nai:3

You lift up the paper sack in your hand. “Leon forgot his lunch this morning. Thought I’d bring it to him.” 

His almond eyes shoot open. “Wow, lucky man.” 

“Very. What about you? What’s Mr. BSAA doing over in these parts?”

He leans in as though sharing a secret, the scent of clean soap radiating off his neck. “Cooperation.” And a wink. 

You bend forward to mirror his movement, and quirk a brow. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” 

He tilts his head back and lets out a laugh that was made deep in his belly, pressing a hand to his chest as though to stop his heart from corrupting. “God, you’re funny.” His eyes flicker up and down your face. “And you seem to get prettier every time I see you.” 

“Oh, Chris,” you croon with a dismissive wave of your hand, fingertips lightly brushing the forearm he has crossed over his chest. “You’re just flattering me.” 

“Oh, I would never,” he says playfully. Then, he adjusts his boots on the floor, pivoting to point a thumb at the hallway behind him. “Let me walk you to his office.” 

“Who? Kennedy?” An unfamiliar man says as he passes by, stopping in his tracks as Chris nods. “He’s not in there. Just went by to drop off a report.” 

“Hmm, I wonder where he could be,” Chris says, a little too much like Nancy Drew when she finds a broken clock. “I just saw him.” He shakes his head, turning to the unnamed agent standing beside him. “Anyway, Johnson, have you met Mrs. Kennedy?” 

The agent–Johnson–pivots toward you and smiles, extending a hand. You meet it in a firm shake, returning the gesture with your own beaming grin. “No, I haven’t. It’s very nice to meet you, ma’am.” 

“Pleasure’s all mine,” you say. The three of you rotate through the typical carousel of small talk, Johnson asking you how you and the Leon Kennedy met, and how the old fool was able to lock something as beautiful as you down. Chris tells the tale of how Leon was utterly lovesick after your first date, not able to talk about anything else for the subsequent week after your rendez-vous at that coffee shop.

“He spilt coffee all over you and you still went out with him again?” Johnson asks, his inquiry punctuated by an incredulous laugh. 

“What can I say? He’s adorable.”

“He’s a goofball,” Chris corrects jokingly, nudging you with his elbow. 

“My goofball.” You lower your lids, cutting your eyes at Chris. 

“Well, Mrs. Kennedy, it was so nice to finally meet you,” Johnson says, pulling your attention back to him. His crystalline eyes are as large as saucers as his lips curve into a grin. “Not sure why he’s been hiding you away this whole time.”

“Take a guess,” Chris mumbles, voice suddenly low and grumbling, glancing over your shoulder. You follow his line of sight to find a gaggling of agents looking your way, muttering in hushed whispers. Chris narrows his eyes at them, and their own scramble to the floor, the walls, anything but the big, boulderous man staring them down with warning lights in his irises. 

“Probably talking about what a lucky bastard your husband is, ma’am,” Johnson suggests with a chuckle.

Footsteps approach from behind Chris’s, a head of sandy blonde from over his broad shoulders, all muscle and taut, bronze skin. You would recognize the sound of that gait anywhere. Apparently, so would Johnson and Chris, because the young agent immediately stands to attention, and Chris quirks a brow at you. 

“Johnson,” Leon calls curtly. The agent’s ears redden and his shoulders tense. “Where’s that report you were supposed to bring me first thing this morning?” 

“Um, I–I have it here but you weren’t…” He stutters first, his voice slowly trailing off into quiet nothingness. “Here it is, sir,” he amends when he sees the unrelenting look in Leon’s gaze, deciding not to challenge his superior, who apparently rolled off on the wrong side of the bed this morning. 

“Thank you,” Leon says in return, grabbing the manilla folder from Johnson’s offering hands. When the agent lingers for a moment too long, Leon’s eyes lift from the paper, slicing and daring. “That’ll be all, agent,” he bites. 

You watch the scene unfold: your husband’s stiff lips curling into a thin line, the agent squeaking as he sulks off down the hallway without a second wasted, Chris’s gaze bouncing between you and his colleague. 

“Hi honey,” you say sweetly in an attempt to blur the edges of whatever sharp stick is up his ass. “I brought you your lunch.” That you forgot, you think but don’t add, not wanting to rub salt in the wound. 

“Goodbye, Chris,” is all he gives. Chris leaves you with a mischievous smile before walking down the hall, leaving you and Leon alone. “Should have told me you were coming by and I would have met you in the lobby. Or did you come up just to flirt with my colleagues?” 

Leon closes the door gracefully, keeping the acoustics of the office floor in mind, and he turns the lock on the knob. His next movement is all but careful. He lunges toward you, guiding you backward with his steps until your thighs meet the ledge of his desk. There’s a glassy look in his eyes as he peers down the straight line of his nose at you, his cheeks slightly flushed, and his lips parted to let a warm puff of air past. 

With heavy hands on your hips, he flips you over–so swiftly, your palms have to race to balance you. The wood is glossy and cool beneath your skin as you dig your fingers into the surface of the desk. He mumbles an incoherent string of swears and chides as he makes work of your bottoms, unzipping and grappling and shoving them down your thighs. With his own, he parts your legs, taking a moment to admire the way your arousal drips down your supple flesh.

“Bend over,” he commands in a rasp, a palm on your lower back shoving you down until your chest is squished onto the array of documents and folders scattered on the desk. You obey, though there was no chance you could resist his strength if you wanted to, and extend your arms above your head to tether you to the furniture, fingers finding a hard ledge. 

“I think you like humiliating me,” he barks, guiding the head of his cock up and down your pussy. He hisses through a shudder when he feels how turned on you are for him. “I know you do. You know how I can tell?” He asks, bending at the waist to hover over your back, his words hot on the nape of your neck. 

“How?” You ask, turning your head so you can cut your eyes back at him. 

“Because you’re so fucking wet.” And he plunges in, not wasting a moment to ease into you, inch by inch, as he typically does. The one mean thrust has you crying out, such an immediate stretch pushing you to your limit. “Is this for me?” Another thrust. So punishing and cruel, the sting sending a chill down your spine. “Or was it for Chris Redfield? I saw how you were–” One more. “Flirting with him. And Agent Johnson? Do you want him instead?” Two. Three. Four. 

The pain slowly melts into pleasure as Leon continues to piston into you, his grip deepening on your hips, possession leaking from his merciless fingertips as they burrow into the meat beneath your skin, now mottled with marks that prove he was there. 

“Answer me,” he bellows against the lewd sound of his flesh slapping against yours.

“No,” you cry out, clawing at the wood. “I don’t want any of them.”

“Is that so?” His hands move to your shoulders, spearing you further onto his cock as he thrusts from behind. One hand leaves for a moment, rising high in the air, then coming down across your cheek in a mean slap. You cry out, fingernails scratching, back arching. Another one, even harder than the last. “Answer me.”

“It is, Leon,” you wail as he removes himself completely, forcing himself back inside with one barbarous buck of his hips. “I promise.” 

With the weight of your body against the desk, the pressure in your lower abdomen grows, the wood pressing up and your body pressing down, and you can feel all the more intensely, the way his length slides in and out of you. The tip kisses the button behind your front wall, and sweat begins to bead on your brow as pleasure courses through your body. 

“Who do you belong to?” He asks, his voice pricking your ears, sending a bolt of heat between your legs. It’s not long before your thighs are trembling, barely able to keep you erect, even with the support of the desk beneath your chest. Pleasure builds viciously and violently, rousing a slur of bubbling moans to seep from your bottom lip. 

“You, Leon,” you’re able to spit out. “You, you, you.” 

“I wanna hear you say it.” His voice is altogether primal as he keeps his angry pace, diving in and out to the rhythm of your moans. 

You muster the composure to string together the words, singing them aloud. “I belong to you, Leon. Only you.” 

He pants as he fucks you through your high, drinking up every savage groan you let out, the way your walls clench around his cock, pulsing and squeezing him with every shock your climax brings. The stimulation is too much for him, and he finishes along with you, blurting out his typical sweet song, the praises he stifled in his chest finally rising to the surface. 

As the two of you come down from your respective peaks, redressing and waiting for your hearts to calm, Leon plants a soothing kiss at your temple. 

“I think I’m getting too old for this whole ‘roleplay’ thing, sweetheart,” he confesses in a whisper, pressing his lips onto yours, taking you in a kiss. When he pulls away, he cups your face, a thumb caressing your cheek. “I don’t think my back can take it.”

The axe drove down into the log and split it clean in half. Leon pushed both sides off the chopping block and bent down to reach for another, freshly cut one, when something stirred in the woods. 

He paused, coming back up slowly, tightening the grip on his axe. Wolves usually didn’t come this close, but you could never be sure these days. The villagers had pushed their livestock closer to the edge of the woods, unknowingly luring the wolves closer to civilization. Not that Leon hadn’t warned them. They just didn’t want to listen. 

Narrowing his eyes, he stared into the direction of where he had heard the sound from. Wolves were better at not making any noise. Way better. That was a human. A clumsy one at that. 

Between the trees, a person came into view. A young woman—slender, malnourished almost, was stalking through the woods. 

He sighed. There was only one reason someone like her would come out here by themselves: they were desperate. Desperate enough to follow the hushed whispers, not caring about the risk of getting lost, wandering off the beaten track. 

“If you’re looking for her, you took a wrong turn,” he called out. The young woman jumped and stumbled backward, losing her footing and tumbled to the ground. Her foot had caught on one of the roots winding all across the forest floor. Hissing in pain, she tried to pry her ankle loose, but it wouldn’t budge. 

Leon sighed, wedged the axe loose from the chopping block and walked up to her. Her eyes went wide when she saw what he was carrying and she held her hands in front of her body. 

“Please, no,” she whimpered, but Leon had already lifted his axe and sent it flying down. The woman cried out, squeezing her eyes shut.

Leon wordlessly kicked at the root that was now cut clean in half and set her ankle free. 

“Can you move it?” he asked, crouching down and lifted the remnants of the tangled tendrils off her foot.

She tentatively tried to wiggle it, but winced and grasped her ankle with both hands. 

Leon clicked his tongue. “I’m going to take that as a no.” He held out a hand toward the girl and she eyed him for a minute, unsure if him cutting the root was enough to trust him. 

“What’s your name?” 

“G-Grace,” she stammered, trying to get up off the forest floor by herself, failing and eventually settling on grabbing his hand, letting him pull her back up onto her feet.

“What are you doing out here, Grace?” Leon asked, stabilising her with one hand on her shoulder. “This is no place to be so close to nightfall.” 

She tentatively put weight onto her foot, grimaced and shifted uncomfortably. “I was…looking for some firewood,” she whispered, avoiding his gaze, brushing some rogue light blonde strands of hair back into her braid. 

Leon nodded, the sweltering August sun being blocked out by the crown of the trees above them. “I know where she lives, I can take you to her.” 

Grace’s head whipped around and her breathing became shallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You’re not the first woman to stumble through these woods, desperate for her medicine,” he said, “And you won’t be the last.” 

“That kind of medicine is sin,” Grace breathed and Leon let go of her. 

“If you say so,” he murmured, hoisting the axe higher up on his shoulder and started walking back to his chopping block. 

“You know where she lives?” Grace quaked out after a few steps and he stilled, looking at her from the corner of his eye. 

