leon kisser

Apparently, that hadn’t been the best idea.

It’d been a couple weeks since Leon last checked in with you, so you weren’t even sure if he’d be around… it crossed your mind that it was entirely possible you’d be shit out of luck, that you’d have to get your car towed for a million fucking dollars and get yourself back home some other way. You rang him once without an answer and groaned in frustration to no one, beginning to contemplate your options—maybe you could hitchhike home, though there was a non-zero percent change that’d result in getting killed, so…

Luck was on your side, because Leon called back fast before your mind could wander too far.

“Hey. Sorry I missed your call,” he said.

“No, I’m sorry for calling out of the blue, I probably should’ve texted first or something,” you replied.

“Nah, it’s fine. What can I do for ya?”

“I’m sorry to bother you with this—”

“Stop that. You’re never a bother.”

If there was any question on whether you’d gotten over that silly crush, well… that’s answered for you now. All he did was say a few kind words and your stomach flipped and warmth crawled into your cheeks once again.

“I was on my way home and my car broke down. I don’t know what to do,” you said, trying not to panic. “I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

“Send me your location?”

“What?”

“Can you share your location with me? I’ll come get you,” he repeated.

“Are you insane?”

“What, you didn’t want help? What’d you call for, then?”

“Well.” You sighed. “I do need your help, I just—I don’t know what I expected, but I feel bad about you coming all the way out here on a whim.”

“Really fine,” he insisted. “C’mon, I’m not doing anything.”

“Okay. Thank you, Leon,” you acquiesced, defeated. “One minute.”

“You’re not even that far,” he notes after getting your signal.

“It’s like, four whole hours of your day to pick me up!”

“That’s nothin’. Especially not for you, you know that.”

Two hours you waited by the car for him.

That simple act and having nothing to do but play around on your phone made you think about it. You couldn’t repress it anymore, couldn’t keep pretending that you didn’t still fucking want him, and maybe now that you’re at least of drinking age, there’d be a chance?

Jesus. It’s not doing you any favors in trying to get over this. And even if you accepted this burn in you would never heal, isn’t it ridiculous how swiftly your mind fell back into habit? You hadn’t seen him in at least a year—maybe two, you remember that he was gone the entire last summer break—so what’s another two hours when you previously weren’t sure you’d see him at all?

Worse, you couldn’t help thinking about the anticipation. How it was a strange, bittersweet feeling to know that he’d be here, but not soon enough. And that led to territory you wished you hadn’t entered.

Did he ever have a girlfriend that waited for him while he was out on work trips? If you’re struggling with two hours, how would his actual partner survive when he’s gone for weeks?

Fuck, for all you knew, he could be a taken man now. It’s not exactly a topic you’ve discussed over text.

Maybe it was better to not know. He wouldn’t be available to you anyway.

Leon looked mostly as you remembered when he arrived, but better. He’d matured.

Had you? You sure felt like it, but as soon as you saw him, you started to think that he’ll see you the same way he remembered you: a friend’s daughter with a too-young face and body. A kid.

He pulled over beside your car and got out to look at it. He didn’t spend very much time on it before whipping out his phone and making a call, which soon became obvious to you was to get your car towed, fuck! If that was the answer, you’d rather pay for it yourself; it shouldn’t be his responsibility.

“Let me pay for it,” you argued as soon as he ended the call, your tone sharp.

“Nah.”

“Come on! If I knew you were gonna get it towed I would’ve done that instead of pestering you.”

“What did I say earlier?” he posed, walking right past you as he spoke. “You’re not pestering me.”

“Actually, you said it was neither ‘bothering’ or ‘trouble’. ‘Pestering’ was not included,” you snapped back, falling right back into the dynamic with ease regardless of your silly feelings. When you see Leon pace back to your car and start taking your bags out of the back, you ask, “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like? Gettin’ your shit in the car.”

“What—”

You cut yourself off, realizing then that you’d never stopped to consider a situation where he can’t just show up and fix the problem and send you on your way. 

“What did you think would happen?”

“I don’t know. I guess I hoped it’d be an easy fix,” you answered.

“Doesn’t seem like it.” After another round of dragging out your bags, he sighed, “How much stuff can one girl need?”

“I packed lightly, I’ll have you know!” you scoffed.

Leon fit your last bag in the backseat and opened the passenger seat front door, leaning against it and gesturing for you to get in. Always so well-mannered… there’s no chance he’s single at this age, you decided. If you would deal with his constant absences in a heartbeat, then a million other, hotter, older women would, too. At least.

Partway through the drive back, you stopped for food at a quick sit-down place. He was the one to suggest it, of course, concerned you hadn’t eaten anything.

