Here I come building an empire...

Leon knew you well enough to almost hear the curses that must have gone through your mind when you saw the building in all its glory.

Or, technically, the lack of it. The whitewashed wooden walls made an overwhelming impression, like they could swallow everyone who stepped inside. ‘Thank god we are getting paid for this,’ he tried to joke when you first saw the pictures, but the reality turned out to be even worse.

“Not happy with your wife’s choice, sir?”

Leon raised his brow and looked at the man who stood by his side and stared at his Porsche while licking his lips.

“My wife’s choice?”

“The property,” said the previous owner of the place that the two of you, allegedly, purchased. “From the look on your face I gather you’re not very pleased with it.”

He didn’t appreciate the comment, especially with the smug smile on Ellis’ face. The man was much younger than him, probably mid-thirties, and if Leon would have to find a term to describe him it would be junkie. In the few minutes he knew him, while you got out of the car and checked your baggage, Ellis circled around you like a feral animal. He offered his help like he was physically unable to stand in one place.

Leon could see the looks he gave you. Well, it was hard not to look, when you were sitting there on the stairs in your pretty bright dress, looking like you could really enjoy an arrangement like that. This kind of life. The fact didn’t make Leon any more merciful towards the man’s glares.

He forced himself to hum lightly, instead of grunting his teeth.

“Doesn’t matter what I think as long as she is happy.”

The truth of it was visible even outside your current roles, outside the job, and it was slightly pathetic, really. He was a grown man, older and more experienced than you, and he couldn’t force himself to not cling to your opinions and wishes. He always told himself it was the lack of people who he let close to him. It happened to be you, his partner, who broke the ice over the shared work, and he kept you nearby even if it was not needed.

Ellis laughed.

“Aye, happy wife, happy life, as my Ma says.”

A hand was playfully placed on Leon’s shoulder, and he must have looked at it too harshly, because it quickly disappeared. Ellis raised both his hands to say he didn’t mean to disrespect him, yet leaned closer to lower his voice.

“She clearly is a woman you want to keep happy, your little wife, Mr. Kennedy,” he muttered, much too pleased with himself for Leon’s liking.

He always kept himself in check when it came to being overbearing, but now he truly wished he could beat the smirk out of his face. Probably add a few kicks for obnoxiously checking you out.

“She’s a bit young for you, ain't she?”

Normally, Leon would shrug and move on. That boy couldn’t say a single thing that would offend him, but now it wasn't about the cover. He didn’t hear words about the fake marriage, the weirdly misplaced bonds that you performed for the sake of the case. At that moment for Leon it was the brutal truth about what a woman like you could see in a man like him.

A thing that should never, not in any version of reality, make him wonder.

“Don’t worry, I’m not one to judge a man for lucid choices.”

Leon firmly took the bag out of his hands.

“Not your concern,” he said as calmly as he could.

“Sure thing, sir. It’s a pleasure to have you here… Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy.”

He left Ellis behind and strolled after your jumpy form. It only made everything worse that you were literally pulling a role worthy of an Oscar.

“Are you coming, Leon?” You called in that soft voice. He would have never guessed that it could actually suit you.

“Right behind you.”

It crossed his mind again, against his wish, that he could get used to… an arrangement like that. To a young wife, even if she would be a bit too flighty for what he was used to. To thinking about houses, renovations. To the idea of a child on the way.

He would need to change, put a lot of effort to make it work at least a bit, but was that not worth it? After the hell he’s been through, what wouldn’t he give to have some peace in life?

He watched you stop in your tracks and look over your shoulder. Your girlish sweet grin turned into something more mature, calmer but confused. Your eyes bore a silent question and some worry for your co-worker.

He managed to nod his head to let you know he was alright.

You were not his wife, nor had a single reckless or childish bone about yourself. If the idea he shamelessly indulged in a moment ago made him wonder, feel alive again, now it only escalated. The tension knocked the breath out of his lungs.

He told himself it was the nerves. A relevant sense of cautiousness on a mission, very much needed to stay sharp and alive.

He was now very sure, though – those moldy white walls of a rural southern cottage will swallow him whole and change the one of the very few good things in his life.

“This place is fucked,” you whispered to him, when the other man was too far to hear you.

“I'm glad we agree on that.”

“We always do, Leon,” you noticed with a small smile and nudged his side. “We're a match made in hell.”

You winked at him to cheer him up, just like he did many times before. He could say he called it upon himself… It was him who taught you effective group job and now regretted that it was not something more.

The drive to the coordinates sent by your supervisors was long enough to make you go through all radio channels, share some terrible dad jokes and comment on the last football match that none of you really cared about. Both of you never found each other’s company boring, but today the conversation kept on only for the sake of avoiding the serious topic.

You had to go through that sooner rather than later but no one could force you to stop pretending that you were just a pair of normal co-workers on their way to an absolutely safe, simple job.

When the GPS showed that you were less than an hour from your destination, it was finally the time to finish the conversation started in the office. Leon interrupted the explanations of your opinion with displeased sighs, even if he didn’t mean to.

“You're taking the danger upon yourself,” he pointed out. “Again.”

You turned down the volume of a metal song shrieking from the radio – not your exact choice of music, but there was nothing better.

Trying to think of a better option, you tapped your fingers over the steering wheel and shrugged.

“Well, we can tell them that it's you who's pregnant, but I'm not sure if they will believe us,” you finally muttered.

Leon scoffed with forced humor.

“I think it’s unnecessary.”

“And I think there’s no point in risking that we fail,” you argued, already sure that your word was final.

It was admirable, actually, how quickly you accepted your role. Especially after you criticized and cursed it out firmly when the case was first explained to you.

Leon almost laughed in your face when he saw the grimace caused by the instructions from your DSO boss.

“How about you send some rookie instead? I’m not fond of playing dress-up,” you argued, but your voice was dutiful enough to not anger the man.

He smiled, probably winning a bet with his own co-worker over the matter if you and Kennedy will whine about it or not.

“The bodies were never found…” he added, like he tried to cheer you up.

“Oh, yes, that is indeed very convincing.” You crossed your arms over your chest and looked at your partner. “Leon?”

He only nodded. Seeing the seriousness of the situation made him much less fond of joking than you and your boss were.

“So I have to play an idiot?” Your brows furrowed, as you leaned over the table to go through the prepared report.

“A woman in love, Y/n. Humans are most usually capable of emotions like that–”

“Don’t mock me, sir…” you muttered warningly, but they could tell you found it amusing. “Then a pregnant childish girl ‘in love’ who drags her husband who, might I add, is twice her age, to the middle of nowhere. That's a synonym of an idiot. No offense, Leon, it has nothing to do with you.”

“Sure,” he said, like he was either the most miserable man on the planet, or not really here.

“God, you’ve got a real cruel woman assigned to you, Leon. How are you holding up?”

If the good mood of your boss meant the job could be easy, it should lighten the spirit. Still, Leon could see your face hardening with every sentence of the report that you’ve read.

“I manage,” he said, simply to not appear too impolite, then looked over your shoulder. “So… Constance and Ellis Harmon,” he read out loud.

“Yes. Mother and son, never reported before, but we knew about them. Wanna take a guess who the daddy worked for?” He was clearly disappointed by your disinterest in the game of guessing. “Umbrella. Died many years ago in an accident.”

You sighed.

“And now Constance and Ellis try to sell a property to some young people who go missing and there are reports of disturbing signs nearby.”

“Bingo, Agent Y/n.”

“They still live in the same place?” Leon asked, before the boss would again disappear in the bottomless end of his office and would turn absolutely unreachable for any advice.

“Yes. In fact, they arranged it with the families of the previous owners… Well, the missing couple. The Harmons paid them back and kept the house. The two of you are next buyers, it’s already settled. All they asked for is that they can stay in the house for a few weeks before finding another place.”

“Isn’t that just perfect for us, huh?” You chipped.

“Yeah, we might have used some friendly connections to make that happen,” the man admitted, before slamming a ‘supportive’ hand on Leon’s shoulder and nodding to you. “Good luck.”

And there you were, with your backs hurting from sitting for too long and nerves already settling in your minds.

“If we are to stay there longer we should think about some… fake renovations,” you thought out loud. “It would be suspicious if we just come with two bags and pretend that’s all of our belongings.”

Leon saw that despite all your complainings you were taking that whole undercover thing seriously. Probably too seriously for him to remain sane.

“We can just say we are too poor for that now.”

You let out a sudden laugh.

"We're about to pull up in a new Porsche,” you pointed out.

“Then we say it was a gift.”

“Leon. I'm wearing a Hermès belt, and your jacket could pay my rent for at least a few months.”

He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t disagree that it was reasonable.

“Think they would recognize stuff like that?”

“We don't know that,” you said while raising one finger like a true diplomat. “What we do know is that they are dangerous.”

He agreed and focused on the view outside. A big damn tract of nothing for miles. Some sort of void was creeping in the air with every minute that led you closer to the place.

You could swear you were never so happy about seeing an announcement of a shop nearby before. Even Leon cracked a smile at the thought of stretching his limbs.

“We should change seats before we get there,” he noticed, making you look at him with confusion over your face.

“Why? Oh… right. I wouldn't let my man sit there like that, yeah? Or–” you clicked your tongue, clearly proud of your ideas, “It is my man who wants me to be a passenger princess.”

“Yeah, no. I'm just scared of how fast you drive,” he muttered sarcastically.

You appreciated that he tried to make you forget how inconvenient all of this was to you. Over the years you fought for your independence more than others, especially in this line of work, just to be thrown back in the boots of a helpless girl. It was just your job, sure, but it was hard not to taste something bitter on your tongue. Something awfully familiar.

“That is a successful attempt to cheer me up, sir.”

“I'm just being honest.”

You scoffed and shook your head.

“Also, I miss my car,” Leon added suddenly, trying to force its air conditioning to cooperate.

“You are in your car.”

“It’s not the same as sitting behind the wheel.”

“Now you sound like a man,” you said like it could actually disappoint you.

“I am a man.”

“Nahh, you’re too good.”

You turned to him as a corner of your lip flew up in an irresistible grin.

“God, I really don't get you young people…” Leon massaged his temple, only making you smile more.

“C’mon, Leon, don’t make me feel like I’m on a sightseeing trip with my old man,” you teased. You kept tapping the leather on the wheel, before adding: “I don’t, just for the record…”

“You don’t what?”

You had to blink a few times, not really focused on your own words before. Leon hummed insistently, making you end the thought before you could sneak out of it.

“I don’t feel like that. Like I’m with my… You know.”

God, you could feel the tension building up. It was just an attempt at a joke, and here you were grimacing, while Leon cleared his throat. Perhaps it was really the age difference that made you so misunderstanding of one another today? At the same time it was never an issue before.

How could it be? You were known for your professional connection and perfect complementing each other in your work.

“Oh, yeah, right. Yeah, that’s good.”

You took a sharp breath. Thanks, Leon, you talkative king. That certainly made everything less awkward.

When you were first paired up you didn't expect him to be a guy fond of light conversations mid-work. You did talk a bit, sometimes he even answered or offered a hum, but it wasn't much. After the first mistake that led you to almost losing your hands, he literally begged you to talk as much as you need if it helps you stay focused. It turned out that it calmed him a lot too.

Thankfully, he laughed when you left the car. What suddenly made him so cheerful was your desperate grasp on the four-pack of canned beer.

“Though you don’t really drink.”

Of course, he knew you didn't drink. How could he not? You have spent too much time together. At this point you were long past favorite colors, taste in music or causes of teenage heartbreaks. He had your damn collection of button ups memorized and could recognize when you did laundry. Without ever mentioning it you both settled on him taking care of your home devices and you accompanying him to every possible official appointment, even if just to sit in the waiting room.

“Well, if the place turns out to be too bad to sleep… We have to do something at night, right?”

He stared at the cautiously picked wedding ring on your finger when you swung the cans in front of his face. The piece was not too outworn, but not exactly new. Someone did a good job providing it, taking care of details.

“We can always get pissed after everything’s done and closed. A little celebration.”

If he had anything to celebrate, he would take you to a five-star restaurant and watch you get drunk with expensive wine like you deserved. The circumstances were not on his side, though, so he guessed cheap beer in some rural area was fine as well.

“Let's not get ahead of it,” he said before leaving the shop.

It felt unnerving to not be able to speak and joke around like you always did. You were both no strangers to undercover work – well, you probably knew it better than Leon – but there was something strange about portraying such a domestic relationship without actually letting on any of your shared past.

Mrs. Harmon turned out to be eerie enough to deserve the title of her even more eerie son. She tried to welcome you with forced happiness and care that actually felt choking. She rushed you to sit at the table like a good host would, and left to rush Ellis with moving your baggage.

You and Leon shared a look over the stew that didn’t look too bad, but better be prepared than sorry.

“I hope we didn’t just find out lost newlyweds…” you said grimly with a grimace on your face.

“Jesus,” Leon sighed. “What the hell, Y/n?”

You raised your hands protectively.

“Would that even surprise you at this point?”

“Hell no.”

Constance was back at once, and you felt the need to risk it a bit.

“M’am? Any meat in it?”

She looked at you like you just slapped her, but not in the way you expected. Or, actually, prayed to not see.

“Oh, no, sweet thing, sorry. My son gets sick from all the meat…”

“Good, so do I!” You claimed happily. “Just wanted to make sure. It’s the… the first trimester, you know.”

Something changed on the woman’s face. It could be a spark of excitement, of course, but Leon’s instinct after the years of work didn’t fool him. It was something much different. In fact, if he could, he would drop his hand to his gun at once.

“You’re expecting!” She squealed and Leon could hear the grunting of your teeth even from his place on the other side of the table. “Well, isn’t that lovely! Congratulations…”

You waited for her to put on a saddened look and mention the previous couple – the young people who, as you suspected, got brutally murdered in this house – but she didn’t. It was smart of her. Why would she try to convince you of her innocence, if she wasn’t even sure that you knew about the whole thing? It was quite loud about the disappearance in the media, but who knows?

You managed to excuse yourself from the table to go take a look at the room that was supposed to be your shared bedroom.

“Jesus,” you gasped, stepping into the room.

Leon quickly understood what you meant. It was hard not to grimace. He stared at the single bed and carefully threw the sheets away like it could be contagious with something bad.

“Oh, fuck, no,” you squealed, a little bit too dramatic.

He could scold you, but that would make him a damn hypocrite. It made him want to gag as well. “I’m not sleeping on that, hell no.”

“Shush, she might hear it,” he warned, making sure the door was properly closed.

“Think she’s eavesdropping now? Good, she might come change this… whatever that is.”

“Doubt it.”

“Let me keep some hope, alright?” You sighed, sinking to your knees to examine the nasty material like it could interest you.

Staying somewhere for longer wasn’t typical for your work, but checking the place for hidden wiretapping or other suspicious things was an instinct. Leon already got to it, so you climbed the windowsill and sat as comfortably as you could and sank your hand in the pocket of your jacket.

The bright cotton material of your dress felt weirdly irritating on your skin. That moment made you swear in your head that you will never again complain about wearing combat boots and heavy equipment.

A cigarette that you lazily placed between your lips as you searched your pockets for a lighter was suddenly snatched away.

“Hey–”

A moment ago you watched Leon look under the dirty old rug that covered the floor. Now he stood over you with an unreadable look. For a second he wore an expression that you could take for blame, like any of that was your fault.

It quickly disappeared and Leon nudged his head back, handing you the smoke back so you could keep it for later.

“Are you alright, Leon?”

He nodded dismissively.

“Come on, let’s go look around.”

“Sure. You look inside and I go out?” You offered, following habits. To make everything smoother, you usually parted your ways; upstairs, downstairs, attics, basements… as long as it didn’t seem too dangerous to go alone, you respected your time. “I can talk to the woman, ask if the land is fertile in case I want to have plants… Maybe I’ll see something suspiciously similar to a mound.”

“We should stay together–”

Leon’s words were interrupted by a soft knock. He moved to open the door ajar, and you jumped from the windowsill.

“I just wanted to let you know,” Constance peaked inside with a smile, “me and my son will be leaving for work tomorrow. We are gardeners at a nearby mansion. You are mostly welcome to look around freely then.”

Leon thanked her and you forced a too optimistic grin. When she was gone, he shook his shoulders at the opportunity and showed you to move.

“Well, lucky us. Let’s go outside now and tomorrow we can make sure that they’re gone before we go through the insides,” he said while leaning in when you passed him in the door.

The warm weather made you puff your hair out of your face. You dreamed about taking off the jacket that carefully protected the carefully hidden holster but bore the discomfort bravely.

“It’s like holidays at grandma’s… plus two dead kids and a family of psychos,” you whispered when you strolled through the yard.

Leon didn’t allow the joking anymore. He looked like he was annoyed by your light tone suddenly. It made you wonder what you said or did… but it was Leon. Over the last few weeks, you noticed he was like that. He could go quiet without any particular reason, or simply disappear when you needed him.

Acceptable, but difficult to get used to. You used to rely on him whenever you needed – and him on you – and now it was… what it was.

He offered you his arm, and you could feel how much the gesture cost him. He was probably praying for the Harmons to be gone, so you could act normal again…

“We can agree that there is no hope, then?” He looked behind you to make sure no one was listening nearby. “We are looking for dead people, not missing?”

“I think so. Miracles happen, sure, but… I don’t know, what do you think?”

“No miracles here,” he judged somberly.

“Right. So corpses.”

