#make+up

“I’m fine,” He stated, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that barely carried across the tense room. “Ribs heal. The job doesn’t wait.”

“The job isn't going to have an agent left if you keep treating your body like it's expendable!” You stepped closer, your soft frame trembling with a combination of anger and genuine fear for him. You wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him, to make him understand that his life actually mattered to someone.

“You’re not thirty anymore, Leon. You can’t just keep taking these ridiculous tasks and throwing yourself into the meat grinder without a second thought. You need to start caring for yourself. I care about you.”

An odd mist of vulnerability shrouded your quiet, final words.

Leon’s hand stopped moving. The pen pausing against the seemingly never ending forms. Slowly, he lifted his head, his dirty blonde bangs falling over his eyes, blurring a gaze that had suddenly gone cold and defensive. He was exhausted, and the weight of his own mortality was a pressure he didn't like being reminded of.

He stood up, his tall, broad frame instantly imposing over you, casting a heavy shadow across your face.

“I’ve been dealing with this shit since Raccoon City,” Leon grumbled, his tone sharp, cutting through the air like a combat knife. “I didn't ask for you to care, and I certainly don't need some assistant constantly trying to manage my life. Mind your own business.”

The words hit you like a tidal wave. You bit the inside of your cheek, attempting to prevent the slight tremble in your lip. Breath hitching in your throat as the sheer dismissal of his tone sank in.

Silent realisation had inundated Leon’s expression. His hand slowly reaching toward you, but before a single apologetic sound could leave his lips, the static filled electronic chirp of his radio shattered the silence.

“Agent Kennedy. Active quarantine breach reported at the primary facility. you’re needed on site immediately.”

Leon’s jaw tightened. Averting his regretful gaze and reaching down. He grabbed his heavy tactical belt from the chair, clasping it around his lower torso with mechanical efficiency. He turned his back toward you and strode out into the dark hallway without a lingering backward glance, the heavy office door clicking shut behind him.

The resonating void of his presence had left a week long, haunting silence in the room.

A rigid seven days had passed in an agitating blur. Seven days of fixating on blank post mission files, organising useless documents and listening to the rain palpitate relentlessly against the building's windows.

It was nearly midnight when you heard the leaden handle of your small office door finally click.

You didn't look up immediately, forcing your eyes to stay focused on the paperwork in front of you, but the familiar, heavy tread of combat boots instantly gave him away.

Leon stepped into the warm, muted glow of your desk lamp. He looked completely spent. His hefty jacket was gone, leaving him in a tight, navy compression shirt that clung to the rugged contours of his chest. His hair was damp from the downpour outside, sticking to his forehead in messy patterns. But what made your heart swell with a dull ache was the fresh, livid purple bruise blossoming across his jaw.

You stare into the files on your desk like they’re a personal threat, your voice shifting into a flat, professional monotone. “Welcome back, Agent Kennedy. Your post mission reports are on the left.”

Leon stopped, the permanent furrow in his brows deepening, the formal title cutting deeper than any blade. He let out a low, rough sigh. “Agent Kennedy? Right. Guess I earned that one.”

He stood there by the door for a moment, just studying you. When you stubbornly refused to acknowledge him properly, he let out a deep exhale through his nose and leaned himself against the edge of a filing cabinet. You kept your head down, expertly shifting a stack of papers, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of a response.

Leon diverted closer to your ignorant presence, his boots thudding softly against the carpet until he stopped just a few feet from your desk. He looked down at his own bruised, bandaged knuckles, the facade draining out of him all at once.

“I shouldn't have said that shit to you last week. I was tired, but that's no excuse. You're one of the only people left who actually gives a shit if I make it back alive. I'm sorry.”

Tentatively, you let the documents drop from your hands and onto your desk. You finally stood up from your chair, softly stepping out into the open space between the desk and his remorseful figure.

The anger you had shouldered for seven days dissipated into a thin fog, leaving only an actively dispersing ache. Your eyes welled with tears as you looked up at him, looking profoundly hurt by the dismissal of his parting words and the blistering week of wondering if he would even come back alive. You looked so vulnerable, your soft curves completely yielding under the strain of the silence.

Seeing that shattered look on your face broke whatever wall Leon had orchestrated. In one swift, desperate stride, Leon concluded the distance between you. His large, calloused hands came up to frame your face, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear. The contrast of his rough, combat tested palms against your soft skin made your breath hitch faintly.

“Hey, i’m okay” He murmured, his voice dropping all its buffers, turning dense and desperate. “Don’t ruin those pretty eyes over me. I’m right here” Leon whispered, pulling your soft frame an inch closer to his chest.

The tension that had simmered for a long, torturous week dissolved completely.

Leon didn't just lean down, he seemed to collapse into you, his broad shoulders dropping all their stiff tactical weight as he captured your lips in a resonant, bruising kiss. It was the desperate act of a man who had been starving for seven days, heavy with ardent deprivation.

You whimpered against his mouth, a soft, feeble sound that was irrevocably swallowed by the domineering hunger of his lips. Your hands flew up to grip his biceps, your fingers digging into the solid, adamant muscle beneath his compression shirt. You pressed closer, your soft frame yielding against him seamlessly, your plush stomach flattening against his rigid torso. He groaned into the kiss, his hands shifting down your back to grip your thick hips, pulling you so tightly against him that you could feel the hardening ridge of his desire through his trousers.