“I’ve been getting lost all day.” The poor girl was close to sobbing, clutching her midsection. “I don’t know where else to go,” she whispered, chin quivering. 

“Nobody does,” Leon murmured and slipped one arm under her shoulder, supporting her and her twisted ankle. “Looks like you need her for two things now.” 

Slower than usual, he made his way up to your house in the woods. He knew the way well. Too well for his own liking. In fact, he could probably find it in the dark with his eyes closed if he had to. 

The invisible bond keeping you two tethered together had grown stronger over the years, even though neither of you had intended it to happen. Between harsh winters where you had run out of firewood, an infected cut in his palm that had turned into a vicious fever and a roof that needed fixing, your fates had become somewhat intertwined. Woven together by some ethereal thread. Fate maybe.

Or necessity, Leon reminded himself.

That’s all it was.

You spotted the two figures approaching from your garden gate while watering your plants. Ignoring the way your heart stumbled into a sprint when you realised it was the woodsman, you set down the bucket and wiped your hands on your skirt. It wasn’t the first time Leon had dropped a desperate young woman off at your doorstep. 

Too many of them got lost in their frantic pursuit of seeking your help. Each one of them deciding the risk was worth it if it meant they had a chance of getting what they needed. It was only a matter of time until they came across the only other person living this far out from the village. 

You opened the gate, Leon carrying the girl over the threshold and straight into your home. 

“Who do we have here?” you asked, following them inside. 

“Grace,” Leon murmured. “She twisted her ankle.” 

You cocked your head. “A saving grace,” you whispered, “Who got you into trouble?” 

“Myself,” Grace mumbled, blinking rapidly, staring at the ground as Leon set her down on a small wooden chair. Did he remember that he had made that one for you? Probably not. It was too long ago. 

You pursed your lips. “Yeah, that’s what they want you to say,” you said, extending a hand for her to take it. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, turning your head toward Leon, who stood by her side, arms crossed over his broad chest. He nodded curtly, ignoring the way your linen dress hugged your form and was barely hanging on, tied together over your full breasts with two strings that would be so easy to loosen. Like he had done countless times before. 

“Anytime.” He forced himself to walk out your door but that invisible tether kept pulling him back inside. No matter how hard he tried. 

Sometimes he wondered if the villagers were right and this was in fact witchcraft. That you were using the dark arts to keep him addicted to you, on his knees and enslaved by his own desire at the altar of your supple flesh. 

He let out a shaky breath and squared his shoulders, stepping over the threshold and back out onto the clearing. 

Nightfall came and dipped everything into eerie silence. Leon was already in bed, but he wasn’t asleep. He was staring at the wooden beams on the ceiling, one arm tucked in behind his head, the other one resting on his naked chest. 

It was late. 

Very late. 

And a full moon. 

He knew he should get rid of the habit of staying up, but he couldn’t help it. It was like the tether that kept you two connected pulled him out of his sleep time and time again until he heard a knock on the door. 

Like tonight. 

Leaning in the doorframe, he pushed the door open. Behind it stood you, bathed in moonlight. His lips parted and his gaze softened. No matter how hard he tried, there was no forgetting that you were the most beautiful thing he had ever set eyes on. 

“I ran out of firewood.” 

“It’s August.” 

A smile tugged at your sinful lips, one of them disappearing between pearlwhite teeth. Leon sighed and bunched up the fabric of your dress hugging your waist, pulling you to him. Your hands came to rest on his naked chest on impact. Years of felling trees and chopping wood had hardened his body into a solid wall of muscle and feeling it beneath your palms made your breath hitch in your throat every time. 

His lips came crashing down to yours and your eyes fluttered shut. Leon kissed you with all the desperation and frantic lust of a prisoner who would never see the light of day ever again. Panting into his mouth, you anchored yourself, gripping the back of his neck as he pulled you into his home, pushing the door shut behind you. 

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct and he carried you over to the nearest surface he could find, setting you down on the kitchen table. He pulled at the string holding your dress together in the front, the fabric unravelling and exposing your soft body to him. He latched onto your skin, sucking, biting like he had been starved for years, when in reality it had only been a month since you had last come over in the shrouded embrace of the night. 

Leon moved lower, nudging your thighs apart but you pulled him back up by his hair, earning a frustrated groan from him. 

“Why can’t I kiss you there?” 

“Because that’s where husbands kiss their wives and I’m not your wife,” you said, shutting him up with a fiery kiss, but your tongue only found bared teeth. 

“Are you going to stay till morning this time?” Leon hissed, pushing himself between your thighs and touching you where he had intended to kiss you before. 

You bit back a moan, as he parted your folds and expertly found your most sensitive spot, rubbing close circles around it with his calloused fingers. You shook your head, reaching for his pants, pushing them over his hips, his hardened length hitting the soft skin of your lower belly. 

Leon growled, working you harder, helplessly pushing himself up against you for some friction. A breathy moan fell from your lips and you closed your hand around his shaft, caressing the tip of his cock with your thumb, spreading the sticky liquid that had gathered there. 

Leon’s brows knitted together and a heady moan found the shell of your ear, as he let his head fall forward, biting down on the sensitive skin of your neck. You gasped, but his tongue flicked over the bite mark right after, as if asking for forgiveness.

He reached between your bodies, aligning himself with your entrance, slicking himself with your juices and you shivered with anticipation. The head of Leon’s cock prodding at your entrance was your favourite feeling in the entire world, so full of promise of unspeakable pleasure. That little secret would never reach his ears though. 

“Stay.” 

A shaky breath slipped past your lips, as you felt him push in and your fingernails digged into his shoulders, fitting perfectly into the scratches where his skin was still sore from the last time. “No,” you gasped and he sank into you, filling you up in a deliciously burning stretch. Leon groaned and started thrusting into you, eliciting a helpless whimper from you with each brush up against your inner walls. 

“Fucking stay,” he choked out, burying his face in the crook of your neck and his cock deep inside of you with a punishing thrust. 

You cried out, gripping him tighter, your pussy clenching around him. You shook your head, a tear forming at the corner of your eye. “No.” 

Leon lifted you up and stumbled backward until the back of his legs hit his bed and he sank down, grabbing a handful of your ass, guiding your movements. 

“You can carry me into your bed all you want,” you panted, rolling your hips against his, the friction of his pubic bone against your clit making your movements more frantic, “that will not make me stay the night.” 

Leon grunted, pressing his head between your breasts, licking at them, capturing one of your nipples between his lips. 

You arched your back, watching him suck on your tit, as you rode him, his thick cock hitting deeper inside you, the tip of him kissing your cervix, making you see stars. 

“Oh fuck, Leon,” you moaned, rubbing up against him more, until he pushed you back, holding you in place with the hand that was still gripping your ass, thrusting up into you at an even more intoxicating angle, as his other hand started playing with your clit. 

You anchored yourself to his shoulders, mouth falling open with the most obscene moans, the coil of pleasure in your abdomen about to snap at any moment. 

“Marry me.” Leon’s voice broke into a moan, letting you know he was moments from losing it too. 

You shook your head again, squeezing your eyes shut, the pleasure becoming too much to bear, as you felt yourself ripple around him. 

“Never.”

Leon grabbed you tighter, pushing you onto the bed, your legs spread wide, as he continued fucking you, hips snapping against yours, skin slapping against wet skin, as you clawed at his back, pressing the side of your face to his. 

You cried out his name, locking your legs behind his ass, pushing him deeper into you if that was even possible, as white hot pleasure washed over you. 

Leon let out a strangled sound, biting down on your neck again, his last helpless attempt at marking you as his as he lost his rhythm, spilling into you with a guttural groan. 

He didn’t need to reach out his hand to know that the other side of his bed was cold. An iron fist closed around his heart as he pushed himself out of bed, walking back into the kitchen. 

Your dress was sprawled out atop the table, staring back at him. He swallowed, throat bobbing. You always left your dress—and never came back for it. He had a collection of your dresses in one of the trunks in his bedroom like he had a habit of killing young women at every full moon.

But it was you killing parts of him every month, only to stalk off butt naked into the night, worse, into the woods by yourself. No matter what he did to make you stay.

He let out a deep sigh, picked up the sheer fabric and lifted it to his face, inhaling your scent, telling himself it was still warm, still bore remnants of your skin. His face contorted in pain and he tossed the dress into the trunk with the others, sealing it shut. 

He walked out the door, closing his eyes, clearing his mind with the clean air of the morning that was so different from the thick, heady musk the joining of your bodies had left behind in his bedroom. It was driving him mad. Slowly but surely, you were unravelling his sanity, on full moon at a time, thread by thread until he eventually came apart. 

Yet, he couldn’t stop giving in. 

“Well met, woodcutter. Isn’t this a fine morning?” 

Leon crinkled his nose and cracked one eye open. A man came into view, clad in a woolen doublet and high collared mantle.

“It was until you showed up.” 

The man chuckled and reigned in his horse. “Rough night?” 

Leon shrugged, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Do you know where the woman lives?” he asked, leaning in a little over his saddle. 

Leon narrowed his eyes at him, but he gave him a tight-lipped shake of the head. “What woman?” 

Men typically didn’t come here to look for your help. It was only other women. Desperate young women most of the time, some of them stayed hidden with you until they were fit to return to whatever fate awaited them outside of these woods. And then others, they never did come back—because you helped them disappear. 

But never men. 

“The woman who lives out in the woods by herself.” 

Leon grimaced. “If there was a woman living here, don’t you think I would know?” 

The man wrinkled his forehead and nodded. “I suppose so.” 

Leon nodded curtly. “Well met,” he imitated the man’s pompous tone and stalked over to his chopping block, wedging the axe loose. 

The man guided his horse away from his home and Leon couldn’t help but watch him closely as he left. There was a book sticking out of one of his saddle bags. 

MALLEUS MALEFICARUM it said on the leather binding.

----

✦ leon never directly asks, but you can tell what he wants from the glossy look in his eye. you always tease, holding him close enough to where your pulse is just by his face. he whines and squeezes his grip on you.

✦ “you want a drop, baby?” you’d tease. his eyes would stare up at you widely, please written on his face.

✦ when he’d bite into you, his eyes would roll back in bliss. human blood always tasted somewhat the same to him, but yours was different, especially when aroused.

✦ he’d get lost in the taste of you, primal needs fluttering through. sometimes his hips would buck into your thigh, the materials of your clothing giving him oh-so delicious friction.

✦ he’d whine against your neck, his breath in huffs. when he stopped feeding from you, he used his tongue to lick any blood that leaked. between flicks of his tongue and open-mouthed kisses, he let out low moans.

✦ your head would feel woozy after all the blood loss, so you ended up laying on your back with leon on top of you. his bulge pressed against your core, silently throbbing in his jeans, before he started to grind against you.

✦ his movements were gentle but desperate, the blood making him practically feral. when he leaned down to catch you in a kiss, his fangs accidentally nicked you, to which he gladly swallowed down.

“I’m fine,” He stated, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that barely carried across the tense room. “Ribs heal. The job doesn’t wait.”

“The job isn't going to have an agent left if you keep treating your body like it's expendable!” You stepped closer, your soft frame trembling with a combination of anger and genuine fear for him. You wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him, to make him understand that his life actually mattered to someone.

“You’re not thirty anymore, Leon. You can’t just keep taking these ridiculous tasks and throwing yourself into the meat grinder without a second thought. You need to start caring for yourself. I care about you.”

