#cleonsugarandspice

Valentine's Day: A day that neither of them had considered they would get the opportunity to celebrate before. Especially not with their lives currently.

Leon tries to play it off like he thinks it's stupid—a capitalist's holiday with no rhyme or reason. But, deep down, he's a romantic. He wants to spoil someone, and be spoiled.

And for Claire, she just plain pretends it doesn't exist.

Until this year, anyways. Over the past six months, Leon and Claire have been dating. Their relationship has been somewhat slow moving, and tentative—both of them trying to find their way around each other, and learn what makes each other happy. Both of them uncertain being in a relationship after so long not being in any.

Ultimately though, despite every reservation and blip, they've never been happier. There's a comfort that comes with being someone who understands you so deeply.

Claire's been feeling a bit under the weather lately, for a few days before Valentine's. Her chronic illnesses casting a sharp shadow over her, and causing her to feel downright awful. While not away on trips for TerraSave, and after frequent bouts of overdoing it, she tends to get hit with an awful fit of migraines and joint pain. Not wanting to get out of bed, when overtaken by said fits.

She isn't expecting to hear a soft knock at her apartment door. Not quite sure she's heard it until it comes a second time. She groans, her vision blurring from the pounding behind her eyes, and presses a palm to her forehead. Rubbing her temple a bit, before standing, and going towards the door.

She pulls it open, and on the other side is Leon. He smiles widely when he sees her on the other side, though it quickly pulls down. "Hey, angel, sorry for…dropping in unannounced. You still not feeling good?"

"No, not really," she shakes her head, practically clinging onto the doorway. "Come in."

He comes through the doorway, and she shuts the door behind him. She can see he has a small bag in one hand and a medium sized container in another. He follows her as she walks over to the couch, sitting down beside her.

"I'm sorry you're still not feeling well, is there anything I can do?" He frowns, placing the bag and container on the coffee table in front of them.

Another small shake of her head. "No, sweetheart, thank you though. I'm sorry I wasn't able to go out with you today, I know we had things planned…I feel guilty that we couldn't make that dinner."

"Hey…no…don't feel guilty. I know you're having a hard time, we can do it another day. Trust me, all I care about is you," he jumps to assure her. Reaching out to gently grab her hands. He nods at the medium sized container on the table in front of them. "I, uh, I tried to make you some of the pasta you love so much. The baked ziti with the cheeses, and made a side of some vegetables. It's not much, I know, but I hope you like it."

She smiles weakly, squeezing his hands. "Thank you, I'm sure I'll enjoy it. I'm just a bit nauseous right now, so I'll have it in a bit. What's, um…in the bag?"

"Oh," he pulls his hands back to grab the pink paper bag on the table. She notices his hands trembling ever-so-slightly as he hands it to her. "It's two things. A card I made, and something that I think…or hope you'll like."

"What-" she pauses mid-question. "It's Valentine's Day. Shit, baby, I'm really sorry now. It completely slipped my brain. I've got something for you too, just gotta get up and get it."

His eyes widen as he sees her start to stand, and he grabs ahold of her wrist. "W-wait. Wait. Sit down for a second, I can tell you're dizzy, and in pain. Just open mine first, please? Then I can help you up to grab what you got for me."

She sighs, sitting back down, and looking at the bag in her hands. She pulls the tissue paper from the bag, and sets it aside. Inside there's a small handmade card, a small little red plush dragon (she's surprised he remembers her love of mythical creatures), and a jewelry box. Her heart warms at the thought that he's put into the gift, and she hasn't even read the card or opened the jewelry box yet. She pulls the stuffed dragon from the bag, and laughs softly—clutching it to her chest. "You remembered."

He flushes a pretty shade of pink, and clears his throat. "I do listen to what you say most of the time, believe it or not."

She sets the small dragon aside, and reaches for the jewelry box next. She flips the top open, and a quiet gasp is pulled from her lips. A beautiful necklace lays inside. It's a silver necklace, the pendant is in the shape of the moon. She had once equated the two of them to being the sun and moon, and explained how they would be the complete opposite of what people would think they are. Him the sun, and her the moon. She remembers saying that he's bright, and beautiful, and burning far too fast—that nobody could be in his shadow, just like the sun. She's surprised he remembers her saying that. The briefest light flickering in from the curtains catches and causes the small diamonds encrusted in the necklace to shimmer.