The idea of spending a night at this place was unnerving. Especially with the awareness that the unfortunate newlyweds could still be rotting somewhere inside, and you couldn’t go look for them.

“Inspecting abandoned places is easier… mentally,” you admitted with a sight. “This lurid domesticity makes me sick.”

“I know. I don’t like it either.”

Lie. The people were awful, the place even more, but he couldn’t force himself to hate it.

You made the mistake of thinking about the bed again and grimaced.

“Jesus, I don’t think I will wash this house off of me, like ever.”

It turned out to not be that bad, though. Leon laid his jacket and shirt on the bed to give you at least a bit of comfort. Eventually you ended up in his hoodie as well with the hood covering half of your face. He gave up when you declared you will shave your hair if even one lock touches the dirty sheets.

He was quite bashfully proud for a defeated man, truth be told.

You both laid in the bed almost perfectly still, like any movement could call something terrible upon you. You stared at the dark ceiling, listening to your own breathing that mixed with Leon’s.

Circumstances like that were not unfamiliar, as weird as it was to admit. You slept in each other’s arms for warmth, napped in bushes and abandoned buildings when it was necessary.

You even once crashed on the couch in his apartment after a difficult job. You were both so exhausted that you almost started imagining things, and you had no trust for yourself about writing a report. It had to be done as soon as possible, and Leon offered you could do it together, but after at least seven hours of undisturbed sleep. Before any of you could notice, your nervous giggle turned into sobbing at the memory of the awful things you saw and Leon pulled you to his chest.

Today was different nonetheless. The thrill caused by the closeness of a man you trusted with your one life mingled with the grief you felt for every victim you couldn’t save.

You would give a lot to move closer to Leon, draw your arms around his form and not feel him stiffen up at the same time. Despite the ache in your bones you forced yourself to not move.

“Leon?” You cleared your throat after it felt too dry.

“Hm?”

Of course, he didn’t pretend to be asleep… He was fully aware the moment your breath barely sped up, and waited until you spoke first.

“One personal question, can I?”

“In this situation I think we are forced into asking mostly personal questions.” Not like it was something new. 

For a second you regretted your idea. Maybe it was too much. Maybe he would consider you nosy.

“Please,” he added, thinking you took his words for disapproval.

“Did you ever think about having a family?”

He hummed like he wanted to say ‘ah, that one’.

“When I was young. Before Raccoon City,” he admitted without a longer thought. It was not something he hesitated to admit. “You?”

For you, it was different. You brushed your hands over the soft material of his hoodie on your body and crossed your arms over your chest, while laying on your back.

“Yeah, but I only thought about how awful that idea makes me feel.”

“Bad example in life?” He was pretty sure he understood what kind of examples you had over the years. Damn, like he knew any better.

“Absolutely terrible,” you agreed.

“I know this whole thing is difficult for you.” You failed to notice that he moved, until he supported his weight on his hand and moved to the side. “For us both, really…”

You laughed without humor.

“Yeah, it’s awful, right? It makes me question my choices in life a bit.” It was supposed to be a joke, but Leon didn’t brush off the melancholic undertone.

“Come on, don’t do that.” You would swear he shifted closer, as if to see your face more clearly. “You said it yourself, you’re not a family person… and you do what you’re best at. Even if it’s not the most satisfying job ever.”

“It is satisfying, actually,” you argued softly, “just… exhausting.”

Now it was his turn to laugh.

“Tell me about it, darling.”

Yeah, the mental tiredness made you both slip into an easier mood, and for some reason you couldn’t stop grinning.

“I’m rambling,” you noticed, realizing you really had no reasons to question your life. “I mean… The only maternal feelings I have are for animals online. Oh, and my cat, obviously. He’s the only addition I need.”

“Oh, right, your cat.” Leon nodded, like he could never forget the devilish spawn. He used to joke about the scars he had from the creature’s claws.

“My son, Leon,” you corrected him jokingly.

The sleep came surprisingly easy after that.

The lookout around the house turned out to be as resultless as it could. Well, that’s at least what Leon said. You were rather content with finding some dusty, forgotten equipment in the basement that made you think about Constance Harmon’s dead husband and his allegations to Umbrella.

“Come one, it is something,” you insisted, seeing Leon’s irritated face.

Usually your older colleague was the one famous for patience more than you. Now, if you didn’t know him, you would suspect he had really nice reasons to rush home. And by nice reasons you meant a date or a waiting pretty girl. Cruel as it could be, you hoped it wasn’t the case. It couldn’t be, right? Other than co-workers, you were also friends… He would definitely tell you.

“We learned something that we already knew,” he snarled.

You didn’t want to piss him off any more, so you tried to hide your grin when he jumped back from a pile of cardboard boxes that fell over before a fat rat jumped out of it.

“Soo…” You stayed still while sitting on a dirty, old couch in the living room, like it could bite you if you moved too much. The cup of tea that Leon put in front of you on the table didn’t make an impression much better. “What now, Mr. Kennedy, sir?”

He didn’t even react to your mocking tone and kept tapping his boot on the ground nervously. You didn’t see Leon that distracted in a long time.

You cleared your throat and closed your eyes before taking a sip of the tea. It tasted fine as long as you didn’t have to see that cup.

“I took a look at the map of the area,” you mentioned, making him look up from his own hands. “There’s this weird quarry up north, but I would focus on the cemetery nearby.”

“Okay…”

“So,” you tried again, feeling at least confused about his behavior, “my call?”

“Yes. Make the choice, Agent.”

A smirk. There he was.

It’s not like you depended on his approval, but it was a silent agreement that you never minded. It was made out of… sympathy? Respect? Some sort of admiration?

It was certainly smart to rely on the opinion of your much more experienced friend… Usually, when he didn’t act so weird.

You reached behind you to make sure your gun was loaded and in its place. You nodded, and something proud bloomed on Leon’s face.

“Cemetery it is then,” you decided as he threw on his jacket. “It’s just a nice walk in the sundown if someone asks. We’re not suspicious.”

“Please, us? Not at all,” he agreed. “Cemetery at sundown… You made it sound romantic on purpose, didn’t you?”

Oh, yeah – now he was being himself. He changed over the years you knew him. More tired, more in terms with the world which made him slightly inert, but at moments like that he still had that boyish thing in himself.

The evening wind made you feel like your true self again. The holster’s weight made you keep your head high, the professional in you waking up.

“Did you call our DSO contact to let them know?”

“I tried. Forget it. No phone coverage,” you answered quickly.

It wasn’t the first time you were on your own. It was actually a mutual trait of your informants from The Division – they were never there when needed…

And unfortunately you needed a piece of advice really badly when Leon kicked the door of a small wooden chapel in the middle of the graveyard.

“Ladies first–”

The joke fell unanswered, interrupted only by a rattling sound.

You stepped inside bravely, but not even your drawn gun could save you from the impact of the reeking body that hit you. You fell to the floor, trying to keep the walking – well, crawling – corpse at arm’s distance from you. Your fingers intertwined with hers as you held to the hand that wildly attempted to scratch your face.

“Don’t shoot!” You managed to rasp, hearing Leon rush closer.

“What?!”

But he listened.

He grasped the shoulders of a young woman whose body clung to you in desperate hunger, and pulled her back, smacking her to the ground. It gave you a few seconds to look before there was no choice but to shoot.

You were no longer sure if that was the right option. Maybe you didn’t want to look at all.

Your gaze was glued to the wedding band that stayed in your hand when Leon pushed her back. With an unbearable weight you forced your eyes up on her.

The girl was visibly pregnant when she died. You almost choked on your breath and your attempt to stand up looked more like crawling back in despair.

The howl of Leon’s gun made you look back to your hands.

“Fuck…”

“Are you alright?” He looked over your figure when you were finally back on your feet.

“I’m fine.” You caught the wall to steady yourself, fighting against nausea and dizziness. “She was… God, Leon…”

He was right at your side. “I know. Hey, look at me–”

Your hand shot up, like you wanted to defend yourself from any accusations. “I’m okay. I’m holding up. Let’s… let’s just keep going.”

“Don’t lie to me like that,” he warned, his voice as warm as he could force it to be.

He was shaken up too, just much better at hiding it inside of him. Things like that plagued him at nights, in nightmares and specters that creeped around him in the shadows. Sometimes he even envied you for your fast, strong reactions.

You could let out a single sob or a yelp of anger, then hold his arm for a few seconds like you could crush his bones, and then never mention the matter again. If you shed tears, it was the last time you allowed any emotions about this.

Yet, he could feel this was different.

“I’ll do that,” he tried to stop you when you stepped closer to the body to identify it.

You had the girl’s photo memorized. You really didn’t need to look at her undead, pained face, but you were a professional.

“Don’t be indulgent for me, Leon. Let’s find her husband.”

You did find him. This time you didn’t hesitate, your hands didn’t shake, nor did you regret. You freed the man from his suffering with a few clean shots. He was rummaging through nearby forest around the cemetery. His barely human face resembled some longing – it was like he, even in his infected mind, still sought his wife and hoped to see her again.

Well, you could only hope that he did. All you could do was make sure, that when the services come, they both will be found and placed in a shared grave– or whatever their families wished for.

Leon considered your job done.

You didn’t.

Still, you had no strength in yourself to reason with him today. The dirty bed didn’t even seem so bad as the previous night. You were forced to stay here either way, because of all your attempts to reach The Division’s people remained unanswered.

“Oh Lord, did something happen, Mr. Kennedy?” Constance Harmon stood on the doorstep when you came back and looked over your grimaced face.

You managed to make it less furious, but you couldn’t hide the hurt. You bite your lip at the realization that she had the gut to look at him, ask him, like you weren’t here.

“Everything is alright. My wife isn’t feeling very well, that’s all.”

“Can I…”

“You cannot,” you snapped, and could feel Leon’s hand tightening around your waist. “Thank you, Constance. We will be fine. Sorry, it’s the… the mood swings.”

She smiled warmly, trying to say she knew it well.

Your shoulders fell when you finally reached your room. Surprisingly, Leon’s hands didn’t leave. He moved them up to your arms and held you close, while looking over your face.

“Y/n…”

“Oh please, we have been through worse,” you said under your breath like it was him who asked for consolation.

“Have we?” He raised his brow. “Come on, let it out,” he urged you.

“What, you want me to cry my eyes out just like that?”

He shrugged, and you sighed heavily, no longer sure if it was mostly fury, fear or sadness.

“Jesus, fine,” you snapped and moved closer.

Your body hit his with a force that made him stumble back a bit, before he fixed his hold on you and cradled your head.

“You’re babysitting me again,” you whispered into his chest.

“I’m not. I’m just trying to spare you the guilt and loneliness that I had to go through.”

Was that it? A trusted confidant trying to ensure his younger friend’s comfort?

Because at this point you highly doubted that. He didn’t hold you like a mentor, not like a colleague.

It was hard to put a name to what you two had. You never thought about it much. It was always just Leon, the one and only.

You promised you will be perfectly okay after you wash the memory of today off your body, but the old pipes refused to work. Leon insisted on going to see what was wrong, but you forbid him from going. Being separated and calling some tragedy upon yourself was the last thing you needed now.

The nighttime seemed to come quicker, like it wanted to match your grim mood. Shadows enveloped you when you laid in bed still. Even more still than last night. Well, at least you tried.

You could feel the sweat on your back, temples, shoulders… you were shaking against your wish. Despite the feeling that you were dirty, you didn’t complain that Leon held you close without a word of protest.

At this point he was really your person, the one you could go to with everything. He was never much of a mentor – more like a backbone that you could cling to whenever you were unsure.

Over the last few years he saw all of you. Happiness after a promotion, grief, breakup… He turned out to be one of the few steady things in this life. He was older, misunderstood by most, hell, sometimes even by you, told bad jokes, and despite the anger that he carried, he still believed he could make the world a bit of a better place. None of you had any use of building a new bond, something else.

It was inconvenient. A risk. Danger.

“Hey.” Of course, he couldn’t stay silent when a particularly violent shiver shook your body. “Do you want me to find you something warm to wear?”

It wasn’t about the cold, and he knew that. In fact, the air in the room felt choking, like it could fry your brains and leave you dry.

“No need, Leon. I’m just… I’m thinking about her.”

Of course you were. He wasn't free of that either.

He shifted closer, making you turn your head. You blinked the tears away before he could make that awful concerned face that broke your heart a bit every time.

“You shouldn’t be wearing that,” he whispered firmly.

Leon caught your hand to gently swing the additional ring off of your finger. The one that belongs to the dead woman. “We’re lucky they didn’t notice.”

“They wouldn’t.”

He stopped and watched the single band that was left on your hand, the one matching to his own.

You shivered again, and he could see you grimaced in some revolt about the things you had to witness. It was hard not to be rebellious after seeing a young pregnant girl with a life in front of her, stripped of chances and bare human dignity. Yes, it was an experience that either turned you into a mass murderer, or made you put a bullet through your own head – if not supported properly. Leon struggled in his young days. Shit, he still struggles.

That's why he pulled you to his chest.

You didn’t remember making the choice of grasping his shirt and yanking him close without a warning, like he was a breath of air you desperately needed. It could be your nerves that made the choice, the built-up tension from the day.

All you knew was that it was so much more than just a simple way to take your mind off the difficult topics. It mattered. And now you found yourself grazing your lips over Leon’s neck, pulling on the collar of his shirt.

“That’s the last thing we should–” he barely choked out, with no will to pull away. He got quiet after a groan that forced its way out of his throat. “That’s unwise,” he stated, proving to you that he had no care in himself about how unwise.

One of Leon’s arms made its way over your waist, keeping you closer as he shifted his weight. The other found your hand again and gently pulled it off his body. Intertwining your fingers, he left a single kiss on them and pressed your hand to the nasty mattres with the strength of his own.

He kissed your temples, over and over again, when you breathed heavily into his collarbone.

“I pushed my luck before.”

You had to look up to register the words that he said.

Your head was spinning, even more so after he made an effort to brush your hair so they don’t fall into your eyes.

“Is that how you see it? Pushing your lu–”

“Pushing my luck with you, yes,” he admitted, then clung to you like he was aware of the slight chance he found and wasn’t willing to let go. “I don’t mean to use the fact that you’re distressed. I never… I don’t want to take advantage of you, Y/n.”

“Leon…”

“You know me, love,” he breathed out, his nerves clearly taking over. He spoke like a man who was held responsible for a crime, while still holding you like a stolen jewel he would never let go of. “I’m not that kind of man.”

“I know,” you say, feeling the need to comfort him. “You think I’m here with you because I feel lost? Scared? That I broke every single rule of work relationships over the last few years, despite promising myself that would never happen? I might be younger, Leon, but I’m not a child…”

But Leon was a stubborn bastard. You saw it in his eyes. Even on the first day you saw him.

Making him stop thinking less about himself was a long job, and you had a lot of free time to spare on that.

For now, all you cared about was that he stayed with you here.

“Just… hold me, will you?”

“Mhm. That I can do.”

Holding quickly turned into openmouthed kisses and caressing each other’s bodies. Your lips were broken, your head hurt like hell from all the emotions and your chest felt tight, but you were never that healed before.

You wondered, how did a man like Leon manage to keep so much gentleness in him and how lucky you were to be blessed with a knowledge of it.

Your fists ached and Ellis Harmon’s face literally pleaded you to beat the grin out of it. You dreamed of nothing more, truly, but that would be a satisfaction purely for you.

You tortured yourself with the memory of the dead girl’s look, and repeated that you were doing it for her. She certainly would like others to be safe from such fate. You felt the need to know why she was chosen and how it happened. It was only fair to her.

You leaned closer, fully aware that your dress slipped from your shoulder just a bit. Ellis’ wandering gaze only confirmed that.

“So… You like the house, I take it?”

“A lot!”

You send him an innocent smile. At the fucking murderer. It made you sick at once, but you forced yourself into calmness.

He was working on something in the garden when you approached him. You made sure to start the conversation by saying that your husband was busy, and you were feeling lonely. Ellis was eager to keep you company, of course.

“Say, Mrs. Kennedy… Doesn’t he treat you a bit cold, your husband?” He asked with perfectly played worry. “Leaving you alone like that… He should be at your side, making sure you are happy and content.”

“He takes good care of me,” you promised in your playfully naive tone, “and you are here now to do the same.”

He caught  the hint and lifted his gaze from the plants again. Wiping his dirty hands on his trousers he finally stood up.

“I am here indeed, aye?”

You forced yourself to smile bashfully.

“Show me more of your work?” You chipped.

“Filthy thing, you are,” muttered Ellis, too happy for your liking.

If you could, you’d love gagging and breaking his nose. Yet, what you were trying to achieve was too important. He offered you his hand which you took without hesitation.

“Promise me you’ll answer a few of my questions about the house later?”

He couldn’t say no to such a sweet, soft voice, couldn’t he? Little did he know you didn’t need his promises even one bit. He would be at the mercy of your gun with talking as his only protection from being killed on the spot.

“Sure, honey. For a girl like you… everything.”

There was very little truth in everything you said in this conversation, starting from Leon’s current activity.

He wasn’t busy and you knew that. It made you feel better, in fact. You didn’t want to approach him about your idea because you knew he would complain, but the thought that sooner or later he would notice what you were doing was consolation. In case something with Ellis went south, you knew Leon would be there to help.

But Leon was there sooner than you expected. He looked over the two of you from the porch, grunting his teeth and begging his rational thinking to not abandon him. He looked with the eyes of a jealous husband, watching his wife flirt with the gardener.