An odd mist of vulnerability shrouded your quiet, final words.

Leon’s hand stopped moving. The pen pausing against the seemingly never ending forms. Slowly, he lifted his head, his dirty blonde bangs falling over his eyes, blurring a gaze that had suddenly gone cold and defensive. He was exhausted, and the weight of his own mortality was a pressure he didn't like being reminded of.

He stood up, his tall, broad frame instantly imposing over you, casting a heavy shadow across your face.

“I’ve been dealing with this shit since Raccoon City,” Leon grumbled, his tone sharp, cutting through the air like a combat knife. “I didn't ask for you to care, and I certainly don't need some assistant constantly trying to manage my life. Mind your own business.”

The words hit you like a tidal wave. You bit the inside of your cheek, attempting to prevent the slight tremble in your lip. Breath hitching in your throat as the sheer dismissal of his tone sank in.

Silent realisation had inundated Leon’s expression. His hand slowly reaching toward you, but before a single apologetic sound could leave his lips, the static filled electronic chirp of his radio shattered the silence.

“Agent Kennedy. Active quarantine breach reported at the primary facility. you’re needed on site immediately.”

Leon’s jaw tightened. Averting his regretful gaze and reaching down. He grabbed his heavy tactical belt from the chair, clasping it around his lower torso with mechanical efficiency. He turned his back toward you and strode out into the dark hallway without a lingering backward glance, the heavy office door clicking shut behind him.

The resonating void of his presence had left a week long, haunting silence in the room.

A rigid seven days had passed in an agitating blur. Seven days of fixating on blank post mission files, organising useless documents and listening to the rain palpitate relentlessly against the building's windows.

It was nearly midnight when you heard the leaden handle of your small office door finally click.

You didn't look up immediately, forcing your eyes to stay focused on the paperwork in front of you, but the familiar, heavy tread of combat boots instantly gave him away.

Leon stepped into the warm, muted glow of your desk lamp. He looked completely spent. His hefty jacket was gone, leaving him in a tight, navy compression shirt that clung to the rugged contours of his chest. His hair was damp from the downpour outside, sticking to his forehead in messy patterns. But what made your heart swell with a dull ache was the fresh, livid purple bruise blossoming across his jaw.

You stare into the files on your desk like they’re a personal threat, your voice shifting into a flat, professional monotone. “Welcome back, Agent Kennedy. Your post mission reports are on the left.”

Leon stopped, the permanent furrow in his brows deepening, the formal title cutting deeper than any blade. He let out a low, rough sigh. “Agent Kennedy? Right. Guess I earned that one.”

He stood there by the door for a moment, just studying you. When you stubbornly refused to acknowledge him properly, he let out a deep exhale through his nose and leaned himself against the edge of a filing cabinet. You kept your head down, expertly shifting a stack of papers, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of a response.

Leon diverted closer to your ignorant presence, his boots thudding softly against the carpet until he stopped just a few feet from your desk. He looked down at his own bruised, bandaged knuckles, the facade draining out of him all at once.

“I shouldn't have said that shit to you last week. I was tired, but that's no excuse. You're one of the only people left who actually gives a shit if I make it back alive. I'm sorry.”

Tentatively, you let the documents drop from your hands and onto your desk. You finally stood up from your chair, softly stepping out into the open space between the desk and his remorseful figure.

The anger you had shouldered for seven days dissipated into a thin fog, leaving only an actively dispersing ache. Your eyes welled with tears as you looked up at him, looking profoundly hurt by the dismissal of his parting words and the blistering week of wondering if he would even come back alive. You looked so vulnerable, your soft curves completely yielding under the strain of the silence.

Seeing that shattered look on your face broke whatever wall Leon had orchestrated. In one swift, desperate stride, Leon concluded the distance between you. His large, calloused hands came up to frame your face, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear. The contrast of his rough, combat tested palms against your soft skin made your breath hitch faintly.

“Hey, i’m okay” He murmured, his voice dropping all its buffers, turning dense and desperate. “Don’t ruin those pretty eyes over me. I’m right here” Leon whispered, pulling your soft frame an inch closer to his chest.

The tension that had simmered for a long, torturous week dissolved completely.

Leon didn't just lean down, he seemed to collapse into you, his broad shoulders dropping all their stiff tactical weight as he captured your lips in a resonant, bruising kiss. It was the desperate act of a man who had been starving for seven days, heavy with ardent deprivation.

You whimpered against his mouth, a soft, feeble sound that was irrevocably swallowed by the domineering hunger of his lips. Your hands flew up to grip his biceps, your fingers digging into the solid, adamant muscle beneath his compression shirt. You pressed closer, your soft frame yielding against him seamlessly, your plush stomach flattening against his rigid torso. He groaned into the kiss, his hands shifting down your back to grip your thick hips, pulling you so tightly against him that you could feel the hardening ridge of his desire through his trousers.

Without breaking the kiss, Leon softly guided you backward until the backs of your thighs hit the sturdy oak of your office desk. With a solitary, sweeping motion of his arm, he wantonly knocked the stack of folders onto the floor. The papers scattered across the carpet with a loud rustle.

There goes your weeks worth of agonising work…

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” Leon muttered against your lips, his voice entwined with a sudden, sharp urgency before he kissed you again.

He lifted you by your hips, hoisting your soft weight onto the edge of the desk. Stepping between your thighs, his broad shoulders blocked out the rest of the dimly lit room. His movements slowed down altogether, the initial frantic rush relenting into a dense, deliberate focus.

His large, calloused hands slid methodically under the hem of your pencil skirt. His rough palms scraped deliciously over your thick, smooth thighs, his thumb tracing slow, warm circles into your soft skin. He leaned down, embedding his face gently into the crook of your neck, taking a long, ragged breath to inhale the alluringly sweet scent of you that he had been starving for all week.

“You’re beautiful.” His teeth gently nipped at the sensitive skin of your neck, making you arch your back and leave out a hushed whisper of his name. “I don't think I breathed a single clear breath all week until now.” Leon muttered softly, his blue eyes hazy with pure affection as his palms shaped your full hips.

Leon broke away from your neck, his breathing still uneven, but his movements became incredibly careful. His dusk clouded eyes searched yours with an intense, quiet vulnerability.

“Sweetheart,” His words rolled out like thick velvet, vibrating right against your chest. “Let me make it up to you.”

Your breath hitched at the raw desperation in his eyes. Fraying your fingers gently into his dirty blonde strands, you allow yourself to nod softly. “Leon. Please.”

He slid his hands to your full hips, his fingers sinking into your soft flesh with a gentle squeeze. Leisurely, Leon sank down to his knees on the carpeted office floor, settling himself directly between your trembling, parted legs.

Reaching up, his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties. He didn't tear them away, just carefully slid them down your thick thighs with a quiet reverence, tossing them onto a patch of carpet nearby. Under the faint, warm light of the desk lamp, your inner thighs quivered mildly. Leon studied the soft curve of your hips, your rounded stomach, and the aching heat of your warmth waiting for him.

“Leon...” You whimpered quietly, his name echoing in the quiet atmosphere of your office.

Leon pressed a feathery kiss against the inside of your thigh, his hands smoothing over the trembling muscle.

“Shh, I've got you,” He murmured, his gravelly voice dropping even lower, vibrating against your skin. “Just relax for me, sweetheart.”

His large hands gripped the undersides of your plush thighs, lifting your legs and draping them gently over his broad shoulders. The position exposing you completely to him.

As your breathing finally began to smoothen out, the cloying, defensive tension that had held your body stiff for a week dissipated into your entanglement. Your hips sunk into the oak of your desk, your trembling legs mellowing where they were adorned over his strong shoulders as you let go of a long, shaky exhale.

Leon felt the soft, pliant change in your posture instantly. A low, deeply satisfied hum vibrated in his chest.

“There you go,” Leon murmured into the suppleness of your inner thigh, his plangent voice dripping with heavy devotion. He gave your plush hips a gentle, claiming squeeze, his thumb tracing a comforting circle into your skin. “Good girl. Just like that for me.”

Leon inched closer, his warm breath faltering as he felt the radiant heat emanating from you. When his tongue made contact, a deep, slick swipe right against your aching center, your faintly quivering hips bucked off the desk. A soft, shameless mewl echoed through the dim space.

“Leon..oh fuck-” A simmering plea leaves your blossoming lips.

A verbal answer had decided to remain in Leon’s throat, instead he buried his face entirely between your soft thighs. His tongue working in long, resolute, achingly languid strokes, using his lips and tongue to swirl over your sensitive bundle of nerves until you were dewy and painting his mouth with your juices.

Over the deliciously lingering friction of his tongue against your skin, his hands remained tethered on your hips, his fingers gently squeezing your soft flesh, holding you steady as your body began to writhe beneath his unyielding touch. Amid the deep, wet sounds of his tongue devouring you, Leon began to mumble into your warmth, his voice vibrating against your splintering pleasure.

“Mmm... I’m sorry,” He mumbled, his hot breath humming against your wet flesh. “So sorry, sweetheart... hated myself the second I walked out that door.” He took a deep, voracious lap, tasting the sweet nectar of your climax as it began to build. “Missed you... fuck, I missed you so much. Missed this. Every single day.”

The desperation in his muffled confessions, combined with the relentless, expert friction of his tongue had quiet moans of his name leaving your lips. He didn't pause, his rhythm growing deeper and more ravenous as he felt the tight, delirious fluttering of your muscles foreshadowing your release.

Your fingers tightened desperately in his damp hair, pulling him impossibly closer, pressing his face even further into your heat. Letting your head tilt back, the ceiling bleared out of focus as a vehement, trembling orgasm ripped through your body.

You clamped your thighs constrictively around his head, eliciting a desperate grunt from Leon’s throat. Your soft flesh trembling as an influx of pleasure collided over you.

Leon clung onto you, holding your hips firm, consuming every drop of your saccharine release, his tongue continuing to trace soothing, gentle strokes against your warmth until your panting breaths finally began to slow.

Slowly, he pulled away from your core, looking up at you with wet lips and a dark, completely satisfied smirk splitting his bruised face.

“Now,” Leon whispered, his voice dripping with absolute devotion as he stood up and began to unbuckle his belt, “Let's see if I can remember how the rest of this protocol goes.”

You looked up almost immediately. "There you are," you smiled. "I made it," he answered with a tired smile. You closed your book and set it on the nightstand before reaching for him. Leon didn't hesitate. He leaned down just enough for you to wrap your arms around his waist, and for a few quiet seconds neither of you said anything. The embrace itself said enough. "You look exhausted." You whispered. "I am exhausted." A small laugh escaped you.

He rested his cheek briefly against the top of your head, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo before glancing towards the digital clock on the nightstand. "So..." he murmured. "I'm officially 2 hours away from getting older." He added. "You mean wiser," you joked, looking up at him. "I don't know about that," he huffed. "You don't have much of a choice," you said, hugging him slightly tighter. Another chuckle rumbled softly in his chest.

"You planned something, didn't you?" You tried your best to look innocent. "Maybe," he narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion before shaking his head. "I'm fine as long as nobody makes me wear one of those ridiculous paper hats," he said with a warning tone. "I make no promises," You said, raising your hands in defense. His smile only widened.