"It's beautiful," she murmurs, her fingers tracing gently over the metal and gems. "Thank you," she leans over and kisses his cheek, then closes the jewelry box and sets it aside. With how close she is to him, she can hear the slightest gulp when she reaches for the card.

There's no envelope, and it's made out of a folded, red piece of cardstock paper. The lettering on the front is a bit bulky, like he couldn't figure out quite how to write it, the words 'Happy Valentine's Day' on the front. She flips it open, her eyes skimming over the words.

It reads:

Angel,

Furthest thing from what I was expecting to do today. Hell, I don't think I've ever done this before period. I'm not good at…this. Feelings. Writing them out. Expressing them. I'm sure you know. I know I'm not always the best partner, or the best person, but I…care about you a lot. I don't know what I'll do without you. And thinking about next Valentine's Day actually has me excited for once. I'm always going to be here if you need me.

Yours,

Leon

"Oh, sweetheart…" she breathes. Unsure of when the lump in her throat had grown unmanageable, or when the tears had formed in her eyes. She places the card aside, wrapping her arms around him.

He relaxes against her, holding her as close as he can without hurting her. He wasn't sure if she'd like it—and, judging by her reaction, she did. She buries her nose in the crook of his neck, sniffling softly. An overwhelming feeling of affection settled in her heart. "You made this for me?"

"Yes. I wasn't sure if you'd like it…" he mumbles uncertainly. "You do…right?"

She pulls back slightly, cradling his face between her hands. "I love it. I…I love you. I've loved you for so long. Even before we got together. You are so incredible, and so important to me. And, I don't think I could've gone any longer without saying it."

"You…what?" He blinks, mouth agape.

"Love you. More than life itself. I know it might be too soon, but…I think about you all the time," she repeats, her voice soft and unsure. Like she's worried he might feel different.

"I love you too," he says all-too-quickly. His eyes scanning her face. "I think about you when I'm at work, even knowing I shouldn't. I think about you when I'm trying to sleep, when I'm cooking dinner, all the time. We've known each other for nearly fifteen years, I had the biggest crush on you for six years after Raccoon, and then we had our argument. But, I never stopped thinking about you after that. I constantly regretted the way I handled things, and the fact that I waited so long to reach out again. I need you in my life."

"I know. I'm sorry for waiting for so long to let you know how I feel, and to patch things up. I think Chris was about five seconds away from calling and asking you out for me himself before we got together," she chuckles, pressing her forehead against his. "God, I think I was driving him crazy."

He lets out a small laugh of his own, partially out of disbelief. "I can't believe someone like you loves me."

"I could say the same thing. Though, we could make this a 'you're too good for me' contest that would just go around in circles, I fear," their noses brush together, and she smiles, capturing his lips in a quick kiss. "I love you."

He hums against her lips, one of his hands moving to rest on one of her thighs, as he deepens the kiss. His tongue passing the seam of her lips, their tongues mingling and dancing together. He could get lost in the way she tastes—the way she feels—it's addicting. He lets out a quiet protest as she pulls back, and chases her as she moves her face away.

"I'll be back, I promise," she covers the hand he has on her thigh briefly, then moves to stand. "Just going to grab what I got you."

He retracts his hand, nodding as he sits back against the couch. His eyes following her as she moves slowly from the room. Part of him itching to stand and help her, but ultimately deciding against it knowing how she would protest.

She returns a few moments later with a jewelry box, blanket, and card in hand. She takes a seat, and hands him the items. He examines the blanket first. "I knitted it myself. Had actually started making it before I even knew we were going to get together. But I hope that it's okay. Had to take a break a few times for a couple days in between because my fingers were locking up."

He smiles, running his hand over the soft, blue yarn. "I like it. It's my favorite color of blue too."

Her cheeks redden, and she mumbles a quiet "thank you." She watches as he sets it aside, and grabs the jewelry box, and flips it open. Relishing in the gasp that's pulled from his lips. It's a watch that she remembers him mentioning a while back, and she's been saving up for it ever since. "I know you could probably go out and buy one like it yourself, but just…I wanted to, okay?"

"Baby, this watch…" He stammers, mouth flopping open and close a bit like a fish out of water.

