribly disfigured it's hard to tell if they were staff or test subjects or something else.

There are so many things you want to say, but you keep them to yourself until Leon leads you to the floor's main office. You slide in but don't relax.

"They look like they were torn apart," you say as soon as the door is closed. Leon frowns at you, since you didn't clear the room first, but it's a square office. You can see all the corners from where you're standing.

"I know," he replies. "But no sign of what did it."

You sigh. "So, are you going to tell Hunnigan the location survey was wrong, or should I?"

"I think I've run out of my 'bad news' calls for the year," he says. "That one's all yours once we get topside."

"How generous of you."

Leon smirks. "I'm a giver."

The office is small and the computers are dead. There are papers scattered around, so you divide and conquer.

You find an official logbook. Mostly in-the-weeds science stuff, but you skim until you find a change in handwriting.

LOG #57:

Development continues under new staff. Blood transmission remains the only method that carries enough sample to infect a host; airborne tests were unsuccessful. Vaccine/suppressant formulas abandoned for the time being after we were told that our subject supply would be steady. B2 wants to set one of theirs against one of ours, which seems pointless because any B1 subject will win that fight. B3 is a joke, but they're insistent that it'll work.

No vaccine...that's not good news. But what were they actually testing here? Infecting people with what?

You flip more pages until you find something that makes your blood run cold.

LOG #63:

We've finally gotten a host to survive. B2 and B3 are nowhere near this. We won't be sharing. Their subjects die within hours. B3 is practically useless, anyway. What use is controlling people if they die on you in an hour? But here, we've cracked it. I managed to figure out how to get the virus to work with the host's adrenaline production, stabilizing it into a constant state of fight or flight without short-circuiting the nervous system. If this batch survives the week, we'll ask permission to start on the suppressant. Once we have that, we'll be able to control the whole herd. The future of hostile takeover is here! Now, if only they'd let us out of this fucking dungeon more often…

Holy shit. They were making viruses to infect large populations, to control them. But using what? Changing their brain chemicals, making them reliant on suppressants? Leon told you about this kind of manipulation, how it infiltrated a military unit and even made its way to the White House a few years ago. Who knows how far they got this time?

"Leon," you call, turning with the folder in your hands. "You should look at this --"

You make eye contact and fall silent. He's got his finger over his lips and his gun at the ready. 

You toss the papers aside and take your place on the other side of the door.

That's when you hear it.

Groans, grunts, screams. Footsteps -- a lot of them.

He holds your gaze.

Clear the chokepoint, get into the lab rooms down the hall around the corner, make for the stairwell on the other side of the floor.

That's what you'd do, so you know it's what he's thinking, too. No confirmation needed.

The door bursts open. You duck, missing the arms reaching for your neck. It's dark in here, but you rely on muscle memory and gravity to sweep the zombie's legs out from under it and stomp on its head while you fire at the next one.

The attackers are -- well, they look mostly human. But their eyes are wild, blood running down their faces like tears, pink foam and spit dripping from their mouths.

Leon's movements are sharp and decisive. Headshot, parry, twist. Uppercut, knee sweep, headshot. He occupies the air around you like he's magnetized to your movements, always filling the space where you aren't, ceding room when you need it. After hours upon hours of mat practice between the two of you and hundreds of field opportunities to master it, you work together like a well-oiled machine.

It's exhilarating.

You're forced back from the door, but you keep firing, slicing, covering each other. It's essential that you get into the hall sooner rather than later to avoid being trapped in this room.

A zombie rips the arm off another in its attempt to get to you. That's new.

"What the fuck were they doing with this shit?" Leon grunts. He's splattered with blood now. No doubt you are too.

"That's what I was going to tell you before our party of two got crashed," you say between shots. 

"They wanted to control people."

"Yeah, this sure looks like control to me!"

"We have to clear it or we'll have to fight through on our way back up."

Leon grunts his agreement. "They're not biting." His aim is true, as always. He downs two, three, four infected. "They just want to rip us apart!"

"We need to go into the hall. Cover me," you say, dodging bloody fingers and sliding through the door. "Switching weapons!"

Your assault rifle is strapped to your back. You holster your pistol and reach around for it, but something catches your jacket and pulls.

The fabric tears. For a split second, you worry your flesh will be next, but then the tug disappears. Leon grunts and he breaks the neck of whatever had you.

You keep your gaze on the approaching pack, maybe 10 or 15 strong. Leon keeps taking them down while you holster your pistol and check the new cartridge.

"Gonna need to reload in a second here," he calls. "Six left. Five. Four --"

"Ready," you shout. Leon stabs a zombie in the neck and walks behind it, using it as a wall against reaching fingers until he's at your side again. He tears his knife free and slides beside you, solid, ready.

You open fire.

That's all it takes. The hallway is soon empty and bloodier than before. All you can hear is your combined panting.

Leon lowers his gun. "Nice job," he says.

You drop yours, too. "What was this floor called again? Menace?"

"Basically," he says, slamming in a new clip. "Divine wrath or anger."

"No shit." You look down at the tear in your jacket. "God damnit, this is my favorite."

Leon checks his chamber. "I'll get you a new one," he says.

You laugh. He almost smiles, like that was his goal all along.

The rest of the floor is mostly clear. A few stragglers here and there, but they're no match for the two of you. The containment chambers seem to be where the infected gathered in the months since this facility went dark -- the walls are covered in scratch marks.

"I can't believe they didn't kill each other," Leon says with mild disgust. "Not having control of yourself like that...I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

You've read the report from Spain. He knows how it feels.

"Do you think they're aware?" you wonder aloud.

He looks so sad for a moment that you almost reach for him. "I hope not."

--

Level B2: KAMATOS

The stairwell is a mess. The door to B2 is barricaded, but you manage to get through after slamming your shoulders against it over and over.

This floor is quiet, but in a different way than upstairs. Years of field-trained instincts tell you there's nothing left alive on this floor. That, and it made a hell of a lot of noise getting the door open, and nothing popped out.

It's dustier down here, like things have been still for longer.

"What's this one mean?" you ask. "This virus."

"Extreme fatigue," Leon tells you.

"So if they controlled adrenaline levels on the first floor to make them angry, they're depriving people of sleep on this floor?"

He shrugs. "Maybe they found a way to keep the brain awake without killing it."

They did not.

The documents you find suggest the virus was a failure. The bodies you find confirm it. Hosts died from heart failure, self-inflicted wounds, a number of things, no matter what the scientists did to keep the mind from giving up. All by depriving them of sleep.

Being so tired that you see no other way out…

The horror of it all rises in your throat. You leave Leon with the corpses so you can press your forehead to the cool hallway wall.

This job asks a lot of you. Your time, your well-being. Your security, your personal relationships, your hobbies. It's overwhelming and can bury a person. The things you see, the things you do -- it gets to you. It’s easy to shove it down, to pretend like you're untouchable, but that's no way to live, either.

Sometimes you just have to feel it.

These poor people.

Leon's hand is light on your shoulder. Not patronizing, not rushing, just there. Warm, solid.

You take a deep breath, then stand up straight.

"Let's take a quick break before the last floor," Leon says.

"I'm fine."

You turn to face him, but he's already crouching, back against the wall.

He grins, a real smile this time. It makes him look younger. "Who said it was for you?"

It's like he's giving you permission to put it all down for a second. To forget where you are, why you're there, what you're doing. Leon's guard is rarely fully down, and right now he's telling you that he's got you. Rest for a second, I'll take care of us.

He's proven to you over and over that he will.

So you smile back, shaky but genuine. "Getting old, Kennedy?"

"Something like that." He looks up at you, grin softening into something fond. "Do you remember Greece?"

You slide down the wall to his level. "Do I remember Greece? Be serious. How could I forget --"

"All those stairs," Leon finishes. "Exactly."

It was last year in the height of summer. A small, sleepy cliffside town, except for the fact that a scummy billionaire moved into the monastery and started developing B.O.W.'s in the catacombs.

The town was evacuated. You were sent in to apprehend the guy and secure whatever virus he was using. It turned into three days of running up and down stone staircases away from bats with tentacles and lizards with thousands of teeth where you wouldn't expect teeth to be.

Over the course of your partnership, you've seen each other in all states, but you've never seen Leon as exhausted as he was after that mission.

"I thought I was going to have to carry you to the rendezvous point," you remind him. "You fell down so many stairs."

Leon rubs his knees as if remembering the way they smacked stone over and over.

"And you would have," he says.

He catches your gaze and holds it. He's reminding you that you're in this together. That he trusts you, something you do not take lightly. It's hard to know who you can trust in this job, even your very own employer, but he never doubts you. You never doubt him.

The familiar ache of everything you feel for him sits warm and heavy on your chest. He's the best man you've ever known.

"I would have," you say.

Leon dips his chin, his mouth curling into a smaller smile than before, but this one is just as fond.

"We should go back," you say without meaning to.

It surprises him, but he hides it well.

"That would be nice," he muses. "I don't know the last time I took a vacation."

"We could go to the beach," you continue. It's scarily easy to imagine -- Leon in swim trunks, cheeks pink from the sun. "Stay at the bottom of the stairs and not walk up a single one."

"But you liked the monastery," he reminds you. "We'd have to go back up to see the windows."

Of course he remembers how you'd looked up in awe at the stained glass, gun in your hand and blood on your face.

"I'll climb up by myself. You can relax."

Leon sighs. "Relax," he says. "I don't even know if I know how to do that."

"You're good at everything," you say. "You'll pick it up in no time."

Whatever game this is, you're having too much fun playing it. Leon doesn't lie to you, so while he might be indulging you, there's a part of him that means all of this. He has to know that you mean it, too.

He stands and offers you his hand.

"One more floor," he says. "Then we can go to Greece."

--

Level B3: PYRETOS

The hit comes out of nowhere.

Maybe you're distracted by talk of vacation, or your guard is down after the silence of B2, but you don't see it coming. One second you're rounding the corner, the next you're flying backwards through glass, back slamming against a cabinet. You land heavily on the ground, more glass and something wet raining down on you.

Leon yells your name.

You try to catch your breath, but it's stuck in your chest. He's still calling for you in between gunshots.

