bleb

And it's not as though you're blind to what he does for a living, and you're not so obtuse as to not know why he refuses to rough house with you. Still, you thought he'd make an exception for the sake of your sex life. 

"Please?"

"No, I'm sorry. I'm not comfortable with it." 

And you let it go, willing yourself to be content with 'making love', the Leon way. 

Needless to say, you're surprised when, one night, as the two of you are tangled in the sheets, glued together by sweet sweat and saliva, Leon asks you to choke him. 

"What?" You beg for confirmation, sure you must have misheard him--certain that his words were insincere, just something shouted out among the throws of ecstasy, not to be heeded. 

"Choke me," he commands, gasping for air as pleasure rolls through his body like thunder. When you hesitate, your hips stalling on top of him, he grabs your wrist, manually placing your hand around his neck, pressing your thumb and pointer fingers into his throat until the skin around it turns white. “Keep riding me.” 

“Uh, okay,” you mumble, hips resuming. It doesn’t take you long to catch up to the rising heat of your interrupted pleasure, and once you find it, your hand almost instinctively tightens around Leon’s neck. Your fingers dig into the sinew beneath his skin as you grind against him, your clit catching on his pelvis. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he says in a strangled breath. “Tighter.” 

“Tighter?” You ask meekly, the question punctuated by an uncertain gasp. 

“Tighter,” he groans, and you obey, hardening your grip. His eyes screw shut and his hips jolt beneath you, thigh shaking. The tendons in his neck tense beneath your fingers. “Hit me.”

You don’t dare ask him to repeat himself, and it’s not like you have a chance to before your arm raises and your palm comes down across his face. Once the red mark on his cheek starts to wane, he glances up at you from beneath cinched brows, his eyes wide. You can’t quite decipher the expression on his face, whether he’s wounded by the fact you actually hit him, or desperation for you to do it again. 

“Keep choking me. I’m–fuck–I’m so close.”

Typically, Leon waits for you to finish before he finally lets himself chase his own release. 

Not tonight though. Not when your hand is around his throat, applying an amount of pressure of which you never imagined yourself to be capable. Not when the sharp sting across his cheek bleeds into sweet pleasure. 

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

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

Leon’s already caught on.

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

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

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

It throws you.

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

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

Leon’s already running.

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

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

You haven’t come up for air.

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

He heaves in air when your heads breach the surface.

You do not.

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

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

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

Get up

We need to move

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

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

“Run!”

It’s a bit much to ask.

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

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

You’re almost there.

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

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

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

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

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

“Almost there. Come on.”

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

“Get in. Get in!”

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

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

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

“Fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“No?”

“The keys are in my coat.”

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

“Tenderized, Leon. Ow."

“How bad?”

“I don’t… think anything’s broken.”

“Deep breath in.”

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

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

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

“You gotta get down on me."

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

He hisses and pushes you back up by the shoulders.

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

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

“You can’t be wearing that.”

“Leon–“

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

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

"Do you trust me?"

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

“Yeah. Fine."

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

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

“Do you know you're doing that.”

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

“I didn't tell you to stop,” you say.

“Yes ma'am.”

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

Your eyelids are heavy.

“Is it bad to fall asleep?”

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

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

And you register why.

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

And something else is different.

“…Where are your hands?”

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

“Good boy.”

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

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

“Shit,” you whisper, and kiss him.

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

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

“You be careful with my side.”

“Damn.”

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

“You’ve got a fixation.”

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

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

“Don’t be rude.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus. Keep talking like that.”

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm. Lucky day.”

“I know.”

“Any last words?”

“What?”

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

“Be careful,” he says.

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

“Are you okay?”

You manage a nod. “God, Leon.”

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

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

“Fuck me.”

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

“Think you can come like this?”

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

“Tip your hips down,” he says.

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

“Fuck, like that Leon!”

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

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

“Shit,” you gasp. “Are you close?”

“Do you want me to be?”

You clench around him and he groans, hips stuttering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s your side?”

“Stings.”

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

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

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

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

“Worked out fine the first time.”

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

“Beginner’s luck.”