“How come you called me up and not your father?” he asked.

“He’s not home,” you answered. “He won’t be home for another few days.”

You pushed your food around your plate with a fork and glanced up at him, and fuck.

In another universe, it could’ve been a date.

Leon pulled up to your father’s house and into the driveway, but he kept the engine running and neither of you got out of your seats. The lingering silence bothered you and you’re about ready to suck it up and get out of the car before he thinks you’re being a freak when he finally voiced what was on the tip of his tongue.

“You good stayin’ by yourself?”

“Why not? Did it when I was in high school, plenty of times,” you said.

“Yeah,” he acknowledged. “Guess you did.”

Though he said it with a straight face and a straight tone, it wasn’t right. Something was off—it didn’t sound like him. Still, you both sat there a bit longer as you panicked, not understanding the tone shift and struggling to figure out how to respond.

“You can stay at mine if you want,” he offered, breaking the silence.

Surely you’d heard him wrong.

“W-what?”

“Just an offer. I could use the company.”

You suppose you’d like some company too, though you hesitate to answer.

It’d be fine, right? Why wouldn’t it be? Had he given you any reason to believe staying over would be an issue? Was this any different from the demeanor he displays when he’d check on you on behalf of your dad?

And despite being unable to fully squash that part of you that daydreams about him, you have always known it’ll never amount to anything real. You knew you forged a real friendship that you don’t want to lose; Leon’s not only a man you secretly pined for, he’s a friend, he’s practically family. If you really believed that, then there’s no reason you couldn’t say yes and make both of your evenings a little less lonely.

In fact, it’d be weirder if you couldn’t do such a simple thing.

“Yeah… sure. That’d be nice,” you finally answered.

“D’you need anything here first?”

“No, I’m—I’m all packed,” you said awkwardly, pointing behind you towards your bag in the backseat. 

“Alright, let’s go,” Leon replied with a faint smile.

And you think, if the darkness isn’t leading you astray, his face softened ever so slightly.

You’d never seen the back half of his house before.

You never went wandering, though you’d been curious. The guest bedroom is near the end of the hallway, directly across from what you assumed to be the master bedroom. On your way there, Leon gave you a short tour, and you realized how fucking big this place is. He had an office and another spare room that was mostly empty; more space than he knew what to do with, you guessed. A basement, too, though it sounded like he hadn’t been down there in ages and done anything with it.

A waste! The things you could do with an entire basement…

Oh, and how could you have forgotten the heated, sheltered pool? Thank god you packed your swimsuit.

You never thought about it much when you were younger, your priorities elsewhere, but now it struck you how well off he must be to have a house like this. A pool in a fucking greenhouse. Two cars and a goddamn motorcycle.

Yeah, maybe he should pay for your car’s tow. 

“Give me a minute to clean up the guest room,” Leon said, hurrying to pick up stray items in what was to be your room. “Sorry. It hardly gets used.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” you responded. “I can help?”

“You’re a guest, you’re not supposed to be helping.”

“It’s the least I can do after you saved my ass today.”

“Just let me take care of it, alright?” Leon pushed, and you knew that’s the final answer, so you rolled your eyes at him with a smile and crossed your arms.

“Fine, fine, have it your way.”

“Here.” He grabbed a towel from the nearby hallway closet and hands it over to you. “Take a shower. Relax. Don’t you dare think about your car or any of that. Room’ll be ready by the time you’re done.”

You nodded and took the stupid towel from him, avoiding looking him direct in the eyes.

During your shower, you somehow managed to follow his instructions and didn’t think about your car or the guest room, but maybe not in the way either of you’d anticipated. All you could think about was this situation and what your dad would think when he got back home.

Would you need Leon to take you home before your dad got here and act like you were there the entire time? Or are you being ridiculous—would your dad ever think of this as something questionable, something more, or would he accept your completely and totally platonic relationship with Leon?

While he knows you two are close… staying over like this might be a different story. But Leon’s been at your graduation for fuck’s sake and countless holidays at your dad’s.

Not something you need to think about right now.

That peace doesn’t last long, though. You pick out a movie at Leon’s urging and wait for him to join you before starting.

Just like old times. Normal.

“Where’d you say your dad’s at, again?” he asked, setting a bowl of fresh popcorn on the table.

“He’s in Hawaii for a vacation. Maui, I think.”

Leon paused, thinking, and wondered, “Isn’t a storm about to roll through?”

“Wait, is there?” You quickly checked the weather on your phone and muttered, “Shit, you’re right…”

“Shouldn’t be too bad. Look.” Leon leaned across the couch and held his phone up in front of you, showing one of those weather prediction models for the next few days. “Could delay him, though.”

