So, this is Christmas
part two; so, this is christmas…and what have we done?
leon kennedy x fem!reader
summary: you're sent on an undercover mission to a remote village with your coworker. except you pretty much hate each other. except leon has always spent the holidays alone...until now.
cw: first part of it gives off romcom and fluff, second part is kind of smut with plot. 18+; MDNI. oral sex (f receiving), praising, fingering, kissing after oral, unprotected sex, mutual pining. biting, blood mention.
a/n: hello! if this is your first encounter with this story I’ll leave the first part here. you can read this without it I guess, but if you lack context, there it is!
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wc: 5k
Leon rang the doorbell and stepped back, standing next to you again.
You felt like running away.
“Does this dress look too tight on me?” You asked under your breath, giving him a pleading look for help.
“What? No…why?”
“‘Cause I’m running out of fucking oxygen here.”
Leon's lips had barely parted, but when you spoke they closed and he looked down at the ground, as if weighing the situation for a second. You started to regret opening your mouth in the first place. He was your coworker, for god’s sake. You weren't supposed to burden him with your worries, but rather try to bring out the best in each other and function as the team you're supposed to be.
Leon took your hand.
All your bad thoughts vanished. In fact, every other thought you had flew away too. You were blank.
You met his gaze. It was completely dark, only a few streetlights worked in that town, but he looked like the damn sun. You noticed from the brief twitch of lips that he was about to say something.
“You made it!” Sila’s voice was really deep, but it still managed to burst your eardrums like a high note.
“Wouldn’t have missed it.” Leon immediately turned to the door, automatically painting on his face that charming smile you only saw in magazines.
With the hand he wasn’t using to hold you, he passed the target a bottle of Champagne you bought along the way.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” Silas accepted it most gratefully, stepping aside and inviting us in. “Come on in.”
Just one step inside and we realized it wasn’t at all what it looked from the outside; Chandeliers, enormous paintings with gilded frames, spiral staircases, velvet carpets and immersive music emanating from nothing less than a record player.
Happy Christmas, Kyoko
Happy Christmas, Julian
“I know this was a song from John's solo career, but oh well…I got Paul to sign the album cover for me.” Paul as in Paul McCartney? Was he freaking serious? “Ah!” He suddenly stopped in his place, turning around in a swing like an animated character from a comic series. “We mustn’t forget, tradition first.”
Leon and I shared the same frown.
“The kiss, dummies! You’re under the mistletoe.”
The…kiss…he said?
We looked above our heads, and there it was hanging the damned sentence.
“Oh, right.” Leon laughed, I followed. But Silas kept standing there, expecting for us to complete the ritual.
I figured it was like stripping off a band-aid.
I turned to face him and rose onto my Mary Janes, my tipping toes looking effortlessly natural, perfectly calculated to reach his height. I cupped his cheek with my left hand, the one wearing the fake ring, and kissed him.
I was about to pull away, perhaps suspiciously quickly, when I felt him reciprocate.
The initial contact with his lips had already been too much to process. As if it were a disturbing mystery that had been lurking in a corner of my mind for years, a myth to be debunked, a voice to be silenced. But suddenly it happened, just like that, in one fell swoop, and there was nothing to refute; it was as good as I feared it would be.
Now this…this was another deal entirely.
It wasn't just the sensation of his moist, soft lips, that intoxicating taste he had—but the movement of his whole mouth over mine—as if he were trying to make room, to bite, to possess.
Something separated us. To my surprise, it wasn't him or me, but a shock, something electrical.
“Aren’t you cute?” Silas was practically clapping with joy, moved by the scene. “Follow me, lovebirds!”
We let him walk alone for a few seconds while we tried to compose ourselves.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out eventually, walking down the hallway. “For jumping at you like that, I mean, it wasn’t right.”
“It was.” Leon assured. “For the mission, it was perfect.” He added.
I nodded and swallowed my newly discovered emotions; I had to bury them. Fast.
Upon arriving at the dining room, we found an eternally long table. The Last Supper type of shit. And of course, it was full of guests.
“Big family guy, I see.” Leon murmured, you contained a laugh holding his arm tighter.
“Everyone, this is…” Silas started introducing you.
“Hawthorne.”
