WRATH.

June

The first time you see Leon Kennedy up close, you’re losing a fight with a stack of fence posts in the parking lot of Miller’s Hardware.

The afternoon sun sits low and heavy over the town, baking the dust caked on your shoes. Somewhere across the street, a screen door slams as a worn-down van rattles down the road.

The wood keeps sliding out of your truck bed no matter how many different ways you angle it. But for a second, it seems like you’ve got it handled. You’re just about to load the last one in before it suddenly slips sideways and nearly takes you down with it.

You brace for the sound, but someone catches the post before it hits the ground. 

You glance up, immediately recognizing him. He lives across the street from the house you inherited from your grandmother a few weeks ago. You’ve seen him in passing in town, watched him haul game from his truck into his garage, heard him shooting out back at the fall of dusk.

He’s taller than you thought he’d be. Broad shoulders, worn leather jacket despite the summer heat, hair a little too long for the neatness you’ve come to expect in this small town. The paler strands at his temples catch the light of the summer sun.

There’s a faint scar across his cheek and another that disappears under the collar of his shirt, and the lines around his eyes crease when he squints at the truck bed. 

With a grunt, he lifts the post and sets it next to the others like it weighs nothing.

You brush your hands off on your skirt. “Thank you.”

He gives you a curt nod and starts to walk away.

A bit thrown, you let out a soft huff. “Do you always help strange girls in parking lots?”

He doesn’t look back. “Just the ones about to kill themselves with lumber.”

You watch him climb into his dusty pickup. It’s an older model, one that growls before it turns over. Gravel crunches under the tires as he pulls out of the lot and heads for the back roads.

You stand there longer than you mean to, the heat of the afternoon settling around you.

Two weeks later

The first time you work up the courage to go to his house, you knock twice before the door swings open.

Leon Kennedy looks exactly the same as he did in the parking lot. Same tired eyes. Same quiet gravity.

He raises a brow at you. “You alright?”

“My sink’s leaking,” you say innocently. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

He glances across the road to your house, then back at you. Your teeth catch your bottom lip. His eyes flick downwards for just a second longer than necessary. Then he sighs and grabs a bag of tools.

“Let’s go, then.”

Your kitchen still smells faintly like the lemon cleaner your grandmother used to swear by. You sit on the counter, legs swinging over the floor, while you watch him work. You don’t even pretend to look away.

He rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows and ducks under the sink like he’s done it a hundred times before. The space between you is quiet — just the sound of metal against metal and the occasional rumble of tires on the pavement outside. 

“You live out here alone, Mr. Kennedy?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He doesn’t look up right away. “Leon,” he corrects, but leaves your question unanswered. 

You smile anyway. “Leon.” 

He cuts the water on, testing the pipe before leaning back to check for leaks. Satisfied with his work, he wipes his hands on a rag he pulls from his back pocket.

Softly, he closes the cabinet door.

“Should hold now,” he says with a nod.

Leon leaves shortly after. You stand on your porch, watching him walk all the way back to his house. He gives you a short wave before disappearing inside.

Mid-July

One day, just before sunset, three sharp cracks echo through the trees behind Leon’s property. The sound rolls across the fields and dies somewhere past the horizon.

Naturally, you go investigate.

The path behind his house smells like sun-warmed cedar and dry grass. Cicadas buzz lazily in the branches overhead.

Leon notices you the second you step into the clearing. He lowers his rifle immediately. “You shouldn’t be back here,” he says gruffly, setting the gun to the side.

You cross your arms over your chest, the cool summer breeze leaving gooseflesh in its wake. “Why?”

“Not safe.”

“You don’t look like the kind of man who misses.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t know anything about me.”

You shrug. “I know you don’t talk much. People in town say you keep to yourself. That you always pay for things with cash. That you pull the biggest buck every season. That you came out here to live quiet.”

His jaw tightens slightly, the lines in his face hardening. “People in town talk too much.”

You grin. “You’re interesting,” you say.

“Interesting doesn’t always mean good,” Leon retorts, coming to stand behind you. Your heart stills. He’s so close that you can count his breaths. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s heavy, and it smells like wood and smoke and pine. Then, softer, he says, “You should know better.” 

A pause settles between you. The cicadas start up again, somewhere in the trees.

You look out toward the makeshift range, toward the green bottles he’s set on top of the fenceposts. The glass catches the last gold of the setting sun.

Slowly, you turn your head to the side, feeling his gaze on you. “Teach me,” you murmur, nodding towards the rifle.

Leon hesitates.

For a second, it looks like he’s going to refuse, but he reaches down and picks it up. He checks the rifle — chamber, safety, sight — then places it carefully into your hands.

“Feet apart,” he says.

You adjust your stance in the grass.

When he moves behind you again, the air shifts. There’s a stutter in your lungs when his chest brushes your back. You watch his hand as it comes to settle on your shoulder. The touch is firm and practical, but it lingers for just a second longer than it should. His other hand slides down to adjust your elbow, warm and steady.

Your gaze lingers. He catches you.

“Eyes ahead,” he murmurs. 

Your cheeks flush, and you turn back toward the range, trying very hard not to smile.

August 

You find him out back again one evening, leaning against the fence with a cigarette between his fingers while the sun sinks behind the trees. The air smells like dust and freshly-cut grass.

Leon glances over at the sound of your boots in gravel.

“You’re making a habit of this,” he says.

He’s right — second time this week. But you smooth your dress down and hop up onto the fence beside him, the wood warm from the day’s heat. “You make good company,” you reply.

He snorts, but you don’t miss the fact that he turns and looks away from your bare legs. “You don’t have anywhere better to be on a Saturday?”

You pretend to think about it. “Not really.”

He exhales, smoke floating toward the trees.

You nod toward the cigarette burning in his hand. “Can I try?”

Leon looks at you, but he doesn’t seem surprised. “You smoke?”

You shake your head. “Mm-mm.”

“Then no.”

You pout and hold out your free hand anyway. “C’mon. Just one.”

He sighs quietly, the way he does when he’s already decided you’re not going to listen. After a moment, he passes it over.

You take a careful drag the way you’ve seen people do in movies and immediately regret it. Your lungs seize and you double over coughing, sputtering into your sleeve.

Leon mutters something under his breath, then shifts closer to rest a hand briefly between your shoulders. “Easy,” he murmurs. He takes the cigarette back before you can embarrass yourself further.

You laugh, wiping at your eyes. “That’s awful.”

“That’s why I said no.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a halfway-smile.

You glance over at him. “You do that every day?”

He flicks ash into the dirt. “Tryin’ to quit.”

You both watch the horizon darken — orange to pink to dark, dusky blue. For a while, neither of you says anything. That’s been happening more lately. Comfortable silence.

“Why’d you move out here, Leon?” you ask. You can see the moon faintly now, just above the trees.

Leon takes another slow drag before answering. “The quiet.”

You lean in towards him and smile brightly. “Oh, so people in town are right.”

“Don’t start,” he mutters.

“What’d you do before all this? Something dangerous? Something with guns?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” he finally says.

You grin. “You dodge all of them.”

