His interjection prompts you to look up from the pages you’re not reading, 

“Really, it’s nothing.” 

“Put that book down and tell me what you just read.” 

That’s the beautiful thing about being married to a super secret agent-spy-man. Nothing falls under his radar, and he knows exactly how to make you open up…in more ways than one. 

“Fine, you got me,” you relent finally, setting the book down, too wanton to care about marking the page you turned to without even reading the one before it. “I can’t focus because I’m too distracted thinking about how you’d look tied to that chair.” The words pour out in a frantic spill, like oil in the ocean, before you can keep them at bay. Too destructive, too sticky. Too much of a mess to bother cleaning. 

Shit. 

Leon’s eyes grow wide, wider than you’ve ever seen them before, and you’ve watched all three Insidious movies with him. They can get real big. 

And then he chuckles. 

“You beast,” you choke, throwing your book at him with as much might as you can muster. It barely makes a dent in the barrel of his chest, the one that’s heaving up and down as another rumble of laughter rolls through him. “Don’t laugh.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he amends, conjuring up enough strength to fix his face back to its usual serious mug. Sucking in a deep breath, he pinches his brows, leaning forward. “You want to tie me up?” 

“Yes,” you mumble, too bashful to meet his gaze. 

“And do what?” A smirk returns to his face, reigniting your zeal. 

“I don’t know. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.” 

He huffs an amused puff of air through his nostrils, and leans back, crossing his arms. There’s still a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. You want to kiss it off, or slap it off, or both. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m down.” 

I’m down. Famous last words.

He revisits them in his head, on his tongue, as he sits in one of the breakfast table chairs, with his hands cuffed behind the rigid wooden spindles flush to his back. 

When he came home from work this evening, he thought you would have forgotten. Hell, he almost did after the day he had. Stacks and stacks of intel to review, of reports to write. His hand ached from taking notes, the grip of his pen still indented into the skin of his fingers. 

But you hadn’t forgotten. 

In fact, you had gone out and bought the damned things, and they aren’t flimsy. 

He squirms against the icy metal cuffs clamped down onto his wrists, his shoulders rolled against the ledge of his chair, his arms awkwardly pulled back. You’ve been teasing him for what feels like an hour, and his limbs have long gone numb. His dick started screaming for release five minutes into your little tirade, and hasn’t stopped since. 

“Just put me out of my misery,” he groans, tilting his head back. 

You’re dressed in a black silk slip, little triangles of lace webbed between the slits cut on either side of your thighs. It’s simple enough to titillate, but doesn’t eclipse your beauty, the one enhanced, not hidden by the way you’re wearing your hair, and the makeup glittering your face. What a sight to see, he thinks. If only you were the one standing above him every time he found himself in this position out in the field. At least you brush your teeth. And you’re pretty. 

“So pretty.” 

“What was that?” You ask innocently as you open your legs to straddle his lap. His hips buck beneath you, grinding his erection against your bare pussy, chasing that relief like it’s a kite swept up by the sky, its tail dangling just beyond his reach. He can feel your arousal soaking the crotch of his cargo pants, dampening the fabric right above the length of him. The cool sensation against his skin elicits a gasping moan from his throat. 

“You’re so pretty,” he coos under his breath, looking up at your face above him. Flushed cheeks and plump lips. He’d like to kiss those. But you have other plans. 

You trace the width of his mouth with the pointed tip of your tongue, sliding your pink muscle back and forth across his lips. “Is that your way of buttering me up? Think I’m gonna stop just because you gave me a compliment?” 

He shakes his head adamantly, the heads of his brows knitting together as he closes his eyes. “Would never.” The words come out weak and lifeless. 

“Good boy. Didn’t think so.” 

You stand up, removing yourself from his lap and his eyes shoot open. “Wait, no,” he whimpers, straining against the cuffs behind him as he attempts to reach up and catch you with his lips. “Come back. Need more.” 

“Oh, I bet you do.” 

His head hangs in defeat. 

“Please, baby,” he begs. “Enough of this.” 

An hour. You’ve been torturing him for an hour. The on-and-off touches, this never-ending cycle of you riding him, licking him, pumping him in your hand, luring him to the cusp of his climax, then retreating altogether and zipping his pants back up so all he can do is grow against the rigid fabric. 

You giggle, the twinkling sound enough to remind him what he’s working toward here. The sound of your breathy gasps in his ear as he pleasures you over and over. It’s normal and sweet. Nothing like this grotesque display of cruelty. Maybe he’s being dramatic. And maybe he likes it. He sure as hell isn’t gonna tell you if he does, lest you get the idea in your head to do this again.

His poor heart can’t take it.

“Not yet,” you say, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. “I’m having too much fun.” 