You had talked about this. Obviously you couldn’t use your real names. Especially not when one of those names had already crossed the country back and forth through the lips of many. So tonight, you were Emily and Benjamin Hawthorne, an ordinary couple whose wealth lay in a quiet jewelry business in Georgetown.
“Marvellous…Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne, meet everyone!”
The various faces smiled at you, you couldn’t tell if every single one was a genuinely welcoming one, you assumed not.
You found a seat. It wouldn't be catalogued as the best, but it was comfortable and quite far from the rest, so it would do. The evening began, and each group seemed to be in their own little world. Silas came and went, but he never brought his partner with him, although you knew he had one because of the ring on his finger. Anyway, you spoke with other couples, and you answered all their questions successfully. Even the sneaky one who ventured: “Why do you have those rings if you own a big jewelry company?” — “Ah…these. It’s a symbolism my wife and I share, a representation of our pure love, unpretentious.” Leon answered.
“We’ll have to sneak at some point…” Leon insisted through gritted teeth, finishing his third glass of wine.
“Oh, we’ll do, I’m just a bit worried about your ability to climb the stairs right now.” You retorted.
“You’ve seen nothing.”
“Actually, I’m afraid I’ve seen too much.”
God, two hours in character and you were already starting to fight like a real married couple.
Before Leon could throw the glass at you or you could smash the bottle over his head, music louder than the record player filled the entire house. People began to rise from their seats with delight, following the rhythm, swaying.
Leon stood up and offered you his hand.
You looked at it with narrowed eyes.
“It’s our way out.”
“Of course.” You sighed and took it, without expecting the push up that lifted you up in one swift motion.
The common lights had been turned off, replaced by the candles at the tables and some faint colors that you couldn’t quite place where they came from. The only thing you could see clearly was Leon’s hand walking you through the crowd.
The song playing wasn’t Christmas related, but it was a perfect slow dance. Every Breath You Take by The Police.
You reached the stairs without a witness and climbed up fast. The hallway was dim, carpet muffling your steps. Three doors—two locked, one a cramped bathroom—and a glass one at the end, spilling cold light from the terrace.
“Fucking great.” Leon muttered, jiggling the last handle.
“At least we escaped the interrogations,” you tried cheering him up.
“Yeah. Too bad the ass music is still hearable.”
“It’s not that bad,” you snorted. “It reminds me of home in a way, all this shit show. Drunk uncles, someone crying in a corner—just…on a much larger scale.”
That earned you a faint smirk.
He pushed open the terrace door. Snow fell like dust from a fairy tale. The air was sharp, and the world below you—rooftops, small glowing windows—looked far too peaceful for the night you’d had. He tilted his head back, letting the flakes melt on his face, his chest rising in a slow exhale that steamed into the cold.
You leaned on the doorway, watching. The calm didn’t fit him. “Aren’t you going to ask me for this dance?” you said, half a tease, half a dare. Truth be told, you have had a couple of glasses yourself.
“I’m not a dancer.”
“And I sure ain’t going to be your wife, but we’re pretending, aren’t we?”
Leon’s eyes widened, then a smile drew in his face. “Sure.” He placed your hand on his shoulder, his palm sliding to your hip and pulling you closer, ending the distance between your bodies. The warmth of his closeness burned through the thin fabric. He began to sway, uncertain at first, then steadier. You followed his lead, the snow brushing both of you like dusted silk.
The song below faded out, but Leon kept moving, humming the tune low against your ear.
“Oh, so you do know it.”
“It’s not a preference of mine, but I’m not uncultured.”
Leon’s hum trailed off, and for a second you both just stood there, swaying to a rhythm that didn’t exist anymore. His eyes flicked down—your joined hands, your breath fogging between you, the faint tremor in your shoulders.
“You’re tense,” he said quietly.
“I’m cold.”
“Liar.”
The word came out softer than you expected, almost fond. You wanted to reply, to deflect like always, but something about the quiet made it hard to. The whole village below seemed to have gone still, awaiting.
He brushed a snowflake from your hair without thinking. The touch lingered a heartbeat too long.
“You’re getting good at it yourself,” you finally responded, though it came out shaky. “Lying.”
His mouth curved, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Except I am not, for once in my life.”