"Fuck," you croak, finally finding air. You roll onto your side. Glass crunches under your weight as you try to figure out what the hell just happened.

Everything hurts, but you try to shake it off and push up to standing. Leon hauls himself through the broken window. He begins to clear the room after he sees you on your feet.

"Clear. That was one ugly son of a bitch," he says. "Must have gotten down here from upstairs."

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat.

Something isn't right.

Your skin feels tight, like you already went on vacation and got burned to a crisp. Your pulse won't slow. Deep breaths feel impossible. Strangest of all, it's almost like –

Well, your core is buzzing. You press your legs together and try not to panic.

In the early days, after Leon got shot but well before Greece, you hid an injury from him.

You took a knife to the ribs during a fight. It wasn't too deep, but it was wide and bleeding steadily. Adrenaline allowed you to get through it. You figured you could patch yourself up the next time you slowed. But Leon pushed on ahead, and you followed without saying anything.

That is, until you left a bloody handprint on a door. He stopped immediately.

"Is that yours?" he said. "Where are you hurt?"

"It's nothing," you protested. But Leon S. Kennedy does not give up easily.

"Show me," he said, pulling out bandages from his hip pouch. "When did this happen?"

"I'm not compromised," you said, even as you lifted your jacket to show him.

"I know you aren't," he said. "I want to know when you're hurt so I can make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," you said weakly. He patched you up quickly and thoroughly.

"We're partners," he told you. "We have to help each other."

Here, now, you don’t hide from him.

"Leon," you croak. "Something's wrong. I think I --"

He's at your side in an instant, so close your breath hitches. Why are you so affected by him? Why are you so warm?

"The rip in your jacket," Leon says. "Your arm is bleeding."

"Liquid," you gasp. "It felt wet when I hit the cabinet."

The pieces come together. Shattered vials at your feet, an empty cabinet behind you. The dull red emergency lights make it hard to tell what color the puddle is, but you know it can't be good.

"They wouldn't keep a virus out in the open, would they?" you ask weakly. You're shaking now, shivering even though you don't feel cold.

"Fever," he breathes. "Pyretos. It means fever."

You've rarely seen Leon afraid. He's human, so it happens, but normally he faces things head-on without complaint.

Right now, he looks terrified. That scares you more than anything.

"Leon," you whisper. "What do we do?"

He snaps into action. He hands you a roll of bandages.

"Wrap it," he says. He presses a few buttons on his watch until it beeps. Setting a timer, no doubt. Just in case. "How do you feel? Describe it to me."

"Feverish," you say. "But not dizzy. I can think clearly."

Leon starts to dig around the lab, tearing open drawers and rifling through what he finds. The office on this floor wasn't in the same place as the other two, so any information must be in here, right?

"What else?"

You follow his lead, desperately searching for anything helpful. How do you explain the fact that your entire body is pulsing with a very specific kind of need? It scares you, feeling this out of control physically while also being in your right mind.

You land on achey. The buzzing under your skin gets worse every minute you spend looking and finding fuck all.

"There's nothing here," he says, frustrated. "Shit."

You're thinking the same thing: no vaccines. Any hope for you is in this lab.

But then -- your eye catches on a cabinet sitting on deep grooves in the floor.

"There's a door," you tell him, already heading for it. A wave of need hits you so suddenly that you have to brace yourself on the wall to catch your breath. Leon brushes by you. The slight contact has you swallowing a moan.

Jesus Christ.

He shoves the cabinet aside. Behind it is a door that opens into the lab office, as dark as the others.

You follow him in and start searching the shelves. Leon drags a table into the perfect place to effectively barricade you in.

"We don't have time to be interrupted right now," he says. He starts searching the desk.

You're sweating now. If this thing is going to turn you, Leon can't be here for it. You don't want him to see it. "Maybe you should go back to the surface --"

"I'm not leaving you," he interrupts. It's sharp, final.

"But if I turn--"

Leon whirls around. "I'm not leaving you," he says again.

Your nose stings. It's not the rational choice, but it's the Leon Kennedy choice. You can't help but be grateful for it.

He returns to the papers. Everywhere your clothing touches your skin feels heavy, almost painful. Your skin is sensitive, your throat dry, breath still fast.

You're so turned on, you think you might explode. It's all you can do to just stand there and try to keep it together.

"I found something," Leon says. He says nothing else. It's hard to see his expression in the dark without being close to him. You don't know if you can handle that right now.

"Bad news, doc?"

He swallows and begins to read.

"In an effort to bend the subject to commands, a fever is introduced via the bloodstream that increases testosterone and dopamine to near-unbearable levels of arousal. We have successfully altered the balance to allow the mind to be unaffected, making the reaction purely physical. The fever, if detected and combated within 1 hour, can be reduced by repeated bursts of oxytocin until the subject's internal temperature returns to normal. Required oxytocin levels seem to vary by subject; no pattern discernible at this time."

"What the fuck does that mean?" you pant. Your skin feels too tight. You still can't take a full breath. Control is becoming a missed opportunity. "Do I have a sex fever?"

No answer.

"Leon."

He exhales sharply.

"I think you need to be touched," he says. "To release the chemical that will help you fight this on your own."

Your responding laugh edges on hysterical.

"I do have a sex fever. So, what, you're going to hug me and hope I don't die?"

"I could," he says. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "I just don't think it'll be enough. This says bursts, and a lot of them. The best way to trigger that kind of response is --"

It clicks in your mind.

"Orgasm," you whisper. "Oh, god."

Leon closes his eyes for a second too long.

"I don't know what to do," he admits. He looks at his watch. "It's been 10 minutes. I don't know what--"

"I'm so sorry," you breathe. The gravity of your situation is like a bucket of cold water. If only it actually made you feel cold. You have to fuck your partner or die. What kind of sick joke is this? "Leon, I'm so sorry. You don't have to do anything, this is my fault --"

He tosses the file onto the table.

"I'm not going to let you die," he says with all his usual conviction. He really believes it, and it makes it easier for you to believe it, too. "Not when there's something I can do about it."

"But not like this," you croak. "This is --"

"I know."

God, you wish the lights were on. You want to see every detail of his face to discern what he's feeling. Can you ask him to do this? Will it ruin everything forever?

A tremor wracks through you. You have to brace yourself on the desk.

He yanks open drawers until he finds a thermometer. It beeps alive, somehow, and he holds it up to your forehead.

"Shit," he mutters.

"What?"

Leon flips the device to show you the screen. 103.2.

"Shit," you echo.

Your brain is going to cook in your skull sooner rather than later. You swallow frustrated tears along with your pride.

"I'm so wet," you whisper. It's the lewdest thing you've ever said to him. "I can feel it."

Leon inhales sharply, standing ever-so-still just next to you, just out of reach.

The pain radiates through you, molten lava in your veins. It's strange to be able to think so clearly. You want Leon as badly as you always do. That's bearable. But the pain. The heat. It's something else, something all-consuming.

You need him to touch you.

"Please don't make me beg," you whimper, turning towards him.

"Jesus," he mutters, filling the space you make for him. His hands find your face. You groan. The contact is like a balm, even through his gloves.

"Oh god."

You nuzzle into his palms. It's like you can feel the battle in your blood, the virus doing its best to cook you from the inside out, but Leon's touch is giving you a foothold, a reprieve.

If it wasn't so awful, you'd laugh at the idea that you're so horny you might die.

"Whatever you need, I'll do," he says. His voice is already hoarse. "But just -- you have to tell me if it's not okay. And I'll stop. We'll figure something else out."

You lean back on the desk and grab his elbows. You've touched plenty, but never like this. Never loaded with all of the unspoken things between you, never with such desperation.

"It's okay," you tell him. "Whatever it takes, it's okay. I trust you."

His thigh slides between your legs.

"Can you forgive me? If I do this?" he whispers, lips so close to yours. You lean forward on instinct, pulled to him by more than just the fire in your core.

"There's nothing to forgive," you say, and then you're kissing.

What you need is an orgasm, but this is something you've wondered about for a long time. Something you've wanted. It almost feels selfish to take it now.

But, fuck, it's good.

He's not shy. You trace the seam of his lips with your tongue. He opens for you immediately, licking into your mouth as he pulls you forward and onto his thigh.

His kisses are desperate, exposing his worry, but also tender, exposing his care. You're in good hands, hands you love.

Even through your pants, the pressure of your cunt on his thigh is enough to steal your breath.

"God," you gasp.

"Not quite," Leon says, kissing a path from your mouth down your neck. "Does that help?"

You grind down on him in reply. His palms have made their way to your hips, aiding you in your quest for pressure on your core.

It's too much. It's not enough. But still, the coil tightens. "Sorry, I just need --"

You chase it, grinding down on his thigh even harder, panting into his neck. You're close, you can feel it. You're chasing it, that snap, that reward. Leon just lets you take and take and take.

You thread your fingers through his hair, panting into his neck. When you tug just a little, he bounces his leg and you keen.

"More, please."

It only takes three more bounces before you're coming, shudders ripping through you, his name on your lips.

When you return to your body, Leon is dragging his palm up and down your back.

"Did you just--"

You're becoming very familiar with the fabric of his shoulder, his leather harness pressing into your cheek.

"Mhm," you manage.

There's a world where you're embarrassed. In that world, you asked Leon out for dinner and then up to your place after. In that world, you made out on the couch and ground down on his thigh until you came. In that world, he laughed with you, utterly charmed, and it was the beginning of something wonderful.

In this one, he gently tilts you back so he can check your temperature with the thermometer.

"Holy shit," he breathes. "102.1. It worked."

You don't feel that different, but the number doesn't lie.

Leon is panting, too. "More?"

You nod. Your cunt aches like you didn't have an orgasm at all.

He tugs off a glove with his teeth, dropping it god knows where.

"Don't know how clean my hands are," he says.

A laugh bursts out of you, but it sounds close to a sob.

Two fingers go in his mouth faster than you can open yours. He doesn't waste too much time wetting them, given how turned on you already are, but he gives them a good suck. A trail of spit hangs from his lip when he finishes.

You work at the buttons of your pants, unbuckling your tactical belt. It clangs onto the desk behind you. Leon slides his hand down under the waistband of your panties. You collapse into him with a guttural moan.