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

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

On AO3

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

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

As you walked through the living room, you spotted something on the couch. “Jesus..” You mumbled, frustrated as you picked up a pair of your panties. Your cheeks burned as you felt that they were wet. You had scolded him before, that chewing on your things was what bad boys did. You gave him plenty of things he was supposed to put in his mouth, but he wasn’t a good listener. With a huff, you took them with you and headed off to your bedroom.

“Leon?” You called out, assuming he was already asleep. Until you made it to your door, noticing it was half-way open—along with the soft noises that sounded like whimpers. Little huffs and whines that had you pushing your door wide open. You glanced to the floor first, seeing a pair of boxers carelessly strewn on your floor, along with a few others articles of your clothing.

Your focus shifted to your bed, finding the source of those groans. Your puppyboy, huffing and panting as he pleasured himself on your bed. You were unsure how to react for a second, your eyes scanning up his bare body. A softer tummy and chest that rose and fell with each breath, up to his pretty face. Eyes shut and head tilted back as he pumped himself, with a pair of your panties rubbing over the tip.

You already fussed at him to stay out of your bedroom. It felt like getting onto an older brother, not a housemate. But you’d never expect him to do something that perverted! “Leon!” Your tone was more stern, making his eyes flutter open and gasp with surprise. (or embarrassment.) He made no effort to cover himself, but his ears pinned back on his head.

“Oh! Owner-“ He scrambled to sit up, a pouty look on his face. “Don’t be mad, please? I’ll-I’ll clean up, I’ll be good.” He pleaded, so worried that you’d be angry.

You sighed and tossed the panties in your hand onto your bed in defeat. You couldn’t be mad at him when he begged like that. “I’m not mad at you.” You let go of your pride as you moved to his side on the bed, brushing sweaty strands of blonde hair off his forehead. He preened, letting out a sigh of his own. When you touched him, you noticed his hips gave a squirm. He liked it, he was enjoying your touch, even if you weren’t exactly thrilled.

“But you .. shouldn’t do this. It’s very naughty, Leon.” You tried to be the responsible one, attempting to make it stick in his dumb puppy brain. It only fueled his lust addled state, pushing his head further into your hand so you’d pet his puppy ears.

“Sorry. I just missed you.” His lower lip trembled in a pout, as if he were on the verge of tears. Blue eyes met yours, pleading you to forgive him, one way or another. Based on the way his fingers trembled around his cock, you figured there was only one way out of it.

“Missed me, huh?” You slid your fingers down to his cheek, which was all flustered and blushing. He nodded, a breathy moan escaping when you stroked his skin. You should’ve known he got up to such a thing while you were gone. You could come home and let him fuck you silly, but he’d always want more.

“Yes,” Leon drawled, eyes fluttering shut. “Now that you’re here.. Please, please, touch me.” His voice broke on the last words, shuddering as your fingers trailed down to his throat. When you skimmed his collarbones, then his navel, he was rather impatient.

You bit your lip, torn between helping him out and sending him off to his kennel. You knew damn well not to reward bad behavior, but it was too irresistible to say no. He was spoiled, and you both knew it.

“Fine. But don’t think being naughty will get you more attention. I won’t be so generous next time.” You shifted from beside him to on the bed, getting comfortable between his spread legs. His thighs were creamy, darker hair was there. As well as between them. With a frustrated grunt, Leon was bucking his hips up, silently begging for your touch.

“So needy.” You tutted, scooting in closer. You stared down at his cock, stiff and girthy, With your missing panties all smeared with puppy cum. You lifted them off, watching a sticky glob of it connect to the fabric. He whimpered, seemingly embarrassed at the mess he’d made. At the loss of contact, his hips gave a feeble jerk up.

“Be patient.” You added, sliding the wet fabric to wrap around his length beneath your fingers. You weren’t sure if he’d dug them out your drawer or your dirty laundry. The sensible part of you hoped they were clean, but knowing Leon, they probably weren’t. You thought back to your chewed up panties, the image of him sniffing and licking the crotch of your worn panties excited you.