“Well I’m in pain,” he spits out in a deep roar, bringing his face back up so your eyes can meet his. They’re tucked in a nest of fine lines and purple half-moons, whites mottled with thin, red veins. The poor man looks so tired, the sight tugging at your heart strings. Oh how you’d love to heal him with your body like you always do, bring some life back into those beautiful eyes of his. “You’re hurtin’ your old man.” 

He’s surprised he can still get it up after an eternity of this tug-of-war. But alas, he’s hard once more. You salivate at the sight of his cock as you unzip his pants again, and free it from his briefs, soaked with your juices and the anticipation that has been leaking from his head. He nearly whines at the feeling of the cool air conditioning on his hot skin. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he moans as you straddle him once more, grinding yourself down onto his lap. You don’t let him see or hear the way you hiss at the sensation of his throbbing cock gliding against your wet cunt, hiding yourself in the crook of his neck, planting a few kisses on the pebbled skin there. 

He curses as you tip-toe your fingers down his chest, the line of his abdomen, to grab him in your fist and slide the tip of his cock past your entrance. His girth stretches your hole to its limits, the gush of arousal dripping from you doing nothing to sate the burn.

You pull back just enough to give him a long, languorous kiss on the lips, luring his tongue into a waltz. The two of you continue to kiss as you sit down on his full length, and he moans into your mouth, the vibration tickling your lips.

“You gonna let me finish this time?” He asks, pulling back to look up at you. There’s nothing but pure, unadulterated need contorting the features of his face. Such a big, commanding man as he is and yet he’s nothing but putty melting in your hand. So pathetic. 

“If you beg.” 

It was you, the light of his life, fire of his loins, texting from what he assumes is a very cozy position on his bed, right where he left you this morning. He pictures you, wrapped up in the sheets, still wearing one of his t-shirts. You like the smell of them, you said. It reminds you of him while he’s away. 

His little sap. 

Boring, he responds, tapping away at the glass keyboard. What are you up to?

He sets his phone against his thigh, giving you time to respond. And you do. Quickly. Too quickly. Almost as quickly as he picks up the phone. Beside your name, the message reads ‘image: one’, and Leon looks to his left and right to make sure no one is watching him open the photo. 

It’s you, in bed like he had imagined, but you’re wearing a whole lot more than your birthday suit, and though he can salivate on command at the thought of your naked form, this is just as exciting. 

His eyes study the way your back is arched, your ass up in the air. You’re on your stomach, arms stretched out in front of you, giving him the perfect view of your heart-shaped cheeks. Black lingerie, too much to take in all at once, dons every curve of your body. Fishnet stockings clad your thighs. A garter belt digs into the flesh of your hips. A bra and panty set he can barely make out the details of from the photo. 

It doesn’t matter. It all goes straight to his dick anyway. 

I’m ripping all of that off as soon as I get home, he types. Sends. 

Hurry up, then. I’m waiting. Another photo, this one more obscene than the one before. He’s not even sure how you were able to snap such a masterpiece from that angle. Again, doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he can see right down your cleavage, the line of your abdomen, to the space between your open legs, where your hand occupies the mound 

A video from the same angle. Leon quickly turns the volume down and presses play. He can imagine the sounds just fine in his head as he watches you finger yourself. Five seconds. That’s all you gave him. 

Fuck, he swallows the curse, glancing around once more to double-check that no one is paying attention to the erection straining the crotch of his pants. Fuck. 

He needs more. 

I’ll be home for lunch.

You better have a snack waiting for him. 

“Naughty girl,” is all he says when he storms into the bedroom. You’re reclining on your back, the perfect position to take in the sight of Leon in a suit–a sight you rarely get to see. He’s always donning cargo pants or something elastic that shows off the swell of his muscles, and you’re not complaining. Gosh, do those compression shirts make your pussy throb. But on special occasions, like the meeting he had this morning, he likes to dress up, and apparently it has been a while, because the suit he’s wearing looks a little tight.

The fabric of his dress shirt is pulled tight across his chest, the buttons puckering beneath the tension. Even the shoulders are far too snug, and the seams stitched up and down the wool arms of the blazer are one flex away from ripping. Either the fabric shrunk in the back of the closet, or Leon has been hitting the gym twice as hard lately. 

It looks uncomfortable. He should take it off. 

But not yet. 

“Naughty? How have I been naughty?” You press a hand to your chest, feigning disbelief as you suck in a dramatic breath. 

“Teasing me while I was at work.”

“Those were gifts,” you say in a tone far too sultry to be taken seriously. “I thought I was being gracious.” 

He cocks his head, arching a brow. “You were being mean.” Leon crawls onto the bed, climbing over you until his lips are inches away from your own. “I was in a meeting.” 

It takes all the strength in your body not to bust out into a twinkling giggle. “I know.” 

“Anyone could have seen.” 

“Did they?” 

Another sly tilt of his head. “No, but they could have.” 

