My Familiar is watching you.. @moonwitchii - Tumblr Blog

HE'S MY MAN

pairing: leon s. kennedy [re9] x fem! reader

summary: It was supposed to be just another night out celebrating, until you met Leon S. Kennedy at the bar. You both wanted different things — you, to celebrate; him, to forget — but ended up wanting the same: not to spend the night alone.

a/n: I was melting 🥵 when I had this idea, and it was supposed to be chris, but I’m a leon sexy kennedy girl.

Ი𐑼 . . . - main masterlist ❜❜ ٫٫ words count: 10,6K

The bar had that kind of lighting that always makes the world seem a little kinder than it actually is.

Amber lights hung from the ceiling, reflecting off the glass of the bottles behind the counter, while an old song filled the space with a slow, comfortable melody. It wasn't a fancy place, but it wasn't run-down either, just one of those bars that had survived long enough to develop a personality.

Couples occupied some tables further in the back, cheap candles flickering over wine glasses and whispered conversations. Laughter here and there. Low music. Nothing extravagant, the kind of place people go when they want to celebrate something… or forget something. It was Valentine's Day, after all.

You came for the first reason.

You were still trying to get used to the idea of the new position, the lab, the projects involving biological sciences applied to pathogen containment. A job that, years ago, you never imagined you would accept.

But the world had changed.

Raccoon City had changed you first.

You spun the empty glass between your fingers on the counter, evaluating the drink menu as if it were an extremely serious scientific decision. That was when you noticed someone sitting two stools away.

He didn't look like he was celebrating anything.

The man had his head slightly tilted over some papers spread on the counter, scribbling notes with a black pen. His leather jacket was open, his shirt sleeves slightly rolled up, and there was a familiar concentration to him, the kind of focus you recognized from someone who had spent many nights doing exactly that.

You tried not to look, and you couldnt.

He had light hair, now with some gray strands at the temples. Fine lines at the corners of his eyes. The face of someone who had seen too much… and decided to keep going anyway. You would recognize that expression anywhere, it was the same as yours.

When the bartender approached, you leaned slightly in his direction.

"I want something strong."

The bartender raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

You discreetly pointed to the glass next to the man.

"What hes drinking."

The bartender gave a small smirk, as if that happened more often than youd think.

The glass was placed in front of you seconds later. You picked it up, took a sip… and immediately realized that might have been too ambitious a choice. The drink burned your throat. When you turned your head, the man finally looked at you. He didn't say anything, but his gray-blue gaze quickly scanned you, assessing.

You raised the glass in a small, improvised toast.

"Good taste."

He just went back to his papers.

The silence could have easily become awkward… but curiously, it didn't. Maybe because there was something intriguing about the way he completely ignored his surroundings. Or maybe because your curiosity was simply stronger.

You couldnt resist and tilted your head slightly to glance at the reports. There were many technical words. Protocols. References to incidents. And an acronym…

You rested your elbow on the counter.

"DSO?"

His pen stopped for a second.

It wasn't a sudden movement. It was more… a micro-gesture. He looked up at you again, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he had let something slip when he first assessed you.

You raised your hands in surrender.

"Hey, relax. I'm not a journalist."

A small sigh escaped him, barely perceptible.

"Dangerous curiosity."

His voice was low. Hoarse in a way that seemed permanent, not temporary.

You smirked.

"Very curious, actually, but maybe because it's part of my field."

He waited.

You took another sip of the strong drink.

"Biological sciences," you said. "I just started a new position."

He watched you for a few seconds. As if he were trying to decide how much it was worth responding.

"Congratulations."

The word was simple, but sincere.

You spun the glass again.

"I heard about the recent incidents," you commented. "Bioterrorism. Strange deaths."

His jaw tightened slightly.

"A lot of people heard."

You tilted your head.

"I grew up in Raccoon City."

Now he really looked at you, not invasively, but differently. Maybe as part of the DSO that was investigating the sudden deaths of survivors from the city, and trying to understand Raccoon City Syndrome.

"Before the whole thing turned into hell," you added, quieter.

He nodded once, slowly, seeming a little more relieved to know that. As if there was nothing intelligent to respond with, because there wasn't.

You took a deep breath, then smiled again, pushing away the heavy mood.

"But tonight isn't for talking about tragedy."

He raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"No," you lifted your glass. "I'm celebrating."

He waited.

"The new job." You paused briefly. "And the fact that I'm still alive."

That drew something that might have been almost a smile from him.

Almost.

Before you could say anything else, someone called your name from the other side of the bar. You turned your head. Your friends waved exaggeratedly from a table full of people.

You let out a sigh.

"I think I'm being summoned, but if you need company, we still have room for one more."

He just tilted his head slightly, and you slid off the stool, but before leaving, you looked at him.

"Good luck with…" you pointed at the papers, "…whatever that is."

He responded without looking up. "Thanks."

You walked to your friends' table, but you felt his gaze on you for a second. Maybe it was your imagination.

Maybe not.

One hour passed until the table started to empty, with people going to dance, people going to smoke, people leaving, and you were finally alone, tired, but satisfied. It wasn't supposed to be anything special, after all, the next day you had to convince everyone why you deserved that position.

You were swirling the water in your glass when you noticed a chair being pulled out. You looked up… it was him. The stranger from the DSO, alone at the counter.

"May I?"

You blinked, granting him a small smile. "Sure."

He sat down and made a brief gesture to the bartender.

"A whiskey," he said. "And water for her."

You rolled your eyes, biting the fruit that was stuck in your empty glass.

"Decided I need hydration?"

"That drink was strong, and this one is even worse."

You tilted your head. "Were you watching me?"

'He didn't respond, which… was practically a response. For a few minutes, you just talked. No effort. No formalities. You found out his name was Leon Scott Kennedy. You talked about random subjects. The bar. The music. The city.

It was strange how natural it felt. As if you weren't two strangers. As if you were two people who… had met somewhere in life before.

The bar door opened again and more couples entered. Someone shouted "Happy Valentine's Day" and you watched the scene for a second… then looked at him.

"I hope you're not secretly married, Leon Kennedy."

Leon raised an eyebrow.

