rating: explicit‼️‼️‼️ so explicit. i am going 2 hell y’all.
tw: guns, gun play. it’s safe tho, no bullets, no threat
word count: uhhh somewhere in the 3.5k range
obligatory no minors or i’m drop kicking ur asses
Occasionally you get to work with Leon S. Kennedy. Occasionally. He’s normally a solo op- something he enjoys spitting through clenched teeth at anyone who suggests he take a team, or a partner. Occasionally, Leon doesn’t get what he wants.
For you, it just means hours long missions that are filled with irritated little grunts, tersely snapped commands, and little else. It’s alright. Government agencies, terrorist cells, etc, etc. There are worse things than working with a petulant child of a partner.
The one good thing about working with Kennedy, you suppose, is watching him handle his guns. God is that man good with his guns. The quickness, the gracefulness of which he’s able to point, shoot, reload. You could wax poetic. In fact, sitting here with him, currently watching him check his chamber, you just might. Wax poetic, that is.
You watch him turn the gun over in his hands- dirt caked under his nails and god knows what else- perform that stupid, stupid one handed press check. It’s showing off, you think, it has to be. That’s a dumb skill to learn. Yeah, yeah good for when you need to wield two guns at once but Christ. It’s not like that’s happening right now.
Leon glances up, catches you staring. His brows pull low over his nose, knit close together.
“You look downright pouty, Kennedy, what’s wrong?” You say, uncrossing your legs. Wincing a bit as blood flow rushes back, pinpricks tingling down your calves. He slides his eyes back over to his gun. Shifts its weight in his gloved hand.
“Haven’t heard shit. Why haven’t we heard shit?” He mutters quietly. It’s a good question- the intel you received was that BOWs had been a heavy presence in this particular village. Remnants of Los Illuminados. Loathe to send Leon back in by himself, DSO had sent you in with him. Better weapons, too. You pat your H&K P8, settled in your holster.
You shift around some more, boots creaking, sounding like bullets in the quiet of the basement.
“You’re gonna jinx it. Can’t talk about that shit on an op like this.” You settle for joking, though you’re just about as uneasy as he is. Leon cuts his gaze over to the left- where the door is. You follow the movement, shake your head at him.
“Wait. We can’t go anywhere yet. You know that, wait for base command.” It’s a weak excuse, as reasons go. Base command rarely ever knew more than whoever was on the mission.
Leon snorts. But he stays where he is. Pulls out a different gun, his beloved Matilda. You’ve gotta admit- the damn thing looked near brand new, despite being one of his first guns. Thunks his head against the wall he’s sitting up against.
This was maybe your third, fourth mission with him. You get picked often because you don’t rise to his bait. Calm and steadfast, you’re one of the few that can play well with Leon Kennedy. Mostly. And you’re knowledgeable, an encyclopedia practically. Your background in combat medicine, and not to mention medical sciences, gives you an edge over most environments, able to find, forage and mix together healing plants, to know your surroundings.
You watch him take apart his gun. Watch those nimble fingers fly over the parts and components and put it back together again. Watch him take a light, two fingered grip on the muzzle. Slide, clink, release. You thunk your own head against the wall.
See- the problem isn’t so much that Leon is annoying, ill-tempered, aggravating. It’s that he’s unnervingly attractive. You could deal with his bad attitude if you didn’t often find yourself fantasizing about his rough jeans against your bare legs. A glove covered hand over your mouth.
You turn your head away, press your hot cheek against the cool concrete of the wall. Thank god for dim lighting because you know under your freckles, there’s a traitorous blush. Always with the blushing. To add insult, your ears flame, too.
“You don’t look so good over there.” Calls Leon from across the room. You resolutely don’t look at him. Grapple for that calm you’re supposed to be known for.
“Just getting anxious.” Your voice comes out a little more warbled than you would have liked but hey- you sound relatively stout. You think.
You hear another snort. Chance a glance over. Leon isn’t looking at you, still fucking with his gun. Christ. Has it always been this hot? Your thermal feels a little tight, itching at your neck where the collar of the mock neck sits. You curl your hands into fists on your lap. Refuse to pull a cliche move like tugging your collar.
You hear a little clattering. Leon is fucking with his chamber again. Spitting the bullets out. Another slide, clink, release.
“You might need those, you know.” At your voice, Leon looks up. You’re not sure if it’s the low lighting, but you swear you see something… wolfish flit in and out of his gaze. He shrugs easily. Jingles the bullets in his hand.