What the fuck were you doing?

For some reason it didn’t cross his mind to check local newspapers. He didn’t see the posters of missing people. Didn’t think about playing with the Harmons a bit longer, to make them confess and explain.

All he saw was you, the woman that he wanted – no – needed close to him and would lift off the ground so she doesn’t have to stain her feet, clinging to this dirty, murderous, piece of shit.

It even crossed his mind if last night wasn’t just a play for you. Something to make you stay in the role easier. Or simply some fun…

He wanted to be smart and civil about it, he really did, but then he saw Ellis grab your shirt a bit too suddenly and drag you to the greenhouse, he lost it.

You took a deep breath and allowed the bastard to grip at your clothes for a bit longer, before he would be lost in lust enough, letting you knock him out without much of a fight.

“You really let that old man lay his hands on this body…?” He hummed into your ear, and you almost pierced the skin on his neck with your nails. “Feisty…”

With a quick count in your mind, you finally snapped your head away and sent a hard kick to the man’s knee. You didn’t see him falling to the floor like you expected, because at the same time he was being dragged away with Leon’s strong grip on his shoulders.

Your partner pushed him to the ground a few steps away from you.

Ellis tried to scream and crawl back, but Leon kept him in place with the force of his boot.

“Give me the rope,” he ordered, looking over his shoulder. His voice was steady, but you could hear the rage.

Truth be told, you shared it, but for different reasons. You grunted your teeth and shook your head.

“Leon…”

You went silent, fighting with the want to just get your gun and finish it here, making Leon look behind. You held your weapon in both of your hands now.

“Y/n, fuck. Pass me the rope,” he ordered firmly, pressing his boot into the man’s chest.

“He doesn’t deserve–” you tried to argue, wanting him gone.

“It’s not about what he deserves. They will both have a lawful trial for what they did,” Leon barked out, and you did what he asked for.

It was hard not to. It was reasonable, professional… and absolutely unhuman.

Just like killing could be human, you thought ironically. 

You stood nearby, clearly annoyed and looking away from Leon when he tied Ellis and made sure he couldn’t move.

Leon grabbed your upper arm when you tried to leave, almost violently, and held you close, but he didn’t manage to speak up before you pushed him away.

“Let’s go do the same to Constance, and we can try calling the central again,” you said emotionless.

“She is taken care of.”

“What?”

“Constance. She’s locked in the basement. It’s all done,” he explained, trying to talk some reason into you.

“And you really don’t want to force some information out of them?” You asked harshly.

“It’s not our thing to do. They will be questioned by others.” The sudden softness in his voice pissed you off even more. “And you know it’s not about the information… You just want revenge.”

You scoffed.

“And you judge me for that?”

“Never.”

You turned on your heel to go back inside. For now, you were stuck in this damned place with your annoyingly proper colleague, exactly the one whose touch you could still feel on your body. All you could do now, that would not be risky, hasty or simply stupid, was locking yourself somewhere far from him to start preparing the report. The sooner, the better.

It was peaceful for a while. You hummed an incoherent melody under your breath to make your mind cooperate easier.

You didn’t react when the stairs outside the room squeaked under Leon’s weight.

You couldn’t hear the door being open, yet here he was.

Sitting in the chair, legs curled up to your chest, you gulped when he suddenly turned the chair with a loud creak.

“You think I wouldn’t like to see that motherfucker with a bullet in his head?” He tried to sound steady, but you could tell that your annoyance got to him. “After how he looked at you?”

You looked him straight in the eye, even if his lips were begging you to pay them some attention again.

“Then why the hell not?!”

“Because it’s not about what we want! It’s about our job!” He snapped.

“Then fuck the job!”

“Yeah, I almost did,” he admitted, taking a  step back and running his hand over his beard. “Because of you.”

“Excuse me?”

Your shocked expression made him laugh.

“You turn me into an idiot lately. You can’t say you didn’t notice.”

“You did act… strangely.”

“I can barely think when you’re around–”

Then your work phone let out a familiar sound and the voice of your boss erupted in the room.

“We lost connection for some time, Agent. What is your status?”

The bar had that kind of lighting that always makes the world seem a little kinder than it actually is.

Amber lights hung from the ceiling, reflecting off the glass of the bottles behind the counter, while an old song filled the space with a slow, comfortable melody. It wasn't a fancy place, but it wasn't run-down either, just one of those bars that had survived long enough to develop a personality.

Couples occupied some tables further in the back, cheap candles flickering over wine glasses and whispered conversations. Laughter here and there. Low music. Nothing extravagant, the kind of place people go when they want to celebrate something… or forget something. It was Valentine's Day, after all.

You came for the first reason.

You were still trying to get used to the idea of the new position, the lab, the projects involving biological sciences applied to pathogen containment. A job that, years ago, you never imagined you would accept.

But the world had changed.

Raccoon City had changed you first.

You spun the empty glass between your fingers on the counter, evaluating the drink menu as if it were an extremely serious scientific decision. That was when you noticed someone sitting two stools away.

He didn't look like he was celebrating anything.

The man had his head slightly tilted over some papers spread on the counter, scribbling notes with a black pen. His leather jacket was open, his shirt sleeves slightly rolled up, and there was a familiar concentration to him, the kind of focus you recognized from someone who had spent many nights doing exactly that.

You tried not to look, and you couldnt.

He had light hair, now with some gray strands at the temples. Fine lines at the corners of his eyes. The face of someone who had seen too much… and decided to keep going anyway. You would recognize that expression anywhere, it was the same as yours.

When the bartender approached, you leaned slightly in his direction.

"I want something strong."

The bartender raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

You discreetly pointed to the glass next to the man.

"What hes drinking."

The bartender gave a small smirk, as if that happened more often than youd think.

The glass was placed in front of you seconds later. You picked it up, took a sip… and immediately realized that might have been too ambitious a choice. The drink burned your throat. When you turned your head, the man finally looked at you. He didn't say anything, but his gray-blue gaze quickly scanned you, assessing.

You raised the glass in a small, improvised toast.

"Good taste."

He just went back to his papers.

The silence could have easily become awkward… but curiously, it didn't. Maybe because there was something intriguing about the way he completely ignored his surroundings. Or maybe because your curiosity was simply stronger.

You couldnt resist and tilted your head slightly to glance at the reports. There were many technical words. Protocols. References to incidents. And an acronym…

You rested your elbow on the counter.

"DSO?"

His pen stopped for a second.

It wasn't a sudden movement. It was more… a micro-gesture. He looked up at you again, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he had let something slip when he first assessed you.

You raised your hands in surrender.

"Hey, relax. I'm not a journalist."

A small sigh escaped him, barely perceptible.

"Dangerous curiosity."

His voice was low. Hoarse in a way that seemed permanent, not temporary.

You smirked.

"Very curious, actually, but maybe because it's part of my field."

He waited.

You took another sip of the strong drink.

"Biological sciences," you said. "I just started a new position."

He watched you for a few seconds. As if he were trying to decide how much it was worth responding.

"Congratulations."

The word was simple, but sincere.

You spun the glass again.

"I heard about the recent incidents," you commented. "Bioterrorism. Strange deaths."

His jaw tightened slightly.

"A lot of people heard."

You tilted your head.

"I grew up in Raccoon City."

Now he really looked at you, not invasively, but differently. Maybe as part of the DSO that was investigating the sudden deaths of survivors from the city, and trying to understand Raccoon City Syndrome.

"Before the whole thing turned into hell," you added, quieter.

He nodded once, slowly, seeming a little more relieved to know that. As if there was nothing intelligent to respond with, because there wasn't.

You took a deep breath, then smiled again, pushing away the heavy mood.

"But tonight isn't for talking about tragedy."

He raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"No," you lifted your glass. "I'm celebrating."

He waited.

"The new job." You paused briefly. "And the fact that I'm still alive."

That drew something that might have been almost a smile from him.

Almost.

Before you could say anything else, someone called your name from the other side of the bar. You turned your head. Your friends waved exaggeratedly from a table full of people.

You let out a sigh.

"I think I'm being summoned, but if you need company, we still have room for one more."

He just tilted his head slightly, and you slid off the stool, but before leaving, you looked at him.

"Good luck with…" you pointed at the papers, "…whatever that is."

He responded without looking up. "Thanks."

You walked to your friends' table, but you felt his gaze on you for a second. Maybe it was your imagination.

Maybe not.

One hour passed until the table started to empty, with people going to dance, people going to smoke, people leaving, and you were finally alone, tired, but satisfied. It wasn't supposed to be anything special, after all, the next day you had to convince everyone why you deserved that position.

You were swirling the water in your glass when you noticed a chair being pulled out. You looked up… it was him. The stranger from the DSO, alone at the counter.

"May I?"

You blinked, granting him a small smile. "Sure."

He sat down and made a brief gesture to the bartender.

"A whiskey," he said. "And water for her."

You rolled your eyes, biting the fruit that was stuck in your empty glass.

"Decided I need hydration?"

"That drink was strong, and this one is even worse."

You tilted your head. "Were you watching me?"

'He didn't respond, which… was practically a response. For a few minutes, you just talked. No effort. No formalities. You found out his name was Leon Scott Kennedy. You talked about random subjects. The bar. The music. The city.

It was strange how natural it felt. As if you weren't two strangers. As if you were two people who… had met somewhere in life before.

The bar door opened again and more couples entered. Someone shouted "Happy Valentine's Day" and you watched the scene for a second… then looked at him.

"I hope you're not secretly married, Leon Kennedy."

Leon raised an eyebrow.

"Would it be strange if I were sitting here?"

"A little."

He took a sip of his whiskey.

"I'm not."

You relaxed a little in your chair, that was a relief.

"Good."

He returned the question.

"And you?"

You were silent for a few seconds.

"No. My fiancé passed away."

The noise of the bar seemed to dim slightly, and unintentionally, you seemed to have weighed down the mood, even though it didn't affect you like it used to.

"Infected zone," you said, simply. "A long time ago."

He didn't ask for details, maybe because he didn't need to. Or maybe because he understood too much.

"That's why I chose this field," you added.

He just nodded. And, somehow, the conversation continued with anything that didn't involve biological weapons, Raccoon City, or problems, just a conversation you knew you needed to have with a stranger and that Leon probably hadnt had in many years. Until, while you were talking about favorite types of drinks, the music changed. It switched to a slow song and the small makeshift dance floor started to fill with couples.

You looked at him.

"Dance with me."

He let out a small, disbelieving laugh.

"I dont dance."

You stood up from the chair.

"Yes, you do."

"No."

You extended your hand.

"Come on."

He stared at your hand as if it were a complex tactical problem.

"This is a terrible idea."

"You work with bioterrorism," you said. "Dancing is the safe part of the night."

You pulled his gloved hand and Leon resisted a little, but eventually gave in to your insistence, reluctant. Very reluctant. You stopped in the middle of the small floor with the other couples and he looked completely out of place.

"Relax," you said with a wide smile. "No ones going to bite you, except me… but only if you ask."

You grabbed his hands and positioned one on your waist and the other intertwined with yours, and he already knew exactly what to do, he just didn't want to.

"Just follow my lead."

Leon was stiff at first, moving with careful steps, always trying to move his hand away from your waist as if he were touching you without permission.

"You're overthinking it, Leon." you murmured.

"This is clearly a trap."

You laughed.

"Trust me."

You guided the steps slowly.

One. Two. Three.

He messed up and you corrected him. Leon sighed, but then his hand adjusted better on your waist. And when you looked up, he was already looking at you. His blue eyes were so intense, calm and yet rough. You smiled and he responded with the ghost of one.

"See?" you whispered. "It's not that hard, Leon Kennedy."

He tilted his head slightly. "I didn't say it was hard."

"Then why were you avoiding it?"

He thought for a second, frowning as he looked around and then faced you.

"Lack of practice."

You smiled.

"I can help with that."

For the first time that night, he seemed completely relaxed. His hand on your waist remained firm, as if you were something he did not plan on letting go of anytime soon. And when the music ended… Leon still did not pull away. For a moment, you just existed there, in the middle of the floor, while couples around you rearranged themselves for the next song. His hand stayed on your waist, warm even through the fabric of your blouse, and the other was still intertwined with yours, as if he had forgotten how to let go.

Then he seemed to remember. Leon took half a step back, his hands falling slowly.

"Wasn't that bad," he admitted, his voice even rougher.

You smiled, feeling your heart beat a little faster than it should have.

"It was great," you corrected. "You just need a few more lessons."

He did not respond, but something shifted in his expression. As if the idea was not entirely out of the question.

You returned to the table, and the atmosphere between you two was still comfortable, but now there was something that made every glance last a little longer, every silence feel a little heavier. Leon ordered another round, more whiskey for him, more water for you, because he had apparently taken on the unofficial position of your hydration bodyguard, and you kept talking. About nothing. About everything. About the way the bar light reflected in his eyes and made them seem more gray than blue. About how your hand still remembered the pressure of his fingers on your waist.

You were watching him swirl his glass when you noticed.

"You know…" you began, tilting your head. "It's not that cold in here."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Then why the glove?"

Leon looked at his own hand as if he had forgotten it was there. When he looked back at you, there was something different in his gaze. Not exactly evasive, but… cautious.

"It's not for the cold."

You waited, but he didn't elaborate. And you understood. You knew that kind of hesitation that hides things that cannot be said out loud in bars lit by amber lights.

"You know…" you hesitated. "When we danced, I saw a mark on your neck. I thought it was just my imagination, but…"

You stopped, and Leon stopped too.

His glass met the table with a soft sound, and he looked at you in a way you could not quite read.

"But?"

You swallowed hard.

"It's the Tyrant Virus, isn't it? I mean, it must be something like what I saw in the Raccoon City survivors who were found dead in the past few weeks."

Leon did not confirm, but he also did not deny, maybe because he did not know either. He just… watched you. As if he was waiting for you to say more, because you knew something he had not figured out yet.

"How do you know?" the question came out low, his fingers tapping lightly on the table.

"I work with this, remember?" you replied, your voice surprisingly steady, and let out a small laugh through your nose. "And I grew up in Raccoon City too. I've seen the photos in countless files about what happened there, so, well… I think I know how to recognize it."

He looked away for the first time that night, and when he looked back at you, there was fatigue, maybe. Or acceptance.

"It's not the same anymore," he said. "Not the way it was before."

You nodded slowly.

"Well, in 1981 they discovered that approximately ten percent of any population was naturally immune or asymptomatic non-mutated carriers of the T-virus," you said. "There has been a lot of mutation over the years. This is more like Raccoon City Syndrome. The survivors who still carry traces…"

"It means my days are numbered," he interrupted, softly. "No cure, apparently."

You agreed. After all, you also did not know of anything that could neutralize the T-Virus, not anymore. Umbrella had developed something once, but the virus kept mutating and had become resistant even to antibodies. And thirty years ago, what actually contained the virus in Raccoon City was a bomb, so any form of cure had been destroyed along with the city and with Umbrella.

"It must be lonely," you said finally.

He looked at you.

"Sometimes."

You did not ask anything else. Instead, you just stayed there, sharing the silence with him, and that seemed to be enough for now. The bar was starting to empty out for real when you glanced at your watch.

"I need to go," you sighed, reluctant. "I have to present my research tomorrow, and I cannot look like a wreck or like someone who was at a party all night."

"You were," he said, looking at you.

"Only you know that, Leon Kennedy."

Leon nodded, but did not get up immediately.

"It was nice meeting you."

"You too."

You hesitated for a second, then grabbed a napkin and a pen that was near his glass.

"Can I have your number?"

He stared at the napkin for a long moment. When he looked at you, there was something almost sad in his smile, or in what could have been a smile, if he allowed himself.

"We probably wont see each other again."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to smile.

"That's okay."

And it was sincere. Because, somehow, even if you never saw each other again, that night had already been worth it. And you were thankful that your friends had convinced you to stop by some bar and that you had somehow found him. Found someone who made you feel alive after your fiancé had been targeted by the C-Virus.

You stood up, adjusted your bag on your shoulder, and looked at him one last time.

"Take care, Leon."

"Ill do my best."

"Make it last," you glanced at the mark on his hand. "Maybe I will start studying how to neutralize it, even if I have to go back to Raccoon City for that."

He nodded with a half-smile, putting the glove back on.

You left the bar, and the cold night embraced you immediately. The street was almost empty, just a few streetlights illuminating the way back to your apartment. "It's close," you had thought. And it really was. About six blocks. Nothing major.

You started walking, your footsteps echoing on the asphalt damp from a light rain that must have fallen earlier. The silence of the street was strangely comforting after the buzz of the bar. Until you heard an engine. Low, powerful, approaching slowly, but you did not look back. Raccoon City had taught you not to look back when you were alone on the street at night.

The car slowed even more, until it was practically matching your walking pace.

"Do you always ignore cars that pull up next to you?"

The voice made you stop, and you turned slowly.

The Porsche was dark, almost invisible in the night, but the face behind the open window was unmistakable. Leon was looking at you with an expression that suggested he knew his joke was terrible.

"Only the ones that look like they are going to kidnap me," you said, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "I thought we were'nt going to see each other again."

He tilted his head slightly.

"Changed my mind."

You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the cold, and the butterflies in your stomach.

"So?"

He reached over and opened the car door.

"Get in."

You looked at the leather seat, then at him, then at the empty street ahead.

"I live six blocks away. I can walk."

"I know you can."

You held back a smile.