“Yeah. It’s still early there, maybe I should call him…”

“You should. Probably before we start the movie, yeah?”

It’ll be fast to check in, so you dialed him then. Part of you expected Leon to walk away and do something else while waiting on your ass, but he stayed right there on the couch beside you, chipping away at the popcorn and listening to you tell your dad about your trip and subsequent car woes.

It crossed your mind that you should’ve prepped for this, because your dad asked where your car ended up and you, uh, could’ve had better word choice when mentioning who took it to the shop.

“‘We’?” your dad questioned.

“Um, I didn’t know what else to do, so I called Leon…” you explained. “I think he got it taken to a shop.”

“Leon? Huh, yeah, I guess he just got back from a work thing,” he said. “Well, that’s very kind. You better find a good way to thank him.”

You swallow. 

“I will,” you agree. 

“So you’re at the house with no car?”

“Uh—” Yeah, you definitely should’ve prepped, but you were out of time and couldn’t let the pause get pregnant. “No. I’m at—I mean, Leon let me borrow his car.” Before your dad could make a big deal out of that, you added, “Not the Volvo!”

“That’s… nice of him,” your dad said after a hesitation that you didn’t like but could do nothing about besides brush off. “Don’t cause him too much trouble, alright? Barely seen ‘im lately ‘cause the government’s got him running to every corner of the damn planet.”

“I won’t. Anyway, I… I was calling because I looked at the weather,” you continued, changing the subject before he could ask too many more questions that you weren’t sure how to answer. “Are you safe? Did they say anything about your flight?”

“I’ll be fine, kiddo. Probably too early for them to make any calls about flights, but I’ll let ya know.”

“Okay. Thanks, dad. Love you. See you soon.”

So there was a possibility of delay, which… would mean more time here.

You shook your head as you hung up the call. No scheming, no overthinking! Roll with it, like friends do. It couldn’t be that fucking hard.

“Your dad think you’re stayin’ at home?” Leon questioned, antagonizing you.

God, you couldn’t catch a break.

“Were you eavesdropping on me?”

“Hard not to, you’re right there,” he laughed. “Why didn’t you wanna tell him?”

“If you must know,” you said, rolling your eyes, “it’s habit. I never tell him when I’m sleeping at a guy’s place, he always gets all weird about it…”

“‘Guys’, huh? What guys?”

“Oh my god,” you sighed. “Not you too! I’m twenty-one for fuck’s sake.”

“Hope you’re at least being safe.”

“Jesus, you’re so many years too late for this kind of talk.”

If you thought about it… your dad hadn’t ever given you the talk, so technically it was a fundamental adolescent experience you’d never received. The internet and library taught you the birds and the bees, mostly.

“So, are you being safe?”

“No! I mean, yes, if I…” You choked on your words and felt your face growing red. “If I were. But I don’t need to be. Right now.”

For a moment you considered that you’d actually gone insane and hallucinated everything Leon’s been saying. That you’ve been saying! The compromising conversation! How the hell had you gotten here?

Another silence passed between you and you were about to start the fucking movie before he shocked you and spoke again.

“You’re not seeing anyone, then,” Leon said. A statement of fact that you don’t refute. “Your dad will be relieved.”

“And you, too?” you teased, though you still couldn’t look him in the eyes, which a friend would probably be able to do. “Since you’re so worried about his well being.”

Then it was his phone ringing that interrupted you. Saved you, more like.

“Sorry. Gotta take this, it’s work.”

He left the room that time, so you couldn’t return the favor, though it was highly unlikely a work call would be exciting enough for you to find anything you could rag on him for.

The call must’ve only been a few minutes, but you spent the entire time simmering on what had transpired. Were you being utterly ridiculous about this? Leon was simply teasing you, after all. He’s given you shit plenty of times before and maybe it’s your head that’s the culprit, filling in the blanks and making it into something it isn’t.

After he returned and sat next to you, it was you who spoke first.

“Hey, uh…” you began awkwardly, all the confidence you thought you’d built while he was in the other room disappearing, “I-I’m sorry for bothering you. With all of this. I know you just got back from—” 

“That what your dad said?”

“Yeah. Is he wrong?”

“No,” Leon said. “Bet he also told you to be real nice to me.”

“He did.”

“Well, don’t listen to that shit. Told you, it’s no trouble. He worries too much, it’s like havin’ a damn wife sometimes.”

“He means well,” you offered. 

“Yeah, I know. And he’s great for it, but Christ. It’s my job.”

The conversation changed and you fell right back into place, speaking without having to think too hard about it; for better or worse.

“Do you remember the night you stayed over and you kept treating me like I was fragile?” you asked. “But you’d come back from a job and… and you looked fucking tired. Exhausted. I’d never seen you that worn out.”