“But they didn’t.” 

“You’re asking to be punished.” 

You let out the teensiest giggle against his mouth as he leans down to press a kiss onto it. “You just now realized that?” 

He growls, the vibration tickling your lips. “That’s it.” With a swift grab, he flips you over onto your stomach, one forearm at the small of your back, pressing you down while the other yanks your panties down the flesh of your thighs. As he does so, you hear fabric ripping, and you internally mourn your favorite pair of panties. “You asked for it. Remember that when you’re screaming, telling me it’s too much.”

“Yessir.” 

You’re sure you’ll regret it, just like Leon said, but the temptation is too much to ignore. He’s far too fun to bait.

His hand takes a moment to appreciate the curve of your ass, giving each cheek a squeeze before he moves down between your thighs and begins playing with your pussy. Teasing and taunting, he draws slow, languid strokes up and down your folds, already slick with want. 

“Leon,” you murmur, already aching for more. “Need you inside.” Your walls clench around nothing as they eagerly await his arrival. 

He chuckles darkly, already situating the tips of his fingers at your entrance. “I know, baby. I know.” Although he tries so hard to act tough and withholding, Leon can’t help but give into your every desire. Such a saint. 

“How’s that, baby?” He asks, and though his voice is rough, his words are oh-so sweet, made sweeter by the sensation of his fingers–all three of them–stretching you out. 

“So good,” you cry into the pillow as he continues to pump into you from behind. His hand–the one that isn’t working your insides–is flush against your lower back, pressing your stomach into the mattress, amplifying your pleasure. 

“More, more. Please.” 

He’s happy to oblige, hardening each thrust of his fingers until he has to remind himself to hold back his own strength lest he accidentally harm you. 

“I’m so close, please don’t stop.” 

Some punishment, he thinks to himself, letting you come all over his hands. And then a mean idea pops into his head. 

Right as he feels the tension in your abdomen, you clenching his fingers until he’s barely able to pull them out, Leon does just that. The immediate emptiness has the tears welling in your eyes stall half-way down your cheeks, and a moan caught in your throat.

“Wha–” You try to turn around, to look into his eyes and beg for mercy, for a continuance to your pleasure, but he holds you down. 

The next thing you hear is the sound of metal teeth being pulled apart as Leon unzips his pants, shoving the slacks to his thighs, too impatient to pull them all the way off before he pumps himself twice in his hand before gliding himself into your weeping hole. 

Already wet and sopping, you make it far too easy for him to begin thrusting in and out of you, and his pleasure builds as he relishes the whimpers and whines leaving your parted lips. The lingerie on your body, all strappy and black. You vixen. The way your arousal coats him in a slippery sheen. How your hands grapple at the sheets, anything to tether you to the earth as your ecstasy threatens to sweep you into the sky. It’s all too much, and all too quickly, his own orgasm approaches, not long after you climax and he lets you.

“Fuck, I’m close.” His last words before he collapses onto your back, the cotton of his dress shirt kissing your dewy skin. It’s not long before he unglues himself from you, and begins to clean himself up so he can redress. 

“I swore I heard these rip,” you say, turning around to inspect the in-tact panties still at your thighs.

“I think it was my shirt.” Leon lifts his arm, and sure enough, there’s a small tear in the seam, just under his shoulder. An ivory button dangles from a loose thread, leaving a gaping hole down the front of the shirt. “Might need to change shirts.”

“Might need a bigger size, big boy.”

Also happened with liquor, and an excessive streak of the punishing hours at the gym—build as much solid mass on his arms, he persisted.

So yeah, sensible, given the circumstances.

Rational, even, when his capacity for obsession started to redirect itself the moment a new target is acquired. Barreling straight towards you.

Or your panties, specifically.

Although the entirety of you is a perfectly justifiable thing to lose his mind over. It just so happens that your own little habit for pretty underwear has easily rubbed off on him. From silk to lace to whatever impractical mesh he happily bleeds his bank accounts for. Numbers he quickly discovered ran obscenely high for a few measly inches of thread.

Not that he minds. You like to call him your sugar daddy whenever he catches you hesitating over a ridiculously expensive set, and he’d simply shrug and slide you his card in return. Maybe he is. Kind of. He’s your boyfriend above all else, but if his urge to keep you spoiled rotten qualifies him for the role, then maybe the title isn’t so wrong.

Also doesn’t hurt that every dime spent ultimately works in his favor. Every purchase is perfectly rational when he gets to peel his money's worth right off your skin. Gets to appreciate how a splash of color and fabric can accentuate every curve of your body.

He views red as undeniably sexy. Blue as soft and sweet, and thinks black is a staple that never fails. You always look gorgeous in every color of the rainbow. Divine charm, very easy on the eyes.