A faint smile ghosts across his mouth before disappearing. Time seems to slow then. Even the breeze stills. Suddenly, the quiet feels different.

Leon notices the shift immediately. Your bare knee brushes his waist where he’s leaning against the fence. Neither of you moves.

You look at him. Really look. 

“You know,” you say softly. “People in town also say you don’t look twice at girls my age. But I don’t think they’re right about that.”

Leon turns away.

You keep your eyes on him, steady. “Are they?”

The question hangs between you like a rope in the wind. The cigarette between his fingers is slowly burning down to the filter. Leon slowly lifts his gaze, and his eyes flick to your mouth.

Your breath catches.

For a second, just a second, it looks like he might lean in. Like he might reach for you. Might tuck that strand of hair behind your ear.

Instead, Leon exhales and straightens, like he’s remembering something at the last possible moment.

Distance. He puts a bit of it between you.

“Gettin’ late,” he says quietly.

You blink. 

He crushes the cigarette against the fence post and flicks the filter into the grass. “You should head home.”

You watch him for a second, then sigh, hopping off the fence. “Alright, then. Goodnight, Leon.”

“‘Night.”

He doesn’t follow you down the path back to the road, but you can feel his eyes on you. Right before you reach the driveway, you glance back. 

Leon’s still standing there, against the fence. Arms crossed. Watching. After a moment, he runs a hand over the back of his neck and looks away.

You’re smiling the rest of the way home, because now you know something important.

Leon Kennedy wants you.

He just hasn’t let himself give in yet.

Two nights later

A summer storm rolls across town, so strong that it rattles your window frames. The lights in your kitchen flicker with each clap of thunder, then suddenly, they fizzle out.

You look up from the dress you’re mending. With a sigh, you get up to flick the light switch off, then on, then off again. Nothing. The power’s out.

Rain pounds against the window as you look across the street, at Leon’s house.  

You squint through the glass. Slowly, the lights in his house come back on, one by one.

A generator. Of course he has one.

Thunder rolls through the sky, louder this time, shaking the panes.

You glance down at yourself, then toward the door.

“Well,” you murmur.

You slip your shoes on and step outside into the rain without bothering to grab a jacket. By the time you cross the road, your hair is plastered to your neck and you’re soaked to the bone.

Leon’s door swings open on your second knock.

Warm yellow light spills out onto the porch, along with the faint hum of the generator running somewhere in the back of the house. Leon’s eyes drop immediately to the way your dress is clinging to your skin.

“Jesus,” he mutters.

Rainwater drips from your hair down onto the porch boards. You hug your arms around yourself, half real, half-performance. “Hi.”

Leon runs a hand over the back of his neck like he’s trying to decide whether to scold you or drag you inside.

Thunder cracks again, and you flinch. Somewhere far off, lightning splits the sky.

He sighs through his nose, stepping aside. “Get in here.”

His house smells like cedar and coffee and something warm and smoky. You kick your muddy shoes off by the door, then follow him into the living room.

“You walk over here like that?” he asks.

You give him a small, sheepish smile. “Well… my power went out. Thought the deer hunter might have a generator.”

Leon exhales slowly. “Right.”

Another rumble shakes the house.

Leon studies you for a second, then exhales sharply. “Stay there.”

He disappears down the hallway and comes back a minute later holding clothes. In his arms, there’s a towel, an old pair of sweatpants, and one of his flannels. He sets the bundle down on the couch.

You look down at the pile, then back at him. Then you slip your dress down your shoulders, bare skin catching the moonlight from the window.

His eyes widen, and he immediately steps back into the hallway, out of sight. “I’ll, uh, give you a minute.”

You smile to yourself and get changed.

The hallway stays quiet longer than a minute. Long enough that you think he might stay there for good. Then you hear footsteps sound against the floorboards.

Leon steps back into the room and stops in his tracks.

The flannel hangs loose on your shoulders, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. You’ve left the top three buttons undone, the sleeves swallowing your hands. The sweatpants are still where he left them on the couch, unworn.

“Pants didn’t fit?” he asks, raising a brow at you.

You shrug. His shirt slips slightly down one of your shoulders. “Didn’t feel like it.”

He drags a hand down his face, looking exhausted. “You’re gonna catch a cold,” he mutters. He gestures vaguely toward the hallway. “Bedroom’s down there. I’ll take the couch tonight.”

“Kicking me out already?”

“I’m not kicking you out,” he says, a little sharper than before. “I’m putting you somewhere warm so you stop standing in the middle of my living room looking like that.”

You blink, feigning innocence. “Looking like what?”

Leon’s jaw tightens. “Trouble.”

When you don’t move, he motions you over, insistent. “C’mon.”

You sigh and obey, footsteps quiet against the worn wooden floor.

At the very end of the hall, he pushes the door open, tilting his head toward the room.

You step halfway inside the doorway, closer than he expects. “You don’t really think I came here because of the storm, do you?”

He doesn’t answer you. He already knows the truth. “Just get inside,” he says quietly.

You take another step toward him instead, leaving no space between you. Your voice drops down to almost a whisper. “You knew what you were doing, giving me your clothes.”

His gaze hardens. “I gave you pants.”

You grin and open your mouth to respond, but suddenly, thunder cracks so loud it shakes the walls. You flinch, just slightly. Instinctively, your hand catches his arm. You don’t move, seeing how long he’ll let you stay.

Leon looks down at your hand, then back at your face.

“I walked through a thunderstorm to get here,” you murmur.

He pulls his wrist out of your grip, eyes narrowed. “That was a stupid thing to do.”

“You still let me in.”

His expression darkens. 

You step closer now, close enough now to see the faint lines etched in his forehead, the steel-blue of his eyes. “Leon,” you press.

He shakes his head. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

You scoff lightly. “You almost kissed me the other night.”

“That was a mistake."

“What was? That you almost did? Or that you didn’t?”

“You—” His hand catches the front of the shirt you’re wearing. His shirt. He pulls you closer. “You’ve been pushing me all summer,” he says through gritted teeth.

Your heart jumps under his fingers. “And?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

You lean in, just a little. “Then tell me to leave.”

He studies you for one long second. Rain hammers the roof. Wind whistles, howling through the fields outside. If you didn’t know better by now, you’d think he might actually tell you to go. But his hand tightens in the fabric of the flannel.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters.

You smile slightly. “You said that already.”

Leon exhales slowly, like he’s been holding the breath for months. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”

Then he pulls you the rest of the way against him and kisses you, hard. Like he’s been holding it back for months. 

Your back hits the wall, and you gasp softly into his mouth, taking his face in your hands. The kiss deepens, his stubble scraping roughly against your skin.

You pull away for air just as thunder shakes the house again. “I know you wish you had a girl like me when you were my age,” you say breathlessly, your forehead pressed against his.

The corner of Leon’s mouth curves upwards. “I wouldn’t have known what to do with you.”

His lips find your neck, and his hand drifts lower, down past the open front of your shirt, slipping beneath its hem. Where he expects to find cloth between your thighs, he finds bare skin instead, already slick with arousal.

He stills. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters under his breath.

You grin.