"Where's my partner in crime?" He asked, releasing his embrace around you after pecking your forehead. "Asleep." You glanced towards the hallway. "He insisted on waiting for you again." Your voice softened. "He almost managed it." Leon let out a quiet, affectionate sigh. "I'll be right back." You watched him disappear into the hallway, his footsteps growing quieter until they stopped outside Sammy's bedroom.

The door creaked ever so slightly. You couldn't hear the words he whispered, but you didn't need to. You knew the routine by heart. A kiss against Sammy's forehead, his little dinosaur tucked back under one arm, the blanket pulled back over tiny shoulders after it had inevitably been kicked away, and a whispered goodnight. It didn't matter how late Leon came home; he never skipped it.

A few moments later, he returned, the softness in his eyes impossible to hide. "He didn't even move." He chuckled. "He sleeps like you," you pointed out with a wide smile. "I do not," Leon complained immediately as he opened his underwear drawer and took out new boxers. "You absolutely do when you're relaxed." You watched his movements carefully. "That's slander," he pointed a finger at you. You laughed quietly, and the sound followed him as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Soon the steady rush of water filled the house. You opened your book again, but only managed a few pages before realizing you had read the same paragraph three times. Your attention wandered instead. It always did.

When the bathroom door finally opened, a thin cloud of warm steam drifted into the hallway. Leon stepped out with a towel secured low around his waist, another rubbing absentmindedly through damp blond hair. Tiny droplets still clung to his skin, catching the light from the bedside lamp as he walked back into your shared bedroom, tracing slow paths across his shoulders and chest. You had seen him like this countless times. Enough that it should have become ordinary. It never had.

Time had changed him in subtle ways. His shoulders had broadened over the years, his frame stronger than it had once been, built by endless training sessions and missions that demanded more than most people could imagine. Scars, old and new, interrupted otherwise sun-kissed skin like silent reminders of every place life had taken both of you. They should have made him look intimidating. Instead, somehow, they only made him look more like himself. There was something impossibly comforting about him when he was simply home, being just your husband and the father of your son.

His damp hair curled slightly at the ends as he finished drying it, and when he noticed you watching him, one corner of his mouth lifted into that familiar crooked smile. "What?" You simply shook your head. "Nothing," you shrugged. "I know that look," he said, pointing at you. "What look?" You asked innocently. "The one where you're pretending not to stare." You let out a quiet huff as if his words offended you. "I wasn't pretending." He laughed under his breath. "Oh wow, how direct," he quietly teased.

Setting the towel he'd been using onto the chair by the window, he walked towards the bed. The mattress dipped beneath one knee as he leaned over you, one hand braced against the sheets beside your hip. "So," he whispered, close enough that you could still feel the lingering warmth from the shower. "Anything else I should know before I become an old man tomorrow?" You smiled, your fingers brushing a damp strand of hair away from his forehead out of habit. "I think you'll survive another birthday," you said confidently. "I certainly hope so." He leaned down just a little further.

His lips found yours in an unhurried kiss, gentle at first, carrying the quiet comfort of coming home after a long day. When he pulled back, only for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The silence between you felt smaller. His forehead rested lightly against yours, the tip of his nose briefly brushed yours, his thumb traced slow circles on your cheek as his eyes searched yours with that familiar fondness that always made your heart skip.

"Lay down," you whispered, slightly pulling him down and guiding him to lie beside you. The towel still hung loosely on his hips as he rested his back against the headboard. Your fingertips traced the muscles of his chest and stomach, making him shiver slightly under your touch. "What are you doing?" He asked with a growing smirk threatening to pull at the corner of his lips. "Just relax and enjoy," you whispered, placing a soft, lingering kiss on his lips before moving down to his neck and chest.

His breath quickened faster than he would like to admit, a familiar bulge appearing under the towel. "I must've been really nice in my previous life to deserve this..." He whispered with a wide smile, his eyes following every single movement you made. Your fingers gripped the hem of the towel, untying the small knot with ease.

His voice got stuck in his throat when you wrapped your hands around his erection, slowly pumping it. His head bumped into the wall behind him slightly when his muscles tensed up, a heavy wave of pleasure hitting him the moment your mouth wrapped around him. "God... You're so good..." He whispered, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes. You held his gaze as you traced the veins on the base of his hard member.

His hand tucked the strand of hair getting on your face behind your ear every single time, not allowing it to get in between your gazes. His blue eyes darkened a little more with every deep breath he took, his fist around the sheets becoming tighter with every lick your tongue made around the leaking tip. "I'm so close..." He whimpered a few minutes later, cumming in your mouth not long after.

Silence settled over the bedroom once more. The only sound left was the steady rhythm of Leon's breathing as he lay beside you, one arm lazily wrapped around your shoulders as he pulled you closer, his fingertips tracing random patterns against your skin. His hair was still slightly damp from the shower, a few blond strands falling across his forehead now that they had finally dried.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You simply stayed there, tangled beneath the blankets, letting the quiet fill every corner of the room. You were the first to break it, though. "...Happy early birthday." A soft laugh escaped him. "So technically, I haven't even turned a year older yet," he muttered, checking the watch on his wrist. "No," you murmured, smiling against his shoulder. "But I didn't want to wait until tomorrow." His arms tightened around you almost instinctively. "You spoil me," he sighed. "You deserve it." He shook his head with the smallest smile, pressing a lingering kiss against your temple before resting his cheek on top of your head.

"You know I've never really cared much about birthdays," he admitted quietly. You looked up at him. "And you know I changed that." A loud chuckle escaped him. His gaze drifted towards the bedroom door, where the faint glow from the hallway slipped beneath it. "Yeah, you did." His voice carried that familiar warmth it always did whenever he talked about you or Sammy.

"I think that's enough reason to look forward to tomorrow." Your heart softened. You reached up to brush your fingers through his hair, earning a content hum that was almost enough to make you smile. Outside, the neighborhood had long since fallen asleep. Somewhere in the distance, the wind stirred the leaves of the trees lining the street, and the sound drifted faintly through the cracked bedroom window.

The house was peaceful, lived in. Eventually, Leon reached over to switch off the bedside lamp. Darkness wrapped around the room, leaving only the pale silver glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. "Goodnight, honey," he whispered. "Goodnight." Within minutes, the steady rise and fall of his chest told you he had finally surrendered to sleep, exhaustion catching up with him after another long day.

Curled safely against him, you closed your eyes as well, unaware that only a few hours later, a tiny pair of feet would come padding down the hallway with a birthday mission far too important to wait until sunrise.

Morning arrived quietly with something much smaller than any alarm or ray of sunlight spilling through the curtains. "...Mama." Tiny fingertips poked your cheek with surprising determination. "...Mama." Another poke. "...Mama." You frowned slightly, still somewhere between dreaming and waking, burying your face deeper into the pillow in the hope that whatever tiny creature had found you would simply go away. It didn't.

A pair of little hands cupped your face instead. "Mama," came the whisper again, somehow even more urgent this time. "Wake up." Your eyes cracked open just enough to find an enthusiastic pair of blue ones staring back at you from the side of the bed.

Sammy was standing on his toes, barely tall enough for his chin to reach the mattress. His blond curls stuck out in every possible direction, evidence that he had climbed out of bed the moment he woke up. One dinosaur sock had somehow disappeared somewhere along the way from his bedroom to yours, while the other still covered his tiny foot, slightly crooked. He looked very serious.

"Mama," he whispered again. You blinked away the last traces of sleep. "What is it, sweetheart?" His tiny face lit up. "We have birthday." You couldn't help smiling. Right, it was today. You shifted your gaze towards the other side of the bed. Leon hadn't moved an inch. One arm rested beneath his pillow while the other was still stretched across the mattress where you had been sleeping only moments before. His breathing remained slow and steady, completely unaware of the very important operation currently unfolding beside him.

You looked back at Sammy. "Papa's still sleeping," you whispered, pointing at your husband. "I know." His answer came with all the confidence of someone who had spent at least three whole minutes thinking through an incredibly complicated plan. "We surprise." Before you could answer, Sammy suddenly gasped. His eyes grew wider. "So quiet." Very slowly, as though the walls themselves might be listening, he raised one tiny finger to his lips. "Shhh." The sound barely escaped above a breath.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing. "Top secret," he informed you with a solemn nod. "Oh?" He leaned closer until his forehead almost touched yours. "Mission." The word was barely louder than the rustling of the blankets. You nodded just as seriously. "A mission." He nodded back. "The biggest," he said enthusiastically.

Satisfied that you understood the gravity of the situation, Sammy carefully reached for your hand. Not pulled, reached. Like every movement had to be perfectly calculated. You slipped out from beneath the blankets as quietly as possible, making sure not to disturb Leon. The mattress shifted ever so slightly. Sammy froze completely. His eyes snapped towards the bed. Both of you stared at Leon, but nothing seemed to change. His breathing remained as calm as before.

Sammy slowly exhaled. Then looked at you with the unmistakable expression of someone who believed disaster had only just been avoided. "Close," he whispered. "So close," you whispered back. He gave one decisive nod. The mission could continue.

Hand in hand, the two of you began the longest journey of your lives. Or at least, it felt that way. Every floorboard seemed suspicious, every step became a careful balancing act. Sammy lifted each foot dramatically high before placing it down with painstaking precision, pausing every single step to glance over his shoulder and make sure Leon hadn't appeared behind you like he did whenever Sammy was developing one of his terrible ideas.

He looked less like a three-year-old in dinosaur pajamas... and more like the world's tiniest secret agent. Halfway across the room, he suddenly stopped again. You nearly walked into him. "What happened?" He pointed towards the bedroom door. "It's... squeaky." His tiny voice carried genuine concern. You almost laughed. But instead, you crouched beside him. "I think we can handle one squeaky door, Agent Kennedy." He considered this for several long seconds. Then gave a determined nod. "Okay."

Very carefully, he wrapped both hands around the doorknob. His tongue poked out in concentration as he pulled it with meticulous care. The hinge creaked. Sammy immediately froze again as his eyes widened. You both looked back towards the bed. Leon shifted slightly beneath the blankets, letting out nothing more than a quiet snore before settling once again. Neither of you breathed.

A few endless seconds passed. Then silence returned. Sammy looked up at you with the biggest grin imaginable. "We did it," he whispered. "You did." His chest puffed with pride. Still holding your hand, he stepped into the dark hallway as though he had just completed the first phase of the most important mission in the history of birthdays.

Behind you, Leon continued sleeping peacefully, completely unaware that somewhere downstairs, his tiny partner in crime was already preparing the greatest birthday surprise a three-year-old had ever attempted.

The kitchen light flickered on with a soft click. Sammy looked around as though he had just stepped into a mission control. His mouth fell open ever so slightly. "So much cooking," he whispered. You smiled, tying one of your spare aprons around his little waist. It hung almost to his ankles, forcing you to fold it in half before tying the strings behind his back. "There." He looked down proudly. "I chef," he cheered. "Yeah, you're a chef," you chuckled. "The best chef," he nodded confidently. "The best chef," you repeated, ruffling his hair with a wide smile.

He nodded once, fully accepting the compliment before marching towards the counter with all the confidence of someone who had never successfully made breakfast in his entire life. You had barely taken the flour out of the cupboard before he was already reaching for the mixing bowl. "I do it." His voice rose barely above a whisper. "I know you do." His tiny hands gripped the bowl with absolute determination while you measured out the ingredients.