"Would it be strange if I were sitting here?"

"A little."

He took a sip of his whiskey.

"I'm not."

You relaxed a little in your chair, that was a relief.

"Good."

He returned the question.

"And you?"

You were silent for a few seconds.

"No. My fiancé passed away."

The noise of the bar seemed to dim slightly, and unintentionally, you seemed to have weighed down the mood, even though it didn't affect you like it used to.

"Infected zone," you said, simply. "A long time ago."

He didn't ask for details, maybe because he didn't need to. Or maybe because he understood too much.

"That's why I chose this field," you added.

He just nodded. And, somehow, the conversation continued with anything that didn't involve biological weapons, Raccoon City, or problems, just a conversation you knew you needed to have with a stranger and that Leon probably hadnt had in many years. Until, while you were talking about favorite types of drinks, the music changed. It switched to a slow song and the small makeshift dance floor started to fill with couples.

You looked at him.

"Dance with me."

He let out a small, disbelieving laugh.

"I dont dance."

You stood up from the chair.

"Yes, you do."

"No."

You extended your hand.

"Come on."

He stared at your hand as if it were a complex tactical problem.

"This is a terrible idea."

"You work with bioterrorism," you said. "Dancing is the safe part of the night."

You pulled his gloved hand and Leon resisted a little, but eventually gave in to your insistence, reluctant. Very reluctant. You stopped in the middle of the small floor with the other couples and he looked completely out of place.

"Relax," you said with a wide smile. "No ones going to bite you, except me… but only if you ask."

You grabbed his hands and positioned one on your waist and the other intertwined with yours, and he already knew exactly what to do, he just didn't want to.

"Just follow my lead."

Leon was stiff at first, moving with careful steps, always trying to move his hand away from your waist as if he were touching you without permission.

"You're overthinking it, Leon." you murmured.

"This is clearly a trap."

You laughed.

"Trust me."

You guided the steps slowly.

One. Two. Three.

He messed up and you corrected him. Leon sighed, but then his hand adjusted better on your waist. And when you looked up, he was already looking at you. His blue eyes were so intense, calm and yet rough. You smiled and he responded with the ghost of one.

"See?" you whispered. "It's not that hard, Leon Kennedy."

He tilted his head slightly. "I didn't say it was hard."

"Then why were you avoiding it?"

He thought for a second, frowning as he looked around and then faced you.

"Lack of practice."

You smiled.

"I can help with that."

For the first time that night, he seemed completely relaxed. His hand on your waist remained firm, as if you were something he did not plan on letting go of anytime soon. And when the music ended… Leon still did not pull away. For a moment, you just existed there, in the middle of the floor, while couples around you rearranged themselves for the next song. His hand stayed on your waist, warm even through the fabric of your blouse, and the other was still intertwined with yours, as if he had forgotten how to let go.

Then he seemed to remember. Leon took half a step back, his hands falling slowly.

"Wasn't that bad," he admitted, his voice even rougher.

You smiled, feeling your heart beat a little faster than it should have.

"It was great," you corrected. "You just need a few more lessons."

He did not respond, but something shifted in his expression. As if the idea was not entirely out of the question.

You returned to the table, and the atmosphere between you two was still comfortable, but now there was something that made every glance last a little longer, every silence feel a little heavier. Leon ordered another round, more whiskey for him, more water for you, because he had apparently taken on the unofficial position of your hydration bodyguard, and you kept talking. About nothing. About everything. About the way the bar light reflected in his eyes and made them seem more gray than blue. About how your hand still remembered the pressure of his fingers on your waist.

You were watching him swirl his glass when you noticed.

"You know…" you began, tilting your head. "It's not that cold in here."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Then why the glove?"

Leon looked at his own hand as if he had forgotten it was there. When he looked back at you, there was something different in his gaze. Not exactly evasive, but… cautious.

"It's not for the cold."

You waited, but he didn't elaborate. And you understood. You knew that kind of hesitation that hides things that cannot be said out loud in bars lit by amber lights.

"You know…" you hesitated. "When we danced, I saw a mark on your neck. I thought it was just my imagination, but…"

You stopped, and Leon stopped too.

His glass met the table with a soft sound, and he looked at you in a way you could not quite read.

"But?"

You swallowed hard.

"It's the Tyrant Virus, isn't it? I mean, it must be something like what I saw in the Raccoon City survivors who were found dead in the past few weeks."

Leon did not confirm, but he also did not deny, maybe because he did not know either. He just… watched you. As if he was waiting for you to say more, because you knew something he had not figured out yet.

"How do you know?" the question came out low, his fingers tapping lightly on the table.

"I work with this, remember?" you replied, your voice surprisingly steady, and let out a small laugh through your nose. "And I grew up in Raccoon City too. I've seen the photos in countless files about what happened there, so, well… I think I know how to recognize it."

He looked away for the first time that night, and when he looked back at you, there was fatigue, maybe. Or acceptance.

"It's not the same anymore," he said. "Not the way it was before."

You nodded slowly.

"Well, in 1981 they discovered that approximately ten percent of any population was naturally immune or asymptomatic non-mutated carriers of the T-virus," you said. "There has been a lot of mutation over the years. This is more like Raccoon City Syndrome. The survivors who still carry traces…"

"It means my days are numbered," he interrupted, softly. "No cure, apparently."

You agreed. After all, you also did not know of anything that could neutralize the T-Virus, not anymore. Umbrella had developed something once, but the virus kept mutating and had become resistant even to antibodies. And thirty years ago, what actually contained the virus in Raccoon City was a bomb, so any form of cure had been destroyed along with the city and with Umbrella.

"It must be lonely," you said finally.

He looked at you.

"Sometimes."

You did not ask anything else. Instead, you just stayed there, sharing the silence with him, and that seemed to be enough for now. The bar was starting to empty out for real when you glanced at your watch.

"I need to go," you sighed, reluctant. "I have to present my research tomorrow, and I cannot look like a wreck or like someone who was at a party all night."

"You were," he said, looking at you.

"Only you know that, Leon Kennedy."

Leon nodded, but did not get up immediately.

"It was nice meeting you."

"You too."