His head lifts slowly until his eyes meet yours. Sharp. Dark. Hungry. “On your knees.”

Your smile drops and your eyes widen. For once, you’re at a loss for words. Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

Leon lets out a short laugh that isn’t very amused. “You wanted this,” he says quietly. “You don’t get to look surprised now. Get on your knees.”

Cheeks flushed, your pulse pounds in your ears. Leon’s gaze doesn’t leave your face. He doesn’t repeat himself. He knows he doesn’t have to.

Slowly, you sink down onto the floor. The flannel falls open slightly as you move, revealing your chest. The wooden floor is cool against your knees.

Leon watches the entire time. His hand finds your chin, tilting your face upward so you’re forced to meet his eyes again, shadowed under the low light.

Lightning flashes, painting the room silver-white for a fleeting second.

His thumb brushes once across your bottom lip, slow and deliberate. “Look at you,” he murmurs. He shoves his jeans and boxers down in one motion.

You swallow hard, gaze on the length of him — thick, flushed, and already slick at the tip.

His hand fists in your hair, tilting your head back. “Open,” he says, low. No room for debate.

You find yourself again and smirk up at him. “Make me.”

Leon’s eyes narrow. Then he exhales, slow and controlled. “You really wanna test me right now?”

Before you can fire back, he presses his thumb hard against the corner of your mouth, forcing your jaw open. He slides in deep on the first push, past your tongue, straight to the back of your throat.

You gag hard, tears springing instantly. He holds you there, hips flush, letting your throat flutter around his cock. Your hands fly up, pushing at his thighs.

Immediately, he shoves them away.

You whimper around him, defiant even now, and try to pull back, moaning something muffled and bratty.

He suddenly eases back, giving you the chance to drag in a ragged breath, air burning through your lungs. When you look up at him again, his free hand gives you a single, sharp tap to the cheek. Open palm, just enough to make your skin smart. You gasp sharply, surprised.

“Behave,” he warns, voice gravel-rough. “Or next time, it’s harder. And I stop.”

The threat lands heavy, and you go still and nod, pulse hammering.

Slowly, you take him in again, inch by inch, tasting the salt and heat on his skin. A low hiss escapes through his teeth when your tongue swirls tentatively around the underside.

“‘Atta girl,” he murmurs. His thumb strokes over the spot he just tapped, soothing the sting. “See? Wasn’t so hard.”

Thunder rolls again, shaking the house. You feel it in your knees, in the way the floor vibrates faintly. 

His grip tightens in your hair, and he starts moving, slowly at first, then faster. Spit slicks your chin, dripping messily onto your chest.

“Fuck—good. Just like that,” he mutters. He sets a punishing rhythm, deep and relentless. “Been thinking about this pretty mouth since June.” 

The praise lands like a spark, and you moan around him. Heat pools low in your belly when he groans raggedly. His hips cant forward, thrusts shallow and controlled, and you meet them, hollowing your cheeks on the pull-back, tongue pressing flat on the way down.

One of his hands drops from your hair to cup your jaw, thumb tracing where your lips seal around him. The other braces on the wall above your head, like he’s trying to keep from losing himself too fast.

Leon’s breathing turns rougher. He slides back in deep, holding you there until your nose presses against coarse hair. Your throat convulses, fresh tears spilling over. He holds you pinned, letting you struggle for air just long enough that your lungs burn, then falls back into rhythm. 

You press your thighs together when you hear him try to hold back a moan, an ache building between your legs.

Finally, he tenses, hips stuttering. “Gonna come,” he grits, voice strained. “You’re gonna swallow it all. Understand?”

Your hand answers for you, twisting at the base of his cock, reaching what your mouth can’t.

Leon curses under his breath, mutters something that sounds like your name. Then he’s pulsing, hot and thick down your throat. You take every last drop like you were told, gasping when he pulls out.

He hauls you up, hands under your arms, pressing you against the wall. His mouth finds yours, kissing you deep, tasting himself without hesitation.

You soften beneath him, boneless and buzzing, a strange warmth radiating through your chest. Leon doesn’t let the moment linger. He flips you toward the bedroom door, one hand fisted in the back of the flannel like a leash, steering you ahead of him.

Warm lamplight from the bedside table washes over the room. It’s simple, lived-in, smelling faintly of cedar and of him. The bed is unmade, sheets rumpled from earlier sleep he clearly didn’t finish. The storm hasn’t tired itself out a single bit. Rain lashes against the window, falling in sheets.

Leon lets go of the flannel, stepping back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, his breath heavy with want.

“Strip it off,” he says. His voice is low, steady in a way that makes your stomach flip. “Everything. Then get on the bed. On your back. Legs apart.”

You turn to face him fully, heart slamming against your ribs. You fight the urge to mouth off, holding his gaze while your fingers work the remaining buttons loose. Fabric slips from your shoulders, pooling on the floor. Naked now, skin prickling in the cool air, you feel every inch of his stare like a physical touch.

You retreat toward the bed, never breaking eye contact, until your calves hit the mattress. Then you crawl backward onto it, slow and deliberate, making sure he sees every movement.

When you settle on your back, legs falling open, you prop yourself on your elbows and give him the sweetest smile. “Your turn, old man.”

Leon’s mouth curves at your teasing, small, dangerous, and unimpressed. He shrugs out of his jacket, lets it drop. Then his shirt, revealing the scars you’ve glimpsed in passing — one on his chest, one across his ribs, another low on his abdomen. 

He climbs onto the bed, knees bracketing your hips, caging you in. One hand plants itself beside your head, and the other slides up your inner thigh, brushing so close to where you’re aching that you twitch.

“You wanna keep being a brat?” he asks, eyes locked on yours. “Or are you gonna let me get my mouth on you?”

Your breath hitches. You reach up, fingers brushing the stubble along his jaw. 

“Both,” you say.

He huffs an almost-laugh, low and rough, then he lowers himself between your legs, broad shoulders forcing your thighs wider. He hooks his arms under your knees, pulling you closer to him, then his thumbs spread you apart slowly, deliberately, exposing everything.

“Fuck,” he mutters. You’re soaked, glistening in the lamplight. “Look at this mess. All from sucking me off?”

You try to close your thighs, a little playful instinct, but he pins them down to the bed.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says, low and final. “You stay open for me.”

No more warnings. His mouth descends.

Leon licks a slow, flat stripe from entrance to clit, tasting you like he’s been starving. The first contact rips a gasp from your throat, you back arching off the mattress. He doesn’t let you go far — his hands keep you exactly where he wants you while his tongue works.

He sucks lightly, pulling your clit into his mouth. The tip of his tongue flicks over it in quick, relentless strokes.

“Leon,” you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair.

He hums against you when your grip tightens, the vibration shooting straight to your core. Two fingers easily slide in, curling immediately to that spot that makes your vision blur. Then a third, stretching you, pumping steady.

He pulls his mouth off with a wet pop. You groan softly at the loss.

“Anyone ever done this to you?” he asks, fingers moving faster. It’s almost cruel, how good it feels.

“N-no one who knew what they were doing,” you manage.