The air between you thickened, that strange gravity pulling tighter with every breath. You didn’t step back, and neither did he. The distance was fragile now—thin enough that a thought could shatter it.
Then, from below, a voice shouted—“Ten!”—followed by a chorus of laughter, joined by the faint ring of glasses and the hum of voices too blurred to separate.
You blinked, almost startled.
“Nine!”
The sound grew louder, spilling up the stairwell, mixed with muffled cheers and off-key singing. Leon’s eyes met yours again, and you couldn’t look away even if you felt too far from protocol to be safe.
“Eight!”
You felt like running away once more.
“Seven!”
“We should go back,” you said, not as steadily as you’d like.
He shook his head once. “Not yet.”
“Six!”
The hand that was holding yours slid gently up your arm until it found your jaw, tracing its outline.
“Five!”
He rested his forehead against yours. Something in your chest gave — a quiet, dangerous flutter. You didn’t step back, but you didn’t close the gap either.
“Four!”
“Leon—”
“This is a bad idea, right? Tell me to stop.”
“Three!”
You reached up, fingers curling into the collar of his coat. “I…honestly can’t think of a better one right now.”
“Two!”
He exhaled, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a surrender.
“One!”
The terrace filled with the muffled roar of celebration—cheers, fireworks, the world waking up again. And Leon kissed you. For real this time, without being forced, without being observed by anyone…out of pure will. It was rougher, hungrier, much deeper than at the entrance. It was desperate, unrestrained, impossible to fake. His hand found the back of your neck, steady but needy, pulling you closer. You felt the tightness of his jaw, the chill of his hand, and the warmth of his mouth bleeding through it all.
The fireworks cracked again, their light flashing across his face when he broke the kiss, eyes dark and unfocused, chest heaving like he’d forgotten how to breathe.
“So, this is Christmas.” He said at last, looking at the starry sky in awe.
You chuckled, hugging his side and resting your head on his shoulder. “Yep…Happy Christmas, Leon.”
“Happy Christmas, sweetheart.”
You returned to the cabin.
Truth is, you didn’t get much out of Silas. Either he was very good at hiding his tracks, or he was just a good guy. Anyway, you didn’t know what to report to base.
Leon was kneeling with his sleeves rolled up by the fire, adding some wood, and you couldn’t think of anything to write with the sight of his back moving through the action. You just watched the line of his shoulders shift under the half-undone shirt, still the one from the mission.
How in hell did you end up like this?
Two agents, still in party clothes, hiding out in a mountain cabin while the world outside froze over. The hem of your dress brushed your legs when you moved; you’d stopped noticing the cold hours ago. Maybe the adrenaline helped. Or maybe it was him.
“You know,” Leon said, voice rough from disuse, “before Silas opened the door…” He hesitated, then glanced at you over his shoulder. “I wanted to tell you I was scared, too.”
You tilted your head. “Scared?”
“Yeah, I mean—” He sat back, rubbing his palms together as if unsure what to do with them. “Not about the mission, but the whole celebration around it, I guess.”
The wood creaked, giving in to the fire, burning.
“Before tonight, I hadn’t had a proper Christmas in years. I didn’t remember what it was like. And I was scared I wouldn’t know how to… act. But you did. You just—fit into it somehow. And then you kissed me under the mistletoe…”
He met your eyes, this time without flinching. “What I’m trying to say is, you made me feel something I’d forgotten existed. Joy—”
He breathed in.
“Love.” He let out. “And it was…really nice, to let the guard down, to feel real again.”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The word hung in the air between you.
Leon turned back to the flames, his jaw tightening as if he regretted saying it. You could almost hear his thoughts—how quickly he’d build his walls again.
You stood up and took a step closer. Praying inwardly that touch could communicate what words could not. You dropped down beside him and wrapped your arms around him, your cheek resting against the curve of his neck. You could almost feel the chill that ran down his spine, and for a moment, neither of you breathed. Then Leon moved—quickly, almost startled by his own need. He turned, hands finding your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. His gaze lingered on your lips, searching for approval. You nodded, slowly.
And he kissed you.