Everything was going surprisingly well. Until the eggs. "I crack!" You hesitated for a second. "...Okay." You handed him an egg. Sammy held it with both hands, staring at it as if it could break just by looking at it. Very gently... Tap. Nothing. He frowned. A little harder, another tap. Still nothing. His eyebrows furrowed a little more. Then... CRACK. The shell exploded with far more enthusiasm than intended. Half the egg landed inside the bowl; the other half slid dramatically onto the counter.

Sammy stared; the counter stared back. "...Oops." You couldn't help laughing. "It's okay," you said, taking his hands bathed in egg and putting them under cold water to prevent them from smelling later. "It escaped," Sammy said quietly, looking at the cold water hitting his hands. "I catch next one." You handed him a cloth while quietly rescuing what remained of the egg before moving on.

It took approximately thirty seconds for the next disaster. "...Mama?" You turned. Sammy had somehow managed to lift the flour bag onto the counter entirely by himself. A small achievement. Unfortunately... He had also squeezed it. A soft white cloud burst into the air like fresh snowfall. Flour coated the countertop, the floor, his pajamas, his nose, and even his eyelashes.

For one perfectly frozen moment, neither of you moved. Then Sammy blinked. A tiny puff of flour floated away from his face. "...Snow?" You laughed so hard you had to lean against the counter. "I think our kitchen might've turned into winter." He looked around proudly. "I helped," he said. "You definitely did."

A few minutes later, after the countertop had been rescued and the batter was finally mixed, you started cutting fresh strawberries and setting out blueberries. Sammy immediately reached into the carton. One blueberry disappeared. He chewed thoughtfully. You raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?" He swallowed. "...Checking," he said as if it was obvious. "Checking what?" You asked. "If yummy." You couldn't help laughing at how your son was Leon's son as well, so undeniably. "And?" You asked between laughs. He nodded very seriously. "Need another."

Another blueberry vanished. Then another, and another. By the time you'd finished slicing the strawberries, you looked back towards him. Half the carton was gone. "...Sammy." He froze; a suspiciously round little cheek bulged ever so slightly. You couldn't even pretend to sound stern. "Were those quality control too?" He nodded with complete sincerity. "Papa says it's important."

He looked into the nearly empty carton. "...Still checking." You laughed quietly and stole one blueberry from the few survivors. "I think they've passed inspection." He considered that. "...Okay." He muttered, not fully convinced.

The pancakes were much safer. Mostly because he couldn't eat the batter before it reached the pan. He stood on his little stool beside you, watching each pancake bubble before you flipped it. Every successful flip earned an enthusiastic gasp. "Again!" He said a little too excitedly. "We have quite a few to make." You watched the huge bowl of batter, reconsidering if you had made too much for just the three of you. "For Papa," Sammy said proudly.

When the stack began growing on a plate beside the stove, Sammy's eyes widened. "No." You blinked. "No?" He shook his head vigorously. "More," he said, looking up at you. "I think this is enough." He looked horrified at your answer. "But..." His tiny hands stretched as wide as they could. "Papa is big." You pressed your lips together to stop yourself from smiling. "He is," you managed to say. "So..." He carefully stole one pancake from your plate and stacked it on top of Leon's plate. "There."

Soon the tower looked far taller than any reasonable breakfast required. Sammy admired his work. "Perfect." He beamed, looking at the huge tower of pancakes. "I hope Papa's hungry," you chuckled. "He always hungry," Sammy nodded thoughtfully. You snorted. "That's actually true."

The final step, according to Sammy, was the most important one. Decoration. You opened the cupboard and reached for the little jar of star-shaped sprinkles. The moment he spotted them, he gasped. "Stars!" Before you could say anything, Sammy had already thrown his arms towards you and taken the tiny jar with both hands. "I do." He twisted the lid open with immense concentration before carefully shaking the first few stars over the pancakes.

Then a few more. Then... Many more. Tiny blue, pink, yellow, and white stars rained down over the entire stack. Some landed on the pancakes, most landed on the counter, and several somehow reached the floor. One even stuck in Sammy's hair for some reason neither of you could explain. He looked undeniably pleased with himself. "Pretty." You nodded proudly. "They're very pretty." He beamed at your words. "Papa gonna love," he threw his fists into the air in triumphant cheering. "He definitely will."

Satisfied with the masterpiece, Sammy stepped back to admire it. The pancakes leaned ever so slightly under the impressive amount of whipped cream, fruit, and star sprinkles decorating the top. The kitchen looked... Lived in. Flour still dusted one corner of the counter, a wooden spoon had somehow migrated to the dining table, blueberries were mysteriously missing, and tiny footprints marked a trail across the floor where Sammy had forgotten he was still wearing flour-covered socks.

It should've looked like chaos, but instead, it looked like love. You glanced towards the ceiling with a small smile. Somewhere upstairs, Leon continued to sleep soundly, probably regretting not being able to be part of the blueberry robbery you and your son had carried out. Sammy slipped his little hand into yours. "We did good." You squeezed it gently. "Yeah." Looking around the flour-covered kitchen, you smiled. "We really did."

The kitchen was slowly beginning to look like a kitchen again. Or, at least, something vaguely resembling one. You had managed to wipe most of the flour from the counters, collect the runaway blueberries, and sweep the tiny stars from the floor. Sammy had contributed by carrying exactly three things from one side of the kitchen to the other before becoming distracted by a spoon he'd apparently decided was a sword.

You had gently taken the spoon away. Now he stood beside you, holding a damp cloth in both hands while you wiped down the last of the counter. His little nose was still dusted with flour. You had pointed it out twice. He had refused to acknowledge it. For a few seconds, everything was quiet. Then Sammy suddenly stopped moving. His entire little body went still. You noticed immediately. "What?" He looked at you. His eyes widened. Then, without another word, "Wait." And he was gone.

You barely had time to turn around before his tiny feet slapped against the floor, carrying him out of the kitchen and down the hallway. "Sammy." No answer. You sighed, already knowing better than to chase him. A moment later, you heard drawers opening. Then another, then something falling, then a very distant, determined: "Got it!"

You smiled to yourself. You continued wiping the counter while listening to the unmistakable sounds of a three-year-old rummaging through the house with absolutely no regard for stealth. A minute later, Sammy came running back. He had a piece of paper clutched in one hand and a fistful of markers in the other.

The paper was already wrinkled in several places, one corner folded over from what looked suspiciously like having been carried inside a pocket. He stopped in front of you, slightly out of breath. "I make Papa gift." Your expression softened immediately. "A gift?" He nodded. "Birthday gift." He placed the paper carefully on the counter, then the markers. Then he looked at you. "Don't help." You raised your eyebrows. "Okay." He pointed at you for emphasis. "No help." You raised your hands in defense. "Got it."

Apparently satisfied, Sammy dragged his little stool closer to the counted an climbed onto it. The paper covered almost the entire surface in front of him, and he had to use one tiny hand to hold it down while the other gripped a blue marker with his entire fist. His tongue poked slightly out of the corner of his mouth.

You stayed quiet. This was serious work. The first lines appeared slowly. A giant, somewhat crooked shape took up most of the page. Then another, much smaller, beside it. Then a third figure in between. You watched him work without interrupting, your heart quietly melting as the drawing began to take shape.

Leon was enormous. His head was nearly as big as the rest of his body, with two tiny dots for eyes, a collection of wild lines that Sammy presumably considered hair, and arms that stretched almost to the edges of the paper. Sammy, meanwhile, was barely a fraction of his size. A tiny little figure floating beside him. And you were in the middle. Your figure was almost as tall as Leon's shoulders, with a smile represented by a single curved line.

Sammy paused; he studied his work, then added something to Leon's hand. You leaned slightly closer. It looked like a crooked watch. You immediately had to bite the inside of your cheek. Apparently, even at three years old, Sammy had decided that Papa's most defining characteristic was being very, very big and the watch on his wrist.

He switched markers. Blue became yellow, yellow became red, then green. He colored with complete disregard for the boundaries of his original lines, turning the page into a colorful mess of overlapping shapes. Every few seconds, he'd stop and stare at the drawing with intense concentration before adding another detail.

A little sun in the corner, some clouds, something that might have been a tree, a bright red scribble that Sammy considered a flower. When he seemed satisfied, he moved to the top of the page. He chose a purple marker. Then, with painstaking concentration, began writing. The letters were huge, crooked. Some were backwards, some didn't resemble letters at all. One appeared to be nothing more than a circle with two lines sticking out of it.

Sammy paused between each one, muttering quietly to himself as he tried to remember the shapes he'd seen adults make. Finally, he put the marker down. He sat back on his stool. His chest rose proudly. You looked at the finished drawing. It was chaotic, messy yet bright and perfect.

At the top of the page, in enormous, completely illegible toddler handwriting, was what looked like a secret code. You smiled. "What does it say?" Sammy looked at the writing. Then at you. His expression became incredibly serious. "Happy birthday, Papa." Your heart practically folded in half. "That's what it says?" He nodded. "Yeah." He pointed towards the top of the paper. "Happy birthday, Papa." You crouched beside him. "I think Papa's going to love it." Sammy's smile grew wider. "Really?" You nodded. "Really."

He looked back at the drawing. For a moment, his excitement softened into something quieter. Then he carefully picked up the paper with both hands. "Put here," he said, pointing towards the pancakes. "Papa see when wake up."

You helped him carry it over, though Sammy insisted on holding most of the paper himself. He placed it beside the enormous pancake tower with surprising care. Then he stepped back. The breakfast, the stars, the fruit, the drawing. Everything was ready.

Sammy slipped his hand into yours again as he looked up at you. "Papa happy." You squeezed his tiny fingers. "Yeah, sweetheart." Your eyes met his. "He's going to be very happy." Sammy nodded confidently. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind because, as far as he was concerned, he had made the perfect birthday surprise Leon could ask for.

The final stage of the mission turned out to be the most dangerous one: transport. You stood at the kitchen counter with one hand beneath the large breakfast tray, carefully checking that everything had a place before you even attempted to lift it. The pancakes sat in the middle, stacked into an absurdly tall tower that leaned just enough to make you nervous; bacon surrounded the base in a messy little pile, while strawberries and blueberries filled the empty spaces around it. A glass of pineapple juice sat safely near one edge for Sammy, and two mugs of coffee occupied the opposite side, one for you and one for Leon.

And right beside the pancake tower was Sammy's masterpiece. You had tucked it beneath the edge of the tray so it wouldn't slide off, leaving the colorful little family portrait visible enough for Leon to see immediately. Then there was the candle. A tiny birthday candle stood proudly over the very top of the pancakes.

You stared at the tray for a moment before looking at your son. "Are you sure this is going to work?" Sammy looked offended by your question. "Yes." He had already appointed himself chief of transportation. The same little apron still hung around his waist, now covered in flour and a few suspicious blueberry stains. His hair remained completely disheveled, and there was still a tiny smear of flour across the bridge of his nose.

He reached for the other side of the tray. "Ready." You crouched slightly so you could look him directly in the eyes. "Slowly." He nodded. "Very slowly." Another nod. "And no running." Sammy looked almost insulted. "I don't run." You stared at him. He stared back. The two of you silently acknowledged that this was perhaps the least convincing statement he'd made all morning.