"Costs a lot, I know. Do you like it?" She raises a brow, trying to steady her tone as not to relay her anxiousness outright.

"I love it. But you didn't have to-"

"I know. I'm aware I didn't have to save up to get it for you, that you could have got it yourself. I'm aware that your tax bracket is vastly different than mine. But, I did this because I wanted to, and because I knew you like it. If you're going to question me, I'll just take it back," she huffs, starting to reach for it.

"No! No, you've got me wrong. I just…I know how different our tax bracket is, and how much this probably set you back. I guess it's just hard to accept that someone would care about me enough to splurge on something like this. But, trust me, I love it. I'll wear it every fucking day," he's quick to stop her, shaking his head vehemently. "Please, sweetheart. I'm sorry for questioning it, I'm just not used to having someone love me. To want to do things for me."

"Oh…okay," she retracts her hands, relaxing a bit. "I'd do almost anything for you. Even if it is spending ridiculous amounts of money on a watch."

"I know," he chuckles fondly. Reaching for the card next. He rips open the envelope as gently as he can, and pulls the card out. It's a cheesy Valentine's Day card, nothing stands out about it. But the message is sweet. He flips it open, and on the inside there's a small handwritten message. He reads through it, a smile etching across his face. He shuts it, and sets it on the coffee table with his other gifts. Then, leans forward to capture her lips once more. More gently this time, when he pulls back he peppers small kisses all over her face—coaxing a giggle from her. "I love you, so much."

She swats at him playfully, but returns the favor. Kissing his cheeks, his forehead, his chin, next to his lips, all over. "I love you too, pretty boy. Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day, angel. Here's to many more," he reaches out to grab one of her hands, lacing his fingers through his. "Now that all that's over, what do you say I heat you that ziti up, and we watch the movie together?"

"Sounds perfect."

"You're perfect."

"You're gross," she wrinkles her nose. "Fix me my pasta, you heathen."

"Alright, alright. Yes ma'am," he gives an over-exaggerated sigh, standing. "You're so bossy."

"And you love it."

"That I do."

The warm, softer-than-air lining of Leon’s jacket falls like fire on Claire’s exposed skin. The faint scent of the cologne that lingers at the collar swirls up to her, filling her senses until she’s dizzy with it. Sweat beads on the back of her neck not from the jacket but anticipation. It beats low in her stomach. A hunger she’s always felt.

He’s the only one who’s ever been able to satiate her. 

Cool air glides over her bare legs in contrast to the heat on her cheeks and neck. She feathers them against one another, a myriad of scars he’s spent long nights loving like they’re the best part of her standing pink against otherwise smooth skin. 

“Come on,” she murmurs, tapping red nails against the zipper, a high clink pinging in the air. He’s keeping her on the edge on purpose. Chewing through every bite of dinner like it could be his last since she finished her wine, ran a hand along his shoulder blades, and excused herself with a breathy whisper. 

It’s because he knows, she thinks, a coy smile painting her face. These are the last moments of control he’ll have until she’s full. A question asked-and-answered. 

And answered. 

And answered. 

The wildfire in her stomach is growing too hot to bear, lapping up her sides and rushing across her chest like she’s going to drown in it. She’s almost ready to cut the act short and march herself back down the hallway to drag him into the bedroom. 

And then her grandiose thoughts are interrupted by a subtle scratch of wooden chair legs against uneven kitchen tile. The unmistakable clatter of ceramic and metal shifting around in a sink. Footsteps. 

Steady.

Measured. 

Coming straight to her. 

She rolls her shoulders back, brushes her hair so it falls like water over her neck, the ends disappearing into the sherpa and tickling her skin, ghosting across the top of her bra. The smile morphs into a smirk, and confidence floods through her like a drug. 

Leon opens the door with the same kind of confidence. 

Stops dead in his tracks at the sight of her. 

Splayed on his comforter like a painting set against navy blue. Legs that last for days leading his eye straight to the hem of a jacket he knows well, that just saw him through his worst hell yet not even two weeks ago. He can see the red tips of her fingernails where they peak out of sleeves too long. The zipper is down just far enough to make out the constellations of freckles that adorn her collarbones like a gift from God himself.

It’s not just beauty he’s beholding. 

She’s ephemeral. 

Other-worldly. 

With a glint in her that would charm anyone who didn’t know better. 