“Can’t.” His petulant whining brought you back to reality. He humped his hips up into your fist, rubbing the slick fabric up and down his twitching cock. “I can’t, you make me so hard, so needy.” He was a mess, fucking the tight grip of your fingers with desperation. The sight of him, gripping at the sheets and moaning like a girl had you losing your willpower.

“I know, I know.” You cooed at him, stroking him in rhythm of his squirming body. It was driving him mad, on the cusp of blowing his load already. Your condescending tone had Leon coming apart, throwing his head back against your pillows with a noisy moan. He was loud, louder than you’d ever been.

“Mmfm.. s’ close. Fuck, owner .. Wanna knot you. Wish it was your pussy.” He was babbling on and on, “Can I? Please? I want it to be inside of you, already know you smell and taste so good.” You felt a fresh blurt of precum drool over your fingers at his dirty words. Smelt .. tasted.. Your earlier thought must’ve been true. He really had gotten into your used panties.

“That’s so gross, puppy.” You teased, rubbing the crotch of the panties over the head of his cock. As you did so, you felt his warm and sticky seep through to make it even more slick. “You’re such a pervert.” You smiled when you said it, running your thumb over his slit. The feeling had him whining pathetically, fucking your fingers as you picked on him.

“Nuh uh, ‘m not a pervert.” He mumbled, shaking his head back on the pillows. He must’ve known you were right. “Just miss you, and wanted you so badly. Please, close, I wanna cum for you.” He begged, leaking right through the fabric that teased his cock.

“I really shouldn’t.” You gave him a squeeze, feeling him throb beneath your touch. Your fingers teased the underside of his cock, feeling the beginnings of his swelling knot. “But you aren’t going to last much longer, are you?”

Leon keened, “No! No, I’m not. Not when it’s you, I can’t help it.” He was whimpering all high pitched like, rolling his hips up to force more of his girth into the grasp of your fingers. It was nothing in comparison to the thought of your pussy, but it served the release he was chasing.

“Alright.” You gave in completely, stroking him faster and faster until he was right on the edge. “But don’t get used to it. Bad puppies don’t get treated like this after being naughty.” You hoped that rule would convince him to behave himself. Of course, he would say anything you wanted to hear if it meant you’d make him cum.

“Yes! I’ll be good, Your good boy, good puppy.” He stammered, his words slurring together. A couple more rough thrusts into your fist, and you felt a sticky spurt of puppy cum seep through the fabric. He moaned, gasping and panting as he finally let go.

You were greatly amused, leaning over his throbbing cock to look at his face. He was out of breath and completely spent, squirming when you pulled the sticky fabric off of him. The loss of contact didn’t last long, as he was needily tugging you against him moments later.

“Thank you for being so nice.” Leon squeezed you against his side, licking a sloppy kiss to your cheek. His smelt of sweat, a bit musky like he needed a bath. But it didn’t bother you, not when he was so happy. You sighed, fearing you’d started a no good cycle. You figured the spankings could wait for another day.

rooming with a rookie cop in raccoon city had seemed like a pretty sweet deal. he had crazy hours, came and went as he pleased, so you were alone a lot of the time. leon wasn't trouble—he paid his rent on time, kept the place clean, pitched in for groceries. and besides doing a great job as a roommate, he had basically become your best friend!

so when you came home and caught him rubbing out over a photo of your pretty face (a photo of you that you'd posted: pink sun dress, glossy lips puckered, glittery eyeshadow), you didn't know whether to think your deal with your hot cop roommate had gotten sweeter, or if things with your guy best friend had gotten a hell of a lot more complicated!

you'd always been attracted to leon. and now, knowing he had a thing for you (or enough of a thing to jerk off to you...), you knew what you wanted to do next.

you dropped your purse in the floor, heels abandoned by the door. it was late, you'd just gotten back from partying, still in your glittery pink cocktail dress.

"what are you doing?" you asked innocently, glancing at the tv absently. like leon wasn't trying to conceal how his sweatpants and boxers were pulled down and his cock was out underneath the blanket over his lap.

he cleared his throat, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his shirtless body. his blonde was messy, like he hadn't been able to stop running his hands through it. "um. watchin' the game."

you looked at tv again. "that's the retail channel, lee."