"Leon," you gasp. He holds you up, no problem, even as you go utterly boneless at just his fingers in your folds.

"You weren't kidding," he says, breathy. "You are wet."

"I'm sorry," you pant into his shoulder.

"Please don't say sorry again," he groans. "I can't take it."

"Can I say thank you?"

"That's worse," he says, sliding two fingers into you at the same time. "I just wish it wasn't like this, is all."

The absurdity of the whole thing makes it hard to keep your emotional walls high. What's the point? You're having sex with your partner to save your life in an underground Umbrella laboratory. You're way past keeping your emotions from him.

So you hear his words for what they are. For what he's not saying.

"Oh, yeah?" He curls his fingers and you groan, arching into him. "You have something you want to tell me, Kennedy?"

"Little late for that."

He presses his lips to your jaw, but you pull back so you can see his eyes. He's flushed, his pupils taking over almost all of the blue you love so dearly.

"I always want to know how you feel," you tell him. It's honest, raw, perhaps out of place when he's knuckle deep in your cunt.

"Fuck," he breathes, like eye contact is enough to undo him.

"I just want to help you," he says. "I always want to help you when you need it." He picks up the pace with his fingers. "I like being the guy who has your back."

His thumb circles your clit. It’s all you can do to hang onto his shoulders and ride it out as he keeps talking.

"I want to give you everything you've ever wanted," he says. "I miss you when you leave the room. I trust you more than anyone I've ever met."

"Oh, Leon," you gasp, grinding down onto his hand. "Me too. Me too."

He scrapes his teeth along your neck. "Yeah?"

"Yes, yes, yes --"

The orgasm washes over you. You clench around him over and over. He carefully pulls his hand from your panties and licks his fingers. Good god.

Something has shifted between you. It's still about the mission, about breaking your fever, but now it's more. It's more, because you both want it.

Leon leans in for a kiss. You meet him halfway, tasting yourself on his lips.

Beep.

"101.3," he says.

You push his hair back from his forehead. "Is that low enough?"

This time, you do feel a bit different. Maybe it's the confirmation that Leon has feelings for you, but your muscles feel more relaxed, your skin less taut. The need still burns, though.

"There's no way to say this without sounding like a creep," he says wryly. "But I think you should have a few more."

You drag your hands up and down his torso, but your gaze lands on his makeshift barricade.

"Do we think we have time?"

Even as you ask, you're toeing off your boots and shoving your pants down. Leon is quick to help you.

"If anything comes through that door," he says, fingers hooked in your underwear, "I can kill it with my eyes closed."

He hooks his hand under your thighs and helps you up onto the desk fully, sweeping everything onto the ground.

"So could you," he adds. You hum in agreement. Your hand returns to his torso, trailing it down to the front of his pants.

He's hard.

It's not entirely a surprise, but you're pleased.

"I know, I'm sorry, it's kind of fucked up --" he tries. You don't let it get very far.

"Don't you apologize," you say. "You're allowed to want, Leon. I promise you, whatever you want, you can have. You already do."

His answer to that is a kiss, not searing and heated like before, but soft and slow. Like he's memorizing you, learning every inch of your mouth just because he can.

A wave of heat rolls through you, so intense and unexpected that you have to close your eyes and grit your teeth against the pain.

Leon rubs your back and tells you to breathe, it's okay, you're going to be okay.

The heat dulls. "How long has it been?" you ask through gritted teeth, eyes still shut.

"26 minutes."

His thumbs stroke your cheeks, helping you come back to yourself.

"Are you okay to keep going?" he asks. "I'll do whatever you want."

You reach for his belt with shaking hands. Not because you don't want him, or because you're scared, but because you need him. You need him to survive. This was just as true before you got infected as it is now. And you have him.

He has you.

Leon lets you unbuckle his pants as he undoes his harness and his tactical pouches. They both fall to the ground.

You take him in hand and he hisses. His cock is warm, another layer of heat against your already burning skin. His hips jerk when you stroke him root to tip.

His fingers circle your wrist to stop you.

"Another time," he says. He kisses your chin. "Okay?"

There will be another time. Leon doesn't say things he doesn't mean, so you take it to heart. This will happen again.

It's not exactly romantic, the way you lean back on some long-dead bioterrorist's desk naked from the waist down, Leon's pants shoved down his thighs and his cock in his hand. But it's what you've got, and it's what you'll take.

You spread your legs for him. He sucks in air like a man just saved from drowning.

"Ready?" he asks. You feel his tip at your entrance and can't swallow the moan that rips from your throat in the shape of his name. He wastes no more time sinking into you in one stroke.

You come immediately, legs wrapped around his hips. You might scream, it's hard to tell. But you're so full and it finally feels right. Like you've been missing something all along and finally found it.

Leon says your name over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer.

"I wish I could see you properly," he says, voice breaking. "I wish –

His hips jerk forward even though he's bottomed out. He leans forward until he's bracing his forearms on either side of your head, brushing your nose with his. He's right. It's hard to see him fully in the red-washed office.

"You know what I look like," you tell him.

"Not like this," he shakes his head. "Not like this."

"You're doing so good," you say, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Leon, it feels so good --"

It's a strange sensation to feel your blood cooling while he's inside you, to regain control of your body just as you surrender your heart.

Leon starts to move his hips, a slow drag at first, but it quickly becomes a snap. You dig your fingers into his biceps and hold on. You can hear how wet you are as he fucks you.

The coil in your core tightens again. "Leon," you moan. "I'm gonna--"

He kisses you, hips slowing to a grind. He reaches between you with one hand to find your clit and give it some messy circles.

"Go ahead," he says against your mouth. "I can take it."

Your cunt clenches around him. Tears prick in your eyes not from overstimulation but from everything else -- the heat in your veins, the tenderness of his hold, the way he's kissing you as you fall apart, swallowing your gasps.

"So beautiful," he says. And god, it sounds like he means it. Half-dressed, sweaty and bandaged, he means it.

Leon goes back to shallow thrusts, but they're becoming more erratic.

"How many is that?"

"Four," Leon says.

"Are you..."

He nods. "I'm close."

His forehead is damp from the effort. You wipe it with the heel of your hand.

"It's okay," you tell him. "It's okay, Leon. You can --"

You tighten your legs around him to hold him inside.

His breath hitches, but he picks up the pace without argument.

The smack of your flesh fills the room. The only thing on your mind is Leon Leon Leon.

The noise he makes just before he comes inside you is a punched-out whine of your name. He stills above you entirely, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

"So beautiful," you echo. "So beautiful, Leon."

He keeps his weight off you but presses his face into your neck as he catches his breath.

"Fuck," he says. "How do you feel?"

You need to check your temperature, but remarkably better. The heat in your veins is an expected one. You can feel sweat cooling on your skin. The incessant need in your cunt has dulled to a satiated ache.

"Still alive." You kiss him chastely, considering he's still inside you.

"Let me check -- where the hell did that thing go?"

He pulls out. You both hiss just a bit, but he finds the thermometer on the ground.

Beep.

"98.3," Leon says. "That's normal."

You feel boneless and make no move to get up from the desk. If you did, you'd surely make a mess.

"Finally, something normal about today."

Leon tucks his cock back into his briefs, buttons his pants. He drags his hands up and down your thighs.

"Can I clean you up?" he asks.

Even though you now know how he feels, know that he wants you just as much as you want him, he's done so much for you today. Your temperature is back to normal. You still need to make it back to the surface.

"You don't need to," you say. "Just...give me a clean bandage, or something --"

"Let me do this for you," he interrupts. Begs, really, already getting on his knees between your legs. "One more. Just to be safe."

The heat that builds is nothing like the wild, uncontrollable fire of before. This is all you, all Leon. 

The fact that he wants his mouth on you, wants to lick his own come from your cunt.

"Okay," you breathe. You thread your fingers through his hair. He preens.

He kisses the inside of your thigh and pushes your legs wider.

Maybe you should feel exposed, but you don't. You feel wanted. You feel safe.

Leon pulls your folds open with his thumbs. He starts with long licks with the flat of his tongue along your seam, flicking your clit when he reaches the top. But your entrance quickly becomes his focus, and suddenly he's a man possessed.

He laps up his own release as it drips from you, humming when you tug on his hair. He hardly comes up for air, but you know he's paying attention to your reactions based on the way he moves his mouth. He sucks on your clit. Your hips buck, so he does it again.

"Leon," you gasp. How is it possible that you're going to come again? But you feel it, the rising tide in your core. All it takes is a glance down to find him watching you, soaking in whatever he can see in the dim light.

He keeps his mouth on you through your final orgasm. This time, a few tears leak from your eyes. Your breath evens out and your heartbeat actually slows the way you expect it to. The fever is broken, you're certain of it.

"Just to be safe," you say to the ceiling. "You just wanted to show me how good you were at that."

Leon wipes his face with the back of his hand.

"I like to be thorough," he replies. He stands, drags your underwear and pants up with him. 

"Are you okay? How are the symptoms?"

"I think so." You scoot forward on the table so he can pull your clothes over your hips. "It doesn't feel like a fever anymore."

"What does it feel like?"

Your legs are a little shaky, but you stand and wrap your arms around him. You've just had sex to save your life, but you don't know if you've ever hugged Leon before.

"It feels like you," you tell him, cheek pressed to his shoulder.

Leon stills, but you can hear his heartbeat pick up. He envelops you in his embrace, lips pressed against your temple, his inhale shaky.

"I'm glad," he whispers. "I'm so fucking glad."

He's hidden his fear from you so well this whole time, but you saw the look on his face when he realized you were infected. You hug him tighter, willing the fear to leave him. You're okay. You're here, in his arms. He saved you.

"What now?" you ask. You turn in his arms. He releases you so you can reach for your tactical belt.

"We get out of here in one piece," he says. "We get you to medical."

"Fucking medical," you mutter. You shove your foot back in your discarded boot.

"I won't leave you there," Leon says. They could keep you for days, but you know he means it. "Then I'll take you home. And we'll sleep for days."

You almost forget that you don't have to keep your feelings from him. You let the joy take over your face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says, a little sheepish. "If you want to."

"I want to," you assure him. "I want to."