You hesitated for a second, then grabbed a napkin and a pen that was near his glass.

"Can I have your number?"

He stared at the napkin for a long moment. When he looked at you, there was something almost sad in his smile, or in what could have been a smile, if he allowed himself.

"We probably wont see each other again."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to smile.

"That's okay."

And it was sincere. Because, somehow, even if you never saw each other again, that night had already been worth it. And you were thankful that your friends had convinced you to stop by some bar and that you had somehow found him. Found someone who made you feel alive after your fiancé had been targeted by the C-Virus.

You stood up, adjusted your bag on your shoulder, and looked at him one last time.

"Take care, Leon."

"Ill do my best."

"Make it last," you glanced at the mark on his hand. "Maybe I will start studying how to neutralize it, even if I have to go back to Raccoon City for that."

He nodded with a half-smile, putting the glove back on.

You left the bar, and the cold night embraced you immediately. The street was almost empty, just a few streetlights illuminating the way back to your apartment. "It's close," you had thought. And it really was. About six blocks. Nothing major.

You started walking, your footsteps echoing on the asphalt damp from a light rain that must have fallen earlier. The silence of the street was strangely comforting after the buzz of the bar. Until you heard an engine. Low, powerful, approaching slowly, but you did not look back. Raccoon City had taught you not to look back when you were alone on the street at night.

The car slowed even more, until it was practically matching your walking pace.

"Do you always ignore cars that pull up next to you?"

The voice made you stop, and you turned slowly.

The Porsche was dark, almost invisible in the night, but the face behind the open window was unmistakable. Leon was looking at you with an expression that suggested he knew his joke was terrible.

"Only the ones that look like they are going to kidnap me," you said, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "I thought we were'nt going to see each other again."

He tilted his head slightly.

"Changed my mind."

You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the cold, and the butterflies in your stomach.

"So?"

He reached over and opened the car door.

"Get in."

You looked at the leather seat, then at him, then at the empty street ahead.

"I live six blocks away. I can walk."

"I know you can."

You held back a smile.

"But?"

He stared at you for a long second.

"But I'm offering to take you."

Simple as that. And, somehow, that was all you needed to hear.

You got into the car, and the warmth of the heated seat enveloped you immediately. The sound of the door closing was solid, safe. Leon did not say anything as he put the car in motion, but you felt his gaze on you for a second before he focused on the road.

The drive to your building lasted three minutes. Three minutes of silence, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the sound of the rain starting again, light, against the windshield.

He stopped in front of your building, and you should have gotten out, but you could not.

"Leon."

He turned his face toward you. The streetlight illuminated half of his face, leaving the other half in shadow. Beautiful. Tired. Human.

"Thank you."

He nodded.

"Good night."

You put your hand on the door handle, hesitated, and then leaned back in. On an impulse you would not question later, you placed a quick kiss on his cheek. The stubble lightly scratched your lips.

When you pulled back, he was looking at you in a way that made your stomach drop.

"Good night, Leon."

You got out of the car before you could do something impulsive, like ask for his number again. Or never leave that car. The building seemed farther away than it should have been. You walked to the door, got your keys from your jacket pocket, and only when you were inside, safe, did you allow yourself to look back. The Porsche was still there, and Leon was watching you through the glass. You raised your hand in a small wave. After a second, he raised his gloved hand in response.

Then, he got out of the car, and you noticed he was carrying your bag. Crap, you had been so nervous you had completely forgotten it on the ground. Leon walked over to you and gave a small smile as he held out the bag.

"I will pretend that was not intentional."

"It wasn't," you said, taking the bag. "It cost too much for me to leave it in a strangers car."

He laughed for the first time, and nodded.

"Good night again!"

"Leon!" you stopped him before he turned around. You did not know why you had done it; it was just impulse. He looked at you. "If you want, you can come up, and you can leave in a little while."

The elevator seemed smaller than it should have been. Or maybe it was just you, hyperaware of his presence beside you. The enclosed space, the sound of the mechanism pulling the cables, the dim light overhead. Leon had his hands in his jacket pockets, staring fixedly at the numbers climbing too slowly.

3… 4…

You should have been looking at the numbers too, but instead, you were looking at him. At his jawline. At the way the soft elevator light highlighted the gray strands at his temples. At his gloved hand, relaxed now, but which you still remembered being firm on your waist.

5…

"I don't usually do this." Your voice came out lower than you expected.

Leon turned his head.

"Do what?"

"Invite strangers up to my room."

He didn't respond, just smiled and watched you as if he was memorizing every detail.

6…

You stepped forward. Then another step. He didn't move, and when you were finally close enough to feel the warmth of his body, to see the texture of his stubble, to count every silver lash on his eyes, you stopped.

"But you're not exactly a stranger, are you?"

His voice was a hoarse whisper when he answered.

"What am I, then?"

You didn't answer. Instead, you tilted your face up and found his lips.

The kiss started slowly, almost hesitant, as if you were both testing whether this was real. His lips were soft but firm, and there was a taste of whiskey that you already associated with him. His gloved hand found your waist, pulling you closer, and his other hand came up to hold your face with a gentleness that contrasted with everything you imagined he had done.

The ding of the elevator announced the 8th floor.

You broke apart abruptly, breathless.

Leon was looking at you as if you were a problem he had no idea how to solve and as if he didn't want to solve it. You smiled, took his hand, and guided him out of the elevator.

The apartment was exactly what you had described to him before you both went in; it was simple, functional, with a wall of windows facing the city down below, the distant lights blinking like fireflies trapped in the asphalt. It was enough for you, who didn't plan to live in the city forever, for someone who would soon have to move because this place was too big for someone who wasn't really home much anyway.

Leon noticed many things on the way in, and you noticed. You saw him notice your cat rubbing against his legs, and he pet it. You saw him notice how you arranged the mugs on the counter. Then he stopped in front of the windows, taking off his gloves.

You stood right behind him, watching the broad silhouette of his shoulders against the glass, the way his coat fit over his arms, the exposed nape of his neck where his hair was shorter. He slowly started to take off his coat — maybe because you had forgotten to turn off the apartment heater — and you noticed his arms, now revealed by the black shirt he was wearing.