“At the moment, likely not. Haven’t heard anything, comms are silent. Shit I’d say this is almost a break.” His lips quirk up in a little grin. You shake your head again. Pull your hair out from its braid. Suppressing a relieved sigh, you massage your scalp. One of these days you’ll choose a less punishing hairstyle.
You’ve taken off most of your combat gear, favoring the BDUs and your thermal for the heat. Leon’s right- neither of you are going anywhere any time soon. You idly wonder if he’ll call the mission.
You don’t hear steps, but you do see black boots stop in your field of vision from where you’re looking down, engrossed in rubbing the sore muscles in your neck.
“Fuck Leon, ever heard of making at least a little noise?” He plops down next to you. Close. You can feel his body heat.
“Good to know I’ve still got it.” He pulls himself into a casual slouch, turns his body to face you. Holding Matilda, index finger pressed along the underside of the muzzle.
“Should keep your hair up. Long hair like that is easy to grab for an enemy.” He sounds a lot closer than he feels. You throw an elbow. Connect with his hand- damned fingerless gloves you were just thinking about.
What is it about that that just… does you in?
“Shut up, you said it yourself. We’re stuck here for a bit. If you can empty your gun, I can get a few moments reprieve from an ugly hairstyle.” You retort. It’s probably the warmth, his proximity, the fact that you’re sexually repressed and haven’t gotten laid in more months than you’d like to admit, but your patience was scraping raw.
He whistles, low. “Bug up your ass?” You side eye him. “Hardly.”
He swings Matilda on his finger. You try not to watch. You don’t think you do a very good job, though. Because he grins- and it’s a sharp thing. Makes your breath catch, just a little.
He looks at you like maybe he heard it.
That sharp grin widens. You feel… a bit like prey. What you imagine prey might feel like, anyways. In the low light, Leon’s eyes look nearly black, swallowed whole by his pupils.
You lick your lips, point of your tongue darting out to sweep over your top lip.
You’re a little over aware of everything, the gentle shwick-swing of the pistol, the heat coming off him, the sound of your own mouth when you dampen your lips.
Could cut the air, you think. The tension.
You can see a distorted version of yourself in his eyes, wild eyed, spots high on your cheeks. Mouth spit-slick, slightly parted. You clamp your lips together, pressing them together hard. Try to look a little less fucked out- despite not even having been touched.
“It’s a good thing you aren’t a spy.” Leon’s voice comes out grating, gravelly. “You’d make a shit spy.”
His hand comes up, tangles itself in your recently freed hair. He drags your head back, over to him. He slants his pretty lips over yours, chastely almost. Before licking at your lips. Your breath puffs out; you immediately open up for him. He licks hot into your mouth, an easy, silken glide of his tongue over yours. Lazy. Languorous.
A hand insinuates itself between the two of you, deftly unbuckles holster, belt, pants. Boom, boom, boom. Easy. Practiced.
You feel cool metal slide up your cheek- he backs away from the kiss, presses the muzzle of that gun, fucking Matilda, against your lips. Still parted. Clacking against your front teeth.
“Yeah. Yeah, you can’t hide for shit.” He grins his sharp grin again.
“Leon-” is all you can really get out because he’s taken advantage of the way your mouth opens on his name. Pushes his gun, quickly, through the space between your lips. Fits it snugly behind your teeth. You taste steel. God, you think it’s steel. Is it titanium? Does it matter?
“If I stuck my hand in those pants, what’ll I find?” You can’t answer him, he knows you can’t answer him. You can only stare. Hope you don’t start drooling.
It’s fine, he’s not looking for an answer. Not a verbal one, anyways.
He’s still got you pinned, back against the wall, legs splayed out in front of you. Leather and skin working, shoving past your loose pants. He smirks, you didn’t think that was a real thing- people smirking- but he does it. Glides a finger over slick, swollen skin.
The metal in your mouth has warmed from you panting around it.
“Every time I caught you looking at me I swear I wanted to bend you like a lawn chair” he rumbles, “and I don’t mean just this time. I mean every time I’ve worked with you.”
Your heart gets stuck mid pump. Desperately tries to restart itself.
“Every little furtive glance. And now look at you- drooling over my gun. Want it that bad, do you?” And you were, you did. A thin line of drool had dribbled down your chin.
Your hands remain where they were- fisted tightly on either side of your hips. You could reach up, knock his hand down. But you won’t.