You'll have to talk about this, surely. The way it changes your partnership, how to navigate field work. There is so much to learn about him. What he's like on a quiet morning at home instead of a stakeout. The noises you can pull from him in a real bedroom. His face when you tell him you love him.

The future is bright.

Leon buckles his harness. He laughs to himself, tearing you from your thoughts.

"What?"

He straightens your belt and grins crookedly, boyish and lovely.

Comfort and Control

You weren’t sure when you had lulled off to sleep, but you were positive that it was not too long after getting into Leon’s car. The dinner party had been long, and you had taken the reins for both of you to socialise, talk, be the front of the duo, seeing as Leon didn’t much like to engage in small talk or mingle. These dinners were formal, and part of the industry song and dance that occasionally you two had to perform. You knew Leon felt guilty having to drag you along with him to work nights, but the other part of him felt comforted in knowing that right beside him, you would be there.

The pair of you made your excuses the moment you were both able to depart from dinner, and walked out into the cool night air. You linked your arm with Leon’s and walked in silence, your heads practically buzzing and swollen from having to mask yourselves all night. But now that it was just you two, silence equated to comfort.

As Leon opened the passenger door for you, he could see the toll the night had taken on you, the way your tired eyes were lulling, how you instantly took your shoes off in the car to relieve your aching feet. Whilst he drove, Leon would glimpse over at you, checking in to make sure you were alright, and softly smirking to himself as you gave in momentarily to your lethargy.

Leon couldn't help but always felt proud when you would relax to the point of sleeping in his company, especially whilst he drove. It made him feel like he was doing something right, protecting you but also that he was enough to make you feel safe and relaxed whilst he controlled the situation.

Leon parked the car, and spared a moment or two looking at you before getting out of his side and rounding himself to your door. When he opened up, he saw you had opened your eyes and were feeding your sore feet back into the shoes you had picked out. You sluggishly swung your legs out of the car, and stood up, greeted by the warmth of Leon’s dinner jacket as he swooped it around your shoulders.

“C’mon, lets get inside.” He muttered as he leaned over to press a chaste kiss to your cheek before closing the passenger door over and locking the car.

Leon fed his hand into yours, linking his strong fingers with your own as you walked up to the front door. As Leon stepped in front of you to put his keys into the lock, you folded your arms and closed your eyes, as if to briefly alleviate the exhaustion that continued to plague you. Leon opened the door, and turned to look at you, smirking at your dormant demeanour.

Suddenly, you felt a shift, the world tipping as Leon’s shoulder softly pressed into your torso, and his hand anchoring on the back of your legs as he manoeuvred you across his body and into a fireman’s lift.

“Let’s get you to bed, tired girl.” Leon mused as he walked with you slung over his shoulder, his polished shoes kicking back to close over the front door to your home.

It never failed to impress you that despite his age, Leon was still strong and capable of lifting you, especially in times like now, when he’d show off by lifting you over his shoulder and up the stairs, towards the bedroom. In much different circumstances, you’d be squealing and laughing, with the promise of more to come, but after tonight, you simply went limp and entirely deadweight against Leon's body, secure in the fact that Leon had you securely in his grasp as he climbed the stairs.

You did however briefly open your eyes to chance a glance at your husband’s buttocks and legs as he walked down the landing, smirking tiredly, you reached down and tapped one of his suit-pant clad cheeks. In turn, Leon huffed an amused chuckle at your gesture, and softly returned fire with a gentle swat to your buttocks beside his head.

“Knock it off back there.” He grumbled and smirked impishly as he heard your amused laughter at the back of him. He turned into your bedroom, taking a few paces closer to your king size bed before he bowed down to let your feet touch the floor.

As your weight returned, to did the searing discomfort in the heels and soles of your feet. Leon observed the wince as it glimmered across your face, and knelt down whilst taking your hands and placing them on his shoulders for stability. You looked down at his mess of dusky blonde and graying hairs atop of his head as he took your heels, rested the sole on the top of his toned thigh, and began to unfasten your shoes. Leon reached to cup the back of your calf with one hand, whilst the other slid off your offending shoe. As he did so, he leaned in further, and pressed a kiss to your shin and calf.

“Leon.” You breathed, the mixture of relief paired with the loving act on your husband’s behalf, practically melted your being.

“Gimme your other foot baby.” Leon said, planting another kiss on the top of your foot before motioning for the other to receive the same treatment.

You moved and allowed Leon to position your other foot onto his knelt thigh as he worked the small strap out from its buckle, before sliding it off your pulsing foot. Whilst one foot contrasted with the cool, hard floor of the bedroom, the other rested on the expensive fabric of Leon’s suit pants. Leon kissed your shin, then your ankle, his slight stubble grazing your warm skin. You couldn’t help but reach down and comb your fingers through his mop of hair, smoothing it back and away to reveal his face to you as he kissed your calf.

“So perfect.” You sighed as you brushed your thumb in a back and forward motion across Leon’s forehead, decorated with age lines.

“Could say the same about you.” Leon lazily smirked, his teeth grazing against your skin as he kissed your leg once more before standing up slowly, towering above you.

Leon reached up to cup your cheeks in both his large, calloused hands, your face practically dwarfing between them. He rubbed his thumbs over your cheeks before stepping into you, and kissing you. Your eyes closed over and your arms instinctively wrapped around Leon’s neck as he turned and deepened the kiss. It was sleepy, slow, heady.

You slipped your hands down to the collar of Leon’s navy shirt, your fingers deftly twisting open the buttons, one by one, revealing more of his familiar, tanned skin to you. It didn’t matter if it was the first time, or the hundredth time, seeing any inch of Leon’s naked body never failed to make your stomach flutter.

“Don’t get any ideas” Leon whispered against your lips, though he didn’t stop your hands from finishing to unbutton his shirt. “We can have some fun in the morning, but for now…we both need to go to sleep.” He sighed as he helped you with shrugging off the shirt, the fabric falling to the floor beside your shoes.

You nodded, wordlessly, as if exhaustion had robbed you of the very function to talk. Instead, you simply looked from Leon’s features, and down to his body, your hands smoothing and flattening over his skin, every taught muscle hidden under scarred flesh. You paid attention to several marks made in his past, deep and pale scars that you never asked him about, though you knew he would confess to you their origins in a heartbeat if you wanted to know.

Whilst your fingers grazed across his chest hairs and the scattering of beauty marks adorning his stomach and ribs, Leon’s arms wrapped around your waist, his hands seeking out the zipper at the back of your dress. Sensing what he was doing, you stepped even closer to his body, essentially pressing your fronts together, so that he could look over your shoulder and down your back to see what he was doing.

The sound of your zipper rasping as Leon moved it lower and lower, filled the atmosphere of the room. Leon then carefully hooked his fingers into the thin straps atop of your shoulders, and moved them down and over your arms, peeling the dress south and off your body to pool around your bare feet, leaving you in just your underwear.

Much like your reaction to Leon’s half naked frame, he had a similar and unwavering reaction every time he viewed your body. You allowed him to look you over, the underwear you had picked out being a pair that you knew Leon liked, perhaps subconsciously you had chosen it as a reward for having to go to an otherwise boring work dinner party. Leon couldn’t help but lean down and kiss the roundest portion of your shoulder, his hands reaching to cup your elbows as your own found his waist.

“Don’t get any ideas.” You teased, repeating Leon’s words to him as you felt his hands lower to smooth and cup over your ass, his hands lovingly squeezing you into him.

You felt Leon chuckle against you, lazy and in a manner that resembled a growl in response to your impish copying. “Shoes off.” You instructed him quietly as you began to reach for Leon’s belt.

As Leon kicked off his shoes, you slipped his belt out from its buckle and unpopped the fastener of his suit pants. The belt clanged noisily as Leon’s pants slid down his muscular legs to group together with your dress and his shirt. Now it was your turn to ogle, eyeing up your husband as he stood in his black boxers, moving his weight to take off each of his socks, leaving him one piece of fabric away from being naked as the day he was born.

Just as you absent mindedly curled one finger into the waistband of his boxers, Leon wrapped his arms around you again and lifted you up, before crawling both of you onto the bed. Immediately, the plush and inviting comfort of your bed pulled you in, and you were torn between fawning over Leon, and turning into the sheets and blankets to give in to sleep. And Leon was well aware of it.

He pulled back momentarily to reach over and dim the bedroom lights, leaving you both in a warm glow amidst the dark night hue. Leon peeled back the sheets, and crawled in beside you.

“C’mere” Leon huffed as he sought you out, shuffling to press his front into your back, spooning you and feeding the warmth of his body into yours. You could feel his chest pressing into your shoulders, so much so that you could swear you could feel his heartbeat.

Leon’s left arm slung itself over your waist, and curled against you, pulling you as close as he could to his frame. You lifted your head up and off the pillow to allow Leon to rest his right arm under your temple, allowing you the use his inner bicep as a cushion. You both shuffled, squirmed and settled, finding the perfect position of comfort.

Leon listened closely to your breathing, a habit he always had, listening to the way you evened out and sighed, calm and sleepy. He always made sure you fell asleep before him, it was an unbreakable rule of his that he had to make sure he saw you to sleep first before himself.

Your left hand found the back of Leon’s, and you gripped your fingers between his, bringing his knuckles up to your lips. Leon relished in the feeling of your gentle breathing and lips, fluttering across his skin, how both your wedding rings pressed against one another as you clasped your hand over his as you turned your face into the palm of his hand to kiss against the heel of it.

“You doe-eyed recruits are always so eager to please,” Leon murmurs as the pad of his finger traces the corner of your mouth, stretched open wide around his cock. He lets out a chuckle, “never thought I’d get one on his knees on his very first day.”

You try to respond with some sort of agreement, but with your mouth stuffed full of Leon’s cock, all that comes out is a sound you hope conveys your response. 

The vibration of the sound must do something for Leon, because it has him thrusting forward with a twitch, sending his cock deeper. Leon groans as your throat convulses around his cock, the head meeting the back of your throat. 

Your first instinct is to get away, but a strong hand on your nape stops you. You struggle against the weight, tears leaking from your eyes as Leon cock remains buried deep. 

“Relax,” Leon commands, shaking you like a dog gripped by its scruff, “breathe through your nose.”