"Nice view," he murmured.

"Yeah."

But of course, you weren't looking at the city, and he noticed this in the reflection and just smiled.

You approached slowly, and when you were close enough to Leon, your hands found his to take the coat, which you placed on the sofa. He turned, his gray eyes settling on you as he brought his hand to your jacket, pulling the leather down, sliding it off your shoulders. You helped him, letting the jacket fall into your arms. He dropped it somewhere on the floor, on the sofa, at that moment it didn't matter.

You bit the corner of your lip as your gaze traveled down his body. You saw his chest, his shoulders, his arms, the muscles shaping beneath the fabric. Your hands found the fabric of his shirt, over his chest. You felt the warmth coming from him, felt his heartbeat under your palm.

"You're very handsome, Leon."

You noticed something appear in his expression, accompanied by a half-smile. It could have been surprise, maybe, or just being unused to hearing it. Because, of course, you assumed Leon didn't have time for this, for a life, for getting involved even for one night. He didn't seem like someone capable of giving in so easily when his mind was on work.

Then, subtly, his hand found the hem of your shirt, touching the fabric as if giving you time to pull back. But you didn't want to. You wanted his touch on your skin, and he understood that when your eyes met his and you nodded gently.

He pulled the fabric up, and you raised your arms, allowing him to remove your shirt and toss it somewhere near your jacket. You let out a small, embarrassed smile when you automatically covered your breasts, free from a bra (your shirt hadn't allowed you to wear one). Your skin prickled from the cold draft coming from somewhere or maybe it was just the nervousness speaking.

Leon's eyes traveled slowly over your body, as if cataloging every detail, every curve, every shadow, every freckle. He brought his hand to a strand of your hair and pushed it behind your ear, trying to make you comfortable, which actually worked. So you removed your hands from your breasts, exposing them to him.

"Handsome," his voice was rougher now. "You too."

Your hands found his waist, sliding to the front and reaching the waistband of his pants. His fingers traced a warm path from your back to the curve of your hip, making every part of your body tingle in a way you hadn't thought possible. Leon positioned you with your back against the window, tilting his face, his lips almost brushing yours, when...

Bzzzt.

You both paused, hearing the sound.

Bzzzt. Bzzzt.

You then looked down, joined by him, seeing his phone vibrating in his pants pocket.

Leon let out a sigh — frustrated, maybe tired, you had no idea — and picked up the device. The screen lit up his face, and you saw the cluster of notifications, files, alerts. There were DSO things, and he seemed to hesitate, looking at the screen, then at you, then at the screen again.

"Shit," he swore.

You probably should have felt rejected, or just grabbed your shirt and dressed again, but you just stood there before him, watching him still weighing what to do. Whether he should follow duty or desire. That was the weight of being who he is.

"Do you need to answer?" you asked, trying to reassure him.

He ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket.

"No."

However, his fingers didn't return to your skin. They didn't touch you like before. Instead, his hands found your shoulders, holding you gently, creating a distance that hadn't existed seconds ago.

"But..." he started.

You waited for him to continue, but first he looked away to the floor, then to the window, and then back to you. He seemed more frustrated with himself than regretful that you had gotten this far.

"You deserve more than this," his voice was so low you almost didn't hear it. "More than someone who will have to run off in the middle of the night because he has something to deal with, and who you might never see again."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he continued.

"And if I stay..." he hesitated. "If I stay, I won't want to leave."

The silence that followed was deafening.

"Leon..."

He looked at you, and you gave a small smile, holding his face with both hands, forcing him to keep his eyes on yours.

"I'm not asking you to stay forever," you said. "I'm not asking for anything but tonight. If you want to go, go," you continued. "But if you want to stay... even if it's just for a few hours... I want you to stay."

His phone vibrated again in his pocket, but this time he ignored it completely. For a long moment, neither of you moved, until he braced his hand above your head and leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his lips almost touching.

His eyes closed, and yours did too. You felt his lip brush against yours, your breaths becoming slightly uneven as you both fought against the urge to take it one step further, until the phone vibrating for the third time made Leon sigh, his warm breath against your lips.

"Can I use your bathroom?"

You opened your eyes, relaxing your tense body.

"Sure," you pointed down the hall. "Second hallway on the left."

He nodded and slowly moved away, walking in the direction you indicated, but before he disappeared, he stopped.

"Wait for me?"

The question was so vulnerable, so different from everything you had seen in him until now, that your heart did something funny.

"I'll be here."

He disappeared down the hall.

You looked at your shirt on the floor and started gathering the pieces of clothing, heading toward the bedroom and pushing your hair away from your face as you felt it burning. You didn't know why, whether it was desire or frustration. You could still hear his muffled voice through the running faucet, talking about Raccoon City, about the virus spreading in him, but you tried to ignore it and went to take a shower.

You didn't know how long you were in there. Maybe only three minutes — just enough to wash off the smell of the night and the bar. Or maybe five, to give him time to think, to decide whether he would stay or not. When you came out wrapped in a towel, everything was completely silent, but still the same as before. You walked down the hall, saw the bathroom door open, and when you turned toward the living room, it was as if you had forgotten how to breathe.

Leon was sitting on the sofa with his arm resting behind his head, eyes closed. You noticed how his muscles stood out in the low light. And, God, you weren't prepared to see him shirtless. The living room light outlined every muscle, every defined curve. The broad chest, the powerful shoulders, the sculpted abdomen that looked carved from marble, but marble doesn't have warmth, doesn't have slightly tanned skin, doesn't have that line of fine hair disappearing into his pants, or the scars. Some small, others not so much. One, more prominent, near his ribs. Another on his shoulder.

"You're staring," his voice came out deeper.

You swallowed hard.

"Hard not to stare, you're in the middle of my living room."

Leon shifted, putting his arm back down and this time looking at you. And when your eyes finally met his, the armor lowered a little more. He was still there. You had expected him to have left, because surely DSO should be more important to him than you, but for some reason he had still chosen you.

He stood up from the sofa with a slight movement and took a step toward you, then another, as if expecting you to back away. But when he was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his skin, to see up close the textures of his scars, to count the gray strands scattered in his hair, he stopped.