His thumb circles your clit, and you feel your thighs start to tremble. You moan desperately, hips chasing his touch. You’re close already. Too close.

Leon feels it, slowing his pace. He replaces his thumb with his tongue, pressure just enough to torture, but not enough to push you over the edge.

You whine, high and frustrated. “Leon, please—”

He dives back in, tongue flicking faster, fingers pumping in time, building you right back up. Your breath hitches as he hits just the right spot, your grip tightening in his hair as he brings you to the brink again.

“Fuck, yes, like that,” you gasp. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop, let me—”

Leon doesn’t listen. He stops anyway. Pulls his mouth away. Slows his fingers to shallow, teasing strokes.

You sob, writhing against him, hips bucking uselessly against his hold. “Fuck, I was so close.”

He bites the inside of your thigh, then soothes it with a slow lick. “That’s the point.”

He does it twice more, building you up with ruthless precision, tongue and fingers working until you’re shaking, begging, right on the razor’s edge. By the third time he denies you, you’re a wreck, tears streaking your cheeks, voice hoarse from pleading.

“Leon, I can’t—please—I-I need to come—”

He crawls up your body, settling between your legs. His cock is hard and heavy against your inner thigh, slick from how worked up he is watching you unravel.

“You don’t come on my fingers. Or my tongue,” he says quietly, nose brushing your jaw as he presses a line of kisses to your neck. “You come on my cock.”

You take a sharp breath, the ache in your core only growing as his hand comes down to squeeze your breast.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he murmurs into your skin. “Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Promise?”

He doesn’t answer. He presses a kiss to your cheek like an apology before burying himself inside you to the hilt.

The stretch is immediate and overwhelming, filling you so completely your breath stutters. You can’t help the broken moan that spills out, still oversensitive from the edging.

Leon stills for just a heartbeat, his cock throbbing inside you, letting you feel every inch of him, every pulse. Then he starts moving. Slow, deep rolls of his hips at first that make him catch on that spot inside you over and over.

You gasp his name, nails digging into his shoulders.

He presses his face into your neck, leaving long, languid kisses. He soothes each bruise he sucks into your skin with his tongue, hitting you with deep strokes that make your vision blur. 

You can’t stay quiet, feeling yourself grow slicker by the second. “Faster,” you say, voice wrecked but still edged with a smirk. 

“So fucking needy,” he mutters.

His hand moves to your neck, but doesn’t squeeze just yet. A dizzy rush of heat floods to your core, and you shift into his grip, pressing your throat harder into his palm.

Leon’s hips snap into yours, faster now, like you asked for. Every roll hits exactly where you need it, pressure building fast and hot.

You moan, your legs trembling around his waist. “Leon—right there—don’t stop—”

He shifts, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder, folding you open wider. The new angle changes everything, too much, too good, too fast, and you can’t stop the noises spilling out of you.

“That’s it,” he praises, “Takin’ me so fuckin’ well.”

Each thrust jolts you up the mattress. His thumb rests lightly over your pulse, feeling it flutter.

You hold his gaze, half-lidded eyes on his. “Harder,” you pant, arching up into him. He grunts softly at the sensation, and you grin. “Thought you were gonna ruin me.”

His jaw ticks, his grip on your throat tightening. It’s just enough to cut your air a fraction, to make your head spin. His cock twitches hard inside you when you reach for his arm.

“You really wanna talk?” he asks, low and lethal. He pulls out almost completely, letting you clench around nothing, then bottoms out with a wet slap that jolts your whole body. “After I already edged you to tears once?”

He doesn’t let you answer. His hips snap forward again , the angle brutal with your leg over his shoulder. You cry out, half moan, half sob, the tightness around your throat making every sound sharper, more desperate.

You try to speak again, air thin. “Harder—make me—make me—”

His fingers tighten further, thumb pressing harder on your pulse, cutting your words off mid-sentence. Your vision spots for a second, and you clench around him in response. You feel Leon throb again inside you, like the control turns him on just as much as it does you.

He leans down, lips brushing your ear. “Keep going,” he dares you. “See how long that mouth lasts before I shut it for you.”

You don’t back down. With the tears drying on your face, with barely any air, you push anyway. “Shut… me… up,” you manage. “Want you to… make me… count… every thrust… like a good girl… or can’t you handle… one more word from me?”

Leon stills. “S’that right?” 

In one rough motion, he pulls out and flips you suddenly, onto your stomach, yanking your hips up so you’re on your knees, ass high, face pressed to the pillow. Your hands scrabble for something to hang onto as you gasp for air. His hips snap forward with enough force to jolt you forward on the mattress.

“You wanna count?” He takes a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back, arching your spine and exposing your throat. “Then fucking count.”

You try to sass, opening your mouth for another taunt, but his hand lets go of your hair to crack against your ass, sharp and stinging. He gives you a sudden, brutal thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. 

“One,” he orders, voice sharp. “Say it.”

Your hands fist the sheets. Your breath trembles as it leaves you. “One—” you repeat.

He grabs your arms, pinning them behind your back, and slams in again.

“Two—”

Again.

“Three—fuck—Leon—”

When you falter on four, too overwhelmed, he stops and leans down. “Missed one,” he murmurs against your ear. “Start over.”

You whimper, half in protest, half in desperate need, but you obey when he starts again.

“One—”

“Good.” He rewards you with another hard snap forward.

“Two—”

Leon keeps the slow, punishing rhythm as you keep going. When you hesitate again at seven, he pauses, still buried deep, and grinds against you in a slow circle that makes you sob.

“Don’t stop ’til I say,” he grits out. “Start over.”

Saying the numbers out loud only makes it worse. Each one forces you to feel every inch, every slap of skin, every time he bottoms out. The humiliation burns hot in your core, making you clench harder, slicker, more desperate.

By the time you reach ten, your body’s shaking, tears soaking the pillow, walls fluttering wildly around him with every counted thrust. By fifteen, you’re begging between numbers, voice hoarse and desperate. By twenty, you’re a trembling mess, so close to the edge that you can taste it.

You’re barely holding on. Every breath you take feels like it’s being torn out of you, every thrust driving you higher, but Leon still hasn’t let you fall.

“Please—” you cry, voice cracking on the word. “Leon—please—let me come—I can’t—count anymore—please—”

He stills for half a second, buried deep, cock throbbing inside you. “Fine—you’re done,” he says, letting go of your arms.

Leon leans down, speaks low against your neck. “You did good. Real good. Now come for me. I’ve got you.”

You sob in relief, a fresh wave of slickness coating him at the praise.

He speeds up, hips snapping against yours faster, harder, chasing the end for you both. His hand slides around to your clit, rubbing it in rough circles. 

You climb fast, embarrassingly so, because he’s kept you right on the edge for so long that every thrust feels like lightning. 

“Leon—”

“Come,” he orders, voice strained. “Now.”

You shatter, pulsing hard around him in waves. He fucks you through it, relentless, keeping the rhythm steady until you’re sobbing, completely undone, begging for mercy and more at the same time.

He follows right after, his grip on your hips tight enough to bruise. A choked groan escapes him as he finishes, filling you in hot, thick pulses.