"But?"

He stared at you for a long second.

"But I'm offering to take you."

Simple as that. And, somehow, that was all you needed to hear.

You got into the car, and the warmth of the heated seat enveloped you immediately. The sound of the door closing was solid, safe. Leon did not say anything as he put the car in motion, but you felt his gaze on you for a second before he focused on the road.

The drive to your building lasted three minutes. Three minutes of silence, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the sound of the rain starting again, light, against the windshield.

He stopped in front of your building, and you should have gotten out, but you could not.

"Leon."

He turned his face toward you. The streetlight illuminated half of his face, leaving the other half in shadow. Beautiful. Tired. Human.

"Thank you."

He nodded.

"Good night."

You put your hand on the door handle, hesitated, and then leaned back in. On an impulse you would not question later, you placed a quick kiss on his cheek. The stubble lightly scratched your lips.

When you pulled back, he was looking at you in a way that made your stomach drop.

"Good night, Leon."

You got out of the car before you could do something impulsive, like ask for his number again. Or never leave that car. The building seemed farther away than it should have been. You walked to the door, got your keys from your jacket pocket, and only when you were inside, safe, did you allow yourself to look back. The Porsche was still there, and Leon was watching you through the glass. You raised your hand in a small wave. After a second, he raised his gloved hand in response.

Then, he got out of the car, and you noticed he was carrying your bag. Crap, you had been so nervous you had completely forgotten it on the ground. Leon walked over to you and gave a small smile as he held out the bag.

"I will pretend that was not intentional."

"It wasn't," you said, taking the bag. "It cost too much for me to leave it in a strangers car."

He laughed for the first time, and nodded.

"Good night again!"

"Leon!" you stopped him before he turned around. You did not know why you had done it; it was just impulse. He looked at you. "If you want, you can come up, and you can leave in a little while."

The elevator seemed smaller than it should have been. Or maybe it was just you, hyperaware of his presence beside you. The enclosed space, the sound of the mechanism pulling the cables, the dim light overhead. Leon had his hands in his jacket pockets, staring fixedly at the numbers climbing too slowly.

3… 4…

You should have been looking at the numbers too, but instead, you were looking at him. At his jawline. At the way the soft elevator light highlighted the gray strands at his temples. At his gloved hand, relaxed now, but which you still remembered being firm on your waist.

5…

"I don't usually do this." Your voice came out lower than you expected.

Leon turned his head.

"Do what?"

"Invite strangers up to my room."

He didn't respond, just smiled and watched you as if he was memorizing every detail.

6…

You stepped forward. Then another step. He didn't move, and when you were finally close enough to feel the warmth of his body, to see the texture of his stubble, to count every silver lash on his eyes, you stopped.

"But you're not exactly a stranger, are you?"

His voice was a hoarse whisper when he answered.

"What am I, then?"

You didn't answer. Instead, you tilted your face up and found his lips.

The kiss started slowly, almost hesitant, as if you were both testing whether this was real. His lips were soft but firm, and there was a taste of whiskey that you already associated with him. His gloved hand found your waist, pulling you closer, and his other hand came up to hold your face with a gentleness that contrasted with everything you imagined he had done.

The ding of the elevator announced the 8th floor.

You broke apart abruptly, breathless.

Leon was looking at you as if you were a problem he had no idea how to solve and as if he didn't want to solve it. You smiled, took his hand, and guided him out of the elevator.

The apartment was exactly what you had described to him before you both went in; it was simple, functional, with a wall of windows facing the city down below, the distant lights blinking like fireflies trapped in the asphalt. It was enough for you, who didn't plan to live in the city forever, for someone who would soon have to move because this place was too big for someone who wasn't really home much anyway.

Leon noticed many things on the way in, and you noticed. You saw him notice your cat rubbing against his legs, and he pet it. You saw him notice how you arranged the mugs on the counter. Then he stopped in front of the windows, taking off his gloves.

You stood right behind him, watching the broad silhouette of his shoulders against the glass, the way his coat fit over his arms, the exposed nape of his neck where his hair was shorter. He slowly started to take off his coat — maybe because you had forgotten to turn off the apartment heater — and you noticed his arms, now revealed by the black shirt he was wearing.

"Nice view," he murmured.

"Yeah."

But of course, you weren't looking at the city, and he noticed this in the reflection and just smiled.

You approached slowly, and when you were close enough to Leon, your hands found his to take the coat, which you placed on the sofa. He turned, his gray eyes settling on you as he brought his hand to your jacket, pulling the leather down, sliding it off your shoulders. You helped him, letting the jacket fall into your arms. He dropped it somewhere on the floor, on the sofa, at that moment it didn't matter.

You bit the corner of your lip as your gaze traveled down his body. You saw his chest, his shoulders, his arms, the muscles shaping beneath the fabric. Your hands found the fabric of his shirt, over his chest. You felt the warmth coming from him, felt his heartbeat under your palm.

"You're very handsome, Leon."

You noticed something appear in his expression, accompanied by a half-smile. It could have been surprise, maybe, or just being unused to hearing it. Because, of course, you assumed Leon didn't have time for this, for a life, for getting involved even for one night. He didn't seem like someone capable of giving in so easily when his mind was on work.

Then, subtly, his hand found the hem of your shirt, touching the fabric as if giving you time to pull back. But you didn't want to. You wanted his touch on your skin, and he understood that when your eyes met his and you nodded gently.

He pulled the fabric up, and you raised your arms, allowing him to remove your shirt and toss it somewhere near your jacket. You let out a small, embarrassed smile when you automatically covered your breasts, free from a bra (your shirt hadn't allowed you to wear one). Your skin prickled from the cold draft coming from somewhere or maybe it was just the nervousness speaking.

Leon's eyes traveled slowly over your body, as if cataloging every detail, every curve, every shadow, every freckle. He brought his hand to a strand of your hair and pushed it behind your ear, trying to make you comfortable, which actually worked. So you removed your hands from your breasts, exposing them to him.

"Handsome," his voice was rougher now. "You too."

Your hands found his waist, sliding to the front and reaching the waistband of his pants. His fingers traced a warm path from your back to the curve of your hip, making every part of your body tingle in a way you hadn't thought possible. Leon positioned you with your back against the window, tilting his face, his lips almost brushing yours, when...

Bzzzt.

You both paused, hearing the sound.

Bzzzt. Bzzzt.

You then looked down, joined by him, seeing his phone vibrating in his pants pocket.

Leon let out a sigh — frustrated, maybe tired, you had no idea — and picked up the device. The screen lit up his face, and you saw the cluster of notifications, files, alerts. There were DSO things, and he seemed to hesitate, looking at the screen, then at you, then at the screen again.

"Shit," he swore.

You probably should have felt rejected, or just grabbed your shirt and dressed again, but you just stood there before him, watching him still weighing what to do. Whether he should follow duty or desire. That was the weight of being who he is.

"Do you need to answer?" you asked, trying to reassure him.

He ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket.

"No."

However, his fingers didn't return to your skin. They didn't touch you like before. Instead, his hands found your shoulders, holding you gently, creating a distance that hadn't existed seconds ago.

"But..." he started.

You waited for him to continue, but first he looked away to the floor, then to the window, and then back to you. He seemed more frustrated with himself than regretful that you had gotten this far.

"You deserve more than this," his voice was so low you almost didn't hear it. "More than someone who will have to run off in the middle of the night because he has something to deal with, and who you might never see again."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he continued.

"And if I stay..." he hesitated. "If I stay, I won't want to leave."

The silence that followed was deafening.

"Leon..."

He looked at you, and you gave a small smile, holding his face with both hands, forcing him to keep his eyes on yours.

"I'm not asking you to stay forever," you said. "I'm not asking for anything but tonight. If you want to go, go," you continued. "But if you want to stay... even if it's just for a few hours... I want you to stay."

His phone vibrated again in his pocket, but this time he ignored it completely. For a long moment, neither of you moved, until he braced his hand above your head and leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his lips almost touching.

His eyes closed, and yours did too. You felt his lip brush against yours, your breaths becoming slightly uneven as you both fought against the urge to take it one step further, until the phone vibrating for the third time made Leon sigh, his warm breath against your lips.

"Can I use your bathroom?"

You opened your eyes, relaxing your tense body.

"Sure," you pointed down the hall. "Second hallway on the left."

He nodded and slowly moved away, walking in the direction you indicated, but before he disappeared, he stopped.

"Wait for me?"

The question was so vulnerable, so different from everything you had seen in him until now, that your heart did something funny.

"I'll be here."

He disappeared down the hall.

You looked at your shirt on the floor and started gathering the pieces of clothing, heading toward the bedroom and pushing your hair away from your face as you felt it burning. You didn't know why, whether it was desire or frustration. You could still hear his muffled voice through the running faucet, talking about Raccoon City, about the virus spreading in him, but you tried to ignore it and went to take a shower.

You didn't know how long you were in there. Maybe only three minutes — just enough to wash off the smell of the night and the bar. Or maybe five, to give him time to think, to decide whether he would stay or not. When you came out wrapped in a towel, everything was completely silent, but still the same as before. You walked down the hall, saw the bathroom door open, and when you turned toward the living room, it was as if you had forgotten how to breathe.

Leon was sitting on the sofa with his arm resting behind his head, eyes closed. You noticed how his muscles stood out in the low light. And, God, you weren't prepared to see him shirtless. The living room light outlined every muscle, every defined curve. The broad chest, the powerful shoulders, the sculpted abdomen that looked carved from marble, but marble doesn't have warmth, doesn't have slightly tanned skin, doesn't have that line of fine hair disappearing into his pants, or the scars. Some small, others not so much. One, more prominent, near his ribs. Another on his shoulder.

"You're staring," his voice came out deeper.

You swallowed hard.

"Hard not to stare, you're in the middle of my living room."

Leon shifted, putting his arm back down and this time looking at you. And when your eyes finally met his, the armor lowered a little more. He was still there. You had expected him to have left, because surely DSO should be more important to him than you, but for some reason he had still chosen you.

He stood up from the sofa with a slight movement and took a step toward you, then another, as if expecting you to back away. But when he was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his skin, to see up close the textures of his scars, to count the gray strands scattered in his hair, he stopped.

"Your turn," he gave a small smile, touching your chin.

You looked at him, your attention dropping to his lips, and with a small gesture you let go of the towel wrapped around your body. It fell at your feet, and you subtly kicked it aside. He didn't take his eyes off your face, but his hand dropped to your waist, giving a gentle squeeze that made you gasp and close the distance. You leaned against his chest, the tips of your breasts brushing against his skin.

His hand was warm against your skin, his fingers rough in some places — calloused, you noticed — and incredibly gentle in the way they traced slow circles around your nipples. Not rushed, but almost as if he was studying. As if he was learning what made you hold your breath, what made your eyes want to close.

Leon's free hand found the curve of your lower back, pulling you against his body. The skin-to-skin contact, his warmth meeting yours, the hardness of his muscles against the softness of your curves, all of it excited you. You felt his breathing change, felt his chest expand against your breasts.

"You're very quiet," he murmured, his thumb finding your nipple and brushing against it in a caress.

You bit your lip to keep quiet, but a small sound escaped anyway, and Leon smiled, satisfied.

"You don't have to hold back."

"Who said I'm holding back, Leon Kennedy?" you replied, letting a smile curl your lips.

The hand on your lower back traveled down, finding the curve of your hip, then the side of your thigh. His fingers traced a slow, almost lazy path, down to the back of your knee. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear.

"Liar."

The heat that spread through your body was pathetic over such a simple statement; you squeezed your thighs together instinctively, but his hand continued its path, his fingers finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"Leon...?"

"Hmm?"

His hand kept moving up slowly, his fingers tickling your skin, teasing, almost as if his intention was to make you beg. You grabbed his shoulder with one hand, the other finding the nape of his neck, your fingers burying themselves in his light hair and pulling, not hard, just enough so he wouldn't look away from you.

"If you keep up this pace, we'll spend the whole night on this part."

He let out a nasal laugh.

"And what's the problem?"

You pulled him into a kiss before he could decide to tease you further, but this time you made sure the kiss was different from the one in the elevator, less hesitation and more hunger. His lips found yours, and when his tongue slid against yours, you made sure to match him. You offered yourself even more to Leon's touch, and he didn't waste the opportunity. His lips traveled from your jawline down to your neck, where his warm breath mixed with the scent of your skin, sweet and intoxicating. Your fingers buried themselves deeper in Leon's blond hair, pulling the strands gently as his kisses became more intense and feverish. Each kiss was wet, deliberate, as if Leon wanted to mark his presence on every inch of your delicate skin.

His breathing was uneven, hot against the curve of your throat, as the kisses turned into gentle bites, each one sending waves of heat through your body down to the core of you. He knew exactly where to touch, where to leave his mark, and when his teeth grazed the spot where your jaw met your neck, your insides ignited. Your hip, in an involuntary reflex, met his, and you felt him, the hardness beneath the layers of his pants only intensifying the desire between you.

But it still wasn't enough.

Leon pulled back slightly, lips swollen and moist, chest rising and falling as if each breath required great effort. His gray-blue eyes, pupils completely dilated, watched you with a mixture of desire and hesitation. You were both on the verge of something that could change everything, the tension in the air between you almost tangible, but it was being ignored. You didn't hesitate. You pulled him back, your lips meeting his with renewed ferocity, as if asking for more, demanding more.

His hand finally found the center of you, and when his fingers slid through your most sensitive flesh, you gasped against his mouth. He savored the sound, deepened the kiss, his fingers exploring with the same curiosity as before. You were wet. Very. And when he realized, the low groan that escaped his throat made your fingers dig into his shoulders.

"Fuck," the word came out muffled against your lips.

You smiled.

"Still think I'm holding back?"

He pulled away just enough to look at you. The blue of his eyes was almost completely consumed by his pupils. His jaw was clenched in a way you had already learned to recognize, control. He was holding himself back.

"No," his voice was deeper now. "I think you're exactly where you should be."

The disguised praise hit you like a shock. You pulled his face back, biting his lower lip gently, tugging, teasing.

"Then take me to the bedroom," you whispered against his mouth. "Or you're going to have to fuck me on this sofa."

His hands slid to your thighs, his fingers squeezing the flesh with possessiveness. You knew what that meant. When Leon lifted you, your legs wrapped around his waist, a silent invitation already accepted. He carried you down the hall, your lips never apart for long, until he finally laid you carefully on the bed.

The kiss broke, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. Your eyes met, breathing heavy, but the silence between you felt charged, dense. You felt your heart pounding in your chest, a strong steady beat, while Leon's chest also rose and fell, his gaze burning into yours. Lifting your torso, you propped yourself up on your elbows to observe him better, waiting in silence for his next move.

Your train of thought dissipated like smoke in the wind when Leon approached, his firm, calloused hand rising to your face, his fingers tracing your contours with precision. His thumb brushed your lips — swollen and slightly parted — and you couldn't contain the heavy breath that escaped your chest. You were propped on your elbows, almost vulnerable, your eyes closing for a brief moment as your body automatically responded to his touch, every inch of your skin begging for more of that contact.

"Are you sure?" his voice came out rough while his other hand still rested on your hip, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your skin. "We don't have to... if you don't want to..."

"Gentleman."

"Romantic," he corrected with a half-smile.

"We're already here, and I believe it's only because I am sure, and probably you are too," you whispered against his lips firmly so he wouldn't doubt your words anymore. "I want you, Leon."

You didn't look away from his eyes when you spoke, maintaining eye contact. Leon accepted every word and, as a response, made you lie down on the bed.

Leon's body settled over yours with a gentleness that wasn't expected in that moment. He supported part of his weight, as if afraid of crushing you, but the proximity was intense, almost unbearable. Your hands slowly traveled up his back, your fingers sliding over his marked skin, feeling each scar as if it were a story you could read through touch. The warmth of his body against his seemed to melt away any trace of uncertainty.

His lips began to descend, leaving a trail of heat along the line of your neck, down to your collarbone. When he passed softly over your neck, you trembled, your body reacting involuntarily to the touch. A shiver ran through you like a wave, your back arching slightly, seeking more. Your breath became a trembling whisper as he explored every part of your skin with devotion. When his lips reached your breast, Leon paused for a second, his gaze lost in your expression, before squeezing one of your breasts between his fingers, feeling you react to his touch.

You threw your head back, a sigh slipping past your lips while the tension inside you reached its peak. Your spine curved, your body offering itself completely to his touch, unable to resist the way he was unraveling you, piece by piece, with each kiss, each caress.

Without any shame, he took your right breast into his mouth, full of teeth, tongue, and suction, and squeezed the other with his hand, covering its entire expanse with his much larger palm. All you could do was squirm and whimper, accepting the way Leon's rough treatment affected your body, increasing the fire between your legs, making you ache for him.

A few minutes passed until Leon seemed satisfied, after using his mouth on both your breasts, leaving them both hard and sore after being marked by him. He continued his descent, his lips barely touching your skin but leaving a trail of heat, as if he were mapping every inch of your body, recording every reaction in his mind. The movements were slow, meticulous, each touch a study of your response, as if he were absorbing not just the moment but its impact, trying to know exactly where to touch to give you pleasure and draw out the sounds that were like music to his ears.

With a single fluid gesture, Leon held your thighs firmly, but without brutality, his long fingers adjusting to the soft flesh as he found you completely exposed before him. Kneeling, his broad shoulders supported the weight of your legs, which he carefully rested against them.