But this purple. This damn bruised shade of plum hugging your hips has him crossing the room to haul you onto his desk before he’s even made a conscious decision to move. The stack of reports he’s already been neglecting for a week goes completely shoved aside. Now he’s got you sprawled on your back, looking entirely too satisfied with yourself for finally breaking his focus.

Smart girl, weaponizing his own money to sabotage his productivity.

It doesn’t take much prompting for him to map the familiar lines of your body, dragging his fingers over the delicate lace until his thumb pushes over your sheer-clad breast, pinching a tight nipple.

“This new?”

He smiles when you squirm, watching the way your eyes slant over him. “Mhm. D’you like it?”

His mouth quirks higher. What a redundant question to even entertain, as if being asked whether he prefers a clear line of sight, or if he's happy to find a fully loaded rifle when he’s backed into a corner. It’s basically a fundamental law of nature for him at this point. Lacking appreciation for the way the thin stretch of fabric barely covers your crotch isn't even a possibility.

And that little triangle is downright taunting him, doing absolutely nothing but draw his attention. He finds himself taking a sufficient moment to fully appraise what’s in front of him, letting out a rough breath through his nostrils as he grips the edge of the lace. Pulls it up snugly between your folds.

Fuck if it doesn’t make his cock stir.

You’re awfully wet and swollen and he finds guilt gnawing at him for not tending to you much sooner. An idiot, really, can be too blind when he gets caught up in his own head. Quite the irony when he’s typically so attuned to your moods.

When you’re hungry for affection, you’re quick to cling your arms around his neck while settling on his lap. Yearning for comfort, you bury yourself against his chest to chase the solid thud of his heartbeat.

Desperation runs in your blood when you’re fully aroused.

Like what you’re doing now, he acknowledges. With that impatient heat in your eyes and thighs spread wide apart, openly offering yourself on a silver platter like a five-star meal.

He slacks comfortably back in his chair. Ask and you shall receive, because Leon is inherently a selfless person, hardwired to assist any person in distress with a reflex so deeply ingrained in his bones. You’re writhing so restlessly towards his open mouth that his only instinct is to give in.

The first kiss has you shuddering. The second draws a weak gasp from your throat. For the third, your fingers tangle into his hair.

There’s no gentle fourth kiss that follows because he starts making out with your pussy. Drinks you in to quench his parched taste buds. Devours the taste of intoxicating musk and damp skin, of warm arousal and delicate salt, rich flavors that continuously drool into his mouth as he grinds his tongue flat against your panties.

Can’t even be bothered to peel the thing away. Sure, the fabric scratches right along his jaw, but it does absolutely nothing to stop him from finding your clit. Sweet little thing growing desperately hard with the greedy pull of his lips.

Your nails bite sharply into his scalp. “Fuck, b-baby, I’m gonna—”

He quickly draws back, and your hands immediately clench tight against his roots.

“Babe.”

His amused laughter lingers on your skin as he gently unwinds your grip. Brings your hand down to his lips to press a kiss into your palm. “I know, honey. Promise I'll give it to you.”

You let out a keening whine. “This is not the right time to edge me.”

Leon huffs out another chuckle.

He begs to differ, actually. Not because he genuinely enjoys being a sadist. No, of course not. Ignoring you for the better part of the day already has him feeling awful enough. By way of making amends, the least he can do is be generous—selfless, as he likes to consider himself. Put you out of your goddamn misery.

But a little dragging out couldn’t possibly hurt. He couldn’t touch you all day, couldn’t even look at you properly, so why not take his time now?

Just an extra minute to be greedy, he insists. A few more seconds to admire the state he’s left you in. From the perky jut of your tits behind the see-through mesh to the dark, soaked fabric caught between your dripping pussy. Gooey honey he can still taste on the back of his tongue.

He presses his mouth to your belly, under your heart, over it. Then stands to his full height, tugs the waistband of his sweats down an inch and lets his heavy length spring free.

“Baby, come on.” You track the thick line of him, then mewl when he gives himself a stroke. “Just fuck me already.”

He pushes into you over the flimsy lace. “Like this?”

“Fuck—fuck.” Your hips grind back, partially trying to swallow him right through the damp material. “Take it off.”

“I will."

He does, by pulling the material aside, smoothly sliding back the rich purple that compliments your bare skin. It brings out the natural glow of your damp thighs, highlights the slickness coating your exposed pussy. Swollen folds so thoroughly glazed he adds his own spit, driven by another stubborn compulsion of his to see you absolutely drenched.

You can do it, right? Wet his cock to the point he barely has to put in any effort to slide in?

He starts by giving your sensitive opening a rhythmic taptaptap with his tip. Settles with rubbing the blunt length of it through the wetness he spent so much time admiring. He admires the way you submit to him, too, letting him manhandle your thighs a fraction wider. Takes whatever scraps of friction he decides to give with a soft grace.