Leon stays buried inside you for a long minute, hips locked flush against yours, breath hard and ragged against the back of your neck.  Slowly, he eases out. You wince at the sudden emptiness, pressing your thighs together.

“Easy,” Leon mutters. With one hand, he flips you gently onto your side to face him.

You’re still catching your breath, cheek pressed to the pillow, hair sticking to your face. Everything feels warm and heavy and a little overwhelming.

“Fucked you up good,” he says quietly, almost to himself. He tucks your hair behind your ear, then his hands move to your wrists, rubbing where he pinned them, then down to your hips, over the fingerprints he left. “Still with me?”

Your eyes are still glassy, but you grin anyway. “Barely,” you reply.

He huffs a quiet laugh, tension leaving his shoulders. For a moment, he just studies your face, making sure. Then his thumb brushes gently along your jaw.

“Too rough?” 

You shake your head, shifting closer and wrapping your arms around him. “No. Perfect.”

He takes you in like it’s second nature and presses a kiss to your temple. “Good.”

For a while, neither of you says anything. His hand moves slowly up and down your back, fingers catching slightly in your hair, untangling it. The rhythm is steady. Thoughtless. Like one day, this could be familiar.

You tilt your head up slightly, studying him. The sharpness from earlier is gone. What’s left is quieter. He looks tired, almost. Like something in him finally gave out.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask softly. Your fingers trace the faint silver at his temples, then down the lines at the corners of his eyes.

His brow furrows. “Nothin’ you need to worry about.”

You don’t press at first. Your fingers slide down to the faint scar along his cheek, then lower, tracing the one on the side of his neck you’ve only ever glimpsed in passing. It’s raised and pale, but looks newer than the others. You follow it with your fingertips, slow and careful.

He tenses under your touch, just a fraction, but he doesn’t pull away.

“You’ve got a lot of these,” you remark, gentle.

Leon exhales through his nose. His hand stills on your back. “Yeah. I do.”

You press your palm flat over the one on his chest. “You ever gonna tell me where they came from?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “Most of ‘em are old.”

You tuck yourself closer to him, cheek against his chest. “It matters to me.”

He’s quiet for a long while. His hand resumes its slow path up and down your spine, but it’s heavier now, like he’s thinking too hard.

“I’m not a good bet,” he says finally. “I’ve seen shit most people never will. Done shit most people shouldn’t. I wake up some nights and still smell smoke. I’m not… clean. I’m not easy.”

His gaze doesn’t quite meet yours, but you lift your head enough to catch it. His expression softens, just slightly.

“You’re young,” he murmurs, his finger brushing your cheek. “You’re bright. You’ve got time. You could have someone who hasn’t been through hell and come out the other side half-broken. Someone who doesn’t carry ghosts.”

“I don’t want that,” you say simply.

He looks at you, really looks, like he’s waiting for the catch.

“I want you, Leon. I want shooting lessons in your backyard. I want you to fix my sink when it starts leaking again. I want the mess and the scars and the stories that go with them, when you’re ready. I want all of it.”

He exhales, and the room feels lighter, somehow. His arms lock around you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splayed wide across your lower back. The storm outside eases into steady rain, the kind that soothes the fields instead of tearing them apart.

“Stay, then,” he says. It’s not a command this time. It’s quieter than that. 

You glance up at him, searching his face.

“You’re really asking?” you tease gently. 

His mouth twitches. “Yeah. Long as you want.”

You give him a grin like trouble. “You’re sure? ‘Long as I want’ might be forever.”

You ended having to help him walk the rest of the way back to your scouted house. You shouldered the responsibility without question, of course.

He was your partner of nearly six years, ordinarily your closest friend, and in all, someone you loved intensely.

But you were still on edge.

Each snap of a twig sent your head on a swivel. Each time Leon’s boot caught a rogue tree root, you’d choke on your own breath.

Luis would call back to the both of you occasionally. You still weren’t entirely sure if it was an act of sincerity, of checking in, or if he was prodding for an escape.

But really it didn’t matter. Luis was the last of your problems.

Leon was sweating like crazy. It practically poured from his hair line. When you first noticed, you also saw the way his eyes threatened to roll back.

“Hey, hey, hey.” You were quick to tap his cheek. “Hey, don’t do that, okay? You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Leon’s mangled groan made you wince.

“Just a few more feet. Just a few more feet then you can lie down, okay?”

Part of you expected him to collapse right there.

He didn’t—thankfully—but he was still sweating, he was still pale, and he was starting to look like death.

“Come on, Leon, just a little more,” you mumbled.

Suddenly, the man in question was burying his face into your hair. You felt the bridge of his nose scale the tip of your ear, and the curve of your skull.

“Leon—“

“You smell good. …‘S so unfair.”

You were struggling to hold him up at that point. “Leon, honey—please, work with me here.”

It wasn’t until you were standing on the back porch of the house, that Luis finally decided to help you out.

You had watched, rather helplessly, as Luis carried Leon to the far back room. You didn’t have the heart to follow either of them in. You just sat out on that porch for an hour or so, frozen, with tears in your eyes.

That was last night.

Now, as the dawning sun began to crest over the horizon, you were terrified of what would come next.

“What did they do to him?”

You look to your right, at the slumped over man. Luis had woken up only moments earlier, having yet to rub away the sleep from his eyes.

“¿Cómo?”

You huff. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Ah. Las plagas,” Luis yawns.

“What?”

Luis stands up and stretches. Faintly, you hear the popping of joints. The man then follows your stare to the door in front of you.

Turning back to you, he lets out another yawn. “It’s a…a virus. Some kind of disease that’s meant to make you do whatever they want.”

Just when you’re about to interrogate him further, you hear a loud groan echo from the room. Immediately, you sit up, while Luis shifts nervously on his feet.

When the quiet returns, you clear your throat. “Luis, I need you to be honest with me right now…”

Luis has slunk back to the wall. His eyes narrow on you for a moment before quickly looking away.

“Is Leon going to be okay?”

Luis sniffles. He wipes at his nose while looking down at his feet. “…Eventually, if we get our hands on my cure.”

“But not now,” you confirm.

The man shrugs. “It’s different for everybody. There’s really no telling how he’ll react.”

More noises come from behind the closed door then. One in particular makes your blood run cold.

It’s fairly muffled, but you’re still able to pick up on what sounds like the whine of an injured dog.

Then there’s a bang. A loud, abrupt thud to the door itself.

Your body works faster than your brain, legs carrying you to the door before you could even think twice.

Luis though is closer to the door than you are. Stepping in front of you, he raises his arm to block you. When you step forward anyway, Luis pushes back. “Stay put.”

You almost bite back. Almost.

Of all people, it isn’t Luis’ place to tell you what to fucking do, and it sure as hell isn’t his job to protect you against your partner. But for once, you opt to bite your tongue and listen.

Slowly, Luis pries open the door.

You try to look over his shoulder, but Luis is quick. Quick to slip into the room and close the door. Quick enough to know he should hold onto the doorknob so that you couldn’t open it.

“Luis.” You try the handle again, to no avail.

Still no response.