"i... accidentally changed it."

"uh-huh." you smiled sweetly then. "and you were watching what game on mute?"

"b-basketball," he said quickly.

"how many touchdowns?"

"four."

"in basketball? touchdowns?"

"yeah."

you approached the couch slowly, running a hand over his bare shoulder. he startled a little, staring at you like he was guilty of a damn war crime.

"leon?" you purred his name.

face warm, he tried to avoid your darling gaze. "yeah..."

"m' not mad."

his lips parted like he was unsure of what to say. when you reached for the blanket, he stilled.

"can i help?"

like he was in a dream come true, leon nodded so fast you thought he might swivel his head off. giggling, you slowly moved the blanket off his lap, pushing it away until it landed in a heap on the floor.

the light off the tv changed colors while flashing off his unveiled hard-on, and you marveled at it momentarily before wrapping your manicured set of pink nails around his shaft.

"fuck, you're big... almost can't get my hand around you, babe."

"y-you're so pretty," leon murmured, mesmerized by you stroking him and how pretty you looked, leaned against his side, head against his chest. he wrapped an arm around your waist, squeezed your tit. "don't know how many times i wanted this. shit, wanted this so bad..."

"you could've told me," you said below leaning down to lick his leaking tip. he hissed, squeezed you tighter.

"fuck, baby," he moaned. "i think i'm in love with you."

you paused at that, looked up at him. he took the opportunity to swoop in and kiss you, deep and genuine, licking his lips when some of your gloss transferred onto his mouth.

fluttering your lashes, you were unsure of what to say. luckily, leon found it in himself to breathlessly ask, "bedroom?"

you nodded excitedly.

dividers by @yukiyu4

send me asks!

To plummet his paternal, optimistic desires, here you stood. Floppy ears, a wagging tail, tufts of fur sticking in places that were nothing out of the ordinary for a pup like you. A permanent stain on the Kennedy name that he could not be more than embarrassed to take responsibility for. But in the end, Leon was still your daddy. Through and through. He tried to love you, really, he did. Put up with the same shit your momma pulled on him back in the glory days of two, solitude mutts under the trance of puppy love.

But those were different times, and with passing years came the burden of age sinking its unwanted claws into his skin. You’ve seen how he used to be—more threads of blonde lining his scalp over that accustomed silver, flexing limbs that barely ached and spasmed when he’d be let out to fetch the newspaper, and a mean gleam in that cobalt gaze which boas ted his determination, his will to take his mutt-thorough life further than whatever bum-fuck predicament the shelter had placed him in.

Back to said predicament at hand; he had six puppies to his name and a wife who could barely get it up with anymore, leaving her to her own devices of laying under the sun’s rays casted through translucent curtains and bearing those razor-tipped canines if Leon had even tried to insinuate signs of intimacy. That’s right. The fact had totally slipped his mind more than one time—this was a woman Leon was dealing with. A fully matured, overburdened woman who had eased out of puppyhood years ago. Liveliness had died inside of her years ago, leaving a lethargic husk of what used to be in place.

Then there was you. Thriving, pampered little you who could not look more like her, act like her, hover at his side as she once did.

Fathers knew their daughters the best, practically reads you like an open book, such as the grooves lining his palms and have been etched into the coarse flesh for a lifetime. He had been there for your first heartbreak, where there had been another mutt over and found himself uninterested in reciprocating your boundless love, wiped your tears when they dewed at the surface of his fur, coddled you senseless till it turned to dependence over independence. You had always been more of a daddy’s girl, it was only in your nature (with a family like yours, pieces of an Electra-complex were bound to shift into place eventually).

And consistent pampering was destined to put you on your worst behavior—putting your paws down in retaliation, pointing your nose in the air, always insisting on compliance. This was not how things were supposed to be. He had grown to be too lenient, too softened around the edges when it came to his youngest, and perhaps age had came into play for that matter. Old man sentimentality is no joke to your daddy where his heart tends to be worn more on his sleeve than to beat senselessly against his ribcage, dictating his emotions towards the rights and wrongs.