Leon slides the muzzle slickly over your tongue, pushing it just a bit further in.
“You be good and hold that for me, would you? Don’t. Drop. It.” Shoves it till your lips touch the trigger guard. You swallow hard, tilt your head back to let gravity help you.
Both hands free now, he jerks your BDUs off, down your legs. Tangles them in your boots until he successfully gets those off, too. You whimper, a real whimper, when fresh air hits your soaking cunt. Close your eyes and clamp down hard on the gun in your mouth.
Leon drags a hand up from your waist, belly, sternum. To your mouth and with a whispered, arrogant thanks he jerks it out, bits of metal sharply hitting your teeth.
You decide that whatever energy you have, you won’t use it on lifting your head. You opt for surveying him through heavy lids, lashes down. Trying to remember how to breathe.
He’s knelt between your obscenely spread legs, spit shining thick on Matilda.
Your breath rasps in and out in your throat. Saliva caught at the back. You cough a little, try and clear it out. Leon gives you another smirk, another sharp and feral grin.
“You’ve wetted it nicely for me.” Looks down, lip curling, “though I think I could’ve used it even without your spit.”
Your lips form a question, but no real words come out because he’s fit the tip right at your, you swear, dripping hole. Twists so the grip faces up.
“God you’re so wet. This is it, huh? Just a gun and you pant, make a mess of yourself.” It’s said through gritted teeth, but you welcome this kind of muffled, through-the-teeth talk.
You’ve no energy for words either, focused solely on the thrumming tension. The skittering need that jumps over your skin. You’re vaguely aware that each sawing breath you take has a sweet little moan attached at the end. And that every time you sound that moan, Leon’s eyes go a little crazy. Blinking, jumping to your mouth, ping-ponging between the lips between your legs and the lips on your face.
You try hard to stay still. To keep your hips from bucking. But he teases your entrances, tip of his tongue poking out just so, looking terribly concentrated. Keeps a steady hand on your thigh, just above your knee.
You think- rethink- the whole no words thing. Maybe you will beg. Say something- anything. You want to be filled, stuffed until you can’t breathe.
Leon’s eyes flash to yours and with a little controlled jerk of his forearm, he pushes the muzzle into your cunt. Your mouth falls open on an aborted breath in. Lungs seemingly have forgotten to inflate properly.
The edges of the blunt metal catch, gentle, on your slick, slippery walls. Leon twists his wrist. Watches with rapt attention at how you moan with every sharp press into you.
“Please…” you rasp. You’re not sure what you’re saying please to. But he smiles nonetheless. Increases his speed.
“Bet I wouldn’t have to put my cock in you. I could have you cumming just solely on this, huh?” His voice cracks over the last word, though and you know he’s feeling just as affected as you.
You nod mindlessly anyways. Though you want to relish in him sliding into you as easily as his gun; you can’t deny that he’s right. That you could cum on his pistol.
“C’mon sweetheart, cum on my favorite gun so I can stuff you with my cock.” This gets a slew of curses out of you, back arching, rolling your hips down.
“That’s it, that’s a good girl. Sweet, sweet girl. Gonna get you cum drunk. Cock drunk. Whatever comes first” Leon pants, sounds as mindless as you feel. “Christ you’re a needy little thing.” And you’re helpless but to nod best you can, and give him what he wants. Each sharp, rough push of the muzzle into your cunt brings you just a step closer to cumming. Eager to please, eager to do as he says.
And with a little drag of his wrist, and the slightest touch to your clit, you’re off.
“Shit-“ has your voice always been this high? Needy and breathless? “Leon, Leon, Leon. Please-“ He doesn’t say anything, just lets you ride it out.
You hear his gun clatter to the floor before he’s on you. Flipping you, placing your hands on the wall. His nose presses close to your hair, “hold yourself up on the wall, darling” in a tight voice.
His movements were feverish, quick. He settles you in a nice arch, ass tilted up. He smooths a hand down your salt slicked spine, pushes your hair over your shoulder.
“I’ll come back to that later.” You hear him mutter to himself.
His fingers bruise themselves into the fat on your hips, maybe into your bones. He knocks your knees apart with his; you’ll have scrapes later. Marks.
He doesn’t bother slicking himself up- there’s no need, not really. Not when your cunt is very nearly dribbling onto the floor.
Leon spreads your ass cheeks with both hands; does he ever fucking take those gloves off. He grips hard. Fingers sinking into soft skin.