A lot of patience, he decides. And the kissing cousin to patience is tenacity.

Your hips give a tiny roll. He smiles—grins, even. It’s hard not to when you’re strung out and teetering so precariously on the edge of the desk, fighting gravity itself to grind against him. He rewards your effort with a slow thrust, finally letting the thick crown sink into your hole.

Slowly, steadily. Watches the way he’s splitting you open, barely, before letting himself savor the sensation of you clenching around the little inch of him buried inside. Incredibly warm, so fucking tight.

His eyes travel along your body, comes to a stop to watch the distortion of your pretty face. Eyes heavy and drooping as if you’re barely conscious, your lips parted in a breathless sigh.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls in a gravelly purr. “You’re trying to swallow me.”

An incoherent noise of pure desperation spills past your lips.

“You want all of it?” Your head jerks in a nod, he does the same. “Okay, okay. You'll get it, honey, don’t worry.”

Later, he adds to himself. Later, when you’re drenching his thighs in so much slick. He settles with rutting against your tightest ring of muscle, instead, relishing the sloppy sound that blends with your high-pitched whines and the destructive crinkle of whatever document you’re currently crushing in your fist.

“I—shit," you whimper. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, tosses a damp piece of hair across his brow. “Ruin everything for all I care.”

You huff out a small, thin laugh. “But you’ve worked so hard on it.”

“I can work hard on it again.”

Your smile is sweet and soft as your hands blindly paw into the empty air, searching for some leverage that doesn’t end in shredding the rest of his papers. He groans when they find purchase on your chest. Moans even louder when you unceremoniously yank the cups down, holding greedy handfuls in your palms.

“That’s it, play with ‘em,” he rasps. “Show me.”

You do, and it takes a huge amount of effort for him not to blow his load right there and then. He could. He would. Yeah, he definitely would. It’s become an ingrained habit for him to empty himself while being buried deep inside you. Stopped buying condoms the first time you guided him bare.

He’s never looked back since then. Might be a kink of his, come to think of it. The sensation of becoming entirely one with you, of leaving a warm part of his very soul that it feels like the ultimate culmination of a hundred different overlapping obsessions. Your immaculate taste in underwear, the very intoxicating taste of you.

Your voice. The deliberate way you pronounce his name. Your restless, wandering hands now gripping your chest, hard nipples peaking between keen fingers.

The sound your body is making. Squelching and sloshing and spilling and dripping as you openly drown in your own pleasure.

You’re wet enough, he decides. Although it doesn’t stop him from gathering a thick pool of saliva behind his teeth again. Lets the string of drool land directly onto your clit before his thumb lands right on top of it. Swirls the little nub with eager eyes as he visibly drinks in another spill of arousal leaking right through the desperate clench of your cunt.

Clench, unclench. Suck, squeeze, hold. You’re practically making a mess on his desk, squirming erratically against the wood in your own puddle the second he quickens the pressure of his thumb.

He wonders if you can cum with just the tip of his cock and the focused burn on your clit.

You show him that you can. Easily. With a tremor that forcefully smears your slickness further across the polished mahogany while your back bows sharply and your eyes roll back in absolute delirium. Watching you swim in a mindless haze is enough to shatter whatever control he had left.

He cums easily, too. Does so by dropping his head with a wildly heaving chest as he quickly strokes the remaining inches of his cock. Pleasure melts right into his bones, as does his cum, spilling hot and thick inside you before letting it overflow across your stretched folds, along the quivering juncture of your legs.

He makes sure it seeps into the edge of your panties. White on purple. Like a painter aggressively smearing his living canvas by swirling your arousal and his cum and his trail of hot saliva into one glob of a creamy mess.

He spits again. Because he can't help himself.

And you laugh. Weak and fond and amused while you lean back on your elbows to watch him obsess over his art.

“You’re such a perv, you know that?”

He does, there’s no point in denying it. But admittedly, he's your perv. And you are his, considering you’re already trying to swallow him whole the moment he tries to nudge back in. Sure, his obsessive streak can be a little overwhelming for polite society, a definite negative for most people to handle. But it’s a good thing two distinct negatives have always made a positive.

Reasonable, then, when it's both of you in the equation.

Leon shifts on the couch, making space without asking you to come closer. It was a stubborn man’s apology if you’d ever seen one. And when you don’t come near, he looks away, expression almost shy, fingers still tapping absently against his thigh.

You only make him wait a few seconds longer before you approach, bare feet padding softly on the carpet. When you lower yourself onto his lap, you feel the way Leon’s entire body loosens—like he’d been all wound up without realizing it. Like clockwork, his arm curls around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest.

Head tucked under his chin, you melt into him too, like a homecoming postponed two weeks too long. “Hey,” you finally whisper back.