As much as a prized pooch you were, none of this could be dragged out any longer. Misdemeanor earned you punishment, and punishment is what kept the Kennedy name within that status of worthiness in check. Putting the over-indulged priss back in her place. Extreme measures and obedience and all.

Leon was here again, flopped with a pudgy stomach up towards the ceiling, grunting as you tried to make yourself comfortable clambering on top of him. His tails flicks below him in annoyance, ears pinned back in a means of defense, but you knew he would never hurt you, or, at least not on purpose. Such matters were only apart of your daily routine—play-fight with your siblings, poke your way to the food bowl, pad around the floorboards until you found him in solitude.

The spare bedroom to your owner’s apartment had been his temporary sanctuary for… possibly one, two years running now. It’s been the only part of his day where a sense of tranquility grew stagnant in the usually lively air, lacking of his wife, his children, his responsibilities. Nothing to blame him for, though. Spending his early twenties, late thirties active on law enforcement and wasting away in the bowels of fatherhood were no joke. Your poor, poor daddy is one sad, retired trophy of his former self.

To pile onto his aching, stiff-boned afflictions, your limbs kicked and kneaded Leon back into reality, small tail pat-pat-patting against his pelvis like its got nothing to lose, face now a mere few inches away from his where your ears drooped down to accompany the sloped position. Almost like seeing the girl he once loved again, younger and playful and retains that Wildcard persona to her. Oh, how he loved and hated the dichotomy of fatherhood; either get his cock hard at the very face he lended a hand in making, or play the part of white picket fence, nuclear family domesticity.

“Daddy, I wanna play!” you yip enthusiastically, pressing your paws into his doughy chest, nose poking into his rough cheek where a layer of decent stubble laid,

“Didn’t you just do that with the others?” Leon sighs, taking his hands and slotting them under your arms to tug you a few inches away.

You pout, furrowing your brows and taking advantage of the airtime he gives you to squirm about till you’re out of his clutch again, earning a hearty umph as the weight hits his chest straight in the dab-smack center. “Yeah… but,” you pause, rubbing your cheek to his affectionately while there’s this gleam of manipulation beaming as stars in your eyes, “wanna spend time with you, the others are mean, they gave me a nasty bruise, look, right on my arm!”

“That’s just the things ways go, pup,” he shrugs indifferently, not even bothering to give the blemish a look before splaying an arm across his face to guard himself from the nearby sun, from your slobbering face, from literally everything that was getting under his skin, “you know, you’re getting older—you ain’t a little thing anymore, it’s time you get used to fending for yourself.”

“I know, and I try,” you retaliate, settling across his chest and putting yourself nose-to-nose, tits-to-tits with him, strewn about as if you owned every inch of his being (vice-versa to be honest in such circumstances), “but you have no idea how hard it is for me, oh my god, daddy—“ the tugging pout makes a return to your lips, rosy and professionally reserved for his bruising affection, “they’re real mean to me no matter how nice I am.”

He sighs, “Ain’t gonna cut it, sweetheart,” his pale, declining eyes of youth stare right back into your youthful ones, looking into a mirror of what had used to be when he moves his arm away slightly, “if they’re tough, then you can be too,” he shrugs indifferently, taking a free hand and rubbing your back in whatever consolidation was left in him, “didn’t raise my girl to be like this, yeah?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” you sniffle, giving another nudge to his nose for good measure, if he, by some divine intervention, decided to give into those puppy eyes and pressing paws lathering their prints to his chest.

It was in the eyes, and the paws, and the blossoming fat at your chest underneath velvety layers that protruded as tits. Still in the works, you’re not quite that developed yet. That’s a milestone for another day, somewhere in the near-far future when your frontal lobe plants its seeds in that head of yours. When he ogles brazenly at your form, the less you are your momma and the more you are his daughter. Made of his blood, born of joined flesh, unconditionally sappy and doing what every pup does; beg, whine, flick her tail around her daddy’s crotch—as if that were the most normal thing in the world—and tilt her head in a show of innocent curiosity.