Your breathing was shallow, waiting anxiously at an accelerated pace that matched that tense stillness hanging between you. Leon looked at you, his deep blue eyes, predatory, sparking with an intensity that forced you not to look away, even when he slowly penetrated you with two calloused fingers. He didn't look away, capturing every reaction of yours, and you didn't either.

"Leon..." your voice came out pleading without meaning to.

"Hmm?"

"More."

He added a second finger, his thumb finding your clitoris at the same time, and the pleasure was so sharp you saw stars. You grabbed the sheets, your body tense, so close...

Leon intensified the movements of his fingers inside you, the rhythm accelerating gradually but controlled, with a precision that made your body tremble under his gaze that never wavered from your face. You held your breath, your chest rising and falling irregularly, before releasing a soft sigh, wordless, as if words had ceased to exist.

Then, without warning, Leon's mouth found your cunt with a delicacy that contrasted brutally with the fierce desire he was clearly controlling with such difficulty. He was slow, yet firm. He didn't stop when your thigh tensed against his hand, nor when you tried to pull away. He just let out a grunt, low and intense; then brushed his nose against the skin near your abdomen, breathed in, and returned to using his tongue.

An involuntary moan escaped your lips, as if Leon's touch had switched off any resistance you had left. Your right hand rose instinctively, your fingers sinking into his disheveled blond hair, holding him without knowing if you wanted him to pull away or continue what he was doing, anchoring yourself in that moment as he devoured you with an almost animalistic concentration. The sensation was overwhelming. Each movement of Leon's tongue was a new current of pleasure running through you, like a wave rising up your spine and descending again, leaving you trembling.

Your body reacted on its own, your back arching slightly, your hips seeking more of Leon's mouth, while he held you firmly, controlling the rhythm, dictating the intensity and moaning against you as he sought to satisfy his hunger. Your eyes squeezed shut, blocking out the world around you, as if the pleasure you were feeling was something that demanded all your attention, all your energy. The sound of your own moans became more irregular, staccato, a subtle symphony of pleasure filling the room. Leon didn't stop, didn't relent, and you could feel control over your own body slipping away, surrendering completely to the way he was making you lose yourself, the way he was eating you, without rush, without hesitation, giving priority to you.

Your legs squeezed a little tighter against his shoulders, the heat building inside like an impending storm, about to explode, and all you could do was hold on, your fingers tangling more in Leon's hair, pulling him a little closer, begging for more, begging him to devour you whole. He gave you everything you wanted, everything you needed. His fingers didn't stop either, helping to prolong the pleasure, and when a long moan escaped through your parted lips, your walls tightening around his middle and index fingers, Leon knew he had hit the exact spot that made you see stars.

You tried to keep your head up, tried to look at him one more time, but the world seemed to dissolve around you. Your mind went blank every time his tongue made precise circles on your clitoris, focused only on the pleasure, as if everything you were in that moment was concentrated on the sensations Leon was extracting from your body. Your body reacted instinctively, your hips moving slightly, a silent plea for more, for him not to stop, for him to take you even deeper into that abyss. Your moans grew louder, less contained.

Leon, on the other hand, seemed to be totally in control, his hands holding your thighs firmly, keeping you where he wanted you, his lips and tongue moving with a precision that drove you to the brink of madness. He wasn't just touching your body, he was consuming you, each touch a calculated blow that knocked you down a little more. His eyes were closed, but you knew he was aware of every tremor, every sigh, every contortion of your body. He felt every piece of your response, adjusting his movements like a conductor controlling the music he himself was creating.

A deeper moan escaped you, the sound reverberating in the silent room, your whole body trembling. Your breath came in rapid gasps, and you knew you were close, very close. The pleasure inside you was building to an unbearable point, and you didn't know how much longer you could hold on. Your hands gripped Leon's hair even tighter, your hips moving erratically, unable to maintain control. And then, suddenly, the barrier inside you finally broke.

You arched your back, your hips lifting from the bed as the orgasm washed through you like a relentless wave. Leon had to press a hand against your abdomen to keep you in place, while he felt your taste fill his mouth. The sensation was so intense that for a moment you could barely breathe, as if the very air had been torn from your lungs. Your mind went blank, and all you could feel was the explosive heat taking over every inch of your body, burning, devastating everything. Your body trembled uncontrollably, a long, hoarse moan escaping your lips as you surrendered completely.

You were still catching your breath, your eyes half-closed, your body limp as if it had been torn apart and rebuilt by the pleasure Leon had given you. Your fingers loosened from his hair, sliding down his neck to his back. When your lips met again and you tasted yourself on his mouth, there was a softness, a slowness that contrasted with the intensity that had consumed you moments before.

"Are you okay?" Leon whispered, as if part of him still doubted he hadn't taken you too far.

"Yeah," you murmured, smiling. "I think so."

He kissed you again, and the kiss was ardent, charged with a raw urgency, your lips moving against his with an insatiable hunger, an impetus that reverberated through your bodies like pure electricity. Leon let out a low groan, that deep sound that made you feel both control and chaos at once. His hands, large and calloused, slid over your body while your nails lightly scratched his back, provoking immediate reactions. It was as if the contact between you was amplifying everything, your bodies molding together, fitting together, the intimacy growing with each passing second.

But suddenly, Leon pulled back, his eyes still locked on yours, his face marked by a desire that he was holding back with herculean effort. Time seemed to suspend for a brief moment as he looked at you seriously, as if the pause was necessary to ensure you were both in sync.

You adjusted yourself on the bed, leaning back against the pillows and watching his every movement. The sight of him removing his pants and underwear made your heart race, and you swallowed hard as your eyes traveled down Leon's body, finally fixing on his length. It was big. Your mind flooded with momentary, practical thoughts, like the possibility of needing to buy larger condoms in the future. The desire running through you, however, was immediate, visceral, and you wanted to know what it would feel like to have him inside you.

Your eyes rose again, finding his already fixed on yours. The intensity of Leon's gaze made you hold your breath for a moment; the space between you seemed to condense into a singular connection. Leon approached, positioning himself between your legs carefully, his large, firm hands caressing your hip with surprising gentleness.

"Are you still sure you want to continue?" he asked. There was no escape. He saw you completely, and that disarmed you in a way few men had managed. "We can stop here."

Your fingers traveled up the side of his body, pulling him gently closer, one hand tracing the firm contour of his muscles up to his back.

"No," you answered. Your fingers slid down his back, and you leaned in so your lips hovered near his, your breath uneven. "I need you to fuck me now, Leon."

Leon studied you carefully for a moment. Then, in a sudden but controlled movement, he grabbed you by the thighs, pulling you abruptly, making you slide down the pillows until you were completely lying beneath his body.

He positioned himself carefully between your legs, the heat enveloping him, while your gazes remained connected. Your breathing was ragged in anticipation, uneven, but you forced yourself to relax, feeling the reassuring weight of Leon above you.

Leon entered you with an almost torturous slowness without looking away from your features, focused on catching any discomfort, both of you breathing together, your bodies adjusting to the rhythm you were building. You gripped the sheets tightly, a wave of pleasure radiating from your core, and you sighed, biting your lower lip, feeling your vision blur with unshed tears. Heat spread through you, and as Leon moved forward and back with precise strokes, doing his best to maintain control.

Leon's breath was uneven against your neck, his body tense above yours as he kept his rhythm controlled. Each thrust was measured, calculated, as if he were fighting something inside himself. You felt it, his effort not to lose himself, not to hurt you, not to let the demons he carried contaminate that moment.

But you didn't want control.

"Leon." Your voice came out firmer than you expected.

He stopped, his eyes finding yours. There was a silent question there, a hesitation that didn't match the man you had seen before. You brought your hands to his face, holding firmly, forcing him to maintain eye contact.

"You're not going to break me."

His jaw tightened.

"You don't know what..."

"I do," you interrupted, soft but non-negotiable. "I know enough. And I'm still here."

For a long second, he just looked at you. As if searching for something in your eyes — maybe fear, maybe hesitation, maybe an excuse to stop. He didn't find it. Then something shifted. His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair, and when he kissed you, it wasn't like the others. It was possessive. Deep. As if he were finally allowing himself to want.

The rhythm changed.

Still controlled, but now there was a different intensity. Each movement was more deliberate, deeper, as if he were finally setting aside the excessive concern and simply... feeling. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and the groan that escaped his throat made heat spread through your body.

"Like this?" His voice was deeper now, his dark eyes fixed on yours.

You answered by pulling his face back into a kiss, your nails lightly scratching the back of his neck. He understood the message. His hand slid between you, his thumb finding your clit in the right rhythm, and you arched your back, a moan escaping against his lips.

"Yes," you whispered. "Don't stop."

He smiled against your mouth — a small, almost satisfied smile — and obeyed. The pleasure grew inside you, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. You gripped his shoulders, your nails marking his skin, and Leon responded with a low grunt, the rhythm increasing, faster, deeper.

"I want to see you," he murmured, his forehead against yours, his eyes fixed on yours. "I want to see you when you let go."

And you let go.

The orgasm arrived like a wave, shattered and intense, and you heard your own moan as if from a distance, your body trembling, your walls tightening around him. Leon kept moving, prolonging it, until you were breathless, too sensitive, and only then did he stop. But he wasn't finished. You felt it in the way he was still hard inside you, in the tension in his shoulders, in his breathing that was too controlled.

You ran your hand over his face, your fingers tracing his jawline.

"My turn."

He shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

"You don't have to..."

"Leon," you interrupted, and when he looked at you, you smiled. "Quiet."

Before he could respond, you reversed positions, pushing him gently against the pillows. He let you, his head tilting back as he pulled your legs against his waist, not resisting. You settled over him, your hands braced on his broad chest, feeling his racing heart beneath his skin.

"My turn," you repeat, and began to move.

The sound he let out was almost a muffled groan, his hands instinctively finding your hips. But you grabbed his wrists, guiding his hands to the pillows beside his head.

You controlled the pace, starting slow, just enough to see his hard expression gradually come undone — his jaw clenched, his eyes half-closed. You teased his tip, sliding it in and out of your pussy while his hands gripped the pillows instead of touching you.

"Look at me," you asked.

He obeyed, and when his eyes met yours, you sped up. Abruptly, his hands broke free from yours that were holding them and grabbed your hips again, but this time you allowed it. He thrust into you with urgency, pulling a muffled sound from him and a delirious moan from you. He guided you as you rode his cock, holding your own breasts, and when his thumb found your clitoris again, you moaned loud.

"I want you to cum with me," his voice was hoarse, broken by uneven breathing. "Think you can?"

"That's like asking a priest if he knows how to say mass, Leon Kennedy." You leaned over him, slowing your movements and leaving just the tip of his cock inside you. "How much do you want to fuck me?"

He grabbed your ass and pushed himself against you, penetrating you in one go, making your eyes roll back as you heard the wet sound. Before you could start moving, he pulled his cock out and slapped your pussy, making you laugh with the shock.

"I'm not the one who's going to beg." He held your hands, forcing you to lay your face in the curve of his neck. Then he whispered in your ear. "Ask."

"No." You laughed, turning toward him as your hair fell messily across your face.

Leon held your wrists firmly and positioned his cock back at your entrance. He pulsed when your pussy tightened around him, and without ceremony he started with a deep thrust, pulling a loud moan from you, then another, and another, until your eyes started to roll back. Then he stopped.

"If you don't ask, we're ending this night here." He murmured in your ear. "It's not hard to beg."

"I want you to fuck me, Leon." You sighed, your legs tightening around his waist. "I want you to come inside me until you fill me up, and I want you to feel me fall apart on you. I want you to impale me on your cock and make me pray for you to fuck me more."

The words hung in the air between you, and something in Leon's expression shifted, cracked, maybe, in a way he hadn't intended. His grip on your wrists tightened for just a second before he released them, both hands sliding to your hips with a possessiveness that made your breath catch.

"You have no idea," he murmured, his voice rougher than you'd heard it all night, "what you do to me."

You didn't have time to respond before he flipped you onto your back again, his body covering yours, his mouth finding your neck as he thrust into you with a desperation that had been carefully contained until now. The sound you made was swallowed by his shoulder as you bit down, trying to anchor yourself as he set a rhythm that was anything but controlled.

His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes screwed shut, and you watched him — watched the way his jaw clenched, the way his breathing became ragged, the way every wall he'd carefully built seemed to crumble with each movement.

"Look at me," you whispered, echoing his own words from before.

His eyes opened, and what you saw there made your chest tighten. Not just desire, though that was present, burning. But something raw and unguarded that he probably hadn't shown anyone in years. You brought your hand to his face, your thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone, and he turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your palm without breaking rhythm.

"Leon..."

He answered by capturing your mouth, the kiss deep and searching, as if he was trying to communicate something he didn't have words for. His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit again, and the combination of his thrusts and his fingers sent you spiraling toward the edge once more.

"I'm close," you breathed against his lips.

"Yeah?" His voice was wrecked. "Cum for me again. I want to feel you."

There was no way you couldn't give in now, not when the roughness of Leon's movements was pushing you forward. The wave of pleasure that hit you was so intense it seemed to steal your breath away. Your entire body trembled beneath his, muscles contracting uncontrollably while a loud, hoarse moan escaped your lips, echoing through the room. You held Leon tighter, your nails digging into his back as you were consumed by ecstasy. The pleasure dominated you like a current too strong to resist.

Leon, feeling your body tighten around him, couldn't hold back any longer. With one last deep, fierce thrust, he followed your path, letting himself fall into that abyss of pleasure. His last resistance dissolved, and he collapsed along with you, his entire body shuddering as he came inside you and let out a hoarse moan so pleasurable that you needed to watch him for long minutes.

Still inside you, Leon laid his head against your chest. Your hands kept him close, your nails gently caressing his skin, offering a comfort you both needed. Your breathing was uneven, but slowly, it began to calm, creating a unique rhythm, a post-ecstasy cadence. You felt the weight of his body on yours, but there was no discomfort in it — there was a familiarity, a mutual surrender.

You touched him gently, giving him the time he needed to regain control, until he finally pulled away. The sensation of wetness running down your legs made you shudder, a physical reminder of how intense that experience had been. The thought that you had never come so hard crossed your mind like lightning, but it soon dissipated, lost in the tide of sensations that still dominated your body.

When Leon pulled out of you, a low sound escaped his lips, a mix of sensitivity and satisfying exhaustion. He lay down beside you, both of you panting, your bodies sweaty and warm. For a long moment, they both remained silent and just watched the bedroom ceiling. Lying in the dark, breathing together, in the deepest intimacy, your eyes met.

Your eyes wandered to Leon, your gazes meeting in the soft darkness of the room. There was a silent question in those blue eyes, as if he too was processing what had just happened. You tried to decipher what you felt, but before doubts could form, Leon's hand moved to remove a strand of hair that fell across your face, an intimate and careful gesture. He tucked your hair behind your ear with a gentleness that contrasted with the ardor from before, and his fingers intertwined with yours. Without saying anything, he brought his lips to your wrist, kissing softly above the pulse that was still beating fast, but this time it wasn't because of the sex.

"How do you feel?" Leon asked you.

"Safe... good," you murmured, your eyes closing with his touch, allowing yourself to just feel his warmth. There was a ghost of a smile on Leon's lips, an almost imperceptible trace of satisfaction. "And you?"

"I couldn't feel better," he said, gently caressing your face with his thumb. You softly opened your eyes, watching him smile. "I'm telling the truth."

"I didn't doubt you, Leon Kennedy."

For a few seconds, the silence enveloped them again, until Leon began to move, as if preparing to get up. Instinctively, you held his wrist, your eyes half-open, a silent request.

"So, we won't see each other again?" you asked with a small smile that, try as you might not to show it, was lonely.

With that patience you had discovered he possessed, Leon leaned back, looking at you with reassuring calm.

"I'm not going anywhere," he assured. "I'm just going to look for towels so we can shower. I won't be long."

He gently removed your hand from his wrist and stood up.

"They're in the hallway closet, Leon," you told him, and he smiled.

You heard his footsteps moving away, the hallway light turning on first and then the bathroom light, the sound of running water. Sleep began to weigh on your eyes, but before you could fall asleep, you got up. Just as you bent down to pick up the sheets that had been thrown off the bed, Leon interrupted.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Before you could answer, he came over and picked you up in his arms, drawing a surprised laugh from you at the sudden movement. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you to the bathroom, and before you both entered the shower, he kissed you, slowly setting you down on the floor.

"Do you have a plan for what we do after this?" you asked after breaking the kiss.

Leon pretended to think, stepping under the shower and pulling you with him, his hand firm on your waist.

"We can improvise as we go," he smiled, and you did too. "But now, I'm not leaving even if you tell me to."

"I wasn't thinking of telling you to leave, Leon Kennedy."

SMS Message: Home tomorrow.

Sender: Leon S.K.

You jumped up from the couch as you read it, the words shaking on the screen you held with trembling hands.

You didn’t think he’d come home so soon. You didn’t think he’d come home at all.

The next 18 hours were a blur, and then you heard it: the purr of a familiar motor in the driveway. It stopped you dead in your tracks, standing as still as a statue in the kitchen. You tensed as you waited for the sound of footsteps outside— held your breath as you heard the key in the lock— watched unblinkingly as the handle turned— when Leon walked through the door, time itself went still.

For a moment, all you could do was stare. You didn’t know what to expect. Every mission changed him, and you didn’t know what new version of him would walk through the door now, or how to react to it. And the stakes had never been higher.