You carefully lifted the tray. The weight shifted immediately. His little arms trembled beneath his side of the tray, and his entire expression changed from enthusiastic birthday chef to intensely focused professional. "Whoa." You tightened your grip. "Easy there, sweetheart." The pancake tower wobbled. Both of you froze.

The tower slowly settled again. Sammy's eyes became enormous. "Don't fall," he begged. "It won't," you chuckled. "Don't fall, pancakes," he quietly repeated. You bit back a laugh. "I'll do my best," you muttered with a funny voice as if you were one of the pancakes.

The two of you began the journey upstairs. One tiny step at a time. The hallway suddenly seemed much longer than it had five minutes ago. Sammy walked beside you with his arms stretched forward, concentrating so hard on keeping his side of the tray level that his tongue had slipped between his lips again. Every few steps, he looked down at the tray.

The house remained completely silent around you. Inside your bedroom, Leon was still asleep. You could almost picture him lying beneath the blankets, one arm thrown across the empty space beside him, still enjoying the last few precious minutes of sleep.

Sammy slowly lifted one finger. "Shhh." You glanced at him. He pointed towards the stairs. "Papa." You nodded solemnly. "Sleeping." His eyes narrowed. "Secret." He whispered. You had to look away for a moment. "Very secret," you whispered as well. Satisfied, Sammy continued.

By the time you reached the top of the stairs, your arms were beginning to ache. Sammy, however, looked as though he could have carried the entire breakfast across the country if necessary. His little shoulders were tense with determination. Then his foot caught slightly on the edge of the rug. The tray tilted, the pancake tower leaned, the coffee shifted. You immediately adjusted your grip. Sammy gasped.

Once everything was settled, silence settled around you. You looked at him; he looked at you. Then, very slowly, Sammy whispered: "Close." You pressed your lips together. "Very close." He nodded gravely. The mission continued. The hallway passed beneath your feet in agonizingly slow increments.

The excitement building inside him all morning was suddenly impossible to hide. His little smile appeared when you reached the door of your bedroom. You carefully lowered your voice. "Ready?" He nodded with eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. Together, you pushed the door open. The hinges gave the tiniest creak. Both of you froze.

Sammy slowly looked at you. His entire face lit up. You'd made it. The most important mission of the morning had officially reached its final stage. And, somehow, against all odds, not a single pancake had been lost along the way.

July sunlight had only just begun to creep over the horizon, spilling through the half-open curtains in long, golden ribbons. The warm glow painted soft streaks across the wooden floor before climbing slowly onto the bed, caressing the edges of the rumpled blankets and the loose strands of blond hair resting against the pillow. The air already carried the promise of a hot summer day, though the house still held onto the coolness of the night.

For once, your husband looked like someone who had absolutely nowhere to be. You carefully placed the breakfast tray on the dresser at the foot of the bed before looking down at your excited son. He looked back at you with the excitement of someone who had been waiting for this exact moment all night. You smiled. "Go ahead." That was all the permission he needed.

Sammy climbed onto the mattress with surprising care, using both hands and one determined little knee until he finally reached the middle of the bed. Leon let out a sleepy hum. Sammy crawled a little closer. Then reached out one tiny hand and poked Leon's cheek very gently. Another poke against Leon's cheek. "Papa," he whispered. No response.

The toddler looked back at you. You bit the inside of your cheek, already struggling not to laugh. He turned back towards Leon. "Papa..." Still nothing. A slightly louder whisper this time. "Papaaa." Leon only shifted his head a fraction deeper into the pillow. Sammy frowned. Clearly, this was becoming a problem.

He studied his father for a few thoughtful seconds before deciding that the current strategy simply wasn't effective enough. Very carefully, he climbed another little bit higher. Then, plopped himself directly onto Leon's stomach. The sudden weight earned a quiet grunt. One blue eye slowly opened. Leon stared blankly at the ceiling, then at the small blond child sitting proudly on top of him. His expression remained completely empty for several seconds.

"...Buddy?" Sammy beamed at the familiar nickname. "Wake up!" Leon blinked once, twice. His sleepy gaze drifted lazily towards you, then towards the tray. His brain was clearly trying very hard to catch up with reality. For a moment, he simply stared. You watched the exact second everything fully connected. "Oh..." A sleepy smile slowly spread across his face. "...Today's my birthday."

Before either of you could say another word, Sammy took a deep breath. An impressively deep one. Then, with all the confidence in the world... "Happy birfday tooooo youuuuu..." The melody wandered somewhere entirely unrelated to the actual song. Some words arrived too early, others disappeared altogether. Halfway through, Sammy decided clapping was just as important as singing, throwing himself so enthusiastically into the performance that he completely lost the rhythm. "...Happy birfday Papaaa..." Another clap. "...Happy birfday toooooo..." He paused, looking at you. Then proudly shouted the final line several notes higher than everything that had come before. "...TOOOO YOUUUUU!"

Silence followed. Then Leon burst into loud laughter, the kind that shook his shoulders and forced him to cover his face for a second because he couldn't stop smiling. You were laughing just as hard beside him. Sammy looked between the two of you, completely convinced he should have earned actual money for the little concert he just gave you.

He clapped once more for himself. Leon finally lowered his hand from his face, tears of laughter gathering in the corners of his eyes. "I think," he managed between quiet laughs, "that's the best version of Happy Birthday I've ever heard." Sammy grinned proudly. "I sing good," he nodded triumphantly. "You sing perfectly." That seemed to be exactly the answer he'd been hoping for.

He immediately wrapped both little arms around Leon's neck, nearly knocking him back against the pillows again. Leon hugged him without hesitation. One hand settled against Sammy's back while the other reached towards yours, gently intertwining your fingers with his. His gaze wandered over the tray once more. For a long moment, he simply looked, as though he wanted to memorize every tiny detail before the morning could slip away.

A quiet smile settled across his face. "Best birthday ever." He wasn't joking. For years, birthdays had passed like any other day. Sometimes he was working, sometimes he barely remembered the date himself. But this, waking up with the morning sun spilling through the curtains, his son sitting happily on his stomach after singing the world's most spectacularly off-key birthday song, and you standing beside the bed trying not to laugh... This was everything he had never dared imagine his life would become.

Before Leon could sit upright, Sammy gasped. The drawing. With another excited little squeal, he slid off Leon's lap and hurried towards the breakfast tray. His small hands carefully picked up the slightly wrinkled sheet of paper before he turned around and marched back across the mattress. "I made it!" Leon immediately sat. "For me?" Sammy nodded so enthusiastically that a lock of messy blond hair bounced into his eyes. "For birthday." He held the drawing out with both hands.

Leon accepted it with the same care someone might use when receiving something fragile. His eyes wandered slowly across every single crooked crayon line. A huge blond stick figure occupied nearly half the page; a much smaller one stood beside him; you were in the middle; the sun smiled from the corner; the sky was filled with clouds; there was what appeared to be a tree, or perhaps a broccoli. And, above everything else, a line of enormous purple letters that looked less like words and more like an ancient language only toddlers could understand.

Leon smiled widely. "This..." He glanced back down at the page. "...might be the greatest piece of art I've ever owned." Sammy's chest puffed up immediately. "I make," he said. "I can tell," Leon laughed. He pointed carefully towards the enormous figure. "Who's this?" Sammy looked quite offended by the question. He simply pointed at your husband. "I'm that big?" He stretched his arms apart as if measuring himself. Sammy nodded with complete confidence. "You biiiig." Leon couldn't help laughing.

His finger moved towards the tiny figure beside him. "And this one?" Sammy pointed at himself. "So little?" Leon's eyes widened. Sammy held two fingers very close together. "Little," he whispered. Leon reached over and gently ruffled his hair. "I don't think you're going to stay little for very long."

Then Leon pointed towards you. "And who's in the middle?" Sammy looked at you this time. "Mama," he replied. "Right where she's supposed to be." You smiled, shaking your head. Leon continued studying the drawing with complete seriousness. "What about this?" He pointed towards the little round thing around his hand. Sammy looked. "Oh," he moved towards Leon's side, grabbing his wrist and pointing at his G-Shock DW-6900 watch. Leon blinked. "My..." He looked again. "...watch?" Sammy nodded proudly. "You always wear it." Leon nodded thoughtfully. Apparently that explanation was more than enough.

"And it's sunny, because it's summer," Sammy leaned closer, tapping the smiling yellow sun in the corner. "Of course." His logic was flawless. Leon finally looked up towards the strange collection of purple scribbles at the top of the page. "And what does this say?" Sammy smiled immediately. "Happy birthday, Papa." Leon looked back down. He tilted the page one way. Then the other. "...Really?" He asked. Sammy immediately nodded. "I'll have to take your word for it." Sammy nodded again. "I wrote it." Leon scoffed. "That explains a lot."

Leon lowered the drawing onto his lap for another long look. There wasn't a single straight line on the page, and the colors made absolutely no sense. Nothing was proportional, and half the paper had somehow become blue. But it still looked perfect.

He looked back at Sammy. "You know what?" He asked. "What?" Sammy tilted his head in curiosity. "I'm putting this on the fridge." Sammy's eyes grew impossibly wide. "The fridge?" Sammy beamed. "The front of it, so everyone who comes over can see it," Leon announced proudly. Sammy looked as if his drawing had been selected to be displayed in one of the most famous museums of the city. "I artist." Leon nodded with complete sincerity. "The best one I know."

Sammy immediately launched himself forward, wrapping both little arms around Leon's neck. Leon caught him without hesitation, laughing quietly as he hugged him back. The drawing remained safely tucked beneath one hand as though it truly belonged in a museum.

Eventually, the pancakes demanded attention. The breakfast tray was pulled between the three of you, balanced carefully across the blankets. Sunlight had climbed higher now, filling the bedroom with warm golden light that spilled over the bed and turned the coffee mugs into little pools of amber. The candle had long since been blown out; the pancakes were disappearing surprisingly quickly despite the long time they sat on the plate since you finished making them.

He reached confidently towards the bacon. Not his own plate, though, but Leon's. His tiny fingers stole a slice before quietly retreating. Leon continued cutting his pancakes as though nothing had happened. You watched him over your coffee mug. He hadn't missed it, not even slightly. A few seconds later, another piece disappeared.

Leon remained completely focused on pouring syrup over his pancakes. "You know," he said thoughtfully, never looking up, "I could've sworn I had more bacon a minute ago. Sammy froze, finally noticing he'd been caught red-handed. The bacon remained halfway to his mouth. His eyes slowly lifted towards Leon. But your husband kept eating, acting completely oblivious.

Sammy looked at you, then back at Leon, and then slowly took the bite anyway. You lowered your head, hiding your smile behind your mug. Another minute passed, and a third piece vanished. Leon sighed dramatically. "Huh." He scratched his temple thoughtfully. "I must be imagining things." Sammy tried very hard not to laugh but failed miserably.

By the time breakfast was nearly over, whipped cream had somehow found its way onto Sammy's nose. And Leon's cheek. You noticed both of them first. Without saying a word, you leaned over and brushed your thumb gently across your husband's cheek and across your son's nose. "Like father, like son," you joked as you cleaned your finger with a napkin. Leon leaned in to peck your forehead. "Thanks." Across from the two of you, Sammy watched your interaction very carefully.