Sin disguised as innocence. Need disguised as suggestion. 

A kind of destruction she makes you thank her for, and Leon finds that the words roll off his tongue so easily. 

“Jesus,” he murmurs, barely breaking the plane with his breath it’s so low. Her eyes sharpen like a knife. She heard. 

“Hi, Rookie,” she purrs, pulling herself upwards, circling her index finger around the zipper like a cat does a mouse. She pouts her lips outwards, glistening, and he feels all his blood rush south, already aching when she continues. 

“This jacket’s so warm. I would’ve gotten myself one had I known. But you don’t mind that I borrowed it right?” 

Words cease to exist in his brain. 

She fills the space with her laughter instead. His favorite sound in the world. 

Danger personified. 

“I didn’t think you would,” she whispers, planting her feet on the hardwood and allowing her body to take up every inch of space as she stands slowly. Her muscles stretch, the jacket falls to her thighs, and she rolls her neck just enough to let him see it all. His eyes track as she stalks towards him, every step deliberate, until she’s in his airspace.

She tilts her head as she looks at his face and the light catches her jaw like it was made with the express purpose to illuminate her. The glow radiates all around and within her, too much to focus on while he’s trying to remember to breathe, to follow the line of her eyes while she gazes on every inch of him. 

A breath trembles out of his lungs and over his lips. 

And she bites hers. 

It slides through her teeth easily, a kind of grace and power that must be seen to be understood, and then another little huff leaves her, and she wraps a hand around his forearm, underneath his elbow. 

He doesn’t know if it’s an act of mercy when it nearly makes his knees give way. Still, her nails are a deep red against his olive skin, and his feet move on their own when she leads him to the bed. 

Her hands find the hem of his t-shirt without asking, the gentle scratch of her nails against his abs sending a shiver down his spine. The fabric lands somewhere he doesn’t care, and then she splays both of her hands against his chest and pushes him backwards. The comforter shifts underneath his feet as he works back until he’s half-propped against a pillow, and it knocks the breath out of him when she enters his field of vision from above, kneeling to the side of his legs.

“Comfortable, Baby?” 

He swallows. Nods. 

Her skin is hot when she holds his chin. Day-old stubble scratchy against her but she knows the sensation of it against her inner thighs like she knows him. She presses her thumb into him harder. 

“Let me hear you.” 

“Yes,” Leon exhales, voice breaking, then growing stronger when he repeats himself. “Yes.” 

“Good.” 

Her body leans down as his lifts up, and their lips meet in a way that exists beyond words. 

Beyond instinct. 

Beyond need.

Beyond habit. 

Like two people have captured the whole of human history in themselves, and it fleshes out simply between, underneath, around, their kiss. 

Claire pulls back slowly, her smile always softer after—not part of their little act, just because it’s him. 

But she doesn’t miss a beat, either. Her palm rests on his thigh, massaging the thick ropes of muscles through his gray sweats, and the other brushes his hair out of his face. 

“You feel hot.” 

He is. God, he is. 

His hand finds her wrist and holds firm enough that she has no choice but to let go. She raises an eyebrow at the display but can’t ignore how her heart skips a few times in her chest. And then Leon’s hands are at his waistband, pulling down the sweats and his underwear and abandoning them to the same place as his t-shirt, and she can’t hold back the gasp that escapes her, straight from her center and out her mouth. 

You’re beautiful, she thinks, so fucking beautiful, but forgoes saying anything for slamming her lips against his again. 

More demanding this time. 

More urgent. 

More hunger than she’s ever felt.

He makes no protest when she runs her tongue over his bottom lip, granting her entry and feeling the last wisps of space between them close up, not to be opened until they say so. Arms wrapping around her back, he feels every crack and crease of the leather against his palms. It’s an odd sensation on this side of it, but he holds onto every second of it. The thing looks better on her, feels better on her, is better on her than it could ever be on him. 

Her knee hits his as she splits her legs to straddle him, shivering as cold air meets the thin, damp lace barely covering her. She clacks her teeth against his to cover it, unsure of whose moans are whose, just that all of them have become her favorite song within a matter of seconds. 

The jacket is too thick to notice the small spot of pre-cum dripping over his tip and soaking in, but she feels when his hardness becomes undeniable, the weight of it against her torso even as it’s covered. Her own neediness has been clawing at her for days, ever since she got the call that he was home and cleared, and she wastes no time in bringing her hands between them to tug at the zipper. 

