#(hai)

laying next to him, back exposed and sheets fisted between soft hands, was his only saving grace in this life. it was an arrangement that came easy. working as a low level assistant at the DSO, trying to polish off a resume, you met him late one night. he had just come back from some classified mission somewhere in the world and so very tired.

he had dropped the files you had just handed him and you, being a dutiful worker, bent down to pick it up. you hadn't noticed, of course, but he had stopped to gawk at you--the peek of your underwear facing him directly nearly took him out. between that and another time you spilt water over his crotch and hurried to pat the area dry, Leon had grown quite fond of you.

he had asked you one night when everyone else had gone home and the trains had all stopped running if you were doing it on purpose and if you'd like to show him more of what you could do back at his. you quickly agreed.

naturally, it progressed from there. he felt bad leading you on--he wouldn't allow anything official in his life so he gave you this: in exchange for your companionship, he'd give you whatever material item you please. leon's job took everything from him. peace of mind, his physical health, any long term stability or companionship. but it wouldn't take this.

only hours ago was he grunting the same sentiment into your hair, bare and slick with sweat. and now, leaning against the rail of his penthouse balcony, he's letting you sleep.

or at least he was. he hears the rustle of the sheets, how you shuffle out of them before your feet pattering against the wood floor until you reach him.

"I have something for you...was gonna give it to you after but you seemed a bit out of it," he turns, from this angle, he's eye to eye with you. Leon notices how you're wearing his shirt and not much else--not anything he can see, anyway.

"oh, thanks. I had forgotten," he hums noncommittally, turning to head inside to grab a little suede-covered box to push into your waiting hands.

"oh, wow, leon! what brand of car is this?" you ask to which he can only chuckle, "y'know...I don't need super expensive stuff. I enjoy you well enough," he takes the box back as you handle the car key, feeling it in between your hands.

"that's not how this works, sweetheart," the nickname is foreign in his mouth, he's not use to it breaching the confines of his bed (or wherever else he had half a mind to take you).

"I know but...this is the second car you've given me, Leon." he doesn't respond to you. instead, he stands to his full height, back cracking with the stress of age, and moves to pull your (his) shirt up just enough to rest his hands on your bare hips. he pulls you into him—the heat of him is intoxicating and you’re fairly sure he’s hard again.

“y’know what you do to me?” he asks, its rhetorical, but you know. you can feel exactly what you do to him, pressing into the space just below your belly button.

“leon—“

“you want another car?” his head drops to the expanse of your neck, breathing for a moment before biting at the skin there, “or that bag you were lookin’ at?” he turns you then, pressing you against the railing, hands pressed against your back, pulling you into him. he can’t risk having you fall, can he?

“jus’ want you, leon,” you murmur, hands fisting at his hair.