"Your turn," he gave a small smile, touching your chin.

You looked at him, your attention dropping to his lips, and with a small gesture you let go of the towel wrapped around your body. It fell at your feet, and you subtly kicked it aside. He didn't take his eyes off your face, but his hand dropped to your waist, giving a gentle squeeze that made you gasp and close the distance. You leaned against his chest, the tips of your breasts brushing against his skin.

His hand was warm against your skin, his fingers rough in some places — calloused, you noticed — and incredibly gentle in the way they traced slow circles around your nipples. Not rushed, but almost as if he was studying. As if he was learning what made you hold your breath, what made your eyes want to close.

Leon's free hand found the curve of your lower back, pulling you against his body. The skin-to-skin contact, his warmth meeting yours, the hardness of his muscles against the softness of your curves, all of it excited you. You felt his breathing change, felt his chest expand against your breasts.

"You're very quiet," he murmured, his thumb finding your nipple and brushing against it in a caress.

You bit your lip to keep quiet, but a small sound escaped anyway, and Leon smiled, satisfied.

"You don't have to hold back."

"Who said I'm holding back, Leon Kennedy?" you replied, letting a smile curl your lips.

The hand on your lower back traveled down, finding the curve of your hip, then the side of your thigh. His fingers traced a slow, almost lazy path, down to the back of your knee. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear.

"Liar."

The heat that spread through your body was pathetic over such a simple statement; you squeezed your thighs together instinctively, but his hand continued its path, his fingers finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"Leon...?"

"Hmm?"

His hand kept moving up slowly, his fingers tickling your skin, teasing, almost as if his intention was to make you beg. You grabbed his shoulder with one hand, the other finding the nape of his neck, your fingers burying themselves in his light hair and pulling, not hard, just enough so he wouldn't look away from you.

"If you keep up this pace, we'll spend the whole night on this part."

He let out a nasal laugh.

"And what's the problem?"

You pulled him into a kiss before he could decide to tease you further, but this time you made sure the kiss was different from the one in the elevator, less hesitation and more hunger. His lips found yours, and when his tongue slid against yours, you made sure to match him. You offered yourself even more to Leon's touch, and he didn't waste the opportunity. His lips traveled from your jawline down to your neck, where his warm breath mixed with the scent of your skin, sweet and intoxicating. Your fingers buried themselves deeper in Leon's blond hair, pulling the strands gently as his kisses became more intense and feverish. Each kiss was wet, deliberate, as if Leon wanted to mark his presence on every inch of your delicate skin.

His breathing was uneven, hot against the curve of your throat, as the kisses turned into gentle bites, each one sending waves of heat through your body down to the core of you. He knew exactly where to touch, where to leave his mark, and when his teeth grazed the spot where your jaw met your neck, your insides ignited. Your hip, in an involuntary reflex, met his, and you felt him, the hardness beneath the layers of his pants only intensifying the desire between you.

But it still wasn't enough.

Leon pulled back slightly, lips swollen and moist, chest rising and falling as if each breath required great effort. His gray-blue eyes, pupils completely dilated, watched you with a mixture of desire and hesitation. You were both on the verge of something that could change everything, the tension in the air between you almost tangible, but it was being ignored. You didn't hesitate. You pulled him back, your lips meeting his with renewed ferocity, as if asking for more, demanding more.

His hand finally found the center of you, and when his fingers slid through your most sensitive flesh, you gasped against his mouth. He savored the sound, deepened the kiss, his fingers exploring with the same curiosity as before. You were wet. Very. And when he realized, the low groan that escaped his throat made your fingers dig into his shoulders.

"Fuck," the word came out muffled against your lips.

You smiled.

"Still think I'm holding back?"

He pulled away just enough to look at you. The blue of his eyes was almost completely consumed by his pupils. His jaw was clenched in a way you had already learned to recognize, control. He was holding himself back.

"No," his voice was deeper now. "I think you're exactly where you should be."

The disguised praise hit you like a shock. You pulled his face back, biting his lower lip gently, tugging, teasing.

"Then take me to the bedroom," you whispered against his mouth. "Or you're going to have to fuck me on this sofa."

His hands slid to your thighs, his fingers squeezing the flesh with possessiveness. You knew what that meant. When Leon lifted you, your legs wrapped around his waist, a silent invitation already accepted. He carried you down the hall, your lips never apart for long, until he finally laid you carefully on the bed.

The kiss broke, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. Your eyes met, breathing heavy, but the silence between you felt charged, dense. You felt your heart pounding in your chest, a strong steady beat, while Leon's chest also rose and fell, his gaze burning into yours. Lifting your torso, you propped yourself up on your elbows to observe him better, waiting in silence for his next move.

Your train of thought dissipated like smoke in the wind when Leon approached, his firm, calloused hand rising to your face, his fingers tracing your contours with precision. His thumb brushed your lips — swollen and slightly parted — and you couldn't contain the heavy breath that escaped your chest. You were propped on your elbows, almost vulnerable, your eyes closing for a brief moment as your body automatically responded to his touch, every inch of your skin begging for more of that contact.

"Are you sure?" his voice came out rough while his other hand still rested on your hip, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your skin. "We don't have to... if you don't want to..."

"Gentleman."

"Romantic," he corrected with a half-smile.

"We're already here, and I believe it's only because I am sure, and probably you are too," you whispered against his lips firmly so he wouldn't doubt your words anymore. "I want you, Leon."

You didn't look away from his eyes when you spoke, maintaining eye contact. Leon accepted every word and, as a response, made you lie down on the bed.

Leon's body settled over yours with a gentleness that wasn't expected in that moment. He supported part of his weight, as if afraid of crushing you, but the proximity was intense, almost unbearable. Your hands slowly traveled up his back, your fingers sliding over his marked skin, feeling each scar as if it were a story you could read through touch. The warmth of his body against his seemed to melt away any trace of uncertainty.

His lips began to descend, leaving a trail of heat along the line of your neck, down to your collarbone. When he passed softly over your neck, you trembled, your body reacting involuntarily to the touch. A shiver ran through you like a wave, your back arching slightly, seeking more. Your breath became a trembling whisper as he explored every part of your skin with devotion. When his lips reached your breast, Leon paused for a second, his gaze lost in your expression, before squeezing one of your breasts between his fingers, feeling you react to his touch.