The days before his departure were spent mostly in silence, doing little else except hold each other as his departure neared every second. You both knew the two likely results: he’d either die in the place it all began or come home even closer to death’s door. He’d wait for his disease to slowly consume his soul while he made his own funeral plans, and you’d stay close to your gun to prepare for the moment he went cold.

You’d spent the time between his text and now clinging to hope and preparing yourself for the worst. You’d never felt as fragile as the moment he opened the door.

He looked your way as the lock clicked behind him. It was only a few seconds, but they expanded into eons as you searched him for signs of bad news. A knit in his brow, or a downward tug of his lips. Traces of tears he may have wiped away in the car before you could see them. His steely eyes filling with grief.

But you didn’t see any of that. Instead, he grinned and held his arms out wide.

You flew crashing into them. He was steady, firm, and tight as you clutched your fists into the back of his shirt. His arms wrapped around your head and he kissed the top of it softly, swaying you ever so slightly because he was too overcome to stand still.

For minutes, all you did was stand in the doorway and hold. That was the quiet choreography of all of his homecomings, though it never felt routine. Each time it had a different weight, and this one was the heaviest yet by far.

When you finally were able to pull away, you scanned him again for signs of injury, physical or otherwise. You knew him like you knew yourself, and even the most imperceptible changes never got past you.

Your eyes widened when they dropped to his neck.

You didn’t have to ask; he already knew the question. He answered it, still smiling, his voice gravelly and low, soft and tired, but not weary. All of it built up your hopes until he finally spoke it into reality.

“I’m alright, baby.”

His hands grazed your face, and you nearly flinched at the feeling of his bare fingertips purely out of habit. You’d spent months of him preventing you from coming into contact with his infected tissue. But then you realized what you were feeling: real skin sans leather, flesh devoid of flaw. His fingers were roughened from calluses and nothing more, complete with his wedding band returned to its rightful place.

Your eyes watered in disbelief and awe. A trepidatious smile grew on your lips as he cupped your cheek in his palm. You covered his hand with your own and pressed into the warmth while your other hand traced up his torso, until you were grazing over the skin of his neck and nudging down his shirt collar.

It was free of all black-rotted dry patches, no cracks on the surface to be seen. Nothing but a fresh scar you didn’t need to ask about right now. Right now, all that mattered was that he was whole and solid, returned to his natural state, totally healed and hot-blooded under the surface.

Your breath hitched at his body heat. Oh, how you missed his skin.

“You’re really okay..?”

The words were small and barely squeaked out. You didn’t want false hope. You needed to know the healing was more than just skin deep. His reaction assuaged all fears.

“Yeah. I really am.”

The truth took a moment to permeate the air. When it did, he took you in a kiss so firm and certain, it crushed all remaining doubt.

You met it fiercely, pushing yourself against his torso to feel him closer. Your hands threaded into the hair on the nape of his neck as he wrapped his arms around to hold you firmly in place.

Your tongue darted out first, or maybe his did, you couldn’t say. And from there, it happened fast.

His hands moved to the back of your head, then your waist, and then your ass, where they couldn’t help but grope and lift until your legs wrapped around him and he held you in the air. You grabbed his face as your lips parted wider to allow his tongue further inside. He roughly kicked off his boots and then he was walking. He kept kissing you all the way through— he didn’t need to open his eyes, he knew where he was going.

Your back met the cool blankets on your bed and then he was crawling over you, caging you under him in the dark. You wrapped your hands around his biceps and felt the muscles flex as he lowered himself to kiss down your neck, covering each square inch of skin with his sloppy, desperate kisses.

“I feel better than I have in years. Spent the whole trip home waiting to show you.”

'To prove it to you' was in the subtext.

He returned to your mouth hotly and grinded his hips into your center, the friction of his jeans against the soft fabric of your home clothes making you keen into the toe-curling feeling. He pulled his shirt over his head and you took the opportunity to speak.

“Turn the lamp on, need to see you.”

He made quick work of reaching over to it, and then you shuddered as your palms felt the expanse of his abdomen. Tight ab muscles, beefy pectorals, and broad shoulders. The sight you never got sick of that made up his brawny form. All of it healed and renewed.

He kept grinding while you took him in. Your arms went up and around and down again, nearly worshipping the flesh. But when you yanked at his belt, he stopped you with his hands around your wrists, bringing them to each side of your head and caging you in again.

“Spent too much time thinking about what I’m gonna do to you.” He sat back up and you kept your arms where he fixed them as he began to pull at the elastic waistband of your bottoms. He kissed your exposed navel and you shivered as he mumbled into you. “Need’ta show you how I’ve always wanted to fuck you.”

You never felt like his age held him back much in the bedroom— his job relied on stamina and endurance, and though his job was physically demanding and he was not quite in his prime, the toll was mostly seen in the back pain after; it hardly showed in the moment. As his hands and mouth traveled every inch of exposed skin like a starving animal, you wondered if you could even handle him giving you something more. The thought of finding out went straight between your legs.

His mouth went straight there, too.

You nearly yelled as he dove into your cunt with a fervent tongue, lapping and sucking and messily making out with your folds, his thumbs kneading to pull open the soft fatty skin of your vulva. He wasn’t interested in wasting any time on teasing, clearly.

Your thighs clenched around his head and a hand pushed against his head reflexively to fight off the sudden intensity, but it was useless. The pressure of your legs around his head only spurred him on until your cunt was soaked in spit– it certainly wasn’t your own wetness– he devoured every ounce that escaped before it could go anywhere but his mouth.

You bucked and twitched as you cried out his name. “Leon, Leon, s’too much, holy— fuck, Leon—” but he only spread your thighs and kept your there, pointing his tongue to circle sharply around your clit.

“I’m just getting started, baby,” he said, sucking your clit into his mouth and letting go with a flilthy noise, “thought I’d never taste this sweet cunt again, gonna drink my fucking fill.”

Your head fell back as he dove back in, steady and thorough and obscene. You took deep breaths, although they were more like hitched pants and moans until you acclimated to the sensation. He hummed as he felt you melt under him and added a single finger inside, groaning when you arched into it.

He slowed down, his finger rocking and curling in and out and his tongue lapping at you. You looked down to see his darkened eyes gazing at his work between tastes, and you shuddered as he licked his lips before retracting all touch. Your hips flinched upwards to beckon him to return, but he didn’t. He met your eyes and reveled in your wanton expression as he sucked you off his fingers, never breaking eye contact as he rose to kneel between your parted legs.

He finally began to do away with his jeans, and something changed in his tone as he did. You shivered with desire as you watched him move. It was deliberate and slow. He was undressing like a threat.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen…”

His belt fell with a thud against the ground—

“I’m gonna fuck you until you cry…”

The button fell apart with a flick of his wrist—

“Fill you so full of cum you’ll be dripping ‘til next week…”

The zipper seemed to ache as it slowly parted open—

“And you’re gonna fucking take it.”

Unhurriedly and never once looking away from you, he pushed his pants and boxers down until his thick cock sprang free. You whined at the sight of it, eyes fixed where it hung in the air. It was dark pink– definitely darker than usual– his hot blood expanding every vein. He was harder than you’d ever seen him, a full display of the immensity of his desire, so much that it nearly looked painful. When a bead of precum began to appear on his tip, your mouth watered for it.

Your eyes scanned upward as you realized he’d stopped talking and was kneeling there in wait while you stared. You took in his form on the way up; the way his abs tightened with every throb of his cock, the striations of his brawny arms, the few new cuts over old scars. The heavy rise and fall of his chest as he held back for the last time tonight.

And then, you saw his face. His chin was slightly raised as if he was looking down on his next confirmed kill. His lips were still glistening with slick as they were pulled into something not unlike a snarl. His hair was halfway in his eyes, but it did nothing to conceal the intent within them.

“You think you can handle that?”

Your eyes fleeted to his navel, only for a second, assessing him like a loaded gun that was aimed right at you. His hands held his clothes in tight fists and his cock leaked with pre.

You met his eyes again and blinked as you nodded and choked out a needy, “yes,” and your gulp gave away your uncertainty. But that only seemed to spur him on.

He fell forward; suddenly, his face was inches away from your own, one hand on the mattress beside your head to hold himself up, the other yanking his pants off as quickly as he could.

“You know what to say if you can’t,” he grumbled, hunkering down to glide his tip against you until it notched against your entrance, “because telling me to stop won’t be enough.”

He grabbed your wrist at the same time he violently drove in, knowing you’d leap from it and keeping you there anyways. You were nothing but a mess of yelps and moans as he beat his way inside, clawing against his back and shoulders. A single finger wasn’t enough to ready you for this, and the knocks against your cervix were only soothed by the equal force against your g-spot.

Each merciless pounding of his fat cock stretched your walls to their limit, and he truly didn’t give you any other option but to take it. You groaned at the way he used his broad build to keep your legs open to him, every ounce of muscle that you were no match against weighing down to pin you there.

With an arm wrapped under you to hold you by the back of the neck and the other tightening in the hair on the crown of your head, he caged you in to face him. But your dizzy eyes were squeezed shut and could only open to roll back into your skull.

He shook you lightly by the hair. “Look at me,” he growled. You mewled as you attempted it, but your glossy eyes went straight back behind your eyelids. He did it again, harder, pistoning up to fuck you harder, too. “Look at me, you fucking bitch.”

The shock of his words made your eyes shoot open with a gasp and a furrowed brow, far removed from the gentle reverence he held you in at the door. His gaze bore straight into you with a scowl, his adoration replaced with possession.

He was terrifying. Unhinged. A madman on the loose inside of you. A killer who lashed against your walls with uncalculated raw power. Though you could only see his face, it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

While you were still reeling from the disparagement, he gritted angrily into your face, crowding you until your noses nearly touched.

“Who owns you?”

You could only attempt to answer, your voice breaking into a sputtering moan as he bottomed out harshly again and again, not needing any of the great focus it took you to speak.

The pitiful noise you’d made wasn’t good enough for him. He squeezed the sides of your neck and you arched off the bed, but that only sent your body flush against his, which didn’t make you any clearer-headed.

“Tell me who fucking owns you.”

You felt like you were floating as your brain was cut off from blood flow, and out of care for your own wellbeing, you managed to answer him.

“Y-you, Leon—“

He let go of the pressure and smirked as you gasped. “Mouth not so good for talking right now, huh? Only good for one thing?”

He unclasped his fingers from your hair and brought them to your chin, delving into your parted lips to hook around your bottom teeth. You let your jaw fall open and watched in shock as he spat inside.

“Swallow it,” he commanded, fingers digging into your face as he pushed it shut. You shuddered as you did, and his own eyes rolled back now.

His head fell into the crook of your neck with a smoky groan. You felt hot puffs of air against your pulse as his hands became gentler, like he revered you for doing what he demanded.

“Gorgeous fucking girl… needed this cunt so bad, went through hell to get back home to you…”

His hold on you may have lessened, but his words held your heart in his fist and squeezed. He’d captured your thoughts so purely on the present, you nearly forgot the context.

Your arms were limp as they tried to wrap around his back, barely able to hold on as he moved with every pounding of his hips. But still, they searched him, chest filling with every inch they felt unmarred by disease, and your cunt pulsed as he searched you for places to grab. Your ebbing breasts, the small of your waist, the meat of your hips, landing finally on the underside of your knee where he changed the angle to impale himself even deeper.

You were losing it, and he could tell. He thrust upwards to meet where your hips rose to help him land in that perfect spot and he kissed your jugular— first a peck, then an open-mouthed kiss, and then a full-on lick of his tongue.

Your legs trembled under him. “Leon, I’m, fuck, please,” you breathed.

He twisted your nipple and nipped under your ear as if to mock how it made you writhe. “Oh yeah? You sure you wanna cum so soon?”

‘So soon’ ..?

Maybe he wasn’t all talk when this started. Maybe that savage look in his eye wasn't a trick of the light. At this rate, he wasn’t going to fuck you until you cried, he was going to fuck you until you died.

But he wanted it. He lifted himself enough to sear your mouth with a kiss, his thrusts slowing momentarily to wedge his hand against your clit. He gathered the wetness between your bodies to easily rub against the silky nub. Your toes curled and your spine curved to seek the friction of his freshly calloused fingers. He deepened the kiss as you moaned, and it became all tongue so he could swallow the sounds in his throat.

He was debauched. Delirious. A bad man smiling as he plucked petals from a flower. Delightfully drowning himself in sin. All you could do was surrender as he brought you your undoing.

You came with wild cries and jolts of ecstasy, nails digging into his deltoids as he sped up even more. You watched him look down at his cock being covered in your cream, a ragged sound in his throat as you tightened around him with each wave of pleasure.

You panted sharply as you barely began to come down, and he lifted himself up on his haunches, kneeling between your legs as he soaked up the sight.

Once your half-lidded eyes met his, he grabbed your hips to brutally fuck you into him.

You clawed at the sheets as he used you like a toy. You won’t be surprised if your ass is speckled with fingertip-shaped bruises tomorrow. All you could see in front of you was your breasts recoiling from each thrust, and behind them, Leon lost in his own world of feeling. His head was tipped back and you saw the stubble under his chin— his pecs were flexed and flushed pink from the vigor— all of him covered in a light gloss of sweat that shone in the warm lamplight.

He was intoxicating to behold, and it was absolutely unfair, because you already lost the ability to think straight. Now you drank him in with your eyes, and you were totally inebriated.

Your moans turned into some kind of mumble. You didn’t know what words you were hoping to form, but it was something along the lines of a warning that he was approaching the realm of too much. He looked down at your babbling with a lust-filled, lazy smirk, all too pleased with himself already.

“Whatdya want, love? You drunk on my cock already?”

He slapped your clit and laughed lowly as you gasped and jolted, then propped your limp legs around him and barreled in even more. Steady, fast, and loud.

Thank god the apartment days were over or the cops would come any minute. Skin slapping against skin, the headboard banging dents into the drywall, you crying out for him like he was carving out your heart. A noise complaint in the making. But when he signed the property deed, it came with the right to make you scream, neighbors be damned.

And scream you did as he held you even tighter and thumbed your swollen clit, evoking your walls to seize in the way he needed to release. He leaned back with a sharp and airy shout, hips sputtering as you felt him unload deep inside, his remaining jerky movements making it trickle out around him.

You were a touch thankful as he slowed down and his hands rubbed soothingly on your thighs. You could finally catch your breath. But your graciousness was short-lived as he flashed a grin and flipped you onto your stomach. The breath was forced out of you as your chest fell into the mattress, and your eyes went wide as he lined himself back up, slowly pushing inside, his cum allowing his cock to slip easily inside regardless of how sore your folds already were.

You whined and knotted your fists into the fabric under you as he bottomed out and pulled away with slow and liquid motions. You heard the faintest laugh rumble in his chest before he spoke.

“I’m not anywhere near done with you,” he huffed.

You buried your head in the soft sheets below. Filled with his load and the promise of another, you felt totally and completely his. Exactly where you wanted to be. Right where you belonged. You couldn’t help but smile, until he moved and it was wiped off your fucked-out face.

He gripped the meat of your ass as he steadily picked up speed, the silver of his wedding band cold against you in contrast to the heat of your bodies. A wet spot collected underneath you from his cock coaxing out his cum with each thrust. The sounds were softer yet even more crude with your cunt so sopping wet.

“Gripping me so good, look at you,” he spread your cunt apart a little more, “goddamn, you’re perfect.”

You felt mildly embarrassed at the messy sight of you that he was undoubtedly staring at right now, but at the same time, you envied his view. To watch his cock disappear inside of your puffy and well-used folds, then withdraw covered in his cum and a healthy mix of your own. To view his strong hands holding you open, to see yourself laid out in submission.

But all you could do was feel, and that was more than enough to sate you. In fact, you were already well past satisfaction, and you kept having to refind your focus so you could keep taking more. You inhaled deeply as you felt the soreness at your entrance and reminded yourself to relax your body, sighing away the tension in the muscles you didn’t mean to flex: your thighs, your back, your shoulders. But then you’d feel the friction of his tip dragging against the gummy walls of your g-spot, and your mind was clouded by pleasure all over again.

He wasn’t going nearly as fast as before, but it was obviously a choice, and not one made out of tiredness or necessity. It just felt too good for him to change the rhythm. With your knees together as you lay prone, your canal was tightened in a way that made you feel dense and so, so warm around his tender cock. You always felt incredible to him, but if sex always felt like this, he wouldn’t just fuck you all night, he’d stay buried in you so long he’d risk starving to death.

You were each lost in your own minds as the feeling went on and on. The air was heady and thick as you breathed against the blankets, and Leon was humping into you like waves rolling into shore– fluid motions that still crashed onto the shore or your center, followed by another and another, a constant ebb and flow that lulled you deeper into euphoria.

“Feels s’good, Leon, oh my god… d-don’t stop.” Your voice was laced in awe.

“Really fucking does… shit…”

The words were airy and held just as much wonderment as yours had. He traced a hand down the valley of your spine, revering the body that gave him such immeasurable bliss. Knowing that he was feeling the same seventh heaven you were made you feel even more connected to him, and your toes curled at the thought.

It kept going, and going, and going. You couldn’t tell how long it remained exactly like that, neither of you searching for your next orgasm, just totally and completely captured by the present. Time wasn’t something that existed in the room. It was a long time, but it’d never be enough.