A pervert Leon was. Some shameless, old rugged dog who’s still got a few kicks to his bone before it came to the bucket. One thing about him is that he could admire a good piece of work, especially when it had been laid out in front of him for the taking. Good tits, pretty face, soft ears and tail—it’s everything he’s ever wanted, or, at least he thinks it is in the heat of the moment.

He’s gonna regret this forever.

“You’re gonna get nowhere in life acting like this,” he tells you fatherly, edging on a hidden depravity, while his palms move to smooth reach to smooth over the backs of your thighs, moving up your lower back and settling at the center there, “can’t just be… stepping in whenever you’ve got troubles, honey.”

You shiver at his wandering touch, teeth gnawing your cheek, “Wanna be better—wanna get better for you, dad,” you whine, hanging your head and giving him a front row view of your blissed face, eyelashes fluttering closed and ears bent in half, “I’d do anything to make you love me.”

Under the blazing cascade of the sun, his stubbled jaw visibly clenches in a movement that reflects a partial guilt bubbling to the surface, I’m gonna regret this forever, while your pleas of desperation do it for him. The final tipping point before the descent. He moves his face in to press chaste kisses against your cheeks, smothering you in perverse affection and takes the distraction to sweep you under him where your body is put on full exhibition. His tail rests against your knee while it’s his turn to clamber on top of you, brawny arms holding his weight up as his lips move to find yours.

Leaks of raw ecstasy began penetrating your flesh, your bones, going straight to the throbbing heat doubling on itself inside of your modest panties. When he closes the gap no father-daughter relationship should ever cross, you feel a carnal hunger crawl up your spine, causing you to throw your arms around his shoulders, hands moving to cup his prickly face like your life depended on it. The kiss is nowhere near professional, lacking the way you’ve seen him and your momma do. Sloppy and missing a coherent rhythm, you lick and lap around his mouth, tongue occasionally slipping out to wet his chin and the corners. He feels a fleeting grin rise to his lips but it’s quick to be pushed down for your own sake. After all, this was his responsibility—be the guiding hand in everything you didn’t or hadn’t know.

His tongue acts as a natural means to stupefy your senses, licking your dull canines, the muscle intertwining with your own and getting a feel at the row of softened gums. Then, he pulls off with a string of bridging spit connecting your lips to his, moving down to your clammy neck, your stomach, reaching your covered mound which is earned one of his more earnest kisses. Leon wastes no time in hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties, lifting your legs slightly to get them off and discarded.

Right there staring back at him in the face of his own debauched wants were the repercussions. Chubby pussy lips sheen with evidenced arousal, swollen clit peeking out beneath the hood, silky and so utterly his for the taking. He takes two fingers and spreads you open efficiently, pulling a surprised yap from your lips while he gets a better look at your insides. Wastes no time in burying his head between your warm thighs, propping your legs on his broad shoulders and leaving a long, wet stripe across the steam of your pussy. Makes you feel whole, sedating what had put you on the worst of your behaviors in the first place.

Throwing your head back, you feel yourself surrender to the overwhelming sensation—ears scattered in a halo where your head laid, fingers finding purchase among the fields of flaxen-gray, pulling and twisting when things got a little too much for you. Leon mouths at you in an impudent manner, a barrage of open kisses quickly turning to punishing nips and devouring swipes. Building your tolerance was bound to happen at some point.

You’re quick to yield to his tactics, whining and yapping so loud he has to clamp a firm hand to silence you. Each clash of his tongue to your pussy goes straight to your barely-functioning puppy brain, suppressing a coherent train of thought and fixing to fog it over with a fog of polluted ecstasy. Good pups take what they’re given, submit to rightful punishment for the greater good, bad pups are left to the pound once they become of age—your daddy’s only doing what’s best for you. Cleaning up the act before it worsens with age (he knows because he’s been there, and again, it’s for the best, always the best).

Just as the coil bubbles under the onslaught of his moving tongue, lathering your pussy in spit and trickling arousal, threatening to snap and give way to the pleasure, he pulls back. It’s sudden and without warning, leaving a disappointed whimper to reverberate from your throat, big teary doe eyes shining as a porcelain doll’s as they snap open. You’re left there squirming your hips at him and leaving yourself open to show off what he’s missing, flaunting his handiwork in a show that says you’ve done this to me, you started this and must finish your own doing.