After several seconds of intense observation, the boy reached into the bowl, scooped up far too much whipped cream, and deliberately dabbed a blob onto your cheek. You and Leon blinked with confusion. Sammy looked at you expectantly. "Mama, you have whipped cream too. Like papa and me," he announced, reaching your cheek and cleaning it. You chuckled. "Thanks, sweetheart," you said, leaning down and kissing his forehead just like Leon did barely a minute ago. Your son giggled so hard he nearly spilled his pineapple juice.

Breakfast lingered long after the plates had been emptied. Sammy had eventually curled up against Leon's side, his attention drifting between the last few blueberries in his bowl and the endless stories he was inventing with his fork. Leon, meanwhile, hadn't stopped glancing at the drawing resting against the breakfast tray. Every now and then, his eyes found it again.

You watched him quietly for a moment before slipping out from the bed. "I'll be right back." Leon looked up; Sammy followed his father's gaze. "What are you doing?" Leon frowned. "You'll see." Curiosity followed you across the room as you walked towards your bedside table.

The top drawer slid open with a familiar sound. Hidden beneath a neatly folded sweater sat a small black box you had been carefully pretending didn't exist for the past two weeks. You picked it up. Even after all this time, it still made your heart beat a little faster. The silver lettering on the lid caught the morning light. Hamilton.

When you turned back around, Leon's expression had already changed. He recognized immediately that this wasn't another joke from Sammy. This was the real present. You climbed back onto the bed and settled beside him before placing the box carefully into his hands. For a second, he didn't dare to move. His fingertips traced the edge of the lid almost absentmindedly.

"You didn't have to," Leon said, hesitant to open the box. "You already made breakfast," he quietly added. You chuckled. Leon has always been like that, never wanting mind-blowing gifts and being too scared of opening them just in case it was all a joke. "Open it." He looked at you once more. Then slowly lifted the lid.

Nestled inside the dark cushion rested a watch unlike any he'd ever owned. Its polished steel caught the sunlight spilling through the bedroom window, the blue dial shifting ever so slightly as he tilted the box in his hands. For a few seconds, he looked almost afraid to touch it. Finally, he lifted it carefully from its place.

The bracelet slipped softly between his fingers as he turned it over. Then he saw the engraving. His thumb stopped moving. The smile that had lingered on his face since he woke up faded into something deeper. He read the words once. Then again. The Kennedys. Beneath it, engraved with the same careful precision, were two dates. The day the two of you had promised each other forever, and the day Sammy had come into the world.

His gaze remained fixed on the metal for what felt like forever. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. "...What's this for?" You smiled softly. "I think it's about time." He looked up. You reached for his left wrist. The old black Casio your son had drawn on his masterpiece was slightly worn from years of everyday use.

You remembered fastening it around his wrist yourself all those years ago, just before he had left for Spain. Back then, you'd wanted him to carry something that would always remind him to come home. "It has served you well," you said quietly, brushing your thumb over the faded edge of the strap. "So have you." A small laugh escaped you. "I'm serious," you chuckled. "I know."

You looked back at the Hamilton resting in his hands. "I thought..." You paused for a moment. "...maybe it was time for a new chapter." Leon lowered his eyes to watch once more. The engraving caught his attention again. The family name the three of you shared made his throat tighten.

Without thinking, he turned his wrist over and unclasped the old watch. The Casio rested quietly in his palm. For years, it had followed him through missions, flights, sleepless nights, and impossible odds. It had counted every hour that separated him from the people waiting for him. He looked at it with the same affection one reserves for old photographs. Then he carefully laid it beside the breakfast tray.

His fingers closed around the Hamilton. You helped him adjust the bracelet around his wrist. It fit perfectly. Leon turned his hand slowly, watching the morning sunlight reflect across the crystal. It felt unfamiliar yet strangely right.

Sammy, who had been watching the entire exchange with the intense curiosity only a three-year-old could possess, suddenly scooted closer. "Papa." Leon looked down. "Yeah, buddy?" Leon asked gently. "Pretty," he said, pointing at the new watch. "It is," Leon smiled. Sammy reached out with one finger, carefully touching the edge of the watch before looking back up at him. "My birthday have watch too?" You laughed. "Didn't you ask for a dinosaur?" You joked. "I want watch too, like Papa," Sammy protested. "You'll get one someday," Leon said with a smile. Sammy seemed to consider that answer. "...Okay."

He accepted it without further protest, already distracted by a blueberry rolling across the blanket. Leon barely noticed. His attention remained fixed on the engraving hidden beneath his wrist. His thumb brushed over the cool metal once. Finally, he looked at you. There was an emotion in his eyes that words never quite managed to reach. He leaned forward without saying anything and wrapped his arms around you.

His forehead rested against yours. "Thank you," he whispered. Two simple words that sounded impossibly small compared to everything he was trying to say. You smiled, your hand finding his wrist once more. The new watch gleamed quietly between your fingers. Years from now, it would bear new scratches; it would accompany him through more journeys, more birthdays, and more ordinary mornings like this one. And every time he looked down to check the hour, he would see the same reminder engraved beneath the steel. Not of where he'd been but of exactly where he would always find his way back to.

The afternoon drifted by with the comfortable slowness that only birthdays seemed to have. By the time the sun began dripping lower in the sky once again, the house had settled into another pocket of quiet. The breakfast and lunch dishes had long since been washed. Sammy's drawing already occupied the very center of the refrigerator door, proudly held in place by two magnets despite being just crooked enough that Leon had refused to let you straighten it. "It has character," he'd insisted. You'd given up arguing.

Now, Leon sat comfortably on the sofa, one arm stretched along the backrest while Sammy lay upside down beside him, both of them immersed in the cartoons. The television murmured quietly in the background, swallowing the low hum of the fan hanging on the ceiling and the quiet tick-tack of the Hamilton. His old Casio had already found a place inside the drawer of the hallway table, safely kept.

Leon's phone suddenly buzzed against the armrest. The screen lit up with a familiar name. Leon smiled before answering. "You remembered." On the screen appeared Chris' familiar face, sunlight almost blinding behind him. Judging by the gentle sound of waves and the bright blue sky stretching endlessly in the backgrow¡und, the vacation seemed to be treating him well. "Told you I wouldn't forget," he said proudly. "You've only called..." Leon glanced theatrically towards the ceiling. "...about six hours after waking up." Leon teased. "I was busy," Chris scoffed immediately. "You were sleeping," Leon kept teasing him. "I was on vacation," Chris corrected as he laughed. "You look awful," Chris mocked your husband. "So do you," Leon mocked him back. Sometimes you truly wondered if they really liked each other or if they'd been pretending so for all these years.

For a few minutes, the conversation settled into the easy rhythm it always had. Work, the weather, Chris complaining that Piers had recently discovered the word 'why' and now seemed determined to ask it roughly four hundred times a day, Leon admitted that Sammy had entered a phase where every blanket in the house somehow became a cape. Neither of them sounded particularly surprised.

Then, from somewhere outside the camera, a tiny familiar voice could be heard. "Dada!" Chris barely had time to react. A tiny blur of brunnette curls suddenly climbed into his lap. Piers appeared so abruptly that for a second all Leon could see was one enormous blue eye pressed far too close to the camera. Then the picture steadied. "There he is," Leon laughed.

Piers grinned from ear to ear. "Unca Leo!" He said excitedly. "Hey, buddy." The little boy bounced excitedly where he sat. "Happy birthday!" Every single word was delivered with enormous effort and even greater enthusiasm. Chris smiled behind him. "We've been practicing that all morning," Chris confessed. "I can tell," Leon laughed. Piers looked incredibly proud of himself. Then he clapped, entirely unprompted.

Almost immediately, another pair of ears perked up. Sammy's head snapped away from the television with wide eyes. "Piers?" The moment he heard his best friend's voice through the speakers, nothing else in the room existed anymore. He launched himself off the sofa. "Piers!" Leon barely had enough time to lower the phone before Sammy climbed halfway into his lap.

Both little boys stared at each other through the screen with the kind of excitement only toddlers seemed capable of producing. "Piers!" Sammy repeated. "Ami!" They both giggled. Neither of them waited for the other to finish speaking. Words tumbled over one another in a delightful mess of half-formed sentences.

"I cook for Papa!"

"I beach!"

"I birthday!"

"I sand!"

"I draw Papa!"

"I dig hole!"

Neither conversation had anything whatsoever to do with the previous one; neither child appeared remotely bothered. Chris and Leon exchanged the same amused look they'd shared countless times over the years. They weren't really part of the conversation anymore; they were simply the people holding the phones.

Piers suddenly disappeared from the screen. A loud voice echoed somewhere off-camera. "Truck!" A second later, he returned carrying what appeared to be a bright yellow toy excavator almost as large as his own head. He proudly held it towards the camera. Sammy gasped. "I have dinosaur!" Without another word, he slid off Leon's lap. Leon frowned. "Buddy?" Sammy had already grabbed the phone. "I show Piers," he said, already running towards his bedroom. "You can show him from here!" Leon yelled across the living room. "No." His answer came with absolute certainty. "My room."

Before Leon could negotiate any further, Sammy had already reached his bedroom door. "Piers, look!" He said. Chris' voice disappeared into distant laughter as he apparently decided there was no point in stopping the inevitable. The screen bounced dramatically with every tiny footstep. The ceiling, the wall, half of his desk, a very close view of Sammy's forehead.

Leon watched helplessly as his phone got stolen. A second later, excited toddler voices erupted again from your son's bedroom. "...Rawr!" "Broom!" "Dinosaur!" "Truck!" More giggling followed. Then complete nonsense.

Leon leaned back against the sofa with a quiet sigh. "You know..." He looked towards the hallway where his phone had disappeared. "I don't think that's my phone anymore." You laughed softly as you settled beside him, resting your head against his shoulder. "It belongs to them now," you stated. Somewhere upstairs came another burst of delighted laughter. Then the unmistakable sound of toy dinosaurs colliding with construction vehicles again. Chris' voice drifted faintly through the speakers. "Piers, don't put the phone on the-." The sentence cut off.

Leon smiled to himself. "Bet he's having a great vacation," he said with a smug smile. You snorted, intertwining your fingers with his. Neither of you moved. The evening sun painted the living room in warm shades of gold like every day. The refrigerator was visible from where you sat. Right in the center, a slightly wrinkled drawing caught Leon's attention once again.

Three colorful stick figures, above their heads, written in giant crooked letters: 'Happy birthday, Papa'. Leon looked at it for a long moment. Then his gaze shifted towards the staircase, where the distant sound of two tiny best friends continued filling the house. He smiled.

Pervert. That might be the only way you can describe yourself in one word, unfortunately.

Sometimes you wish your brain wasn't wired to notice things other people don't. The little groans of frustration or tired sighs that people make; to others, they sound like sounds of pain - a reason to be concerned. But to you, you can always pick out the breathy tone in their voice that toes the line between pain and pleasure. And there's one person in particular who is overwhelmingly the one most subject to your depraved mind - your supervisor, Agent Kennedy.

Even just thinking about him makes your typing speed drop, your thighs clench, and your breath hitch in your throat. It's embarrassing how much you pay attention to every little movement and sound he makes. You don't know a whole lot about him, but you don't see a ring and there's no framed photo of a wife and kids on his desk, not even a dog in a little stand-up frame, in fact. It only leads you to thinking of him more and more, and stupidly fantasising about starting something with him.