Leon’s free hand lifts, brushing over your hair. He presses his face into it, inhaling your scent while his eyes come to a close. “Missed you, baby.”

Your fingers fumble with the hem of his shirt, something to keep your hands distracted. He seems to notice, wrapping his large, rough hand around yours. His thumb strokes the back of your hand before he brings it up, pressing his lips to your knuckles.

“You still mad at me?” he asks, chin nudging the top of your head, a silent ask for you to meet his eyes.

And when you do, you can practically see the way the older man melts for you. He releases your hand, placing it on his shoulder, then cups your cheek. It was a habit of his, just looking at you like this. Especially when he returns home from missions, his words and energy having been wrung dry. His touch communicates just how happy he is to see you, safe and sound. 

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, though you betray your response by pressing your cheek more firmly to his palm.

You watch as a lazy smile tugs on the corner of his mouth, thumb rubbing your cheek. He pulls you in, lips pressing to the top of your head, and then once more to your forehead. 

He lingers for a moment before pulling back just enough to catch your eye. “We gonna talk about it?”

You shrug, noncommittal. “If you want to.”

Leon’s mouth twitches, very easily reading in between the lines and picking up on the hidden subtexts in every word you say by this point. His fingers trail down your arm.

“I shouldn’t have left you like that,” he murmurs, hand coming down to rest on your thigh, thumb stroking your skin. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Should’ve apologized before I left. Made it right.”

When you lower your head to his shoulder, Leon feels somewhat better. Maybe he was better at using his words than he thought. Or maybe you were just tired, sleepy, needing rest. It was the middle of the night, after all.

But when you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing even closer to him, he begins to feel more confident in the former. 

Leon turns, lips to your temple. “Still mad at me?”

“Kinda,” you mumble against his neck, nodding. “But I’m too tired to do anything about it right now.”

Leon hums, the sound vibrating against you as his arms tighten around your waist to pull you more securely against his chest. “Lucky me,” he whispers, and even though you can’t see his face, you can hear the proud smirk on it. 

One hand slides up your back, settling between your shoulder blades. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Nodding with your voice muffled against his skin, you say, “Take us to bed.” 

Leon tuts. “Bossy.”

But even as he says it, he’s already moving to hoist you up. His arm hooks beneath your legs, lifting you as though you weighed nothing. Sneakily, you peek an eye open, admiring the way his bicep looks from this angle.

Years of working out, excessive training, the grueling missions—they’ve paid off, at least in this way—a way you could admire.

Leon nudges the bedroom door closed behind him before depositing you gently on the bed. He strips out of his clothes until he is left in his boxers, each article thumping to the ground, before climbing in behind you without a word.

“Not bossy,” you mutter as you lean back against his chest.

Leon huffs, a sound between a laugh and a scoff, his breath stirring the hairs at the back of your neck. “Right,” he quietly replies, lips just barely skimming the shell of your ear, “you’re just very politely demanding.”

His arm wraps around your waist, and he tugs you back against him while he pulls the blanket up. The warmth of his body soothed all of your aches and pains, his chest molding against your back. You raise your head, and like routine, Leon lays down his arm, his bicep pillowing your head.

“You’re lucky I like it when you’re bossy.”

You reach for his hand, splayed over your stomach, lacing your fingers with his. “I know you do.”

Leon replies by brushing his thumb over your fingers, face pressing into the back of your neck. For a long moment, the only sound to be heard is the synchronicity of your breathing, the occasional shift beneath the covers.

Another caress comes in the form of muffled words against your neck, “I missed you.”

You press more firmly against him, testing the waters. “I missed you too.”

When he doesn’t answer, you worry that he might be falling asleep. You should want him to rest and catch up on lost sleep. But selfishly—and selfish is what you can be when it comes to Leon’s attention—you press against him again, wiggling your ass just a bit more, because you just can’t help it. It’d been two weeks. Two long, torturous weeks. 

You nearly smile when you hear him groan into your ear, feeling emboldened by such a quiet sound. Steeling yourself, you press your back to his front again, and this time, you can feel his erection press back.

Shifting to do it again, Leon’s hand comes down on your hip, halting your movement in his iron grip. “What’re ya doing? I thought my girl was still mad at me.”

Leon’s voice produces a heat that travels through your body, making your heart rate double in your chest. It was groggy and deep, rumbling in his chest with each word he said. You would’ve squirmed if his hand hadn’t brushed your hair away from your neck, his lips replacing it.

“I am still mad at you,” you say, doing your best to stabilize your voice, lest you whine midway through your sentence. 

He laughs in your ear, the sound tired and deep, while his fingertips skim the skin of your stomach, slipping beneath the old band T-shirt that you found in the closet. 

“I’m sure you are, baby,” he says, lips now encouraged to press an open-mouthed kiss to the spot just beneath your ear. 