And he does, thankfully, although meticulously considering his bones and muscles don’t work the way they used to. He’s nearing his fifties, you know, or seven years if he wanted to feel that youthful high injected like dopamine through his network of feeling-unfeeling veins. Reaching down, a hand latches onto his belt and undoes the glittering buckle precisely yet desperately, shoving the encasing denim off those well-built thighs once free along with his briefs.

It was… certainly something. In the best way possible. No wonder your momma’s ended up with six pups to her name, plus a complex, ongoing and nearly miserable wedlock that this kept it alive. He’s not all that huge, but it’s most definitely above average. Hangs heavy against his inner thigh, twitching and leaking at the blunt head which leaves a translucent, moonlit trail. Pathetically, you try to make a grab for him with an outstretched arm but Leon is quick to move into position—slotting his domineering form between your wet thighs, eager for his claim, sinking his teeth into the carnage of your innocence.

Leon grabs either of your hips tightly in a bruising grip, bearing his teeth on the edge of a near-snarl while he prods his cock against your pussy. His head dragging along your hot folds, dousing himself in your slick, getting off on the way you squirm in impatience. In an act of perverted chivalry, he has the courtesy to hike your legs around his waist. One step closer to obedience at a time.

“You’re bein’ so good for your daddy, so good,” he praises sickly-sweetly, reaching down to thumb at your clit in shallow figure eights, watching as your face contorts at his ministrations.

You nod feverishly, eyes staring big in a silent plea, “The best for you, daddy—I wanted you to be my first in everything, in love,” you breathe, counting your shaky breaths,

“Do you really mean that, baby?” Leon’s eyes go almost as big as yours, half-shocked at the abrupt confession.

“Always,” you say, still giving a nod of your head as if your life depended on convincing him, feeling the influence of dumbification swaddling your brain in a fog that could no longer decipher what was moral and what was not, “you’re my dad, you’ve always been there for me, why would I want anybody else when I could have you?”

Given that, Leon seals your deal with a kiss, crashing his lips down to yours in a hungering display abundant of clashing teeth and twisting pink muscles. The smell of sex wafts in the air like a natural aphrodisiac, getting to his head and giving a good push in the right direction. Literally. He makes the subconscious and crucial resolve of easing himself in, slowly at first, the two of you moaning simultaneously when finally becoming one. Shuddering, you don’t think you’ve ever felt this good in your pristine life, ‘cause sex wasn’t technically much of a major thing to be worried about for the next year or two. Leon seems to be be aware of your chastity—he had to, it’s his rightful paternal duty—exhaling in relief and resting a palm under your leg where it’s brought up to one shoulder.

Hearty grunts muffle beyond clamped rows of teeth while he watches himself disappear inside you with every thrust, heart reverberating against his chest, his ribcage, his whole plump torso which heaves up-and-down to accompany his heavy breaths of effort. He swivels his head to meet your leg upon his shoulder, body inclining further to settle himself at a deeper angle, not taking much to bottom out. Allowing his eyes to shut, the ribbons of ecstasy wrap his limbs and control every gradually quickening thrust brushing your cervix, each kiss his tender lips leave against your calf in tranquility from the first-time pains of making love.

He swears he’s never felt quite this blissful since his own first time, and that had been twenty, thirty years ago on counting. It had been rare for his dick to get this wet when there had been the principle nothing and anything could he done about it. Well, except for right now. Your walls were so tight that they squeezed down on him, suffocating and milking him closer to release as his balls slap against the underside of your ass in growing momentum. His lavishing kisses follow a route starting at your foot, continuing down your ankle, and landing across your calf prickling in shocks at your sensitive skin.

“We can’t keep doing this,” he pants breathlessly, his tail thumping loudly against the floor as that sex-high slowly begins seeping into the crevices of his brain, driving him faster, harder against you with jackhammering hips, “the clinginess and dependence, I mean, but also this—just ain’t right for you or me, baby.”