But you do hear voices.

There’s the melodic, almost spindly voice of Luis. It’s much louder and more pronounced, a little distracting as you try to listen closer. Eventually you hear a hushed tone—Leon’s. His voice is dull, imperceptible even, until it turns into sharp groans.

“Luis!”

The door suddenly pops open, and Luis slips back through before closing it again.

“Luis, what the fuck is going on? You better start talking or I swear—“

The man pushes past you, crossing the small kitchen to the back door.

You stare at him in disbelief and in restraint.

“Luis—“

“Señora, relax.” With an open palm he gestures vaguely to the closed door. “Your boyfriend is going to be alright. He just has the ‘fever’.”

Your mind blanks, tongue preemptively tying itself up in knots. “Boyf—what? No, Leon is not my boyfriend.”

Luis laughs, almost maniacally. “That’s what you’re focused on?” If you weren’t so stunned, you probably would’ve pummelled him into the floorboard.

You roll your shoulders and strain as if it’ll completely reset the conversation. “Luis, what do you mean by ‘fever’? …Is-is Leon going to…”

“Oh, no, no. Not from this, at least.”

Another pained sound echoes. Your fingers twitch at your side.

“So, it’s like the flu? Leon’s just sick?”

Luis shakes his head, and you deflate a little. “The ‘fever’ is just what we call it. Mainly refers to…to the increased body temperature, the…” he abandons the thought with a smirk. “It won’t kill him, but it’ll feel like hell for the next few hours if he doesn’t take care of it.”

You mull over his words carefully. “Okay, so, how do we take care of it then?”

“Love and attention—that’s the only way to fix it.” Luis then steps onto the porch, shooting you one last look over his shoulder. “I’m going to find us all something to eat. I should be back in a few hours.”

And with that he’s gone, off to god-knows-where.

Though, at the moment, that hardly matters. Because with Luis gone, you’re free to look after him.

As softly as you could manage, you knock on the door. “Leon.” Silence. “Leon, are you okay?”

This time, there’s a reply. It comes out choked and sounds a lot like a version of your name.

The door creaks on its hinges as you force it open. Instantly, you’re hit with stale air, and dust, and the harrowing sight of Leon curling in on himself.

“Leon…?”

A mop of mussed-up blonde hair slowly rises from the floor. Through the fallen strands, you find a familiar pair of eyes. In a way, he looked much more alive than he did yesterday. But your relief was only momentary. It didn’t take long to notice the web of black veins mapping out his face.

Leon groans again, flopping forward and on his side.

Despite how sick you felt, you made your way to him anyway. With a careful hand, you reach for his face.

The second the tips of your fingers graze his cheek, Leon flinches. He sits up quickly, backing into the wall, with his eyes closed and his teeth clamped down on his lip.

“Don’t-don’t touch me, please.” Hesitantly, you let your hand fall back into your lap.

You take a moment to regain your composure. “Luis says that you’re gonna be okay. Eventually. Um…apparently this is just—“

“A fever,” Leon mumbles. “Yeah, he told me.”

You nod, mainly to yourself.

At his request, you keep your distance, but you can’t help your wandering eyes.

There’s an arm strewn tightly across his stomach, holding onto his shirt like a lifeline. At his side, his other hand flexes. His knees are bent, pressed close to the rest of him as he continues to shrink in on himself.

You shift uncomfortably.

“Is there anything I can do?” Leon shakes his head. With a frown, you inch toward him. “Leon—“

“Please,” Leon groans your name. “I just need to wait it out. Just-I’ll be okay. Just please leave.”

“You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here for you, okay? Please, Leon, just let me help.”

Whatever you were maybe expecting to come next, it certainly wasn’t the sight before you.

Leon’s limbs unfurl as he tries for a new position to wilt into. And there, right between his splayed legs, you see a pronounced bulge. So stiff, it looks painful.

You don’t notice Leon’s eyes open, or how they find you: frozen, eyes wide and fixed on his erection.

You gape like a fish. “Leon…”

The man in question immediately shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I-I’m so sorry, this…” he looks up to ceiling, blinking and worrying his lip. His chest expands with a shake. “Luis said that…that this was normal. Sort of. That it’s just the virus reacting to me.” He forces a laugh. “Just my luck, right?”

Your thighs press together on their accord, and for the first time since you rescued him, you force yourself to look away. A certain kind of heat has started to creep up your neck.

Here’s your partner confiding in you about the incredible pain he’s experiencing and all you can focus on is the size of him.

You feel horrible. Gross. Perverted.

You then hear Luis words in your head like some sick call-and-response: “love and attention—that’s how you fix it.”

The words, and their premonitory meaning, finally settle within you. They pull on your lungs, and the cavity behind your ribs.

With the sharp press of your nails to your palm, you take a breath and ignore the flutter in the pit of your stomach.

“Leon…” The man sighs again. Carefully, you inch closer to him. “Luis told me how we can make you feel better.”

He grits his teeth. “I know. He told me that, too.”

You swallow hard. “Leon, I…if you want, I can help you.”

He gulps and shakes his head. “I can’t ask that of you.”

“You wouldn’t be,” you say. “I’m offering, Leon. You’re my partner, a-and this is what we do—we help each other.”

Leon sits up a bit more, facing you almost directly. “I can’t ask this of you because this isn’t how I wanted it to go.”

“Well, obviously,” you almost laugh. “This isn’t, you know, an ideal situation—“

“No.”

That single word sends a rush of blood down to your cunt. You try to be subtle when you shift, not wanting to draw attention to yourself.

“When I…when I was going to tell you about how I feel…about you, I wanted it to be—I don’t know—romantic? Definitely not like this.” He chuckles around the words like they’re a loose canon in his mouth. And perhaps they are.

His eyes flicker with something unknown—something wilder and unkempt.

It makes you want to take a risk.

“Leon, I want to help. I wanna make you feel better…” the words die in your throat, but you know he understands. “But I need you to be sure.”

Of this, you mean. Of me.

Leon doesn’t say anything for a moment. Instead he just stares. His eyes trail over your face, they drag down your body, then back up to your mouth. His chest heaves. On his thigh, his hand is balled into a fist, white-knuckling the fabric.

Whatever little composure he had been holding onto unravels then.

“Fuck, —, I need you. I need you more than anything. …And that’s not the disease talking, either. I want you all the time.”

When you touch him, he flinches again. Except this time he doesn’t retreat.

Rather, he melts. He melts and molds and he pushes his cheek into your palm with his eyes screwed shut. He hums, and you feel its vibration throughout every part of you.

It’s a shock to your system that makes you clench around nothing.

You remember then to pace yourself. You both have time.

Moving your hands to his face, you start to inspect him. “Shit, you’re burning up, Leon.”

“Mhm, just—agh—just my love for you.” Another cramp rolls through him, but he manages to still offer a smile. For you.

“I think that might be the disease talking,” you tease before pressing your mouth to his.

Leon immediately whines. Upright on his knees, he leans over you, hands sliding up your bare arms, over your shoulders and settling on the junction of your jaw. He pushes forward with the kiss, nearly knocking you backward.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He’s sheepish now, all rosy-cheeked and doe-eyed, much like how he was when you first met some years ago. You smile into the kiss, keeping still while he chases your lips.