“‘Course I remember. What’re you trying to say?”

“It might be your job, but it’s still hard on you. Isn’t it right to be worried?”

“That was different,” he stated plainly. Then, “You worried ‘bout me, too?”

“Yeah. I mean, at times,” you said, nervous, thoughts free-flowing now. “Like when you don’t text me for months at a time. I know you’re busy, but I always wonder if something happened. I-if you’re okay.”

You shared a look. It’s the first time you could bring yourself to make proper eye contact since you got out of the shower.

Leon appeared stuck, like he hadn’t considered what your answer could’ve been, or… that he regretted asking. A thought you loathed.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he finally said.

“I know. But I do. I can’t help it.”

You woke up later in the guest room bed, half tucked under the blankets, wondering how the hell you made it in here because you sure don’t remember. Then you heard a soft click of the bedroom door closing.

It must’ve been Leon leaving. He brought you in here. Rubbing at your eyes, you started to recall: you were watching a movie on the couch. You couldn’t remember the ending of it because you fell asleep prematurely; you’re certain, too, that you’d leaned over as you grew tired and rested your head on his shoulder.

Lucas pushes you to leave early, despite how much you don’t want to. How wrong it feels to leave him here for the rest of the night because of something you caused, even if you didn’t mean to.

“We’re a family, remember? So, don’t worry about this place. Take the night off. Start your staycation early,” he urges shortly after shooing off nosy customers.

Protecting you, helping keep you sane. He’s always been great at that. Like an older brother would be, you imagine.

You left Aiden a few days after your first shift here.

It never felt like the two were related, but looking back? Maybe they were. Your prior bartending jobs never felt like home quite like this one does and maybe that was an influence in your decision to finally leave and start a new phase of your life. You’d only been here a few months, but… something about this place has always been different.

Before, it always felt like the moment you got close to someone, they were ready to move on to something bigger and better, and like you’d told Leon… you’re just a bartender. There wasn’t bigger and better for you, and you are happy with that.

That’s what you thought, anyway, because when you think of it now… maybe here is the bigger and better.

The bar, your coworkers, this opportunity to truly be uninhibitedly yourself with your mother; the kind of relationship with her you pretended you had.

Leon.

You hear the back door open, pulling you from your thoughts, and quickly pull his jacket fully over your shoulders and sling your back over an arm before rushing back to the counter.

Leon returns, but not with Aiden. And he doesn’t look like a guy that just got in a fist fight, but then again, it’s unlikely your ex could get a single swing in if it had come to that.

He clearly takes note of you ready to go unexpectedly early and asks, genuine concern in his voice, “Everything okay?”

“Can we go home?” you ask. “Lucas said I should, and it’s only a few hours early and it’s not that busy tonight, so…”

“‘Course,” he responds, but you haven’t answered his question, so he again asks softly, “Hey. Did something happen?”

“No, no, sorry,” you apologize, waving your hands. “Everything’s fine. It’s… Lucas is right, and I’d probably be more of a detriment around the bar tonight than beneficial, anyway.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Yours,” you say. “I’ll be all cooped up in my place by myself while you’re gone, anyway. May as well get my fill in.” 

“Okay,” Leon says, “let’s go home.”

He leads you out with a soothing hand at the small of your back and thanks Lucas for handling the situation (and likely for handling you by convincing you to go home, because you know Leon would’ve pushed for it if he hadn’t). A few heads turn to watch you leave which you don’t let yourself pay too much mind to. It’s mostly the customers that you don’t recognize who won’t let it go. In a manner, many of the regulars have become part of the family, too. That role isn’t reserved for Leon alone.

As soon as you’re both in the Porsche and he’s pulling out of the alley, you breathe a sigh of relief. Whatever the fuck that was is over, and this is the official start of your staycation.

“So… what’d you do to him?” you ask excitedly. “I’m dying to know.”

“He figured it out once he saw the car,” Leon explains, eyes fixated on the road like it’s the anchor to keeping his level head. “Took him on a date with the wall and told him to leave you the hell alone. That I better not see his ass at the bar or around you again.”

“God, I wish I could’ve seen the look on his face,” you lament, picturing all the different ways it could’ve gone in your head, trying not to pester him for every minor detail.

“He looked small,” he continues. “Kind of guy that thinks he’s fucking invincible… Goddamnit, I wanted to do more. Had my fist tight and ready for him.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Didn’t want to cause any trouble for you… knew you wouldn’t want me to.”

“Thank you,” you say. “For thinking of me.”

You continue the ride in silence, but not an awkward or uncomfortable one. It’s a moment to process, to merely exist and let the words you shared settle between you.