When you try pushing off once more, this time using Leon’s shins, the man still won’t budge. You give up your struggle when black spots begin appearing on the edge of your vision, your heart hammering against your ribcage through the lack of oxygen. 

You suck in a tense breath through your nose, trying to relax. You don’t think you’d ever be able to live it down passing out in your boss’s office on your first day. Of course, you’d do the rational thing and quit, but you don’t think you’d be able to live with yourself knowing you’ve done something so humiliating. 

“That’s it,” Leon says, his hand loosening around your neck, “I don’t need you asphyxiating yourself on my office floor,” he runs this thumb soothingly across your skin. 

You didn’t exactly know how old Leon is, but it caught you by surprise at the way his cock remained hard on your tongue. Even as you felt your body relaxing, Leon stayed the same. 

Leon’s cock throbs on your tongue before you taste the bitter saltiness of his precome hit your tastebuds. When your hands fall from his shins, he gives an experimental roll of his hips, fucking his cock deeper. 

Your senses light once more when you gag once more around his cock, but pride overtakes you feeling it’s not as intense as before. 

“Good boy,” Leon bit out. You could tell he was tense, but whether it’s from an approaching orgasm, or a want to stay still, you couldn’t tell. 

The praise has your cock throbbing in your slacks, your hands itching at your sides to cup yourself and find some sense of relief. You don’t dare move, especially after Leon had barked at you earlier when you tried to wrap a hand around the base of his cock. 

Seemingly as if Leon can read your mind, the toe of his boot softly makes contact with your bulge. It’s there only for a second, long enough to send a shockwave through your body. You’re left with the sour feeling of humiliation when you realize that Leon is waiting for you to do it again. 

A breathy laugh hits your ears when you move, shifting until your cock rests on the toe of Leon’s boot, “you belong down here, don’t you?” He questions. 

You moan softly at the friction to your hardening cock, preparing for the movement of Leon’s hips. 

The movement is accompanied with a gasp, your eyes flicking up to Leon’s face. With his bottom lip held between his teeth, Leon tries to hold in his moans, his other hand not on your neck wrapped tightly around the side of his chair. The leather crinkles underneath his fingernails as Leon lets out another gasp, this one sharper than before. 

You’re able to move under Leon’s loose grip on your nape, your head bobbing up and down. Spit coats your lips as you move up and down, moisture dripping closer and closer to the coarse strands of Leon’s pubic hair. 

Your nose crinkles when it touches it, a surprisingly ticklish sensation. You can smell Leon’s musk stronger than ever: a mix of sweat, cologne, and something darker underneath it all. 

Leon’s moans grow louder, his hand on your nape tightening once more. His hips stay in place, but his hand moves, pushing you down on his cock. He pushes past your gag reflex, hissing as your throat flutters around his thick cock. 

The dark scent, you learn, is all Leon. You breathe it deep into your lungs as you fight your gags, swearing that you can taste it alongside the salty taste of Leon’s precome. It coats the back of your throat with a flavor you don’t think you’ll ever be able to forget. 

Tears run down your face, your throat burning as Leon holds his cock deep. His cock throbs wildly on your tongue, making you think that he must be close. 

You moan around Leon’s cock when the press of his boot becomes firmer. The toe of his boot presses up, right up into your balls and taint. Your moans grow louder as you push down into the touch, grinding into the warm leather. 

You’re given no warning as Leon shoots down your throat, his hips quivering. You cough around Leon’s cock, trying your best to swallow all that he gives. The mess of cum of spit spills from your lips, dripping all the way down until you feel it hit the collar of your new uniform. 

Leon holds your head in place until his cock begins to soften. It feels like forever, but at least as each second goes by, you’re able to breathe easier. 

“Clean me off,” he commands, his voice gruff. 

You work your tongue along his softening cock, Leon grunting when you softly suck the head. The sound goes straight to your cock, still being pressed by Leon’s boot. 

“That’s enough,” Leon decides, his cock falling from your mouth with a pop. He pushes you away with a hand on your forehead, your eyes flicking up to meet his. 

The clang of his belt buckle is loud in your ears as he holds your eye. You bite your tongue to keep from doing something stupid as your eyes flick down to see Leon’s cock disappear from view. 

Once he’s zipped up, you’re left with the sound of the clock on Leon’s wall ticking. Leon lets out a heavy breath from his nose before you feel his boot shift against your cock. 

You moan softly as the toe of his boot drags along the length of your cock, Leon moving to open one of his desk drawers. He tosses a handkerchief in your direction, the same color blue as the logo to the organization you just started working for. 

“Clean yourself up.”

Your head shoots up to look at Leon, the cloth resting in your lap, “what?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?” Leon questions, pulling his boot away, “don’t look at me like that,” he says with a smirk. 

You wipe away the spit and sweat from your face, trying not to grimace when your stained color touches your neck. 

Leon grabs your collar to pull you closer, nearly choking you, “look at the mess you made,” he observes softly. He runs his thumb across the stain, “you work for me now,” he says possessively, “I can’t have you looking a mess can I?”

“No sir,” you whisper, trying to ignore the way Leon’s tone makes your cock twitch. 

“Attaboy,” Leon replies, his hand moving to your shoulder to pull you up, “go get a new uniform on.” He takes the dirty cloth from you and tosses it carelessly on his desk. 

You’re nearly to Leon’s door when you hear the man give a groan behind you. A second later, he’s got you pushed onto the door, his broad chest resting on yours. You gasp when your back meets the door, looking up at Leon with wide eyes. 

“Make sure to not draw any attention with this,” Leon says, his hand cupping your cock, “Chris would eat you alive if he saw you like this,” he whispers. 

Your brows furrow in confusion, not knowing who he was talking about. You try and open your mouth to question him, but Leon swoops forward to press his mouth to yours. 

“Go,” he commands, practically shoving you out the door after he unlocks it. 

You should head straight to Human Resources, but instead, you find the nearest bathroom to splash cold water against your face. 

You jump when you hear one of the stall doors open, “hey!” The man says as he steps up to the sink next to yours, “how’s your first day going?” He asks as he lathers up his hands. 

“Fine,” you respond, suddenly feeling hot under the collar at the prospect of what you had just done being found out. In the mirror, your eyes move from the stain on your collar to the man’s eyes. You couldn’t even remember who this guy was, let alone when you had met earlier that day. 

The man chuckles, “that doesn’t sound very convincing,” he replies, “Leon must be putting you through it.”

“No,” you clear your throat, suddenly tasting the salty remnants of his spend, “he’s,” you swallow tightly, “great,” you finish, flinching when your voice cracks on the word. 

“That guy scares me,” the man responds, sending you a smile, “he never takes any newbies,” he grabs a paper towel to wipe his hands, “you must’ve really caught his eye,” he says as he tosses the wet towel into the trash. 

Your mind races as the man leaves the bathroom, leaving you alone. You thought you had just met Leon today, but you’re able to remember flashes of seeing the man the day of your interview. From what you could remember, all you did was walk past the man without even a glance. 

You lean down to the faucet to swish cold water around your mouth. It does little to help, but maybe something stronger like a cup of coffee would be better. You give one last glance to yourself in the mirror, trying to smooth out your disheveled appearance. 

Even if the coffee doesn’t help, you’d be able to blame it for the stain on your collar if someone catches you on your way to get a new shirt. 

By the time you’re back to Leon’s office, he’s back in his chair. You take a seat across from him, his eyes watching you as he speaks on the floor. 

When his icy blue eyes meet yours, you look down, keeping your gaze glued to the floor. Minutes later, Leon’s boots fill your vision before a hand is on your chin, turning your view up to look at him. 

“Almost lunch time,” Leon says, his eyes flicking over to the clock on the wall, “you hungry?”

You nod tensely, waiting with bated breath to see what Leon would say, or do, next. 

“C’mon,” he says, grabbing his jacket, “there’s somewhere I want to take you.”

Outside of Leon’s office, you respond, “to eat?” 

“Come now, swing wide those gates, 'Cause I have paid my penance kindly well in time for judgement day. Somehow I knew my fate, Turns out the gods we thought were dying were just sharpening their blades

Have you been waiting long for me? ” -Even In Arcadia by Sleep Token

St Jude’s Medical Centre, Brightwater, Ohio. October 9th 2026 20:37.

“Call me in the morning, when they say you’re fit for discharge.” Leon insisted gently. “I’ll come pick you both up, make sure you get home safe.”

His words assured Grace while his eyes protectively watched over Emily. The little girl was currently sitting in the middle of a hospital bed, an IV in the back of her hand, half eaten sandwich on a plastic plate besides her while she played with a teddy bear. One that he’d picked her up from the patient gift shop shortly after they’d arrived, hoping to bring her some comfort. Cartoons were playing quietly on the small TV, high in the far corner of the room, offering the little girl as much joy as hospital room could provide.

While Leon remained in the stained outfit he’d been wearing for almost thirty-six hours, the girls had been given a change of clothes. Grace wore pale green scrubs and Emily colourful, but slightly oversized, pyjamas that one of the nurses had found for her. The whole medical team had become instantly enamoured with the white haired girl, touched by her story. Rallying around her to make her stay there as comfortable as possible.

“Thank you, Leon.” Grace smiled at him, relief so clear in her eyes. “For everything.”

“Don’t mention it. Just get some rest, alright? We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Exchanging warm smiles with her, he said his goodbyes and he peeled out of the side ward and into the quiet, glass sided, hospital corridor. The early fall darkness outside made it seem much later than it really was, which forced him to check his watch to confirm the time, as he considered his options for how best to spend the rest of the night.

The girls had been admitted for treatment and a full battery of precautionary tests, but he’d declined care for himself. Knowing from experience he’d be just fine without an IV being jabbed into his hand and people prodding at him under florescent lights.

He hated the clinical environment of hospitals at the best of times, too many bad memories that he’d prefer to keep outrunning. Worst still, he’d been given even more reason to dislike the setting in recent weeks, since the infection had reared its ugly head. He couldn’t stomach hanging around any longer than absolutely necessary, eager to finally put his most recent nightmare behind him and set his mind to the future instead.