His eyes pop open at the sound, finding the flashes of her chest between her hair, her eyelashes, her jaw. He tilts his head back after another moment to heave for breath for his sweat-slick lungs, and to take her in entirely. 

Black lace, made to kill. Delicate petals and patterns that read like salvation for a damned man. 

Strong, taut thigh muscles hovering her over him, refusing to quiver.

Just enough of her covered to make him feel like he’s being starved. 

Velvet skin pushes through some of the texture, the smoothest thing he’s ever felt underneath his fingertips. Curves accentuate her curves, a steep V that lands like a bullseye on the valley of  her breasts, a tiny black bow sewn to the spot as if to mark the occasion. The lace cuts over the deep pink of her areolas, obscuring the lines of her body, swirling them together, pulling him in. 

He’s pushing the jacket off her shoulders too quickly for either of them to even realize it’s happening. 

Claire swallows as the moment shifts, her eyes locked on Leon’s face as lust turns his sky blue eyes a hazy shade of night. He’s looking at her like he’s already figured out the weak points of the lace to rip it into shreds.

Like he’s still hungry. 

Her stomach twists around itself. 

And then come the words, not on purpose, but demanding to be heard all the same.

They slink out from behind his tattered heart, moving upwards as his eyes memorize how the lace lays low on her abdomen and caresses her hipbones. They hide behind his teeth and remember the sensation of how hers feel in his mouth. They cling to every thought in his head about her, them, her. All her contradictions, her flaws, and the things she tries to keep him from seeing, but always eventually gives in and lets him show them to her in a mirror. 

And her power. Her light. Her laughter. 

Everything that makes up a woman who could save the world.

Or at least save him. 

“I love you so fucking much.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s said them at first. Only how Claire freezes and her eyes blow wide. 

His head tilts in concern, searching her face for how he can help, and it’s only when her legs tighten around him like she’s trying to close herself up that the words echo back in his head. 

They make his heart still just the same the second time. A puzzle piece slotting into place. A soft, lopsided smile takes over his mouth, his features loosening for the first time in years, and he finds her gaze again. 

A ring of blue around a black hole. Body stalled aside from the slightest tremor that runs through her. 

“Hey,” he feels the walls of their dynamic fall away immediately under his voice. Lines that have only grown deeper, but they never spoke about crossing. When. How. If they wanted to, or if they should just keep pretending this was all about release that could be bottled and kept cold until the next time they chose to drink some, instead of the very water they needed for survival. 

The thought makes anxiety beat against his chest, too, but it stands no chance against his own truth. His voice comes out shaking, but raspy, caught between the rules of the world they made up and the world that exists. 

“I mean it, Claire.” 

She gives him a nod but still says nothing. Clearing his throat, he shifts himself underneath her so that her body has to ground itself and adjust with him. Her gaze drops to their thighs as she does. 

The walls press in on them. 

No way to go forward, and certainly no way to go backward. 

It only leaves left or right. 

Gingerly, Leon lifts a hand to cradle Claire’s face in his palm. He raises it to his, giving her all the time in the world to balk. When she doesn’t, when their eyes meet, each full of a little fear and a lot of strength, a smile overtakes him. 

And then it changes.

Moves. 

Crosses over the borderline to a smirk. 

“It’s not often you’re the speechless one, Red. Cat got your tongue?” 

The confusion that flashes across her face is quickly dispelled by understanding. By familiarity sliding in underneath them to catch them both. Different than it normally does, but a net nonetheless. 

She nods again, and his hands move to hold both of her forearms, anchoring them as he sits up straighter and feels the full weight of her on his legs. Her warmth. Her wet. 

Perfect. 

He meets their lips opposite to how she did. Not angry, not quickly, but like two ghosts trying to understand if they can touch one another through the air. Electricity sparks between them, a low buzz that continues even once they part. 

“Please.” He says, breathy but strong, eyes dropping to his shaft, to the lace, bodies already moving in accordance with something written in the stars. Pushing. Preparing. “I want to hear you.” 

Her body slides down onto him until she’s full. Stretched to her edge. The faintest glimmer in the corner of her eye that doesn’t exist from pain, or sorrow, only what they’ve experienced inside these four walls.