You gasp as his hand flattens on your stomach, pressing you against him until the scant distance between you is no more. He takes one of your breasts into his palm, squeezing gently.

“I am,” you choke out, though you aren’t even convincing yourself anymore. 

Leon hums, naturally unconvinced. He kneads the softness of your breast in his hand, lips traveling the slope of your neck. “Then let me kiss it better. Can’t have my baby mad at me forever, can I?”

You’ve never known a love quite like Leon’s. He was gentle in a way guys your age usually aren’t. Never impatient, never rushing. Would rather touch your body in ways that make it sing than ever use it as a means to an end.

Leon pushes the shirt up your torso, pulling it off and over your head in one gentle movement. His hand cradles the back of your head as you lie back down, lips on the tip of your nose before they land on your lips.

Even now, you notice it.

Hands that rub and knead, rather than pinch and pull. Teeth kept behind the lips that kiss your skin rather than bite into it.

A whimper leaves your lips as his fingertips smooth down your torso, tracing the hem of your panties. 

Leon kisses your shoulder, eyes on the side of your face. “Can you do me a favor, sweetheart?”

You nod your head, rewarded with a kiss to your cheek. “Y-Yes.”

He smiles against your skin; you can feel it. “Spread your legs for me. Help an old man out.”

Heat burns your cheeks, a tingling sensation traces the curve of your spine, and you nearly squirm at the feeling. A part of you feels too vulnerable like this, even now, even when you know that Leon isn’t the big bad wolf who’s out to hurt you.

The rough pad of his thumb strokes your lower stomach, lips finding the underside of your jaw, planting soft kisses that only stoke the fire within you. All of it was patient. Pressureless. 

As you lift your thigh, his hand smooths over the inner side, keeping you spread open. “There you go,” he praises, hand resting on your knee as he waits for you to get comfortable in this new position.

Leon flexes his bicep beneath your head, an attempt to get your attention. When you tilt your head back to meet his gaze, he lowers to meet you where you are, lips pressing to yours.

You whine into his mouth, hips twitching as his hand properly slips between your legs, cupping your mound. Before you know it, his fingers slip beneath the damp fabric, sliding through your folds with ease.

“F-Fuck,” you stutter.

He groans, and you can feel his cock twitch against your ass. “Left my pretty girl so pent up. Gonna let me do right by you now?”

You nod against his lips, and his hand slips lower, gathering your wetness on his fingertips before bringing them to your clit, circling the pearl at a speed he knows you love. Not too little, but not too much. Just enough.

You pull away from his kiss, burying your face into his arm beneath your head. A whine of his name makes his fingers slip down, two fingers prodding your entrance to work you open. 

In response, your thighs threaten to close around his hand, but he uses the strength of his forearm to keep your legs spread, fingers never stopping their pursuit. 

His lips skim your ear, voice rough with arousal. “Missed this pretty pussy—shit, squeezing my fingers so tight. She missed me too, huh?”

A whine escapes you as you shift your hips, eager for more. “Yes— fuck, I want you.” Your hand slips between the two of you, just fingertips, just barely running over the thick print of his erection. “Want this—”

Leon damn near whimpers in your ear, forehead dropping onto your shoulder. “Shit, none of that, sweetheart— gonna make me cum before I even get to be inside ya. Don’t want that, do we?”

You shake your head, a small pout forming on your lips. He smiles, head dipping to kiss it away. “Don’t gimme that look, pretty baby. You’ll get what ya want, promise.”

Leon continues to fuck you slowly with his fingers, not aiming to overwhelm you. But two weeks apart have turned you greedy.

“Faster,” you say through a breath.

His lips trace your neck. “Mm-mm. How about a please?”

You huff, already impatient. “Faster, please.”

His lips curve up against your skin, but he obliges you anyway. Always does. His fingers quicken in pace, fingers long enough to easily curl inside you, knuckles deep.

The heel of his palm drags against your clit with every thrust of his fingers, the sound of your arousal and pleasure filling the otherwise quiet room. 

Leon kisses your temple, a gentle gesture that contrasts with the movement of his hand. He keeps his eyes on your face, reading each expression. Lips fall onto your cheek. “My beautiful girl.”

You find yourself arching against him, the warmth of his cock twitching back and the heat coiling in your stomach making you moan. Your hand shoots down, wrapping around his wrist, feeling the muscles flex with every move of his hand. “Please, Leon, I’m—”

“I know you are, sweetheart,” he rasps, thumb finding your clit. “I’ve got you. Tell me where it feels good.”

He purposefully slips his fingers in a moment later, fingertips stroking the spot inside of you that makes your thighs begin to shake. The sound you let out is music to his ears, a mix between a whimper and a whine, muffled against his bicep. 

“Right there, baby? Yeah?”