He groaned as you felt his hips stutter involuntarily as the next thrust landed even deeper inside. The unexpectedness hit you both and turned it back into something needier. The next thrust snapped against your ass and you arched into the air to meet it. He shifted to hold you firmly as he set on a new wanton speed.

You mewled as you keened into him, legs parting slightly to make room for any spare length he had to give, and gripped the sheets as his balls began to slap against your clit. Each time he crashed against your walls, you felt them begin to bloom with electric want, and you braced against the bed to push yourself back into his thrusts as they became gritty, harsh pounds again.

He felt just the same as you, blood rushing to the parts of his brain that demanded another orgasm, and he felt every flutter of your walls around him that beckoned to milk him dry– exactly what he wanted you to do, to drain him until he had nothing left to give. He wanted to do whatever it took to make sure that fluttering didn’t stop.

He reached under you to rub your clit. You yelped as his fingers made contact, gliding easily against the cum-covered nub. His forearm was pressed against your navel, pinned between you and the mattress, and you could feel the size of his cock protrude against it from within you. Your legs spread even wider as you cried out, struggling to hold onto reality as he worked the thousands of nerve endings he’d already made oversensitive. Now, it bordered on torture.

The way you opened yourself only made it easier for him to find purchase to pound even harder, meeting the way you writhed and keened for more, his eyes rolling back as you bore down as if you were trying to squeeze him out. But all it did was drive him harder into all the right spots inside of you, and you were so overcome with sensitivity, you came before you even knew you were close.

And you came hard. Jolting and seizing as you cried his name, your eyes growing wet from the shock of it. He was loud as he reacted to the way you clenched and pulsed around him, your warm, slick cum covering his cock and making his movements sloppy and wet. And you were even louder as he kept going even harder.

He was surprised that he didn’t cum again right then and there, but it only galvanized him to pull your hips back and use you again. Your body was growing limp, you were shuddering and shaking, and his eyes widened with madness as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He was watching for signs that you’d say your safeword, too, but every moment that passed that you didn’t, he took as permission to fuck you even harsher.

Your head lolled and your lip quivered as you took it like a punishment, not a single coherent thought inside your head. You registered that he was close like white noise, simultaneously in the background and all around you. His hands seared in their grip on you as he hammered in once, twice, and then held himself deeply inside with broken rasps and moans. Your lips fell open as you felt his fresh load mingle with the first, pooling hot against your cervix.

He pulled out with a violent hiss, and you cried out as the fluid stung against your sore opening. Your legs trembled until they collapsed back onto the bed along with the rest of your body.

You were vibrating from the inside out, still reeling from how aggressive both of your orgasms were. You could hear him catching his breath, too. You twitched as you felt him touch the outside of your cunt, bracing yourself for more, relaxing when he only stroked the outside. He drew his fingers up and down the crease of your folds, languid and smooth, leisurely playing in his overflow. He pressed them in once just to watch you jolt, and then cleaned them off with his mouth.

He finally gave you a break and turned his focus to taking care of you. By the way you lay there limp, he knew you needed it. He peppered you with kisses as you floated in the afterglow, sprinkling them softly on your rear, up your spine, and onto your shoulder blades, until he placed one on your cheek.

He brushed your frazzled hair away from your face and the corner of his mouth pulled into a smile at the absolute state of you. But then the lamplight reflected off a tear and he furrowed his brow as he gently wiped it away.

“You with me, sweetheart?”

He chuckled at the small sound you made in acknowledgement, the only thing you had effort to respond with. He placed a kiss onto your head.

“Did so good for me, love. So perfect.”

He grunted as he laid down, pulling your back into his chest to spoon you. You weakly held onto his arm as it wrapped around your torso, shifting back into him to steal his body heat.

You closed your eyes with a sigh as you soaked in the way he took care of you after such a brutal display of lust. His thumbs circling against your sweat-damp skin, nose nuzzling against your hair, gravelly voice soothing you with praise.

“M’so glad to be home, baby. You always made me feel young again, but it’s almost like I am young again. Don’t want to take it for granted. Gonna take some time off, take you on vacation, let you see the world. Might fuck you on every continent.”

You giggled at his ambition, still high on happy chemicals and swimming in the dream he laid out. It’d be a significant change, him enjoying the fruits of his labor with things more permanent than gifts and fast cars. You always encouraged him to, but he said it’d be easier for him to cope with losing a material possession than a vacation being ruined by being called on a mission. You hoped it wasn’t just the endorphins talking.

“Yeah, you like that idea? Good, ‘cause I mean it.” He kissed under your ear and squeezed you in closer. “Wanna spend every day making you happier than ever, make up for how long I was sick. Can’t waste any of ‘em not fucking you the way you need me to.”

You gasped as you felt his half-hard cock twitch against your ass, instinctively arching back into it. A shiver ran over your skin as he pressed it against you in turn, and you realized he still wasn’t done, confirmed by the way his voice darkened against your ear and he started kneading your breast in his hand.

His kisses against your pulse turned open-mouthed and erotic, one hand pinching your hardening nipple as the other reached for his cock, slowly stroking himself with the tip resting against your sopping hole. You were so flush together that with each wave of bloodflow that grew him towards full-hardness, it breached your pulsing entrance without him even trying.

Your toes curled as he leisurely thrust into one centimeter at a time. It was just enough of a tease to eat away your apprehension. You really weren’t sure how much more you could take, but as he shallowly fucked his tip into you, you became increasingly desperate for more, until you were squirming and panting in his arms.

You gasped as he suddenly pushed halfway in, feeling your folds and your entrance smart in their soreness. Just a few minutes left empty and you needed time to accommodate him all over again. He wasn’t quite as big as before after two orgasms, but with his size, being slightly smaller was still pretty fucking huge. And now you needed to adjust to more than his size; you needed to adjust to your own overstimulation, too.

He thrust halfway in and stilled there, holding you tight to prevent you from backing into it, feeling your legs shake around him.

You already couldn’t walk, he was sure of it. But it must be well past midnight now. Did you need to use your legs tonight anyways? He decided that you didn’t. Might as well make them truly useless.

He bottomed out in one smooth, sharp thrust, aided by the lubricant of the two creampies inside. His eyes rolled back as he stayed there for a brief moment, just long enough to feel you throb around his cock, like your body was begging him to make it three.

He’d never cum that many times in a row before, not even in his prime. But now, he felt like he’d entered a new prime, and he wanted nothing more than to see just what his limit was. He wondered if he’d reach yours first. But you were a tough girl, he thought. You took him like you were made for it.

His navel thumped against your ass as he drove in with that goal in mind: find out how much cum he could stuff inside your cunt until one of you tapped out.

He started steadily, knowing it’d take him longer to find his finish a third time, and seeing how you were already a mess of moans, both from pleasure and physical overwhelm. It boosted his ego to know he was pacing himself for you much more than for himself.

You felt like an unraveled spool of thread. You couldn’t believe he had the stamina for another round, his age considered or not. You were shocked you could keep going yourself. But at the same time your swollen cunt ached around him, it sucked him in for more.

He twisted your head back to take you in a kiss, swallowing your moans as he beat fast inside again. You reached back to hold onto any part of him you could until your senses were once again flooded and you melted open to him.

“That’s it, relax for me. Just one more, baby, gonna fill you to the brim. Fucking take it.”

You slammed your car door shut, flinging the piece of paper onto your passenger seat where it lay abandoned, seemingly mocking you that it would add to your collection of your previous referrals, prescriptions, and office information. You sniffled, staring at the leather of your steering wheel. The next second, you were screaming, crying, and slamming your fist against the steering wheel as if it insulted you.

"Fuck!" You yelled, clutching your sore knuckles, staring at the bruises that were already starting to form from the force of your rage. "Fuck..."

You sniffled, staring into your rearview mirror, hastily wiping away the tears that were streaming down your face, eyes bloodshot and nose threatening to plug up from your excessive crying. You tried calming down, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself down. Your first psychiatrist taught you about breathing exercises.

Yet, those techniques didn't stop you from the plague that invades your subconscious. The images of your family murdered, blood staining every crevice...

You shook your head before glancing over at the piece of paper, sighing to yourself as you reached over, picking it up. The name of your new therapist stared back at you, promising you of more false promises and hurt.

Dr. Lecter.

A few weeks later, you were sitting in the waiting room waiting for your first session. Well, first session with your new therapist. You were picking your nails as you watched the clock, dreading the unavoidable. The minutes were ticking by, seemingly mocking you of your adversity.

You were anxious all morning, pacing in your room, dressed and prepared only a few hours ahead of schedule. The drive was hellish, thoughts of canceling the appointment, suffering a fee and turning back haunted you. Now, you were in the waiting room with a racing heart, the pattering of the raindrops outside distracting you.

'I am beyond help...'

"Miss (L/N)?" A deep-toned voice asked.

Your head snapped, mind clearing as you faced the person that had called your name. Standing by the door, keeping it open with a charming yet polite smile upon his face, was your new and fourth psychiatrist.

Dr. Lecter

"Sorry, yeah, that's me." You said, standing from your seat but keeping your distance, you simply didn't want to barge into his office. You gave him a small smile, still feeling uncomfortable with the beginning of your session. "It's very nice to meet you, Dr. Lecter."

"Likewise." He replied, stepping to the side with the door still opened for you. "Shall we begin with our session for today?"

"Of course." You walked past him, nodding in thanks before stepping into his office, maintaining from letting out a gasp of surprise over the vastness of his office. If you hadn't known this was his office, you would have guessed it was. The room screamed elegance and filled with decor one would see in an art museum.

"You have a lovely office." You complimented, looking around the room as Dr. Lecter closed the door and walked over to his desk, picking up some papers.

"Thank you, I quite enjoy displaying decorum through interior decorating." He replied, almost in a teasing way. "I apologize that you've been waiting a few weeks before we could start. Your psychiatrist had to send your information over from previous sessions."

"I wish it were longer, actually." You stated halfheartedly, finally taking a seat when he gestured silently towards one of his many available chairs nearby, nodding in thanks.

"Not very fond of sessions are you, miss (L/N)?" He asked, glancing your way as he shuffled through some of your paperwork, most likely your old medications and lack of diagnoses.

"I'm not particularly fond of wasting my time talking about my issues until the person trying to help me figures out I'm just incurable." You refused to return his gaze, fiddling with your nails. "They can't figure out what's wrong with me."

"There is no such thing as being incurable, there's only being overlooked."

"How do you figure?" You asked in confusion, looking up to watch him place down the papers and take a seat across from you. You didn't like the way he refused to look away from you, it made you...fuzzy.

"I believe your experience with your previous psychiatrists are, in better terms, unfit to handle someone like you." He paused for a moment, "You need someone that is able to understand you, discover your innermost self and I'm simply a better fit."

You felt your cheeks warm slightly, glancing away and unable to understand that fuzzy feeling you were feeling in your chest. "You make it seem so undemanding." You only glanced back when he called your name.

"You, my dear, are not incurable."

You were speechless, you didn't know what else to say. Something that would make him deter him away, but nothing could cross your mind before he continued.

"You are not beyond saving."

You stared at him for a while, the words sinking into your mind and chasing away some of the doubt that has haunted you for a majority of your life. You decided, against your judgement and the aching of your heart at the risk of more pain, you would give him a chance.

You nodded, which prompted him to give you a polite smile.

Time to restart the process.

At first, it was morbid curiosity.

When Hannibal was notified that he was being referred to a fellow colleague's previous patient, he was curious, very curious. He wanted to know the reason a respected psychiatrist, with an incredible track record, couldn't help a patient for once.

Therefore, he decided he would see the person behind his fellow colleague practically being close to ripping their hair out in stress. However, he was genuinely surprised when he opened his office door and saw you sitting in the waiting room. Your timid form playing with your nails with your gaze laser-focused on the clock that you didn't even react when he stood in your presence. Yet, you were oddly polite and if Hannibal didn't read your paperwork, he would have assumed you were an ordinary girl with her own issues.

However, you were...different.

He couldn't place his finger on what it was, but you weren't like anyone else he had seen step into his office. Your profile made it seem like you were a delinquent waiting to happen. However, you were polite, respectful, and had a deep passion for the arts similar to himself. He's never met an individual who shared a multitude of common interests with him. Perhaps, he underestimated you. He certainly wasn't prepared by how pretty you were and how close you two would become and he wouldn't forget your first session. When he had the opportunity to dig deep within your center and rip out your deepest secrets about yourself, in his own space.

Your gaze was focused on the window, watching the water droplets from the rain slide down the glass, the sleeves of your sweater hiding your delicate fingers. Those slim fingers that he couldn't stop staring at. You seemed so helpless, desperate for validation for the things you were going through, and he wanted to know the root of the problem.

Perhaps then, his curiosity would dissipate and he would have an easier time letting someone like you go.

"You must tell me what you're feeling if I am to help you, Miss (L/N)." He spoke softly, crossing his fingers and catching your gaze as you turned away from the window to return your attention with him.

“I feel…” You muttered with a pause, before turning your attention to the man across from you, “like I’m a danger to myself and others because of the things I think about.”

“And what do you feel?”  He asked, voice subconsciously matching your own.

“I think about hurting people, people that I used to care about. Seeing their faces twist in pain as their life drains from their eyes.”

“How does it make you feel? Those thoughts that haunt you, you mentioned that they plague you. Is it because you’re ashamed of them?” He mentally cursed himself, allowing his growing curiosity and obsession to take hold in order to discover you.

“They do haunt me but…it’s not because I’m ashamed of them.” You avoided the intensity of his stare, staring at the loose fabric of your sweater. “I’m ashamed of them because I like the thoughts.”

He swore he felt his heart skip a beat.

It has been six months since you've become his patient and Hannibal was plagued with conflicted feelings. Over the course of six months, Hannibal began to notice the ever growing affection he held for you. The soft moments between you during the break between sessions where you both would discuss your various common interests of art, music, and food.

He never thought he would find an individual so interesting, articulate, and extremely beautiful. He could still remember your lovely smile when he presented you with one of your favorite books he happened to have in his many collections of literature. He knew that he had fallen in love with you. Something he never quite expected to happen in his entire lifetime.

However, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Not when he was still continuing to be your psychiatrist.

A few days after your last session, he turned in his referral for your new psychiatrist and he prayed that you would allow him to reason with you when you find out what he has done in order to be with you properly. From your previous sessions, he knew of the abandonment you’ve feared, however, he didn’t want you feeling like he gave up on you.  

He was sitting at his desk, checking his watch as he waited for your arrival. His mind was repeatedly going through the possibilities of your reaction. Your consistent timing insisted that you would arrive any minute. He decided with a heavy sigh, that he would check the waiting room and hoped that you would accept his feelings.

You smiled to yourself, sitting in your usual spot in the corner of the waiting room. You arrived a few minutes early, yet it allowed you to have some time for yourself before you continued your session with Dr. Lecter. 

Despite the happiness you felt, you still felt a little nervous. For the past few weeks, you have realized something about yourself that you didn’t think would possibly ever happen. The fuzzy feeling that continued to tickle your mind all those months was the blossoming feeling of love. 

It left you scared, scared of the possibility of what it could do to affect the professional relationship between doctor and patient. The possibility of Dr. Lecter discovering your feelings and refusing to continue helping you. All due to the disgust of having someone like you fall for someone like him. It left you feeling defeated already, yet you will allow yourself to continue to be around him. To be around him and never letting your feelings show. 

The sound of the door opening made you stand, giving Dr. Lecter a smile which he gladly returned with a soft greeting. However, something in his face made you hesitate in replying. He seemed to have something bothering him and your heart skipped a beat. 

This couldn’t be what you think it is…

Pushing the thought from your mind, you quickly returned the greeting. 

“Afternoon, Dr. Lecter.” You said, stepping forward when he moved to the side to allow you to walk past him and into his office. “Something troubling you?”

The suit-clad man quietly closed the door, walking past you to stand near his desk, he leaned against the wood, hands perched on the surface. “We have something to discuss.” He finally said, gesturing to the recliner. 

“I think I can manage just fine standing.” You retorted, voice full of ice as your eyes hardened slightly. Your body tensed as you continued standing your ground, crossing your arms. “What’s the issue?” you asked, desperately trying to keep the hurt from your voice. 

“Please, allow me to explain myself, I do not wish for you to assume-”

“I think I’m assuming correctly, right? Just go ahead and tell me what you’re thinking.”

He sighed, glancing away, presumably gathering his thoughts. 

“I believe it is best if I am no longer your psychiatrist-” 

Crash.

Hannibal ducked when something was sent flying towards his head, resulting in a loud crash as the object practically combusted against the wall. In instinct, he was quick to cover his face with his forearm, protecting himself from getting hit directly. He was shocked for a moment, processing what occurred before hearing you rush towards him.

“How could you?!” You yelled, trying to hit him with raised fists, becoming more annoyed when your old physiatrist kept blocking your feasible attacks. “You said you wouldn’t give up on me! You fucking liar!” 

“I’ve never lied to you! Let me explain!” You couldn’t bother to see his reaction, his face expressing a mix of emotions of shock and desire. He never witnessed you become so angry before, especially at him. He found his fascination for you grew even more. “You’re only making things worse.”

“I don’t care, asshole!” You screamed, pushing him which didn’t even move him an inch as he stared down at you, gripping your forearms as you started crying. “Why are you getting rid of me!”

“You stupid girl!” Suddenly, you were pinned against the wall, gasping in shock at the warmth of Hannibal’s chest pressed against your own, your wrists pinned on each side of your head. “I only did it to be closer to you!”