He’s incessant with it. He’s all tongue and teeth, already panting into you. You let him have his way, until he breaks free and starts to mouth at your pulse.

“Leon,” you sigh. “Leon, stop.”

With a firm hand to his chest, you try to hold him still, to get him to look at you. His bruised lips are wet—spit-covered and plump. He blinks quickly at you, like the refocusing of a camera lens.

“It’s not about me, Leon. This is about you. About making you feel good.”

You sit up to meet him, carding your fingers through his hair. With the new angle, you start your assault on his neck. You don’t really kiss him—moreso just drag your lips against the thick cords of his neck. When you reach the spot just below his ear, he huffs and nearly sinks back to the ground. Ever the observant one, you choose to suck at the skin there.

“Baby—“

His hands—erratic and hot-to-the-touch—grab onto whatever they can. Your shoulders, your waist. It’s as if he can’t makeup his mind. It’s only when you slightly stumble into his lap, when he grabs onto the beltloop of your pants to stabilize you both, does he finally settle. With one hand curving around the meat of your hip, another reaches up beneath the loose fabric of your shirt, until he’s lifting your breast out of the cup of your bra and palming it.

He’s spurred on by your sighs. The sound, which makes his cock twitch, has him further kneading the flesh and kissing the top of your head. Your mouth moves down to his collarbone, exploring, tasting, and learning every inch of his skin.

“Fuck, —.” His breath is hot on your scalp. “Shit, you’re—fuck—you’re something.”

You take the chance then to start working away at his clothes. Nimble fingers make quick work of his shirt, untucking it from his pants and lifting it up and over his head.

Gently, you rake your nails across his skin. You just can’t help but touch him. Everything from the swell of his shoulders and biceps, to the soft lines of muscle along his lower abdomen.

As you move lower, Leon’s grip on your body tightens.

Against your lower stomach, you feel the hard press of his bulge—over and over again. He holds you in place while he searches for friction. Into your shoulder, he groans.

“Fuck, baby. Shit, I’m sorry. I-I needa—“

Climbing onto his lap, you grab his waist and push his hips into yours. “‘S okay. It’s okay, honey, just let go.”

Almost immediately, Leon comes. The whole thing is over quickly, with hardly any recovery time on his part—an effect, you assume, of the ‘fever’.

He stays close to you; grinding and squeezing, panting into the side of your face. “Please, —.”

You lean back as much as Leon’s frenzied hands will let you, until you’re able to snake your hands down to his belt. Once the buckle is undone, you’re tugging down the zipper. Leon lifts his hips for you as you remove his pants and the stained fabric of his boxers. “Leon,” you kiss him again. “Lay down for me, honey.”

He does as you ask—almost embarrassingly fast.

Shuffling down his body, you come face-to-face with his cock. He’s so very hard, leaking and flushed an angry red.

Sitting comfortably on his thighs, you roll your shoulders back and find Leon’s eyes. Instinctively, you reach to slick his hair back off of his forehead. You want to see all of him. Selfishly, you need to see him fall apart. Leon takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together and mouthing at your knuckles.

“You’re sure about this?”

Leon nods quickly. “Need you. How-however you want, please, just, fuck, please.”

With your other free hand, you stroke his hip—at the indent that runs along his pelvis and down to the tuft of hair trailing to his base.

That’s how you start with him. Experimental.

It doesn’t take long for Leon to start bucking up into your closed fist. You spit, and with a slow, purposeful pump, spread your saliva all over his cock. One particular tug has his head falling back to the floor. The valley of his chest on full display, falling quickly as you continue to work him.

Leon comes again with a low whine. The sound has your head spinning, and slick pooling between your thighs.

While Leon comes to, you quickly discard of whatever clothes you had left on, chucking them to the corner across the room.

“You’re so beautiful,” Leon says wistfully.

Despite having just jerked him off, his words are what turn you shy. Averting your gaze, you focus on lowering yourself back into his lap.

“I mean it.” Leon sits up, hands snaking behind your back. He pulls you to him and mouths at your chest. “You’re gorgeous.”

In a moment of clarity, you grow curious, and press the back of your hand to his forehead.

“You’re still super hot, baby.”

Leon bites at the side of your breast. “I’m glad you think so.”

Your groan isn’t the sexy kind. “That’s not what I meant.”

Between your breasts, Leon looks up at you. “I know. Think I have an idea about what could help though.”

You kiss him deeply. With one hand you tug on his hair, exposing more of himself to you, and with the other you take a hold of his cock and start to drag it between your folds.

Leon whimpers—fucking whimpers—and ducks his head to look down to where your bodies meet.

He steadies himself as he lines up with your entrance. You hold your breath as his head catches against your walls, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated inside you.

Leon shakes beneath you. Knowing, but breathless, you simply give him a nod before you start to move.

With your knees to the floor, bracketing his hips, and his already-convulsing body, you slowly lift your hips, up and forward, then all the way back down until his pelvis is flush against yours.

Your hips roll, over and over, testing the waters—the speed, the angle—until finally, with your back slightly arched, you feel him notch deliciously against the spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

This time you’re the one panting. Breaths that only become more ragged as you chase the feeling.

At that point, Leon was practically apart of you. Combined sweat glued you to each other; the firm grip of his hands nothing more than an aid for your hips, and a lifeline for him.

A tangible, tactile reminder that you weren’t a hallucination. You were very much real, and you were very much there.

There with him, making the prettiest sounds he’s ever fucking heard.

Leon tried to speak—he wanted to. He needed to tell you again just how beautiful you were. How pretty your pussy was, how much he appreciated you, loved you, how he was convinced you were made for him.

But he couldn’t.

The disease had already made his mind a little fuzzy, but you had completely melted it to nothing. All that existed was the feeling of you.

Wrapping both arms around your waist, Leon continued to mouth at your chest. He felt his hips start to move on their own—a little absently, mind you—and you reacted instantly.

You let out a cry, and held on tighter to the broad expanse of Leon’s shoulders. Taking the opportunity, he started to fuck up into you with short, rapid thrusts.

“You feel so-fuck. You’re so good for me. So, so good for me.”

The sound of his thighs meeting your ass, your gasps and his moans, had consumed all of the air in that little cabin.

You were starting to lose control—both of you were—as the coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter. No longer were you focused on maintaining a rhythm. As your legs began to give out, Leon sat you down onto him as far as he could, before lying back down. With you caged to his chest, he planted his feet and began to pistol into you.

“Umphf! Leo-oh, fuck.”

Your jaw had fallen slack against his shoulder, eyes glazing over. Your heart hammered in time with the weeping throb of his cock.

Leon held his open-mouth to the side of your face. “Need you to come for me, baby. Wanna feel you cum on my cock. Please. Please, need to feel you.”

Each plea of his was accentuated with a breathy whine to the shell of your ear—a promise only for you.

That alone was enough to send you over the edge.

The coil had snapped, leaving you to shudder helplessly against him. With your senses completely shot, you weren’t sure when exactly Leon announced his third and final orgasm of the night.