Now the danger to Grace had been disarmed, he felt confident enough to step away, reassured by the presence of a local police officer, who was stationed outside the girls’ door. Just another precaution, of course. Unnecessary, but he’d insisted on it, for his own peace of mind. They were miles from Racoon City and Rhodes Hill, but he knew all too well that there was no such thing as being ‘overcautious’ when it came to his line of work.

He gave a nod to the officer as he moved on to seek out the elevators, with his body healed his shoulders felt lifted, the burden of illness and survival that he’d carried for weeks was gone, leaving him so much ligher. He covered the corridor with easy, long, strong strides, taking him past a nurses station, where suddenly his phone began chirping in his pocket, demanding his attention.

It was the first time he’d looked at it since all the action had stopped, and he wasn’t surprised to find the screen protector was cracked from impact damage but luckily the phone still seemed to work fine. Not recognising the number made him reluctant to answer; and a crease formed in his brow as he considered who it might be.

News of his escapades would have reached DSO high command by now, and there was a good chance higher-ups were already fully on the warpath that led directly to him.

Even with his years of experience, expertise as a field agent and being instrumental in creating the DSO to begin with, he still wasn’t afforded many favours and had to continually answer to those above him.

It didn’t matter that everyone knew his name, and called on him every time the shit really hit the fan, knowing he was their best hope of containment and resolution. In government departments no one was immune to being forced to follow their overzealous practices and protocols, unnecessary red-tape and paperwork that he couldn’t stand. Not to mention the Goddamned performance reviews, and disciplinary processes he was all too familiar with.

He was half expecting the call to be from a superior, chewing him out about going rogue and dragging Sherry along with him. The job was often thankless, and the bullshit bureaucracy of it all had often led him to toy with the idea of going it alone, taking his team and setting up independently somehow, but he never quite got the push or the resources he needed to do it.

It was also near impossible for him to escape the choke-hold the controlling powers above had him in. Keeping him locked into his role and at their beck and call, with a fat paycheck at the end of every month, by way of compensation for all the hell they kept putting him through.

Regardless of who was calling him then, he’d be lined up for a dressing down on Monday morning anyway, and knowing he could at least hang up while he was miles out of their reach, he decided to answer.

“Agent Kennedy?” a male voice spoke on the other end. “Your car is waiting outside the main entrance.”

A SWAT team had gone back into the outskirts of Racoon City to ensure it was sealed up tight again, and he’d requested they recovered his Porsche during the process. That in turn left him free escort Grace and Emily to the hospital with the help of the Hound Wolf Squad.

He knew he’d wind up with an extra grilling over the cost of manpower for retrieving and returning his ride, but he couldn’t leave the damn thing out there to rot. He loved that car. Yet the thought of going back in to get it himself seemed like a dumb and unnecessarily dangerous idea.

“On my way down now.” he gave, hanging up and quickening his step to catch the elevator that was about to leave. Jumping in just as the doors started to close on the other passengers.

As the metal box descended to the ground floor, he pondered his next move. He didn’t want to be far from the hospital, just in case, and he didn’t feel in the least bit tired, despite having not slept in so long.

He guessed either the fact he’d passed out cold, or the dose of Elpis he’d taken, had rebooted his system into a second wind, which gave him a range of options for how to spend the remainder of one of the strangest days of his life.

He contemplated making the near two hour drive back home to an empty apartment, but it seemed like a waste of time. He’d have to return first thing for the girls anyway, and being completely alone was never a good thing for him, in the aftermath of so much chaos.

There was a sense of bittersweet relief to know he had a good excuse to stay away from his place for a little longer. As truth be told, since he’d moved to Pittsburg to help head up an elite team, at the DSO’s newly build central command campus, he was at war with the place he laid his head at night. The apartment felt simultaneously too big and too small all at once. It simply became a place to crash and keep his things but little more than that.

When his team came over for beers and pizza, it felt great to see life within the four walls and be a part of something like a family, but when they left and he was alone again it just didn’t feel right. Though he wasn’t really sure any place ever would, or ever really had, but then he’d come to learn over the years that home wasn’t always a place, sometimes it was people.

The last time he’d been to his apartment was over a day and a half earlier, when he’d been in a really dark spot. His infection was worsening, as was Sherry’s, as more bodies were turning up and even after weeks searching for answers, he still hadn’t a clue on how to fix anything. Bringing an old familiar sense of helplessness that had pushed him so close to the edge before.

Even though he’d slayed many of the demons that tourmented him that day, he wasn’t ready to go back to the space where he’d spent many recent nights at his lowest. Afraid that again the success he’d achieved would be overshadowed by lingering grief that always seemed to find him after a mission, no matter how triumphant it had been.

No, it was better he stayed close by for Grace and Emily anyway. Helping to take care of them would at leastbe a wonderful distraction from the inevitable minefield of a debrief he anticipated, and the lengthy report he’d have to compile to explain his actions too.

Making his way out of the elevator and through the hospital foyer, he evaluated his given location and what the unfamiliar place had to offer. He’d ridden into town in the back of Chris’s team’s SUV, and being a passenger for a change gave him the opportunity to scope everything out in better detail.

He easily recalled a sign for a motel a few miles back, that would be as good a place as any to take a shower, patch himself up, and get some rest. Watching trash TV or a movie he’d seen five times already until he could no longer keep his eyes open, but first he need to eat. To beat the craving he had for a thick, greasy, double cheeseburger. The kind you only found at cruddy roadside diners, or dive-bars with questionable hygiene practices.

‘Self care’ at its finest, he told himself. In spite of the fact Sherry and the rest of his team would always be in his ear about it whenever he tried to order a terrible post-op snack in their presence. Cholesterol and trans fats, cheat days, eating clean, and blah blah blah! It felt like as soon as he hit forty-five, that’s all he heard, despite the fact his blood work was never anything less than perfect, he still worked out a least four times a week, and did all he could to avoid having to spend too much time sitting at a desk.

Yeah, that kind of guilty indulgence and a few beers, would really hit the spot. Maybe half a bottle of whiskey too. He hoped all together it would chase the last of his energy away and see him off to oblivion, where he could finally reach a dreamless sleep. Block the aches that still lingered from his most recent ordeal and the years of seemingly endless physical abuse he’d taken.

With his stomach grumbling, he swept out of the double glass doors of the small hospital building and jogged down the steps to the asphalt. Spotting his car straight away, parked in the short term bay out front, flanked by a combat ready soldier with a SWAT van idling nearby.

The officer noticed Leon and nodded. Showing him the keys before he tossed them to him. Leon snatched them out of the air effortlessly, and gave his thanks before stuffing them in his pants pocket. Realising as he did that he was still armed, Requiem close at his ribs, hatchet at his back along with other tactical essentials.

It made sense now why all the hospital staff kept giving him odd looks. It felt as natural as breathing to keep his weapons close, but he couldn’t deny he did look rather menacing carrying them around outside of a nightmare scenario.

It was safe to assume rocking up to a diner with a mini arsenal strapped to him was a bad idea, so he popped the trunk and detached all his weapons and most of his accessories. Keeping his tactical belt and split-rig strapped to him, just in case he needed to jump back into action and arm up at a moment’s notice.

He wasn’t yet convinced all the chaos was over. Then again, he never really was.

No matter how clean cut a mission concluded, it took days for him to regulate his nervous system afterwards. There was always something that lingered at the back of his mind, whispering that his nightmare was never truly going to end. Near thirty years of fighting a seemingly infinite amount of wars told him storms would come and pass, but many often had more than one eye.

Securing his weapons in the hidden safe beneath the trunk floor, he locked the car up tight and he inhaled deeply as he glanced over his surroundings. Brightwater, Ohio was an average mid-west America small town. Nothing remarkable about it that he could see.

Mostly populated by hospital staff and city workers who wanted to minimise their commute, while still keeping their distance from their offices back in Elbridge. Despite it’s banality it seemed like the perfect place to drop off radar a while.

Across from the street from the hospital car park was a generic strip mall, most of the windows were dark now, having long closed up for the night. The best the place had to offer was a chain sandwich shop and two overpriced coffee joints. Nothing that appealed to him in any moment, especially that one.

He was about to consider typing ‘food’ into his phone, and letting the internet do all the leg work when he noticed a neon sign in the distance, almost out of his visual range but glowing in the night like a beacon of salvation.

He squinted to read ‘Joe’s Bar and Grill’ flickering from a red bulb that was fighting for its life, but ‘good food’ beneath it remained constantly lit in green, like it was offering reassurance. “Good enough!” he told himself, set course and pursued his burger on foot.

Thirty minutes later he was tucked at the furthest end of the bar in a typical local watering hole. He’d chosen the best vantage point in the room, to monitor the entry and exit points, just as he always did purely on instinct.

A plate with only a few remaining fries and a smudge of ketchup left behind laid out in front of him on the counter, as the satisfied sensation of a stomach full of the worst kind of calories comforted him.

Subtly he glanced around him, assessing the place a little more now his appetite had been satiated. It was like one of a hundred bars he’d lost himself in over the years. Classic wood panelling with eclectic photos and sports memorabilia on the walls, an undeniably familiar setting. Groups of friends and couples filtering in and out, some clearly kicking off their weekend festivities, while others seemed to be working hard to drink away their week of woes.

Grateful for the calm and familiarity, he chased the final bite of food with the last of his beer and gestured to the bar tender to hit him again. The aches and pains from years of taking hits were really starting to set in how he’d stopped fighting for his life and let his guard down a bit. That in turn allowed the overdose of cortisol which had been constantly flooding his bloodstream to disperse to healthier levels.

As he began working on his second beer, he made a mental note to find an all night pharmacy and pick up some painkillers before he checked in at the motel. His relaxed body was slowly shutting down his hyper-defences, steadily restoring his equilibrium to a more default state, but with that the aches and pain came.

Still, he was comfortable there. Ever conscious of ebb and flow of his unfamiliar surroundings, but calmer and more at ease – as much as a man with his history could be anyway.

The peace he’d now found allowed him to consider the events that happened in the last twenty-four hours, and that which had led him to be sitting there alone in that moment.

Going back to Racoon City had been another living nightmare, but he couldn’t deny it was cathartic too. It had given him the opportunity to put to rest many ghosts from the night that changed the course of his whole life, but a deeper part of him still ached with regret.