You feel a mental and physical relief when Leon rests his right hand on your thigh.

It’s a short drive to his house and, as you pull into the driveway, you realize this is the first time you haven’t had to prepare to stay over. You didn’t have to stop at home on the way for a change of clothes or your toothbrush. 

When Leon retracts his hand and turns off the car, sitting there instead of immediately opening the door and getting out, you turn to look at him, really look at him.

He doesn’t look back. Just stares at the wheel with his eyebrows tense. 

“Leon? Talk to me,” you push, the heat of his energy radiating. 

“He got off easy,” Leon states; his voice is rough, laden with discontentment. “I keep thinking about— fuck, I need to tell you something.”

“…What is it?”

“Looked him up in the D.S.O. database earlier. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about what you said after dinner.” He dips his head. “Saw a hospital record with his name on it. He was there with someone else… Someone left anonymous.”

You swallow hard, so heavy you feel like it must be audible to him. It makes sense that he’d be frustrated after finding out the truth that you held from him, that you lied to him. Surely he’s upset with you for it, why wouldn’t he be?

Right? For lying and for holding him back! For not giving him the green light to do more!

A ridiculous thought, you know that if you stop to think about it. Leon’s never gotten upset with you over something so trivial, he wouldn’t, especially such a thing that stems from your kindheartedness, but the blaming yourself is a tough habit to break.

“There was a picture,” he continues. “A wound on the abdomen where yours is. I’d recognize that anywhere.”

“Leon…”

“While I had that asshole’s back to the wall, I kept thinkin’ about what it must’ve been like. How you would’ve felt when he lost his temper.” Leon pauses, collecting himself for a second, then pressing on. “Saw your face in my head. How fuckin’ scared you’d be when…”

He pauses again, for longer this time, unable to finish his sentence. 

“Wanted him to feel that same fear. Wanted to—” Leon raises his hands off the steering wheel, every part of him tense. He pauses, then clenches and unclenches his fist and sets his palms back on the wheel, calmly taking it back into his grasp. “He got off easy,” he repeats, then sighs.

He’s not upset with you.

He’s upset with himself because he didn’t go and do it anyway, give your ex what he deserves.

But he listened to you, heard you, and understood you. And you could never, even in a million years, adequately express how much you needed that.

“I know,” you agree, leaning slightly over the console. “But I’m so grateful that you held back.” You stretch yourself further, laying a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Normally Leon would put on a pot of coffee and either take you out for food afterwards or, in suspiciously perfect timing, walk back in the door carrying a to-go bag right as you woke and started pouring your cup. But this morning, as you make your way downstairs, the smell of bacon and sound of sizzling piques your senses.

The sight alone is that of heavenly domesticity (a concept that no longer worries you, but warms your heart): Leon in his sweats and a thin shirt standing over the stove, arm muscles flexing as he moves the pan and flips the strips over.

“Morning,” he says to you, already aware of your presence without even turning around, though you thought your softened steps were near silent.

“Wow, Mr. Kennedy’s making breakfast from scratch?” you tease, walking up to the counter to pour your coffee and finding it already done for you, still piping hot.

He knew you’d risen before you started coming down the stairs, didn’t he?

“Told ya I’m not much of a cook,” he says, “but this is a special occasion.”

You snake an arm around his waist, carefully balancing your coffee mug in the other. “Is it?”

“Go sit down,” Leon says, chastising you when you reach around to his front and slide your palm up his shirt, fingers running through the hairs decorating the center line of his torso. “‘Less you want this burnt.”

“Might be worth it,” you giggle, withdrawing your hand, though you can’t help but get a squeeze of his ass in before you take your spot at the kitchen island.

You sit in silence and watch him work, mesmerized. Infatuated, stuck in your schoolgirl brain again, and you indulge it. You don’t bother to look away when he catches you staring; there’s not enough time left together for that.

“Anything you wanna do today?” Leon asks as he sets both your plates on the island, sitting in the stool beside you. After pushing it a little closer to yours, of course.

Clearly you’d been in your own head while you were admiring him, because he’d fixed a very full plate without you realizing: eggs and bacon, salted avocado slices, wedged tomato drizzled in balsamic and olive oil, buttered sourdough, and a small cup of mixed berries.

“Thought you said you weren’t much of a cook.”

“I’m not,” he says. “There’s exactly two things on your plate that required cooking.”

“Okay, fair,” you laugh. “You win this one. Thank you.”

“So…?” he prompts again between bites, watching you with the devotion that was likely in your own stare a minute ago.

“Just wanna stay home with you.”

It’s that easy.