You're not exactly sure what it is about Leon that seems to scratch that little crevice in your brain so perfectly. Maybe it's the way his biceps seem to become impossibly bigger when he folds his arms as he listens to a debrief, or the way you watch his axe literally become buoyant as he walks around when he's on the field, or perhaps the way he lets out the filthiest grunts you've ever heard when he lifts or moves something heavy.

"Hey. You listening?" Leon lowers his head just a little to stare into your eyes. His tone doesn't convey irritation, but rather concern. "You look tired, you need to go home early and call in sick?" Leon asks.

The truth is, you're not sick or unwell. Or… Perhaps you're just sick in the head. You spent hours and hours thinking about him, chasing pleasure into the early hours of the morning with his name at the very tip of your tongue. "O-oh. Um… I guess I feel a little run down. But I'll try to stick it out through the rest of the day." You respond.

"Atta girl. But don't push yourself if you're sick. It's crunch time for reports right now, we don't need half the office sick too." Leon gives you a small grin, before walking off. Something stirs within you the moment you hear him say 'atta girl' in that encouraging, gentle voice.

And so you decided that being the amazing employee you are, the dusty storage room stacked to the brim with archive files is the perfect place to shove your hand underneath the waistband of your underwear and replay that recent interaction with Leon over and over in your head. You stifle a moan as you listen out for any footsteps passing, keeping your back pressed against the cold concrete of the wall as your head lolls back. As your hand works faster beneath the layers of clothing, you just can't help but let out a soft little whimper and allow Leon's name to very quietly roll off your tongue.

"…Yeah?"

You freeze. That's Leon's voice. You're certain of it. Your hand immediately pulls out from under your waistband, an unceremonious 'thwip!' sound of the elastic snapping back and ever so slightly stinging the skin of your lower abdomen for a brief moment. You hear the echo of Leon's boots as he turns the corner of your shelf, staring right at you.

"Oh, um..." You feel the heat rise to the uppermost layer of your skin. If it rises any further, you fear your skin might just incinerate. You kind of wish it could do that right now. "Nothing." You swallow thickly, pathetically even, as Leon takes a few more steps towards you.

"I'm pretty sure I heard you say my name?" His pale blue gaze is intense, though his tone is more gentle than you expected it to be. The cold concrete beneath your skin suddenly doesn't feel so cold anymore.

"No, uh, I actually said… Neon. Like, um, I needed a neon highlighter." Your lie is baseless and nonsensical. You felt like a deflated balloon even attempting to save yourself from this. You should've known someone was already in the damn room, since when you entered the lights were already on. In your defense, you've absolutely rubbed one out to the thought of him during a quiet hour, and nobody has ever walked nearby or came in. You've done this a total of five times to be exact, actually.

"On thin papers that date back to the 70's that would turn into mush? Damn. Guess I don't train you as well as I thought I did." Leon chuckles.

"Haha, oh… Oops… Well, gotta get back to it." Your voice dies in your throat as you push yourself off the wall.

"Where you heading to?" Leon steps forward a fraction more, his heavy boots making an imposing sound. You stare at the polished leather, your eyes lingering on it for a moment before your gaze snaps back up to his.

"Uh, the… The photocopier." You give another miserable lie. Leon quirks a brow.

"That wouldn't be getting back to it."

"Huh?"

"Continue what you were doing just now." Leon instructs. Still playing dumb, you turn towards the files, pretending to sift through a bunch of folders that have no relevance to you at all. You hear him let out an amused huff, his much larger, calloused hand slowly reaching out to yours. Blinking in shock at the fact that Leon has just grabbed your hand, you're now in total disbelief that Leon's lips are wrapped around your index and middle finger, his tongue softly stroking against your fingertips for a brief moment before releasing your hand with a soft 'pop!'

"W-What…?" You blink, completely stunned.

"Wow. You're acting surprised, even though you've been getting off thinking about me between these shelves for the last ten minutes?" Leon asks, and you feel like you want to melt into a puddle right on the spot.

"…I'm sorry. I don't… Um… I'll stop. I'll stop immediately." You stammer apologetically.

"Why? I didn't ask you to stop." Leon responds. Your mouth opens and closes in surprise, your heart hammering against your chest. "You really think I didn't notice? The way you stare at me like you're going to eat me when I'm prying a warped cabinet door open? Oh. And you cross and uncross your legs repeatedly when you're staring at my arms from across the room. You're not exactly subtle. Although I guess it's my fault too, since I'm enabling all of this." Leon adds.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up - Leon isn't scolding you, nor is he appalled by your behaviour… He's challenging you. He's gauging to see if you have just as much interest in him as he has for you, and if you're willing to act on that interest just as much as he is.

"Wait, sorry, you… You're fine with this?" You ask for confirmation, his response still not quite fully baked in your brain.

"I thought that much was obvious." He lets out a short chuckle. Leon takes another step, his body now invading your personal bubble. "For such a competent agent, you sure do seem oblivious to the hints I've been dropping. But that's okay. If you don't want this, I'll turn around, walk away, and forget it ever happened. We can stay strictly as mentor and subordinate-"

"-No." You interject quickly, clearing your throat. "No, as in, I don't want to stay just as mentor and subordinate. I want this too."

"Good. For a second there I thought I was going to come off as a creep." Leon lets out a small, relieved chuckle.

"…Pretty sure I'm the creep in this situation." You awkwardly joke, briefly rubbing the back of your neck as you begin to walk behind him. Leon takes a seat at the rickety old desk, the old office chair ever so slightly squeaking under his weight as he makes himself comfortable. His legs are spread, his thigh muscles on display even through his utility trousers.

"Maybe." Leon's tone is low and the word is a little drawn out, the cadence of his voice stirring something within you. "Here's what we'll do. You're going to play, and I'm going to watch." His voice is just above a whisper, the broad expanse of his chest catching your eye as he leans his elbows back on the armrest.

"You don't want to…?" You're not exactly sure how you can outright ask your supervisor if he wants to have sex. You're perverted, but you're not shameless.

"Oh, no, believe me, I do. But I got a little banged up from the last field mission I just came back from." Leon lifts his tight quarter zip, revealing his muscular abdomen, littered with nasty contusions, a nauseating purplish and green hue. "There's a few more. Can't really do anything… Strenuous until the bruises have properly healed, at least." He explains.

"Fuck, they look like they hurt like a bitch." You let out a slow exhale, but you weren't really looking at the bruises. That exhale wasn't really one out of sympathy. You were looking at the peaks and valleys of his abdominal muscles, and the way you could see a light smattering of blonde hair travelling south. Your eyes travel back to Leon's gaze, and you already know you've been caught. He notices, but he doesn't address it. He only gives you a short knowing look.

"Yeah. We can do a little more once my body doesn't feel like an overripe peach. So… You think you can show me?" Leon's questions hangs in the air for a moment before you perch yourself at the edge of the table.

"Anything to help my supervisor recover." You joke. Leon slightly shakes his head, leaning towards you for a second.

"We're a little past titles at this point. Use my name." Leon says, echoing your own name as he leans back again.

"Alright… Anything to help you recover, Leon." You say, biting back a grin as you hitch your skirt up to your hips, pull down your panties, and spread your legs once more.

"Fuck, you were close, huh? It's dripping all down your thighs." Leon whispers, already palming his cock at the sight of you. You might combust on the spot, watching him stare at you like this. But you keep it together, as you begin to rub yourself for him slowly. Your moans are soft and stifled, mostly out of pure fear that you'll be caught with your hands between your legs in front of your supervisor.

Leon frees his cock from his pants, and you momentarily fear that you might genuinely drool all over your white and blue striped work blouse at the sight of him. He's exactly as you imagined from all that print checking and the way you watched him walk, as if it's heavy. Scratch that - he's better than what you imagined him to look like. It most certainly is heavy. With blown out pupils, you continue to rub little circles on your clit at a frantic pace - you're watching him watching you. It makes your head spin to the point where you feel a little dizzy. You want to touch him so badly, to feel him, but you have to settle for this.

…Unless.

Your gaze drops down to his polished boots. Not a speck of dirt, blood, or grime. Your hand slows, and Leon gives you a quizzical glance. "You okay?" He asks you, his hand slowing.

"I'm fine," you reply, almost feeling caught off guard by how gentle his tone is and how perceptive of a person he can truly be. "…I was just wondering how clean you keep those boots." You add.

Leon quirks a brow, letting out a short chuckle of bewilderment. "You're wondering if I keep my boots clean at a time like this? Shit, I know I'm a little old, but I didn't think I was that bad to look at."

"What? Oh, no, no. Trust me, you're… Really nice to look at. I just wish I could touch you in some way, is all." You pout.

"I'm not sure if I'm fully following. But yes, I clean these boots very regularly, and they're just for the office."

"Just… Just keep going." You tell him, your dangling feet now planted on the charcoal coloured carpet as you close the gap between you both. "I'm just going to hope you don't have a foot or ankle injury." You say, sinking down to your knees as you straddle Leon's boot. His eyes widen, as you carefully lean back, your impossibly slick pussy settling on the broad, flat part of the leather.

"God damn." Leon breathes out as you begin to grind yourself against his boot.

"Too much?" Your question is breathy as your clit rubs against the firm leather.

"No. No. Just… Haha, fuck." Leon's free hand reaches out, his fingers gently raking through your hair for a moment as he gives you a small smile. "Just a pleasant surprise." He determines.

"Good." You respond, as his hand travels from your hair to cup your jawline, his thumb stroking your bottom lip. You whimper as you fuck yourself into the surface of his boot relentlessly, picking up the pace of your hips as you watch his hand pump his cock faster and faster.

"Yeah… That's it. Keep going… That's my girl." Leon groans as he watches you desperately buck your hips, your mouth slightly agape as you chase pleasure from something as simple as his boot.

"I-I'm gonna…" You mewl, your words dying in your throat.

"You gonna cum? Good… Good girl. Show me." Leon coaxes, his words giving you that one final shove that sends you over the edge, the feeling of warmth spreading throughout your lower abdomen, as the obscene wet squelching sounds from your pussy echo throughout the room. The sight of you coming undone in front of him causes Leon to let out a deep groan of pleasure. Your eyes are fixed on the thick, white ropes of cum that he catches in his hand, his chest heaving and an unmistakable red flush creeps on the back of his neck to the tips of his ears as he finishes.

Leon reaches overhead, quickly grabbing a wad of tissues for both you and him as you clean yourselves up. "Can you stand?" He asks as he moves to get up, and you slowly rise from the floor, with Leon holding you steady by the arms as you find balance on your legs once more.

"Thanks." You give him a small smile of appreciation.

"Was about to say the same thing." Leon says, leaning you against the desk as he kisses you deeply. You were expecting something that was all tongue and teeth, but it was a remarkably tender kiss that leaves you feeling flushed in the face. Turning around to pull your underwear back on, you notice it's missing.

"Oh, that's weird, I thought my…" You turn back to Leon, and you notice his hand shoving something in his back pocket for a moment.

"You can get it back after dinner with me tonight." He says, before straightening his posture and walking out of the door. The door closes with a gentle thud. All you can do is blink for a moment as your breathing fully evens out.

Well... That's one way to be asked out on a date.