You’re still moaning, still scrabbling at the wall with your hands. Though they keep sliding down, palms as sweat slicked as yours are.
In one smooth motion, he buries himself, immediately bottoms out. His chest touches your back and his weight nearly crashes you off your, admittedly, precarious hold on the wall.
You don’t think you’re going to survive this.
He sets a brutal pace, cock sliding hot and thick, in and out of your hole. You catch bits and pieces of: “god you’re so tight, christ” and “everything I thought about. You take it so good- so well”. Who knew Leon was such a whiner when he fucks? Each phrase lilting at the end.
He slams into you, releases a cheek to curl his fingers at the base of your head. Jerking your hair, pulling your back flush with his front. He lays your head on his shoulder, keeps it there. Puts his lips to your ear. You hear short, forceful gasps, little moans. He wasn’t quiet.
He keeps a hand steady on your hip, every thrust punching out breathless moans.
“Leon-” seems to be the only thing you can say.
His lips move at your ear, stirring the smaller hairs. “Yeah baby girl? Gonna cum for me again? Give my cock the same treatment you gave my gun?” On the word gun, he pulls his hips back to sharply snap back forward. His free arm winds around you.
“Oh poor thing, you can barely hold yourself up.” High, desperate. “Pathetic. Never seen a woman drive herself up a wall over a fucking gun.”
You whine, feeling a familiar coil build low in your gut.
“God almost jealous over my own gun, feeling you clench on me. You gonna cum again? Squeeze my cock real nice with your pussy. Let me feel it, darling.” Leon’s hoarse voice whispers and it feels like a benediction. Sounds like God himself.
His hips don’t stutter- keeps the same relentless pace. Slapping into you, each wet squelch sending you closer and closer to the edge.
You try your best to meet his thrusts, but you know you’re sloppy. Miss a beat every few slams. You clutch at his arm around your waist.
“So loud, so perfect.” He pants. “Don’t let- don’t let anyone else hear this. Just for me, let it be only for me.” You would promise him the world in your palm if you could right now.
His hand slides down to circle your clit. You might cry.
“Too much- please. God.” You finally get out, sagging against his arm.
“Not enough.” He grunts, fingers skating over you, adding more pressure.
“God. Fuck. Leon- stop. I’m gonna… gonna-” but you can’t finish your thought. He pounds you harder. You think with a quick flash of embarrassment- you’re gonna make a mess on him.
“Do it, c’mon darling, I know you wanna cum. I can feel it. That pussy’s so tight, greedy. Practically fucking yourself on me-”
You feel all that pressure, a mixture of pleasure and pain release. Built to an all consuming peak. Hot and gushy, you cum. Feel slickness slide down the inside of your thighs.
“Yessss..” Leon hisses. “Just like that. Good girl. Let me- let me fuck you through it. So good.” You’re exhausted, spent. Almost too oversensitive. Leon’s cock a bruising force, pushing into you, slapping hard. But he doesn’t let up. So focused on you.
“Cunt squeezes so tight when you cum. Fuck.” The slapping of his hips against you starts to stutter, becoming inconsistent. He isn’t going to last much longer.
“Leon- Leon please. Wanna feel you. Please- you, you made me cum so good. Use me, want you to feel just as good.” You mumble through swollen, numb lips. He bites down on your shoulder. Presses you against the wall. You wince against the feel of his teeth in your skin but it feels good. A good kind of hurt.
He groans, cock twitching inside of you. You can feel it swell.
“Fuck-” Leon whines out loudly. Slams full hilt into you. “God.” The breath he takes in is shaky. Another touch of warmth gushes between your thighs. Fuck, you’re a mess.
Leon uses the arm wrapped around your waist to tug you tight against him, to fall back on him, cock still in you. Pillows his head on your discarded clothing, your head on his shoulder.
You lay there a moment, trying to catch your breath.
“Next time- next time I wanna see your pretty lips around my cock.” Leon tugs your chin, turns you to properly face him. His softening cock slips out of you, and so does more warmth. More of his cum.
“Jesus Leon, can I catch my breath first?” You ask, watch his face take on just a little bit of a predatory glint. He squeezes you.
“Why don’t we get you, and I, cleaned up. Figure this situation out.”
Neither of you even know if base ever tried to contact you. Comms had been thrown to the ground with the rest of your shit.
You grin, trace his lips with your fingers. “Sounds good to me.”