You only knew it happened really when the space between your hips grew wonderfully warm. Leon had slowed to a stop, too—completely spent, and heaving.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as the inky veins along his cheek slowly began to lighten. Some of them even had completely disappeared.

You knew deep down he wasn’t cured for good—that was still another bridge you’d have to cross.

Someday, but not right now.

“It’s not a big deal. Okay? I-I didn’t even—“

He cuts you off by attaching himself back to your mound. Slowly, with an open mouth and a curious tongue, he makes out with your pussy. You remind yourself to breathe the more he explores.

“Might not be a big deal to you, but it is to me,” he growls.

Leon has you caged between him and the crate he laid you out on only moments earlier. He uses his upper body to his advantage: firm hands travel across whatever skin he had freed; large arms keep your thighs locked around his head; and his shoulders took on more weight so that he could hold you down.

With a glance around the room—the only movement you’re allowed, unless you want him to stop entirely—you’re able to see the evidence of your take down.

The door, which led to a sleeping Ashley and Luis just a couple feet beyond, had been tightly shut. Leon had locked the rusted iron hinge, though you didn’t really know how much you could trust it, considering it was a flimsy thing—worn down with age to the point you could likely pluck it straight out of the wood.

Then there were Leon’s gloves—laid neatly out on a smaller crate right next to your crumpled up pants and underwear, still together after having been removed with one determined swoop.

His gloves had been the first to come off. The second he got you alone, he was tugging them off. Your pants had taken a bit longer after that, but certainly not for a lack of Leon trying.

You had tried to resist him. Really. It wasn’t the time or the place to be doing this—doing anything that wasn’t finding a way out of that decrepit basement. You’d told him that too. Reminded him of responsibilities and circumstance.

But as Leon had pointed out, you apparently brought this on yourself.

All because you fucking laughed.

When the four of you had first got to the cellar, it was dark and dank and you had to pretty much feel your way through. Until Luis with his pocket lighter found a few lanterns scattered about. He lit them all, and with a lopsided grin said, “let’s see if this lightens the mood”.

Sure, it was dumb. The kind of dumb you’d normally roll your eyes at or disregard completely.

But you were tired. You’d been on your feet for nearly twelve hours, you were starving and ornery, and you reeked of sweat and damp earth.

So when Luis looked to the rest of you for approval, you couldn’t help but laugh. A genuine, full-bodied laugh.

Perhaps it was because no one else had, or maybe there was already salt in a wound you just didn’t know about. For whatever the reason, when your eyes found Leon’s moments later, you weren’t met with soft relief or the laziness of mutual exhaustion.

Fixed on both you and Luis was an intensity you hadn’t really seen before.

Not during any mission. Not even when Leon lay burning up beneath you.

You hadn’t given it much thought at the time. But now as you lie beneath him—with his tongue prodding your entrance and his nose firm to your clit—that’s all you can think about.

Especially since that intensity returned tenfold, with Leon watching you from his spot between your legs.

Your hips fail you again, flinching on their own accord just because you looked at him.

Immediately you whine, shaking your head as you rush through apologies. Anything so that he could keep keying you higher.

Unfortunately, Leon was quicker than you.

With the back of his hand he wipes at his mouth, spreading your slick all over the faint stubble that had started to grow along his jaw.

“Leon, fuck, I’m sorry.”

Your hips still keep bucking into the air—desperate for whatever friction you can hold onto that will throw you over that ledge. “Leon…”

“Poor baby,” he murmurs. “Bet you wanna come, huh? Bet it would feel so, so good.”

You nod along and you know it’s exaggerated. You know you look as wrecked as you feel.

“Please, please, I wanna come.”

At first, you think (or at least hope) he would put you out of your misery, bury his face back into you and finish what he started. But then he stands up.

He towers over your sprawled-out body, shoulders loose and chest heaving. There’s an orange glow cast over him—it catches the creases of his shirt and the curve of his bicep. Faintly, you also trace the outline of his growing erection.

He looks beautiful. So unbelievably sexy, it’s honestly painful.

Swallowing hard, you sit up on your arms. “Want you,” you purr.

You try batting your eyes and rolling your hips, too. Anything to entice him to go back to what he was doing or to just fuck you already.

Leon’s eyes are dark as they rake over your half-nude body. “Want you in me, Leon. Now. Please.”

His jaw stiffens, and just when you think you’ve broken him, he’s turning away. You scramble to sit up fully. When he turns back to face you, you see that he’s looping his fingers through your underwear.

“Lift your legs.”

You shake your head. “No, no, c’mon—“

Annoyed, Leon hooks an arm beneath your ankles and lifts them for you. Midair, he begins pulling your underwear up your legs.

“Fuck you,” you groan.

“You’re lucky I love that mouth, baby,” Leon mumbles, letting go of the fabric with a snap to your hip.

Leon pauses, taking a second to look down at you and cradle your face with loving hands. “If you want to come you’re gonna have to work for it.” With a forceful knee, he parts your legs and pushes firm into you. “You’re gonna have to do it yourself, pretty girl.”

Dumbfounded, you blink. “You’re joking.”

Leon shrugs, smirking. “Like I said: ride my thigh, or we’re headed back. Take it or leave it.”

For a moment, you feign indecision. It’s entirely for your own ego—to prove to yourself you’re aren’t that desperate.

But Leon—knowing exactly what he’s fucking doing—takes hold of your hips and slowly rocks them against his leg.

It’s horrific, truly, with how unfair he’s being. How much of a fucking tease. Because the movement isn’t much, but it instantly kindles the restless embers in your belly.

Hesitantly, you move your hips; testing out the feeling until it feels right. And, oh, it does.

His thigh is big. Thick, wide muscle; strong against your soft core. It doesn’t take long for you to pick up a rhythm that has sweat beading down your neck.

“Oh.” You let out a gasp when Leon flexes.

Bracing yourself on the edge of the crate, you move your hips higher only to drag them back down. You do that a few more times—over and over, until your underwear is soaked through, clinging to your folds and to the rough material of his pants.

Leon watches on, eyes half-lidded and dopey. “Fuck, look at you. Look at the fucking mess you’re making. My pretty girl.”

You pick up the pace, fully rutting against his thigh until your body starts to shake from the effort.

“You close?” Leon asks. You nod rapidly, eyes screwed shut in concentration.

You feel the pads of Leon’s fingers come back up to your hips then. He matches your speed, helping you along as your breath quickens.

“Doing so good for me, baby. …Promise I’ll fuck you proper when we get home, don’t worry.” Leon’s voice drops, a husky whisper that has you biting down hard on your lip.

“Shit, I’m gonna come.”

“Uh huh. Gonna come on my thigh? Go on, baby, it’s okay.” Leon flexes his thigh once more and your body shudders.

Like lava, warmth spills into your veins. You come with a low moan, all contented and molten. Leon helps you through your orgasm with a steady pace, enough to coax you through the ebb and flow until your hips stop.

Panting, you bury your face in his stomach as you slowly come to. Leon strokes the back of your head, silent but sure.