He’d accepted long ago that he’d forever be haunted by how he couldn’t save the people he was supposed to protect in 1998, and the countless others who had lost their lives in the chaotic years that followed.

Survivor’s guilt.

A cross to bare. The proverbial wound that never truly healed.

Yet with time it had evolved from a savage sting to a nagging ache. The hurt of it all softening to the point where it was wasn’t quite so torturous to live with day to day, but still retained the capacity to flare up and punish him in his lowest moments, when his defences were down.

He knew it wouldn’t be too long before his sense of guilt found a new part of him to haunt. He was already frustrated and regretful in wishing he could have found Grace, Rhodes Hill, ARK and Elpis sooner, aware of how many people may have been saved if only he had.

Considering too how many more might die while they worked to anaylse the data and reproduce the antiviral that would offer hope and protection for so many people, and reset the balance a little more in humanities favour.

It felt strange for him to be considering how the world might change again, now the dangers from viral outbreaks could be rendered null and void, but he knew nothing would be straight forward. There would be plenty of battles yet to fight, once the bio-terrorists learned their weapons were becoming obsolete.

With Chris’s team having harvested Victor’s laptop and other research papers it was only a matter of time until a lab they trusted would be able to replicate the antiviral and find a way to get it to where, and who, needed it.

And yet, knowing a real shot at salvation was close at hand seemed so bittersweet. The cure to the progenitor virus itself had been there for so long, buried beneath the ruined city, just waiting for the right people to find it and end the reign of terror it held for almost thirty years. Meanwhile, around the world so many lives had been lost to infections and mutations, and the violence that came along with it all. He knew it would be impossible to stop beating himself up about not finding it sooner, even though he knew there was no way he could have.

As he sipped his beer, he felt himself slowly sinking into a familiar ‘doom-loop’ that was scarily comforting in its familiarity, and the way it would lock itself around him like a comfortless hug.

Allowing his mind to wandering back in time to the stressful and fruitless weeks that had led him to find Grace that night before. A familiar ache of regret pushing down on his shoulders and curling around his chest, as he reflected.

He’d tried so hard to get answers to what was now known as Racoon City Syndrome as quickly as possible, but they had been fumbling in the dark with the first victim, and the second a few weeks later had offered no more clarity.

Even now he couldn’t shake the frustration he felt knowing that after nearly three decades, the damned place could still be ruining the lives of survivors. How, after everything the government and their scientists had witnessed and learned over the years, could they not confirm if it was a strain of the progenitor viruses to blame, or offer any kind of treatment beyond symptom management.

The powers-that-be had danced around impotently, offering no explanations, solutions or hope. Allowing more people to die while they scratched their heads and stonewalled him and his team, as they fought for answers.

Not knowing what had caused the infection had terrified him the most. An invisible enemy was impossible to fight, and that had chilled him more than any of the monsters he’d battled over the years.

He was ashamed to admit that the loss of control and feeling of helplessness had caused him to spiral again into a whirlwind of depression and alcoholism, that he’d battled hard to resist in recent years. A dark spiral inside him that spun and twisted into knots with his unbreakable will to survive and save others - the one thing that kept him fighting on.

A visceral memory skittered through him as he drank. An echo of the night he’d first noticed a tiny black line in the palm of his hand. At first he thought it was a pen mark, and he’d tried to rub it away, but the soreness he felt instantly told him exactly what it was.

A tiny dark vine sitting there like a bitter visual reminder of all the darkness inside him that nibbled away at his soul. A physical manifestation of his guilt and regret, burned into his hand like a brand and slowly spreading like rot.

At the first sign of infection, he had rushed to the DSO labs, submitting himself to blood tests and scans of every kind, hoping to do something, anything, to get the answers they needed and help find a way to stop the disease before others died.

Yet the early stage of his infection offered no more clarity, and only served to fill him with a fury that burned white hot, and one he didn’t know where to direct. Knowing he was living with a time-bomb turned him colder as the weeks passed too, as the fresh infections and bodies began to mount.

The helplessness of it all had threatened to consume him, and often times he wished to let it. So many nights he had sat in his apartment, deep in a bottle of hard liquor, staring at his hand, almost willing the infection to spread. Begging it to make him suffer a while before it put him out of his misery; to punish him for failing more people. Yet it just languished, as if it were deliberately put there to torture his broken soul. Facing his own mortality in a different way saw the familiar, hopeless desire to end it all himself had returned to him too. A dark desire he’d been outrunning for so many years; a need to take back control over his existence. It was almost too hard to fight the urge to finally admit defeat, and let the horrors that followed him through the ruins of his dreams, at last claim their prize.

Sitting there in the safety of the populated bar, it was scarily easy to recall how close he came to doing it one lonely night. A chill settling in his stomach as he relieved it all in his head.

The night he’d put a gun in his mouth, intent on ending it, not for the first time ever but the first time in a while. Willing himself to just pull the trigger. Knowing how easily all the pain in his heart and distress in soul could be gone if he could let go of the hope he held onto so tightly.

The only thing that stopped him reaching the point of no return that night had been a panicked phone call from Sherry, announcing it had got to her too. It was in her hand as well.

Even against the ambient noise of the bar, he could almost hear the sound of the gun, dropped in shock, clattering to the floor. Images replaying in his head of the frantic drive to be at her side, rushing her to the lab to demand they did something more than they’d already tried with him, but still nothing gave. No help was coming for them, just as it failed to that fateful night twenty-eight years earlier.

A nightmare becoming reality in real time, all over again. Maturing a sense of fear, worsening his guilt and regrets, with every millimetre the black vines took of him.

With his and Sherry’s life on the line and cases escalating, a sense of urgency and duty took over his desire to let go of the fight. Before he knew it he was back chasing every breadcrumb trail they could find come up with; finding a solution was the only thing that kept him from giving into the temptation of final oblivion.

Emboldened by a sense of purpose, that helped him him cope with knowing the infection was rooting ever deeper with every minute they repeatedly failed to find deliverance.

His overwhelming desire to protect others was all that kept him going. Through all the stressful weeks before, enduring the worsening searing pain in his stomach and back that had reached its crescendo that night. A burning desire to make up for his failures and make things right never faltering, fuelling him on like an old steam engine.

Even though as he sat there, knowing so much had been resolved that night, he still couldn’t let himself enjoy knowing the nightmare was over.

The magic liquid was being rushed to Sherry via helicopter, escorted by two members of the Hound Wolf Squad. While the remaining dose they’d salvaged from the ARK wreckage, and the data held at Rhodes Hill would be kept safely by them until it was decided who could actually be trusted with it.

He knew he should have taken solace in knowing his actions had made the future somewhat brighter for so many people. He should have been content just knowing he’d saved Grace, rescued Emily and healed Sherry all in one fell swoop, but it just wasn’t enough to soothe all the painful sores on his soul.

The biggest part of him doubted anything ever would be. There were just too many layers of guilt and regret for any kind of salve to seep through.

It felt wrong that the sense of fear and burning sting of infection that had lingered beneath his flesh for weeks was gone, while there were so many people dead and suffering still.

The pin had been put back in the grenade and he was free, healthy again, but he couldn’t help thinking of how it felt so unfair. He had a new lease of life, that on reflection he wasn’t even sure he actually wanted. He felt that he’d written himself off long ago, and was only really living to find salvation for others.

Living day to day, never planning too far ahead, knowing how fragile a tomorrow was for a man in his role. Now there seemed to be a future to hold on for, he didn’t quite know what to do, the concept felt so alien.

With a heavy, lamenting sigh he sat up a little straighter in the bar stool, and firmly told himself to get a grip. He’d made a resolve to stop wallowing some years earlier. Telling himself to look through the failures and focus on the wins instead.

Grace was safe and free from the shadows at her back. Emily was saved and completely healthy, her whole life ahead of her. Sherry had a chance to breath again and enjoy the life she’d managed to built to its fullest, and whatever would come of Elpis, he knew he would fight with all he had to ensure it was used for good.

He lent forward into the bar, resting one elbow on the counter and rubbing his temple. His mind wandering again to consider just how his life might change if Elpis was successful in wiping out the viral threat.

Without a constant call to arms and a sense of purpose to protect those that couldn’t protect themselves, he feared where his life and mind would go. He needed something to keep driving him forward, a reason to get out of bed every day when sometimes all he wanted to do was wave a white flag and finally surrender.

On another sip of beer, he pondered if uncertainty for the future was why his heart still hurt so badly. Why success and deliverance did not immediately shine a light inside him to hold back the darkness?

Hell, he should have been on top of the world, but instead, with no real distractions around him, he felt himself sinking deeper beneath the surface of darkened water again. A toxic cocktail of regret, frustration and growing uncertainty threatening to drag him under.

His heart heavy, and the bottle of beer cradled in his hands, he began to use his thumbnail to scratch away at the paper label. A mindless action that used up the restless energy that still lingered, just as it always did after a battle. The scraping motion forming a rhythm to set the growing collage of painful images in his mind to.

God, he hated how the noise in his head would grow so loud when all the gunfire and chaos had stopped. Echoes of the weeks behind like a muffled drum beat from a passing car outside in the night. Lingering regrets from the past moving over and making way for fears for the future, that waltzed in like they had just signed a contract on the space in his head.

A montage of flashbacks and intrusive thoughts washing over the dams he’d fought to build and swelling back through him like the tide. Whispering ghosts on his shoulders, muttering darkness into his ears, as he focused in on picking more of the bottle’s label off. Scratching away at the paper, almost frantically, as if the comfort and distraction he needed in that moment might be hidden somewhere beneath it.

That was until a female voice sliced through his dark rumination, like a hot knife through butter.

“That’s a sign of sexual frustration, y’know?”  

Leon Kennedy had always been a man of action, his broad shoulders and chiseled frame honed from years of surviving the undead horrors of Raccoon City and beyond. But tonight, in the dim glow of a safehouse motel room, his focus was solely on you—the small, delicate woman who had somehow wormed her way into his guarded heart. You were shorter compared to him, your head barely reaching his chest, your body a soft contrast to his hardened muscles. He towered over you as you stood by the bed, his blue eyes darkening with hunger as he reached down, his large hand cupping your chin to tilt your face up.