You nod, moans spilling from you as you bury your face in his arm completely. His fingers curl against that spot once more, sending you flying over the edge, completely undone. Your hips rock against his hand as your orgasm washes over you, panting harshly against his skin.

Leon’s fingers work you through it until your entire body goes limp against him, withdrawing them entirely. He brings his hand up to his mouth, licking his fingers clean of your release, groaning at the taste.

Still panting from your climax, you find yourself pressing back into Leon once more, his erection fitting snug against your ass. 

You can hear him chuckle against your neck. “So soon?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum in response, fingers just barely slipping beneath the waistband of his underwear. “Unless you need to catch your breath…rest your joints. I know you have your senior moments from time to time.”

Leon catches your wrist in a firm grip and uses your arm to roll you onto your back. He nudges your thighs apart once more, fingers hooking into the sides of your underwear to slide the flimsy fabric down your legs.

“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t get all bratty on me ‘cause you’re getting impatient,” he says, voice rumbling against your skin as he presses a kiss on your hip bone. 

You try not to squirm—to act affected at all—as he licks a stripe over your puffy slit, just enough to taste you from the source. “W-Well, all I’m hearing is more stalling.”

Leon clicks his tongue, shaking his head. He presses a kiss on your inner thigh before pulling back, resting his weight on his heels. Tugging his boxers down, he easily kicks them away, until you’re both left just as naked as the day you were born.

His hand wraps around his shaft, stroking himself while positioning his leaking tip at your entrance. “There’s nothing elderly about how I fuck this pussy, baby, you know that.”

Your eyes widen, glued to the movement of his hand as he settles between your thighs once more. His cock seems bigger every time you see it, the head flushed a pretty pink color and beading with the evidence of his arousal.

You gulp, still trying to seem brave. “N-No? It’s just been so long, I guess I forgot.”

Rather than reprimanding you, Leon laughs under his breath, hands smoothing over your thighs as he pulls you closer, tip catching your entrance. “Such a brat,” he muses, voice light.

He slants his hips before you can rattle off another dull jab, sliding inside your warmth, cock snug inside you. His lips are on your neck almost immediately.  

Your fingers card into his hair, lightly tugging at the root. “Oh, fuck, Leon—”

Another roll of his hips, another moan earned from your kiss-bruised lips.

He keeps his hands planted on your hips, thumbs stroking over the widest points. “Thought about you the whole time I was gone— shhit, baby, don’t squeeze me so tight.”

You gasp as he tilts your hips up just right, enough for his tip to reach the deepest point inside you. “Y-You did?”

Leon pants against your neck, kisses trailing up the side of your face, hot and wet. “‘Course I did. Wanted to—fuck, there ya go—get back home to my pretty girl.”

You turn your head to catch his mouth with your own, hands coming to cup both sides of his face. “I love you. ‘M sorry I’m such a—hah—brat. Missed you s’much.”

He twitches inside you with a groan into your mouth.

Leon is close, and he can feel that you are too. 

He smooths a hand over your forehead, brushing your hair from your face. “I love you too, baby. Always gonna.” 

You love this feeling. Being so full of him, so warm and loved. Hands in his hair, on his shoulders, raking down his back. Legs wrapping around his hips, keeping him near.

Leon breaks your kiss only to murmur against your cheek, “Fuck— gotta pull out, baby. Perfect pussy’s gonna make me cum.”

Ankles lock around his hips. Your mouth is back on his. “Mm-mm. Inside.”

A sound in between a gasp and a laugh leaves him, pulling away from the kiss just enough to look down at you. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, sweetheart. Say you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” your response comes faster than lightning. “I-I’m gonna cum!”

Leon’s hips stutter in response to you clenching down on him like a vice. He laces his fingers in yours like it was his first instinct, free hand slipping between you to rub your clit.

He watches your face, brought closer to the edge himself with every pinch of your brows and drop of your lips. “There it is, atta girl. So pretty when you cum.”

Your orgasm strikes you, hot and bright and as intense as electricity. Your hips jerk up into his, your veins thrumming with a pleasure that you’ve long been waiting for.

Just as you fall against him, Leon is there to catch you, hips buried to the hilt. Head tucked into your shoulder, you feel the moment he spills inside you. He cums with a choked sound against your skin, his hips stuttering until he empties himself, still buried snug inside you.

Eyes opening, you still see stars. You almost have to remind yourself how to breathe. 

Lips on your shoulder. “Love you.”

A kiss on your forehead, hands pressing against the mattress on either side of your head as he stands up. By the time your eyes open, he’s back with a damp rag and a glass of water to your lips.

Cleaned up and sleepy, he slides into bed behind you once more, arm slung lazily over your middle.

You fall asleep in his arms a quarter past four.

masterlist | request

an: i finally wrote something after having writers block for months on end everyone cheer !!! sorry if it’s lowk trash, i’ve been out of the writers room for so longggg 😞