Without breaking the kiss, Leon softly guided you backward until the backs of your thighs hit the sturdy oak of your office desk. With a solitary, sweeping motion of his arm, he wantonly knocked the stack of folders onto the floor. The papers scattered across the carpet with a loud rustle.

There goes your weeks worth of agonising work…

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” Leon muttered against your lips, his voice entwined with a sudden, sharp urgency before he kissed you again.

He lifted you by your hips, hoisting your soft weight onto the edge of the desk. Stepping between your thighs, his broad shoulders blocked out the rest of the dimly lit room. His movements slowed down altogether, the initial frantic rush relenting into a dense, deliberate focus.

His large, calloused hands slid methodically under the hem of your pencil skirt. His rough palms scraped deliciously over your thick, smooth thighs, his thumb tracing slow, warm circles into your soft skin. He leaned down, embedding his face gently into the crook of your neck, taking a long, ragged breath to inhale the alluringly sweet scent of you that he had been starving for all week.

“You’re beautiful.” His teeth gently nipped at the sensitive skin of your neck, making you arch your back and leave out a hushed whisper of his name. “I don't think I breathed a single clear breath all week until now.” Leon muttered softly, his blue eyes hazy with pure affection as his palms shaped your full hips.

Leon broke away from your neck, his breathing still uneven, but his movements became incredibly careful. His dusk clouded eyes searched yours with an intense, quiet vulnerability.

“Sweetheart,” His words rolled out like thick velvet, vibrating right against your chest. “Let me make it up to you.”

Your breath hitched at the raw desperation in his eyes. Fraying your fingers gently into his dirty blonde strands, you allow yourself to nod softly. “Leon. Please.”

He slid his hands to your full hips, his fingers sinking into your soft flesh with a gentle squeeze. Leisurely, Leon sank down to his knees on the carpeted office floor, settling himself directly between your trembling, parted legs.

Reaching up, his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties. He didn't tear them away, just carefully slid them down your thick thighs with a quiet reverence, tossing them onto a patch of carpet nearby. Under the faint, warm light of the desk lamp, your inner thighs quivered mildly. Leon studied the soft curve of your hips, your rounded stomach, and the aching heat of your warmth waiting for him.

“Leon...” You whimpered quietly, his name echoing in the quiet atmosphere of your office.

Leon pressed a feathery kiss against the inside of your thigh, his hands smoothing over the trembling muscle.

“Shh, I've got you,” He murmured, his gravelly voice dropping even lower, vibrating against your skin. “Just relax for me, sweetheart.”

His large hands gripped the undersides of your plush thighs, lifting your legs and draping them gently over his broad shoulders. The position exposing you completely to him.

As your breathing finally began to smoothen out, the cloying, defensive tension that had held your body stiff for a week dissipated into your entanglement. Your hips sunk into the oak of your desk, your trembling legs mellowing where they were adorned over his strong shoulders as you let go of a long, shaky exhale.

Leon felt the soft, pliant change in your posture instantly. A low, deeply satisfied hum vibrated in his chest.

“There you go,” Leon murmured into the suppleness of your inner thigh, his plangent voice dripping with heavy devotion. He gave your plush hips a gentle, claiming squeeze, his thumb tracing a comforting circle into your skin. “Good girl. Just like that for me.”

Leon inched closer, his warm breath faltering as he felt the radiant heat emanating from you. When his tongue made contact, a deep, slick swipe right against your aching center, your faintly quivering hips bucked off the desk. A soft, shameless mewl echoed through the dim space.

“Leon..oh fuck-” A simmering plea leaves your blossoming lips.

A verbal answer had decided to remain in Leon’s throat, instead he buried his face entirely between your soft thighs. His tongue working in long, resolute, achingly languid strokes, using his lips and tongue to swirl over your sensitive bundle of nerves until you were dewy and painting his mouth with your juices.

Over the deliciously lingering friction of his tongue against your skin, his hands remained tethered on your hips, his fingers gently squeezing your soft flesh, holding you steady as your body began to writhe beneath his unyielding touch. Amid the deep, wet sounds of his tongue devouring you, Leon began to mumble into your warmth, his voice vibrating against your splintering pleasure.

“Mmm... I’m sorry,” He mumbled, his hot breath humming against your wet flesh. “So sorry, sweetheart... hated myself the second I walked out that door.” He took a deep, voracious lap, tasting the sweet nectar of your climax as it began to build. “Missed you... fuck, I missed you so much. Missed this. Every single day.”

The desperation in his muffled confessions, combined with the relentless, expert friction of his tongue had quiet moans of his name leaving your lips. He didn't pause, his rhythm growing deeper and more ravenous as he felt the tight, delirious fluttering of your muscles foreshadowing your release.

Your fingers tightened desperately in his damp hair, pulling him impossibly closer, pressing his face even further into your heat. Letting your head tilt back, the ceiling bleared out of focus as a vehement, trembling orgasm ripped through your body.

You clamped your thighs constrictively around his head, eliciting a desperate grunt from Leon’s throat. Your soft flesh trembling as an influx of pleasure collided over you.

Leon clung onto you, holding your hips firm, consuming every drop of your saccharine release, his tongue continuing to trace soothing, gentle strokes against your warmth until your panting breaths finally began to slow.

Slowly, he pulled away from your core, looking up at you with wet lips and a dark, completely satisfied smirk splitting his bruised face.

“Now,” Leon whispered, his voice dripping with absolute devotion as he stood up and began to unbuckle his belt, “Let's see if I can remember how the rest of this protocol goes.”