You get exactly what you need today; lazy, stress-free bliss and separation from everything. Your phone’s left on silent and there’s nothing but the two of you. No upcoming mission, no Aiden, no obligations… and no Daisy to explain last night’s events to. Much as you love her, it's an undoubtedly mentally exhausting task. 

You order in dinner, have a few drinks on the back deck, and simply live like nothing else exists.

Later that night, you wake up in his arms, being carried up the stairs with your face pressed into his chest, a small wet spot on his shirt from where you must’ve drooled after falling asleep on the couch watching TV together. A few days ago you might’ve been embarrassed about it.

Your evening shower wakes you back up, revitalizing your body with a second wind.

The whole day’s been a breeze, but if you're being honest with yourself, it was also a necessary distraction. Yesterday was…

A lot. More than you thought it'd be. 

At the time, the excitement of it shrouded everything else. You were just happy to be rid of this problem, even if short-lived (he does have a habit of always popping back into your life, after all), and the show of angry protectiveness on Leon’s part was, well. Sensual would be putting it lightly. 

And that's still true, but it's scratching the surface of how it makes you feel, mentally and physically. By the time you're turning off the water and stepping out onto the bathroom mat, you're a whirlwind of previously postponed emotions. 

You slip into a shirt and panties and climb into bed and you know Leon can see it written on you. A requited intensity in his eyes registers as an invitation. 

Before you can overthink it, you’re swinging your legs over his and climbing into his lap, taking the phone from his hands and setting it on the nightstand. You set it next to the pistol that he no longer feels the need to try to hide from you, another one of those little things.

Along with how calling both of your places ‘home’ is something that rolls off the tongue with ease now. How you’ve developed a morning and bedtime routine no matter which place you’re at. How safe you feel in his arms.

Leon parts his lips like he’s going to ask you a question and you preemptively quiet him, covering his mouth with your own. The kiss starts slow, following one another in unspoken synchronization; without breaking, you adjust yourself, laying your hands on his broad shoulders for support. You nudge his thighs apart gently with a knee until he grants you the room you need to settle between.

He does the same to you and raises a leg under you until his bare thigh meets your center, separated merely by the thin pair of panties you’re already dampening.

You moan, forcing a pause in the kiss and catching your breath. 

Leon pushes his upper body off the pillows, leaning forward and closing some of the distance between you and diving right back in, crushing his lips to yours with haste after you’ve barely gotten a few breaths in.  

His hands move down low to cup your backside and rock you into him with tame, unhurried motions, only enough to perpetuate what you started. He gains leverage on the mattress with the flat of his foot, using it to push into you from the bottom as well, upper leg grinding into your clothed core.

It doesn’t take long to get you fucking soaked, and you feel him growing harder, cock pressing at your knee between his legs. 

Leon works you from both directions, escalating and parting your lips with his tongue for entry, hungry and impatient. He chases your tongue with his, rolling over it and tasting you, and all the sensations at once—your connected mouths, the palm on your back and pressure of his thigh on your cunt, your stiff, still-clothed nipples rubbing against his chest—is contradictory: overwhelming, drowning, yet your body yearns for more. 

He takes some small pity on you, taking notice of how worked up you’ve gotten, and flips you around by your waist, pressing your back into his chest and sitting you between his thighs. He moves your legs over his, then parts wide, spreading your legs and exposing you to the open air. 

“Just relax,” he coos into your ear, sliding one hand under your arm and snaking down your panties, cupping your drenched cunt. “Let me take care of you.”

Empty on words, you push out a low moan of agreement instead, doing your best to slack your muscles and let him guide you, carry your weight. You lay your head back over his shoulder, using him like a pillow.

He teases you first, the bastard; two fingers held together run over your slit, spreading your slick over your cunt and narrowly, intentionally avoiding getting too close to your clit. His fingers split apart, running in the crevice between your lips on either side, drawing out more of your wetness.

Leon’s other hand lifts the bottom of your shirt over your breasts, bunching it and leaving it there while his grasp moves to the curve of your closest breast instead, rolling and tweaking your nipple with his fingers, your back slightly arching on reflex to push your body further into his hold. 

His fingers at your pussy finally make their way to your clit, gently stroking in small circles, and he dutifully measures all your noises, the sway of your hips, and the curling of your toes to adequately attune his ministrations to what makes you the hottest.

You let go where you can. Every bit of you that he’s not teasing has relaxed, but your cunt and heart are wound beyond tight.

Leon moves his chin over your head, his stubble poking at your forehead.

“That’s it,” he whispers.

The motions of his fingers are calculated and slow, heavy strokes that run a faucet between your thighs, but knowingly never adequately paced or repetitive enough to bring you to rapture. He takes his time watching you come apart under his fingertips, obviously gratified in how he’s mastered your body, like the act itself is a display of pride.