"You're so fucking small," he murmured, his voice rough like gravel, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "Makes me want to break you in the best way."

You shivered under his touch, heat pooling between your thighs as his words sent a thrill through you. Leon didn't wait for a response; he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a fierce kiss, his tongue plunging in to claim you. His free hand gripped your waist, fingers nearly spanning its entirety, pulling you flush against his hard body. You could feel the bulge of his cock straining against his jeans, thick and insistent against your belly.

He broke the kiss with a growl, lifting you effortlessly onto the bed like you weighed nothing. You bounced slightly on the mattress, your skirt riding up to expose the lace of your panties. Leon's gaze raked over you, predatory and possessive. He shrugged off his leather jacket, tossing it aside, then yanked his shirt over his head, revealing the scarred, toned expanse of his chest and abs.

"Spread your legs for me, sweetheart," he commanded, his voice low and commanding. You obeyed instantly, parting your thighs, your small frame trembling with anticipation. He knelt between them, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing your skirt higher until he hooked his fingers into your panties and ripped them off with a sharp tug. The cool air hit your exposed pussy, already slick and aching for him.

Leon's breath ghosted over your folds as he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste you. He lapped at your clit with firm, deliberate strokes, his strong hands pinning your hips down to keep you from squirming away. You were so sensitive, so responsive—your small body arching off the bed as moans spilled from your lips. "Leon... oh god, please..."

He hummed against you, the vibration making you gasp, before sucking your clit into his mouth. His fingers joined in, one thick digit pressing into your tight entrance, stretching you slowly. You were so small, so tight around him, and he groaned at the feel, adding a second finger to pump in and out, curling them to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

"You're dripping for me," he rasped, pulling back just enough to watch his fingers disappear inside you. "This little pussy is gonna take my cock so well."

You whimpered, hands fisting the sheets as pleasure built, your orgasm crashing over you suddenly. Leon didn't stop, licking you through it until you were a quivering mess. Only then did he stand, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease. His jeans hit the floor, and his cock sprang free—long, thick, veined, the head already leaking pre-cum. It looked enormous compared to your petite form, and a flicker of nerves mixed with your desire.

He noticed, smirking as he climbed onto the bed, positioning himself at your entrance. "Don't worry, I'll go slow at first." With that, he pushed in, the broad tip breaching your folds. You cried out at the stretch, your walls clenching around him as he sank deeper, inch by inch. He was so big, filling you completely, your small body adjusting to his girth.

Once fully seated, balls deep inside you, Leon paused, sweat beading on his forehead. "Fuck, you're tight. Like a vice around my dick." He started moving then, shallow thrusts that quickly turned deeper, harder. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you slightly to angle him just right, pounding into your pussy with relentless force.

The bed creaked under his powerful rhythm, your small tits bouncing with each slam. You wrapped your legs around his waist as best you could, nails digging into his back. "Harder, Leon... fuck me harder!"

He obliged, grunting as he drove into you, the wet sounds of your bodies connecting filling the room. His mouth found your neck, biting down just enough to mark you, sucking bruises into your skin. You felt him everywhere—his cock hitting your cervix, his body caging yours, dominating every inch of your small frame.

Tension coiled tight in your core again, and Leon sensed it, reaching between you to rub your clit in rough circles. "Cum on my cock, baby. Milk me dry."

You shattered, screaming his name as your pussy spasmed around him, waves of ecstasy ripping through you. Leon followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt and flooding you with hot cum, rope after rope painting your insides. He collapsed over you, careful not to crush your smaller body, pressing soft kisses to your forehead as you both caught your breath.

"You're perfect," he whispered, still hard inside you, hinting at more to come.

Leon didn't give you much time to recover, his cock still buried deep inside your soaked pussy, twitching with renewed hunger. He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his blue eyes blazing with feral intensity. Your small body lay sprawled beneath him, chest heaving, skin flushed and marked from his earlier bites. He grinned wolfishly, one large hand splaying across your lower belly, pressing down firmly.

"Well, would you look at that," he growled, voice thick with lust. "You're so fucking tiny, I can feel myself right here." As he spoke, he flexed his hips, pushing his thick shaft deeper into you. The pressure made a visible bulge appear under your skin—a pronounced ridge where his cock stretched your walls from the inside out. It was obscene, the outline of his girth pressing against your abdomen, making your breath hitch at the sight and sensation.

You whimpered, reaching down to touch it yourself, fingers tracing the swell. "Leon... it's so big..." The words were barely out before he snapped his hips forward in a brutal thrust, slamming balls-deep and making the bulge shift higher, distorting your flat tummy.

"Shh... That's right, baby. All mine," he rasped, hooking your legs over his elbows to fold you in half, your knees nearly to your shoulders. This position pinned you completely, your shorter frame no match for his strength. He didn't ease in—he fucked you hard and fast from the start, withdrawing almost to the tip before ramming back in with punishing force. Each plunge drove the air from your lungs, the bedframe slamming against the wall in rhythm with his relentless pace.

The tummy bulge pulsed with every thrust, a constant reminder of how thoroughly he filled you. You could see it rise and fall, the skin taut over his invading cock, and it sent sparks of pleasure-pain through your core. His hand stayed pressed there, thumb digging in to heighten the pressure, making you feel every inch as he pounded your cervix.

"Fuck, your little pussy's gripping me like it never wants to let go," Leon grunted, sweat dripping from his brow onto your heaving tits. He leaned down, capturing a nipple between his teeth and biting just hard enough to make you cry out, then soothing it with a rough suck. His free hand gripped your thigh, bruising fingerprints into your soft flesh as he used the leverage to drill into you faster, the wet slap of his balls against your ass echoing obscenely.

You were a mess beneath him—legs trembling, pussy clenching erratically around his pistoning cock, the bulge in your belly making you feel utterly claimed. "Harder... please, Leon, don't stop," you begged, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails on his scarred skin.

He laughed darkly, obliging with a savage snap of his hips that made the bulge jump visibly. "You want it rough? I'll wreck this tight hole." His thrusts turned erratic, deeper, faster, the friction building an inferno inside you. The pressure on your abdomen amplified everything, pushing you toward the edge as his cock dragged against your g-spot with every brutal entry.

Your orgasm hit like a freight train, walls fluttering wildly around him, milking his shaft as you screamed his name. The bulge seemed to throb under your palm, his cock swelling as he chased his own release. With a guttural roar, Leon buried himself to the hilt one last time, grinding against you as hot cum erupted from his tip, flooding your pussy in thick spurts. He kept pressing down on your belly, forcing you to feel the warmth spreading inside, the bulge pulsing with each jet.

Panting, he finally stilled, forehead resting against yours, his massive body caging your smaller one. His cock softened slightly but stayed lodged deep, plugging his seed inside you. "Goddamn, you're addictive," he murmured, nipping at your earlobe.

Leon lingered inside you for a moment longer, his cock still semi-hard and plugging your cum-filled pussy, savoring the way your body quivered beneath him. But the hunger in his eyes hadn't faded—it burned brighter, promising more. He pulled out with a wet pop, a thick trail of his seed leaking from your stretched hole, dripping down your thighs. You whimpered at the emptiness, your legs already trembling uncontrollably from the aftershocks, muscles weak and jelly-like.

"On your knees, sweetheart," Leon commanded, his voice a low rumble that sent fresh shivers through you. He flipped you over effortlessly, manhandling your small frame like you weighed nothing. You scrambled to obey, pushing up onto all fours, but your arms wobbled, and your knees buckled slightly, forcing you to arch your back just to stay upright. Your pussy throbbed, exposed and glistening with his cum and your arousal, the cool air making you clench around nothing.

He positioned himself behind you, large hands gripping your narrow hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he yanked you back against him. The tip of his cock—already hardening again—nudged your slick entrance, teasing the sensitive folds. "Look at you, already a drooling mess for me," he murmured, reaching around to tilt your chin up. Your mouth hung open, saliva pooling at the corners from the overwhelming pleasure, a thin strand dripping onto the sheets as you panted.

Without warning, Leon thrust forward, burying his thick length balls-deep in one savage motion. Your cry muffled into a garbled moan, drool spilling freely now as your body jolted. He didn't give you time to adjust—his hips snapped against your ass with brutal speed, pounding into you relentlessly. Each slam drove his cock deep, the angle hitting spots that made stars burst behind your eyelids, your walls fluttering around him like they were desperate to keep him inside.

Your legs shook violently, knees scraping against the mattress as you struggled to hold yourself up. They threatened to give out with every punishing thrust, but Leon's iron grip kept you in place, pulling you back onto his pistoning shaft. "That's it, take it like a good girl," he growled, one hand sliding up your spine to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your neck. He leaned over you, his broad chest pressing against your back, dominating your smaller form completely as he bit down on your shoulder, marking the skin with his teeth.

The room filled with the lewd sounds of skin slapping skin, your soaked pussy squelching around his invading cock, and your broken whimpers mixing with his grunts. Drool slicked your chin, your mouth slack and unable to close as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Your thighs quivered, muscles spasming, barely supporting your weight—Leon noticed, chuckling darkly as he wrapped an arm around your waist, hauling you up against him to keep you from collapsing.

"Fuck, your pussy feels perfect bouncing on my dick," he rasped, free hand coming down in a sharp smack on your cheek, the sting blooming into heat that made you clench tighter. He fucked you harder, faster, his balls slapping against your clit with each deep plunge, building the pressure until you were sobbing with need. Your legs gave a final tremble, knees buckling fully, but he held you aloft, railing into you from behind like a man possessed.

The orgasm ripped through you without mercy, your pussy convulsing around his cock, milking him as you wailed, drool flying from your lips. Leon didn't stop— he chased his release with a few more erratic thrusts, then buried himself to the hilt, groaning as he pumped another load of hot cum deep inside you, overflowing and trickling down your shaking thighs.

He eased you down gently onto the bed, his body covering yours protectively as you both caught your breath. Your legs still twitched with aftershocks, a puddle of drool staining the pillow beneath your face. Leon pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, his voice soft but laced with promise.

“Love you, honey…”

”hmm…”

”Come on, I know you still have the energy to say it back…”

”mmm… you too….mhmm….”

Leon lets out a small laugh before carrying you to the bathroom.