“What…?” You were breathless, staring into his eyes that were full of darkness and something else you couldn’t recognize. His warm breath hitting the side of your face from his close proximity. “Then, why would you?”

Instead of answering, Hannibal simply leaned down and kissed you, warm lips pressed against your own, which quickly turned passionate. Eagerly, you returned the kiss, pressing closer to him as Hannibal let go of one of your wrists to grip the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair. 

After a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, he slowly pulled away, gazing down at you while you tried catching your breath. 

“I’m in love with you, (Y/N).” He stated, fingers pulling away from your hair to instead delicately graze the soft skin of your cheek. “I cannot court you properly if I remain your psychiatrist.”

“Dr. Lecter, I-” Your eyes watered, ashamed of your previous behavior. 

“Hannibal, darling.” He muttered softly, stroking your cheek as he pressed his forehead against your own. “I accept you as you are and I want you to be mine, always. Will you consider that?” 

You smiled softly, sniffling as you nodded, resulting in Hannibal pulling you into a tight embrace which you gladly returned. “You already have me.” You replied. 

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Miguel woke up with a start. The ticking of the room clock in the hotel suite made him realise that he fell asleep on his desk.

He lifted his head off the desk, stretched his neck and leaned back. Not bothering to check the time, he absent-mindedly started tidying up the papers scattered around the desk.

It hadn’t been the best day for him. One of the political figures invited to one of the hotel parties had to cancel at the last minute. An emergency meeting – their team said – and he had no choice but to cancel on him.

Keeping up appearances. Typical.

One of the things he had to get used to when this whole thing started with the upcoming election was exactly that. He no longer had the luxury of running things from the background – he had to show face, put on a fake smile, sell, promote.

Miguel hadn’t been home for awhile now, and the distance was growing between his work and his home life – just like before. Everything moved at a pace he wasn’t comfortable with, although not by his choice.

Glancing at the coffee table, there was a cup of cold coffee next to a small plate of galletas. Not the ones out of a packet, but freshly baked in the kitchen by none other than her.

These days the one thing that seemed to stay constant in his life was his routines with his private chef. The always reliable, always obliging, always convenient Nata. At least he was still in control of her.

Or was he?

She had been keeping up with her reporting in between him and Calderoni – although not much had been exchanged.

Who was this man she was seen meeting up with? He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.

Obviously she had friends, colleagues, relatives – maybe even men she slept with – a life outside of work in general.

Miguel rubbed his forehead, not even sure where all those pesky thoughts were coming from.

In an absurd way, the idea only made him think of her more, want her more, crave her more.

Leaning back on his chair, he lifted his feet up on the desk.

Which only forced him to pay attention to the tightness between his legs.

Nata…

This was such inconvenient timing.

Not wanting his work interrupted further, Miguel reached down, undid his belt and zipped his trousers off.

Closing his eyes, he let images of his private chef fill his head, and began to stroke.

-----------------------

Nata jerked, almost lifting her arm up in reflex.

It took a second to realise who grabbed her arm.

“Gabriel?!”

Relief took over her the moment she recognized the familiar grin on her friend’s face.

“Soy yo. Perdon, no quise asustarte.”/It’s me. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.

He took his hand off her, and had to admit what was meant to be a light tap turned into an overexcited grab. To be fair, she wasn’t paying attention and her walking pace was quite quick.

“Que coincidencia! Te alojas cerca?”/What a coincidence. Are you staying nearby?

She gave him a friendly hug, and he returned it warmly.

Gabriel – whom she remembered everyone at school referring to as the class nerd – adjusted his glasses and explained to her that he was just at a bar in the area with some workmates. It was almost like a custom that every time the team traveled interstate they had to scour the local bar scene.

Nata and Gabriel walked together in the same direction for another five minutes, then separated. After confirming their meeting time and place again for tomorrow, they wished each other goodnight and headed to their respective places.

Sighing, she was a little embarrassed of her reaction to bumping into Gabriel tonight. Having gone through a kidnapping not that long she admitted she’s been a little more on edge since.

She didn’t want to think about that now.

It would be fun to catch up as they promised to each other at the reunion party the next time he’s in town.

For a moment, she could forget about that strange feeling of being watched lately.

She entered her apartment building and climbed up the stairs to her unit.

Meanwhile downstairs, one of Miguel’s cars pulled out of the building’s parking lot a minute later.

-----------------------

He knew where she lived now, which was to be expected.

Looking up, he spotted the light flipped on through her apartment window. No such luck of seeing anything from where he was standing right now. Added to the fact that there was a light curtain blurring the other side of the window glass.

She was home later tonight, which was understandable considering the nature of her job.

Their worlds were totally different, but somehow they still intersected.

While he was very passionate about what he does, he wouldn’t deny that sometimes dealing with the people involved was just too much.

Whereas Nata seemed to get to enjoy her job, as well as the encounters she made.

Knowing that almost made him jealous.

It wasn’t exactly his nature to snoop, but lately something had been pulling him to.

Something he couldn’t explain.

He wasn’t just imagining it when he got the impression that she’s been looking more intriguing these days. It might have simply been that moment where he caught her dressed differently, wearing an unfamiliar persona he was not used to.

The Nata he knew was always on duty, serious and obsessed with her work.

Catching glimpses of her outside of work mode added to that intrigue.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

In a couple of days he would be off again to another city, so he would have no choice but to leave her alone.

But for now, he would take the moment in, recording her image into his mind – and not think about her encounters. More specifically, the men she encountered.

He hated the thought – being very well aware they were none of his business.

Wondering if she would be thinking of him too, up there in her apartment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

When his lighter failed numerous times, he cursed and almost gave up. At the last minute, a spark finally came and the cigarette was lit.

In contrast, the light in Nata’s apartment was turned off.

-----------------------

Miguel Angel Felix Gallardo had been aware of how rattled he had been in the past few weeks. All the mounting stress from dealing with the politicians as well as money issues creeping up didn’t show any signs of subsiding.

He had also noticed the dynamics between him and his private chef slightly changing again. As well as needing her sometimes outside of her scheduled time, he’d been catching glimpses of her world outside of work.

Which wasn’t helping.

His usual thirst for her now was taking on a new form, into unfamiliar territories. They used to only fuck inside his suite, now he’s let their routines spilled out in different areas of his hotel.

Which wasn’t a massive issue, seeing as the entire hotel was his anyway – so technically her workplace too.

But catching her outside of the workplace was a completely different deal altogether. It felt daring, intriguing…and honestly a little fun.

Catching her off-guard, completely unaware of his presence became a new enjoyable addition.

He realized he actually enjoyed watching her.

And he wanted to do it again soon.

Lucky for him, it was almost dinner time.

He could always recreate at least some of it.

The expected knock on the door came.

“Pasate!”/Come in! He responded.

The chef came in with the usual dinner trolley, placing it beside his work desk.

“Cena, Señor.”/Dinner, Sir. She greeted with her usual soft, obedient tone.

Not wasting a second, Miguel stepped over and lead her to his bedroom.

“Quitatelos.”/Take them off. He ordered as soon as the door closed behind them.

Nata began undressing herself, revealing her usual uniform cream-coloured bra and panties.

He could feel the uncomfortable tightness in his trousers already starting.

She stood in front of his bed, waiting.

This was already doing things to him.

Miguel took off his tie, went over to her and blindfolded her with it. He could sense her shivering – the kind of unknown anticipation he’s never tried on her before.

But he knew whatever he was doing always turned her on.

Lifting her chin up with his thumb, he instructed her with his dominating tone she enjoyed so much.

“Muestrame lo que haces cuando nadie te ve”/Show me what you do when no one is watching.

He could sense Nata flinching under the blindfold, not sure where to start.

Show me how much I turn you on.

She bit her lower lip and took a breath, as if wanting to inhale his presence. Stepping back, she carefully dropped herself on to his bed. Miguel dragged a chair from the corner and sat back, facing her on the bed.

“Claro, pero podria necesitar tu ayuda”/Sure, but I might need your help.

Nata started off with running the back of her palm along her neck, as if she was just trying to get comfortable on a hot day. The other hand brushed some stray hair off her face, before resting her head on it.

Miguel adjusted his sitting position, briefly loosening his collar.

One hand dragged lower, circling her chest area, gradually reaching her bra straps, slipping under and pulling them down loose. A hint of her nipple just peeked from the side, and she shifted on the bed. The hand that was just there continued trailing down, along her abdomen, lingering above the elastics of her underwear.

“Señor…” she whispered to herself, exhaling into her shoulder as she wriggled out of her bra.

Just as Miguel thought not yet, Nata continued. “Ojala estuvieras aqui…”/I wish you were here…

He swallowed, heat shooting between his legs.

Show me how wet I make you.

As if reading his mind, her hand slipped inside underneath her panties, rummaging around. When she was satisfied with her findings, she drew her hand out, the glistening tip of her finger reaching up to her mouth. Letting out a soft sound as if she’s just tasted a delicious meal, a hint of a smile formed on her lips.

If she was acting, it was pretty good.

Miguel could feel himself weeping hard inside his pants, his breath racing, his hands itching to run all over her skin – but still, he made himself wait. He wanted to enjoy this little fantasy just a bit longer.

Only I get to watch you like this, Nata.

Growing impatient, she pulled her panties off, letting it hooked on her left ankle as her knees lifted up. Spreading her legs – blindly guessing the best angle to make sure her boss gets a full view – she began pleasuring herself. Leaning back against the pillow, a quiet whimper escaped as her fingers found the right tempo.

Nata had one hand down between her legs and the other covering her mouth.

It was like she knew just the right speed to ensure he was able to watch every movement, every detail – without affecting her own pleasure. The hand that was on her mouth now shifted to touch a breast, circling around one nipple, before squeezing in earnest.

The next second the sound of belt unbuckling and trousers unzipping filled the room – Miguel couldn’t hold his erection in any longer.

At the same moment, Nata let out a moan as she slipped one finger into her pussy, continuing her move – but continued performing the role of being watched unaware to perfection.

“Señor…” she muttered, threatening to draw both of them towards the edge.

Miguel gripped his cock and gave himself a few strokes, unable to watch her without pleasuring himself too.

This was even better than what he imagined.

She kept up the sliding movement of her fingers in and out, her hips bucking off the bed, increasing the speed with every stroke. He anticipated she was going to add a second finger soon…

But she didn’t.

It was like there was an unspoken agreement – like she knew she was supposed to wait for him.

She continued the motion, her breath hitching every time she rubbed her own clit in the process.

Right there.

Like a warning, she muttered the words “Señor…estoy cerca…”/Sir…I’m close…

That did it.

Miguel jumped off his chair and climbed onto the bed, batting her hand away from between her legs, letting himself enter her without warning.

Her breath hitched as she took him in blindly.

Relief overtook him the second he was inside her.

So good.

This could surely be classified as an addiction by now – but he didn’t care.

Nata gasped, her whole body aching to take him. He thrusted up, his mouth finding hers, kissing her hungrily as his other hand pulled the blindfold off her face.

It took a second for her eyes to adjust, but the moment Miguel’s face lined up to her vision, the pleasure intensified.  

Wrapping her legs around his hips, she relished the feel of his cock filling her up, reaching for the rhythm he set between them.

The sound of the bedpost hitting against the wall only added to the obscene effect, as Miguel pounded into her deeper and faster.

The thought of her imagining him fucking her while he was actually fucking her right now was something he couldn’t describe.

It was raw, chaotic, urgent but powerful – nothing subtle about it.

“Señor…”

Warning him again, she came first, gripping tight around him, muffling her moans on his shoulder. He followed seconds later, not caring for the time, groaning in pleasure, just wanting relief.

Panting, they held on to the waves of ecstasy for a few minutes more. They let their breathing settled down as the strong protein smell started filling the room.

He wanted her to put on a show, and he got it.

My good bad girl.

They untangled from each other, letting the mess of their mixed cum stain the sheets and their skin.

Nata cleaned herself up, helped Miguel clean himself up as he got ready for dinner.

“Eso fue lo que ordeno, Señor?”/Was that what you ordered, Sir?

He took one look at her again.

“Si. Pero la proxima vez quiero verte en otros lugares..”/Yes. But I want to watch you in other places next time.

-----------------------

“Nadie? En serio?”/ No one? Seriously? Gabriel was still not convinced.

“Absolutamente nadie. Tengo no tiempo. / Absolutely no one. I don’t have the time.” Nata answered again firmly.

At the moment she only had time for work and her boss.

She concentrated back on her plate of tortillas, and her friend followed suit.

The conversation pretty much came up because they were talking about Mairy who couldn’t join them because she was on a date. Instead, she invited them to her upcoming birthday party - Gabriel did say he would do his best to attend since there he had another scheduled trip here. Conveniently it would fall on Nata’s night off.

Gabriel and Mairy were probably the only two of her high school friends that Nata still kept in contact with every now and then. Mairy worked in the same town as her, but Gabriel was mainly stationed in Mexico City. Lately he’s been sent to different cities for support in the technological department. To his annoyance, they often joked if working for the government has now made him too good to be hanging out with them again. But Gabriel was still the same person she remembered from high school.

“No es esa la excusa de todas?”/Isn’t that everyone’s excuse?

“No es tuyo. Que mujer puede competir con tu amor por las computadoras?”. Not yours. What woman can compete with your love of computers?

Gabriel laughed, wiping tortilla sauce off his mouth.

A moment passed as they both took a sip of their drinks. The street taqueria was bustling with customers, but the two could still hear the sound of each other’s voices.

“Entonces…”/So…he started. “Como es trabajar alli?”/What’s it like working there?

Nata swallowed.

That felt like a loaded question.

“En el hotel?”/At the hotel?

“Creo que todas saben a quien pertenece el hotel”/ I think everyone knows who that hotel belongs to. He added, clearing his throat and taking another sip.

For a while now she never really elaborated about the hotel she worked at. Apart from her direct family, only Gabriel and Mairy knew her exact workplace.

And no one knew about her other job for obvious reasons.

“Sabes, es como cualquier otro hotel en el que he trabajando.”/You know, it’s just like any other hotel I’ve worked at.”

With certain perks.

“Un trabajo exigente.”/Demanding job. She added.

With a somewhat possessive employer.

Gabriel intercepted. “Mira, trabajo para el gobierno. No son exactamente el mejor tipo de personas. Asi que no hay juicio aqui.”/Look, I work for the government. Not exactly the best kind of people. So no judgement here.

Nata imagined his work wouldn’t necessarily involve providing convenient sexual favours for one of his superiors. But who knows nowadays.

“Al final, tenemos que hacer lo que tenemos que hacer.”/In the end, we have to do what we have to do.

“De acuerdo. Las facturas no se pagaran solas.”/Agree. The bills aren’t going to pay themselves.

They toasted to the last sentence – and continued laughing at their jobs.

“Oye, todavia recuerdo aquellas galletas que hacias y traias al escuela.”/Hey, I still remember those galletas you used to make and brought to school.

Nata cringed internally. She did remember doing that a few times, but once she especially made the galletas with an ulterior motive. They were actually made for a boy she had a crush on in class, but she claimed they were to share with everyone to avoid being too obvious.

Now, she was still making food for some man who had her attention.

Some things never changed.

“Siempre fuiste tu y Mairy quienes tuvieron prioridad.”/ Yes, it was always you and Mairy who had first dibs.

Gabriel made her promise that the next time they meet up, she would make the galletas again.

“Asi que cuentame un poco sobre tu jefe.”/So tell me a little bit about your boss.

-----------------------

Miguel Angel Felix Gallardo sat on the back seat of his car after another tiring trip to the capital city. The streets were a little more crowded than usual, he almost forgot it was the weekend.

He tend to forget his private chef’s days off lately.

Wonder what she does on her weekends off.

Miguel tried to silence the thought, pulling his focus back on to his plans for the upcoming election. He made a pretty convincing argument to Caecilia today, and it was just a matter of getting the logistics drawn up.

He had also found a person who could make it happen

The street lights and blurry images of people walking by sped through the car window.

At the turn of the street, the car reduced speed as traffic started building up – still moving but slow enough for Miguel to be forced to resort to people-watching.

Families with children, young people in groups, couples on a date, even solo walkers were out in force. There were even people in costumes, for whatever reason. The odd street stalls were pretty occupied as well.

This area was not far from where Nata lives – he suddenly recalled.

Maybe she’s out and about on her weekend off.

If she was out, he wondered who she would be with.

Then he spotted her from a distance.

It was like he summoned her into existence.

What coincidence.

Miguel thought his own mind was playing tricks on his eyes. But there she was, her side profile so familiar, even in scarce light from a distance.

Nata was walking at a leisurely pace, chatting to someone who was obviously a man. They were heading away from the side of the street, so all he caught was the back of him. 

Miguel stirred in his seat.

She has been seen meeting up with a man who is not Calderoni.

Was that him?

The intrusive thoughts started flooding in and he knew it was going to follow him for the rest of the night if he didn’t take some kind of action.

Who is he?

Miguel ordered his driver to turn the other direction, discreetly following them for a few minutes. They would catch them from the other end of the street - he was sure there was only one street those two would be walking on.

By the time he caught a glimpse of her again on the other side of the street, the man she was talking to before was gone.

He was with her a minute ago.

Did he imagine the whole thing or did they separate when he temporarily lost sight of them?

Fighting the urge to stalk her some more, Miguel instructed his driver to take him home.

Outside, Nata continued walking the usual direction to her apartment.