You see it for what it is: a man devoted.

You felt the same when you took him in your mouth, an act he still veers away from. Though you have your suspicions, you don’t quite understand why when you know how fucking badly he wants it, having shared the fantasy with you…

You can feel the wet spot in the sheets under you and he truly has taken you apart; while your head rests limply on his shoulder, your hands cling tight to any part of him you can reach and your legs are tense, pulled taught and quivering in his grip.

Leon could keep you here, hanging on by a thread, for as long as he wants.

“P-please, wanna come…” you vocalize at last, throat scratchy.

You can’t remember the last time you spoke anything that wasn’t a whimper or a whine.

“And if I let you, how many more you got for me?” he taunts.

The question alone makes you dizzy, thinking you’ve dug your own grave.

“A-as many as you want!” you spit out. 

But right now, all you can think about is how fucking close you are to the edge. How badly you need it, how you can’t stay on the brink like this any longer. It’s torture.

“That right?”

You’re not expected to answer.

Leon changes the pattern his fingers are tracing, the new pathing and a little extra pressure bringing you to climax in quick work. He doesn’t waver when you come undone from his touch, even as your body twists and writhes as the consuming pleasure takes its hold on you and your feet try to kick off the bed, off of him. His hand keeps chasing you, continuing their onslaught and dragging it out. His grasp on your breast tightens, squeezing roughly and tugging at your nipple and you tear and claw at his arms, caught between the unbearable need to fight for escape and needing to cling onto him, your pillar of support.

You close your legs tightly the moment you have a chance, but Leon’s relentless. You think his loosening grip on your breast means he’ll grant you reprieve; instead, he grips the underside of a thigh and forces that leg apart—the other, he nudges away with his knee, still making soft little circles over your clit and extending your release until you’re truly thrashing in his grip, holding back tears.

“Leon!”

“Too much?” he asks as if it’s a genuine question, but he already fucking knows.

He knows you and your body, he knows he’s pushing you to your limit with the promise of more to come lingering over your head.

Once set free at last, you become a puddle on top of him, legs turning to jelly and shaking involuntarily, releasing all your built-up steam. Lazily, you adjust and tilt your head towards him, looking up with half-lidded, already hazy eyes.

Leon guides your face with his palm again, your wetness still coating his fingers and spreading over your ear and hair now as he brings the two of you together, kissing you tenderly, a short reprieve while you come down.

You move like you’re going to sit up and the hand on your thigh pulls you back down, keeping you in place, right where he wants you.

“Not done with you like this yet,” he murmurs.

Certain you’ll give up the fight, he relaxes his grip and you bring your legs back together. He allows that but doesn’t waste a second in guiding your ruined panties down your legs, streaking arousal down the inner side of a thigh.

“Please,” you plead, wishing he’d fill you with his dick, rigid and pressing into your back. “I—”

You suddenly cut yourself off, fully freezing.

“You okay?” he asks after a few long seconds.

You nod. You’re okay.

Unless what’s going on in your head is a concern. It’s been going on in your head but you’ve dodged it repeatedly, dancing around the concept and never facing it and you won’t now, either. At least not head-on.

“Make love to me,” you blurt out, a hurried whisper. “Please.”

Like you, Leon freezes, processing what you’ve said, you assume, although it’s natural for your mind to begin wandering: have you messed up? Should you not have said that? Should you have waited for him?

He reanimates and pulls you back into him with his hands cupped on either side of your face, lips brushing yours, hesitating.

You dart your tongue out and lick the length of his bottom lip before pursing your lips and bringing him into a proper kiss, impatience rising.

Guess all he needed was a jumpstart, because he’s quick to not only match your energy, but outdo it; the next time you flick your tongue out, he catches it between his lips and sucks in the same pattern he often satisfies your greedy pussy with. He nips at the tip with his front teeth before letting you go, coaxing a sweet noise from you that he eagerly swallows.

Leon adjusts both of you, every move full of thought and entirely focused on you and your comfort as he helps you out of your shirt and maneuvers you down to the bed on your back with your head landing softly on the pillows, hair strewn about. Your legs drape over his thighs, his knees bent and legs tucked beneath him as he hovers over you. 

Despite the far more compromising position you were in moments ago, the vulnerability of this one activates your instincts to shy away and hide yourself. You can’t help yourself. Even though, if you think about it, the intimacy of this is what you asked for, isn’t it?

You notice one thing in particular, though.

You urge to hide your body, not the scar.