“What do you mean, daddy?” you manage to find your voice at the right time, raspy yet comprehensible amid the soft whines and moans that flow in a pretty tune.

For a moment, a stuttering breath parting his lips as the firmness of authority begins slipping out of his grip, buttery and chafing his palms. Your daddy stills temporarily, bracing sore knees to the floor in one last tug on control and really going to town on you. Both legs rest high on his shoulders now as he drills his cock impossibly deeper, pounding hips clashing against yours. There’s this fleeting second where you wrench your eyes open, catching a glimpse of his beautifully sculpted ruled over with exertion; parted pink lips, creases of age shimmering in a fine layer of sweat, blonde strands sticking to his forehead while his ears are flat to his scalp.

The sight of is kind of everything to your little daddy-devoted heart. Unforgettable, entrancing, so, so beautiful. Reminds you why he had been your favorite in the first place.

“Ain’t supposed to be touching you like this,” he mouths at your ankle, kissing down the slope of your hanging foot, “but then again, me or your momma never really taught you that, so—“ a grunt reverberates at his chest, audible and probably one of the hottest things that has graced you, “awe hell, never mind it baby, I’m blubbering.”

He seals the last of your breaths and filthy noises with a kiss, stealing rapid breaths and the erotic noises that shamelessly flow from your hoarse throat. Leon kisses you over and over again in violent ferocity, drawn-up balls slapping against your ass continually as he loses himself to the sensation of your tightening walls accommodating his relentless and sloppy rhythm. He pulls back for a second, half-lidded eyes gazing down to yours while you cup his stubbly cheeks in small palms, spit decorating the prickly strands wetly. Feels just right this way—having daddy this close, inside of you, your entire world embraced in two hands.

Screw the rights and wrongs, screw whatever law of morality was behind being the hardest Leon has ever been while fucking you into the ground, ‘cause once he’s gotten a taste, his own flesh and blood has never felt better than anything. He finds it impossible to decide the best part of it—the squeeze, the tight fit, the oxygen being depraved out of one another’s brains. All of it, perhaps. Every aspect had put him closer to heaven compared to any quickie or half-ass fuck he’s managed to conjure between him and your momma or with the fresh-faced pooches your age back when he was still a shelter mutt.

You know he reaches his orgasm when his body seizes up at the spread of your thighs, muscles going stiff as a long, drawn-out and satisfied groan slides off his tongue easily. His upper half slumps forward in a shudder while staying as one with you, knot swelling and stretching your pussy out of boundaries that haven’t been exceeded before. Your tail finds his in a contrastingly fond entanglement to your predicament, wagging in a blur of fur. Regular old puppy love, never gets old to him. He cages your head in with two large arms, nuzzling the side of his face to yours, cheek-to-cheek. The type of skin-to-skin contact that Leon’s been subjected to since you a baby. His baby.

“Don’t ever wanna leave you, dad,” you give a weak yiff, nuzzling your nose into sheen skin and yawning big after the rapturous haze begins loosening up on your limbs, an urge to surrender to sleep soon settling in.

“You gotta, baby,” he tries, not quite sure if he’s trying to convince you or himself at this point. Leon searches your face for any sign that, by some divine intervention, that you come your senses, that in the hour or so you’ve spent under him you’ve changed. He searches and searches, trying to find some palpable answer—if anything, your face is the perfect painted picture of bliss.

“Could I at least stay for now?” you blink sweetly, and it’s enough to make his heart feel twice as much.

Internally, Leon seems to contemplate your words, an unreadable expression stretching at the corners of his face. He cups one of your cheeks in a warm, large palm, staring you right in the eyes for what seemed like the first time since taking you in his jaws, clamping down and draining what innocence was instilled in you.

“Yeah,” he finally decides in a vision of defeat, giving a slight nod of his head, “I can do that for you, pup, as long as you want.”

Because if it were one thing about your daddy—not you, that had already been established—he would never be one to break his promises. Puppy love is a fragile thing, plus one hell of a manipulation tactic. Swelling knot, laying his naked flesh onto yours, intertwining fingers much like lovers than family. Maybe that was all this was—the remnants of puppy love, the repercussions of playing favorites.