You threw your head back, a sigh slipping past your lips while the tension inside you reached its peak. Your spine curved, your body offering itself completely to his touch, unable to resist the way he was unraveling you, piece by piece, with each kiss, each caress.

Without any shame, he took your right breast into his mouth, full of teeth, tongue, and suction, and squeezed the other with his hand, covering its entire expanse with his much larger palm. All you could do was squirm and whimper, accepting the way Leon's rough treatment affected your body, increasing the fire between your legs, making you ache for him.

A few minutes passed until Leon seemed satisfied, after using his mouth on both your breasts, leaving them both hard and sore after being marked by him. He continued his descent, his lips barely touching your skin but leaving a trail of heat, as if he were mapping every inch of your body, recording every reaction in his mind. The movements were slow, meticulous, each touch a study of your response, as if he were absorbing not just the moment but its impact, trying to know exactly where to touch to give you pleasure and draw out the sounds that were like music to his ears.

With a single fluid gesture, Leon held your thighs firmly, but without brutality, his long fingers adjusting to the soft flesh as he found you completely exposed before him. Kneeling, his broad shoulders supported the weight of your legs, which he carefully rested against them.

Your breathing was shallow, waiting anxiously at an accelerated pace that matched that tense stillness hanging between you. Leon looked at you, his deep blue eyes, predatory, sparking with an intensity that forced you not to look away, even when he slowly penetrated you with two calloused fingers. He didn't look away, capturing every reaction of yours, and you didn't either.

"Leon..." your voice came out pleading without meaning to.

"Hmm?"

"More."

He added a second finger, his thumb finding your clitoris at the same time, and the pleasure was so sharp you saw stars. You grabbed the sheets, your body tense, so close...

Leon intensified the movements of his fingers inside you, the rhythm accelerating gradually but controlled, with a precision that made your body tremble under his gaze that never wavered from your face. You held your breath, your chest rising and falling irregularly, before releasing a soft sigh, wordless, as if words had ceased to exist.

Then, without warning, Leon's mouth found your cunt with a delicacy that contrasted brutally with the fierce desire he was clearly controlling with such difficulty. He was slow, yet firm. He didn't stop when your thigh tensed against his hand, nor when you tried to pull away. He just let out a grunt, low and intense; then brushed his nose against the skin near your abdomen, breathed in, and returned to using his tongue.

An involuntary moan escaped your lips, as if Leon's touch had switched off any resistance you had left. Your right hand rose instinctively, your fingers sinking into his disheveled blond hair, holding him without knowing if you wanted him to pull away or continue what he was doing, anchoring yourself in that moment as he devoured you with an almost animalistic concentration. The sensation was overwhelming. Each movement of Leon's tongue was a new current of pleasure running through you, like a wave rising up your spine and descending again, leaving you trembling.

Your body reacted on its own, your back arching slightly, your hips seeking more of Leon's mouth, while he held you firmly, controlling the rhythm, dictating the intensity and moaning against you as he sought to satisfy his hunger. Your eyes squeezed shut, blocking out the world around you, as if the pleasure you were feeling was something that demanded all your attention, all your energy. The sound of your own moans became more irregular, staccato, a subtle symphony of pleasure filling the room. Leon didn't stop, didn't relent, and you could feel control over your own body slipping away, surrendering completely to the way he was making you lose yourself, the way he was eating you, without rush, without hesitation, giving priority to you.

Your legs squeezed a little tighter against his shoulders, the heat building inside like an impending storm, about to explode, and all you could do was hold on, your fingers tangling more in Leon's hair, pulling him a little closer, begging for more, begging him to devour you whole. He gave you everything you wanted, everything you needed. His fingers didn't stop either, helping to prolong the pleasure, and when a long moan escaped through your parted lips, your walls tightening around his middle and index fingers, Leon knew he had hit the exact spot that made you see stars.

You tried to keep your head up, tried to look at him one more time, but the world seemed to dissolve around you. Your mind went blank every time his tongue made precise circles on your clitoris, focused only on the pleasure, as if everything you were in that moment was concentrated on the sensations Leon was extracting from your body. Your body reacted instinctively, your hips moving slightly, a silent plea for more, for him not to stop, for him to take you even deeper into that abyss. Your moans grew louder, less contained.

Leon, on the other hand, seemed to be totally in control, his hands holding your thighs firmly, keeping you where he wanted you, his lips and tongue moving with a precision that drove you to the brink of madness. He wasn't just touching your body, he was consuming you, each touch a calculated blow that knocked you down a little more. His eyes were closed, but you knew he was aware of every tremor, every sigh, every contortion of your body. He felt every piece of your response, adjusting his movements like a conductor controlling the music he himself was creating.

A deeper moan escaped you, the sound reverberating in the silent room, your whole body trembling. Your breath came in rapid gasps, and you knew you were close, very close. The pleasure inside you was building to an unbearable point, and you didn't know how much longer you could hold on. Your hands gripped Leon's hair even tighter, your hips moving erratically, unable to maintain control. And then, suddenly, the barrier inside you finally broke.

You arched your back, your hips lifting from the bed as the orgasm washed through you like a relentless wave. Leon had to press a hand against your abdomen to keep you in place, while he felt your taste fill his mouth. The sensation was so intense that for a moment you could barely breathe, as if the very air had been torn from your lungs. Your mind went blank, and all you could feel was the explosive heat taking over every inch of your body, burning, devastating everything. Your body trembled uncontrollably, a long, hoarse moan escaping your lips as you surrendered completely.

You were still catching your breath, your eyes half-closed, your body limp as if it had been torn apart and rebuilt by the pleasure Leon had given you. Your fingers loosened from his hair, sliding down his neck to his back. When your lips met again and you tasted yourself on his mouth, there was a softness, a slowness that contrasted with the intensity that had consumed you moments before.

"Are you okay?" Leon whispered, as if part of him still doubted he hadn't taken you too far.

"Yeah," you murmured, smiling. "I think so."