Leon won’t let you seize the opportunity regardless, one step ahead of you. He admires you in his blue-eyed gaze that stares right into you and with his hands, thumbs and finger pads ghosting over your cheeks, the outer rim of your ears, then down either side of your neck. In absolute silence and the unwavering stare of a man entranced, he continues along your collarbones and over your arms, every caress and touch executed with intent.

To feel you. For you to feel him.

An understanding that you’re both alive and here and that nothing else matters when you’re together like this.

He starts to worship your body with his mouth, too. Leaving kisses all over your skin, sometimes a peck, sometimes deeper. Kisses ticklish in your softest spots and sensual and sufficiently powerful to be capable of punching a moan from you in others.

And you move into it and revel in the attention until you can’t anymore, until you need more.

 So you reach for him and palm his length over the thin layer of his boxers and the motion near instantly gives away how badly he needs you, too.

He’s rock hard in your hand and he’s barely been touched. His entire body twitches when you wrap your hand around his dick (the best you can over the fabric, that is) and begin a slow rubbing motion. 

It’s like flipping a switch. Leon’s as needy as you—if not more—but you know him, he’s determined to deliver on your request.

“Leon,” you whisper.

Let go, you think. With me. 

“Yeah… I got you,” he says, a thing he’s said dozens of times before but it’s different this time, you’re sure you both feel it. It’s heavier. “Gonna make you feel so good… God, d’you even know… what you said to me? How I’d…”

Leon doesn’t finish his sentence, your fingers twisting tighter around him, but he doesn’t need to. You know.

You’re the one to bring him into a kiss this time using your free hand, pushing him at the back of his neck. You withdraw the hand stroking his cock and Leon whines into your mouth from the loss, then inhales sharply as you dip your fingers down the waistband of his boxers instead, communicating your want, and the two of you work together to slide his boxers down and over his legs.

Leon deepens the kiss with you, coming to support himself on one bent arm. His lower half raises up, extending his bent knee, so you wrap your legs around his waist and try to lift yourself up with a strong hold on his back. Leon cups your backside with his free hand and raises your ass up until your bodies are pressed together tightly; your drenched pussy’s cradling his dick and the leak of precome at his tip drips down to your abdomen.

He backs up and drags his aching length through your swollen cunt, coating himself in your come with ease and lining the head of his cock up with your entrance. Leon buries himself fully inside you in a single hard thrust, groaning harshly and dipping his head. You wrap your arms around his back and dig your nails in as you whimper from the forceful and sudden stretch.

A single drop of sweat beads at his nose and drips down to your collarbone. Leon’s hair sways above you as he fucks you slow, each thrust of his hips like the one he penetrated you with—strong, intentional, and ramping in intensity.

He kisses you between the rocks of his hips. At your collarbone, your neck, your jawline. Your lips. Any and every part of you he can reach with his mouth.

You’re getting close and you know he’s feeling it; your pussy’s constricting around him, the angle allowing his cock head to pound relentlessly into the soft spot inside you and extract more filthy sounds out of you like a reward, mixing with the increasingly fast and rough slaps of skin-on-skin. 

Leon’s on the edge and fending it off desperately, beads of sweat falling from his rosy-hued face and his eyes visibly fighting the struggle to stay open as he continues thrusting into you, trying to prolong this, because neither of you want to be anywhere but here where the world’s stopped on its axis.

He tilts your ass in a minuscule but precise move that exaggerates the angle of your arch and has him pounding your clit with every meeting of your bodies. It’s the gap closer that sends you into climax in seconds, your pussy already beyond worked up and aching to come, just waiting for that final push, and you throw your head back with a loud cry of Leon’s name as you finish, voice cracking, body splintering from inside out as you drown in the pleasure of it.

Leon comes right alongside you, burying his face between your shoulder and neck. He fits his jaw around your soft skin and bites down at the junction, forcing a dry whine from your parched throat, still pushing himself and rutting into you in a broken rhythm as he fills you with his release in bursts, until you’re too full and there’s nowhere for it to go but drip out around his dick still inside you.

His teeth remain sunk into you all throughout; marking you inside and out, claiming you as his.

God, and even when he’s emptied himself, he can’t help but continue the pathetic grinds of his hips, tired palm pushing your ass back into him, only stopping once he physically can’t anymore. His hand’s shaking trying to keep you held up, his jaw loosened from you, and your body’s gone limp while you pant out your exhaustion, arms falling down either side of his back now that you can’t hold on any longer. 

Leon languidly moves his knees forward, trembling hand guiding your backside to rest on his thighs, then reaches forward to brush the hair clinging to your sweat sheened skin out of your eyes.

A thumb swipes away the tears that formed at the inner corners of your eyes you didn’t realize were there, and… you swear you see a shine in the corners of his. 

“Baby, I…”