He kissed you again, and the kiss was ardent, charged with a raw urgency, your lips moving against his with an insatiable hunger, an impetus that reverberated through your bodies like pure electricity. Leon let out a low groan, that deep sound that made you feel both control and chaos at once. His hands, large and calloused, slid over your body while your nails lightly scratched his back, provoking immediate reactions. It was as if the contact between you was amplifying everything, your bodies molding together, fitting together, the intimacy growing with each passing second.

But suddenly, Leon pulled back, his eyes still locked on yours, his face marked by a desire that he was holding back with herculean effort. Time seemed to suspend for a brief moment as he looked at you seriously, as if the pause was necessary to ensure you were both in sync.

You adjusted yourself on the bed, leaning back against the pillows and watching his every movement. The sight of him removing his pants and underwear made your heart race, and you swallowed hard as your eyes traveled down Leon's body, finally fixing on his length. It was big. Your mind flooded with momentary, practical thoughts, like the possibility of needing to buy larger condoms in the future. The desire running through you, however, was immediate, visceral, and you wanted to know what it would feel like to have him inside you.

Your eyes rose again, finding his already fixed on yours. The intensity of Leon's gaze made you hold your breath for a moment; the space between you seemed to condense into a singular connection. Leon approached, positioning himself between your legs carefully, his large, firm hands caressing your hip with surprising gentleness.

"Are you still sure you want to continue?" he asked. There was no escape. He saw you completely, and that disarmed you in a way few men had managed. "We can stop here."

Your fingers traveled up the side of his body, pulling him gently closer, one hand tracing the firm contour of his muscles up to his back.

"No," you answered. Your fingers slid down his back, and you leaned in so your lips hovered near his, your breath uneven. "I need you to fuck me now, Leon."

Leon studied you carefully for a moment. Then, in a sudden but controlled movement, he grabbed you by the thighs, pulling you abruptly, making you slide down the pillows until you were completely lying beneath his body.

He positioned himself carefully between your legs, the heat enveloping him, while your gazes remained connected. Your breathing was ragged in anticipation, uneven, but you forced yourself to relax, feeling the reassuring weight of Leon above you.

Leon entered you with an almost torturous slowness without looking away from your features, focused on catching any discomfort, both of you breathing together, your bodies adjusting to the rhythm you were building. You gripped the sheets tightly, a wave of pleasure radiating from your core, and you sighed, biting your lower lip, feeling your vision blur with unshed tears. Heat spread through you, and as Leon moved forward and back with precise strokes, doing his best to maintain control.

Leon's breath was uneven against your neck, his body tense above yours as he kept his rhythm controlled. Each thrust was measured, calculated, as if he were fighting something inside himself. You felt it, his effort not to lose himself, not to hurt you, not to let the demons he carried contaminate that moment.

But you didn't want control.

"Leon." Your voice came out firmer than you expected.

He stopped, his eyes finding yours. There was a silent question there, a hesitation that didn't match the man you had seen before. You brought your hands to his face, holding firmly, forcing him to maintain eye contact.

"You're not going to break me."

His jaw tightened.

"You don't know what..."

"I do," you interrupted, soft but non-negotiable. "I know enough. And I'm still here."

For a long second, he just looked at you. As if searching for something in your eyes — maybe fear, maybe hesitation, maybe an excuse to stop. He didn't find it. Then something shifted. His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair, and when he kissed you, it wasn't like the others. It was possessive. Deep. As if he were finally allowing himself to want.

The rhythm changed.

Still controlled, but now there was a different intensity. Each movement was more deliberate, deeper, as if he were finally setting aside the excessive concern and simply... feeling. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and the groan that escaped his throat made heat spread through your body.

"Like this?" His voice was deeper now, his dark eyes fixed on yours.

You answered by pulling his face back into a kiss, your nails lightly scratching the back of his neck. He understood the message. His hand slid between you, his thumb finding your clit in the right rhythm, and you arched your back, a moan escaping against his lips.

"Yes," you whispered. "Don't stop."

He smiled against your mouth — a small, almost satisfied smile — and obeyed. The pleasure grew inside you, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. You gripped his shoulders, your nails marking his skin, and Leon responded with a low grunt, the rhythm increasing, faster, deeper.

"I want to see you," he murmured, his forehead against yours, his eyes fixed on yours. "I want to see you when you let go."

And you let go.

The orgasm arrived like a wave, shattered and intense, and you heard your own moan as if from a distance, your body trembling, your walls tightening around him. Leon kept moving, prolonging it, until you were breathless, too sensitive, and only then did he stop. But he wasn't finished. You felt it in the way he was still hard inside you, in the tension in his shoulders, in his breathing that was too controlled.

You ran your hand over his face, your fingers tracing his jawline.

"My turn."

He shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

"You don't have to..."

"Leon," you interrupted, and when he looked at you, you smiled. "Quiet."

Before he could respond, you reversed positions, pushing him gently against the pillows. He let you, his head tilting back as he pulled your legs against his waist, not resisting. You settled over him, your hands braced on his broad chest, feeling his racing heart beneath his skin.

"My turn," you repeat, and began to move.

The sound he let out was almost a muffled groan, his hands instinctively finding your hips. But you grabbed his wrists, guiding his hands to the pillows beside his head.

You controlled the pace, starting slow, just enough to see his hard expression gradually come undone — his jaw clenched, his eyes half-closed. You teased his tip, sliding it in and out of your pussy while his hands gripped the pillows instead of touching you.

"Look at me," you asked.

He obeyed, and when his eyes met yours, you sped up. Abruptly, his hands broke free from yours that were holding them and grabbed your hips again, but this time you allowed it. He thrust into you with urgency, pulling a muffled sound from him and a delirious moan from you. He guided you as you rode his cock, holding your own breasts, and when his thumb found your clitoris again, you moaned loud.

"I want you to cum with me," his voice was hoarse, broken by uneven breathing. "Think you can?"

"That's like asking a priest if he knows how to say mass, Leon Kennedy." You leaned over him, slowing your movements and leaving just the tip of his cock inside you. "How much do you want to fuck me?"

He grabbed your ass and pushed himself against you, penetrating you in one go, making your eyes roll back as you heard the wet sound. Before you could start moving, he pulled his cock out and slapped your pussy, making you laugh with the shock.

"I'm not the one who's going to beg." He held your hands, forcing you to lay your face in the curve of his neck. Then he whispered in your ear. "Ask."

"No." You laughed, turning toward him as your hair fell messily across your face.

Leon held your wrists firmly and positioned his cock back at your entrance. He pulsed when your pussy tightened around him, and without ceremony he started with a deep thrust, pulling a loud moan from you, then another, and another, until your eyes started to roll back. Then he stopped.

"If you don't ask, we're ending this night here." He murmured in your ear. "It's not hard to beg."

"I want you to fuck me, Leon." You sighed, your legs tightening around his waist. "I want you to come inside me until you fill me up, and I want you to feel me fall apart on you. I want you to impale me on your cock and make me pray for you to fuck me more."

The words hung in the air between you, and something in Leon's expression shifted, cracked, maybe, in a way he hadn't intended. His grip on your wrists tightened for just a second before he released them, both hands sliding to your hips with a possessiveness that made your breath catch.

"You have no idea," he murmured, his voice rougher than you'd heard it all night, "what you do to me."

You didn't have time to respond before he flipped you onto your back again, his body covering yours, his mouth finding your neck as he thrust into you with a desperation that had been carefully contained until now. The sound you made was swallowed by his shoulder as you bit down, trying to anchor yourself as he set a rhythm that was anything but controlled.

His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes screwed shut, and you watched him — watched the way his jaw clenched, the way his breathing became ragged, the way every wall he'd carefully built seemed to crumble with each movement.

"Look at me," you whispered, echoing his own words from before.

His eyes opened, and what you saw there made your chest tighten. Not just desire, though that was present, burning. But something raw and unguarded that he probably hadn't shown anyone in years. You brought your hand to his face, your thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone, and he turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your palm without breaking rhythm.

"Leon..."

He answered by capturing your mouth, the kiss deep and searching, as if he was trying to communicate something he didn't have words for. His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit again, and the combination of his thrusts and his fingers sent you spiraling toward the edge once more.

"I'm close," you breathed against his lips.

"Yeah?" His voice was wrecked. "Cum for me again. I want to feel you."

There was no way you couldn't give in now, not when the roughness of Leon's movements was pushing you forward. The wave of pleasure that hit you was so intense it seemed to steal your breath away. Your entire body trembled beneath his, muscles contracting uncontrollably while a loud, hoarse moan escaped your lips, echoing through the room. You held Leon tighter, your nails digging into his back as you were consumed by ecstasy. The pleasure dominated you like a current too strong to resist.

Leon, feeling your body tighten around him, couldn't hold back any longer. With one last deep, fierce thrust, he followed your path, letting himself fall into that abyss of pleasure. His last resistance dissolved, and he collapsed along with you, his entire body shuddering as he came inside you and let out a hoarse moan so pleasurable that you needed to watch him for long minutes.

Still inside you, Leon laid his head against your chest. Your hands kept him close, your nails gently caressing his skin, offering a comfort you both needed. Your breathing was uneven, but slowly, it began to calm, creating a unique rhythm, a post-ecstasy cadence. You felt the weight of his body on yours, but there was no discomfort in it — there was a familiarity, a mutual surrender.

You touched him gently, giving him the time he needed to regain control, until he finally pulled away. The sensation of wetness running down your legs made you shudder, a physical reminder of how intense that experience had been. The thought that you had never come so hard crossed your mind like lightning, but it soon dissipated, lost in the tide of sensations that still dominated your body.

When Leon pulled out of you, a low sound escaped his lips, a mix of sensitivity and satisfying exhaustion. He lay down beside you, both of you panting, your bodies sweaty and warm. For a long moment, they both remained silent and just watched the bedroom ceiling. Lying in the dark, breathing together, in the deepest intimacy, your eyes met.

Your eyes wandered to Leon, your gazes meeting in the soft darkness of the room. There was a silent question in those blue eyes, as if he too was processing what had just happened. You tried to decipher what you felt, but before doubts could form, Leon's hand moved to remove a strand of hair that fell across your face, an intimate and careful gesture. He tucked your hair behind your ear with a gentleness that contrasted with the ardor from before, and his fingers intertwined with yours. Without saying anything, he brought his lips to your wrist, kissing softly above the pulse that was still beating fast, but this time it wasn't because of the sex.

"How do you feel?" Leon asked you.

"Safe... good," you murmured, your eyes closing with his touch, allowing yourself to just feel his warmth. There was a ghost of a smile on Leon's lips, an almost imperceptible trace of satisfaction. "And you?"

"I couldn't feel better," he said, gently caressing your face with his thumb. You softly opened your eyes, watching him smile. "I'm telling the truth."

"I didn't doubt you, Leon Kennedy."

For a few seconds, the silence enveloped them again, until Leon began to move, as if preparing to get up. Instinctively, you held his wrist, your eyes half-open, a silent request.

"So, we won't see each other again?" you asked with a small smile that, try as you might not to show it, was lonely.

With that patience you had discovered he possessed, Leon leaned back, looking at you with reassuring calm.

"I'm not going anywhere," he assured. "I'm just going to look for towels so we can shower. I won't be long."

He gently removed your hand from his wrist and stood up.

"They're in the hallway closet, Leon," you told him, and he smiled.

You heard his footsteps moving away, the hallway light turning on first and then the bathroom light, the sound of running water. Sleep began to weigh on your eyes, but before you could fall asleep, you got up. Just as you bent down to pick up the sheets that had been thrown off the bed, Leon interrupted.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Before you could answer, he came over and picked you up in his arms, drawing a surprised laugh from you at the sudden movement. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you to the bathroom, and before you both entered the shower, he kissed you, slowly setting you down on the floor.

"Do you have a plan for what we do after this?" you asked after breaking the kiss.

Leon pretended to think, stepping under the shower and pulling you with him, his hand firm on your waist.

"We can improvise as we go," he smiled, and you did too. "But now, I'm not leaving even if you tell me to."

"I wasn't thinking of telling you to leave, Leon Kennedy."