It was the third time that night, but you still couldn’t make sense of it. It felt so fragile, so ephemeral and dreamlike. You melted into him, barely aware of anything beyond the heat of his mouth and the soft drag of his breath. The kiss wasn’t desperate this time—it was hesitant, almost reverent, like he was trying to memorize something he knew wouldn’t last.
Outside, the wind pressed against the windows, low and restless. The fire guttered once, throwing the room into shadow, then steadied again, glowing faintly against your skin.
Your trembling fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, becoming entangled with each other. The firelight danced across his chest as the shirt fell open, tracing amber lines down the planes of him.
He reached for you then, slow and unsure. His hands skimmed your shoulders, the silk of your dress catching slightly when he pulled it down. You gasped once when you felt freed from it, dress half-lowered, skirt still covering your legs. Heat filled the room, breaths growing uneven.
Every movement felt suspended in that small, flickering world: your heartbeat echoing against his ribs, his pulse answering in kind. Time folded in on itself, and all that existed was this quiet collision of warmth and ache—two people holding on to something already slipping through their grasp.
“Are you sure about this?” He asked, breath catching as his forehead rested against yours.
“I…don’t know, but I need you.” You admitted with raw honesty.
He licked his lips at that statement, eyes darkening with a desperate need for release.
“Fuck.”
His hands moved to your shoulders, a gentle but firm pressure guiding you downward. You didn’t resist. You sank to the floor, never breaking eye contact, transitioning from your elbows to lying flat against the cool surface. He admired you from above for a moment as he finished taking off his shirt.
“We don’t have to report this,” he said, a sharp, reckless smirk tugging at his mouth as his fingers moved to his belt.
Your hair fanned out across the floor like a dark halo as you mirrored his expression.
“How beautiful you look right now… it’s unforgivable,” he groaned. He dropped to his knees, hovering over you before trailing a path of searing kisses from the line of your jaw to the hollow of your throat. His touch moved lower, tracing your collarbones and the rise of your chest, his focus singular and intense.
Your hands found the broad expanse of his back, your palms grazing his skin before your fingers dug in, anchoring him closer as his lips traveled over your body. Every time he moved lower, your breath hitched, coming in shallow, rapid cycles that imitated the frantic drumming of your heart—a cocktail of anticipation and a sharp, nervous edge. As he left your abdomen, he reached the hem of your dress where it bunched at your hips. Leon’s hands hooked into the fabric, his knuckles brushing your skin as he prepared to slide it away.
He didn’t move fast. He lingered there, his thumbs tracing the sensitive skin of your hip bones just above the hem. The "fear" in your chest wasn't a desire to stop, but rather the overwhelming realization that once this threshold was crossed, the power dynamic between you would be irrevocably shattered.
“Still with me?” he rasped, his voice low and roughened by his own restraint.
You nodded, a small, shaky movement, as your fingers tightened their grip on his shoulders. That was all the permission he needed. With a steady, fluid motion, Leon gathered the fabric and slid the dress down your legs. The cool air hit your skin for only a moment before his warmth replaced it, his body settling between your knees as he cast the garment aside.
He hovered over you, bracing himself on his forearms, looking down at you with an expression that was almost pained in its intensity. "I'm going to ruin us both," he murmured, more to himself than to you.
He didn't wait for a rebuttal. He claimed your mouth again, his kiss no longer questioning but demanding, his hands sliding up to frame your face as if to ensure you were looking at him when he pulled back and directed two fingers to your mouth, brushing your lips, asking you to let him in.
You swallowed, then slowly let your mouth part. A wordless agreement to his request.
A low, guttural sound vibrated in his chest at the gesture—a mix of pleasure and agony. He didn't rush; he slid his fingers past your teeth, testing the heat and depth of your mouth. Your eyes fluttered half-shut, a soft, broken hum catching in your throat. Leon didn’t look away; he tracked every tremor of your lashes and the way your breath hitched, his own jaw locking so tight the muscle leaped. He could feel the heavy, pulsing thrum of his own body reacting to you—a sharp, demanding ache that grew more insistent with every small sound you made.
When he finally withdrew his fingers, they left a glistening trail against your lower lip, a stray drop that escaped the corner of your mouth and tracked slowly down your chin. You didn’t move to wipe it away; you were far too gone, completely intoxicated by the dizzying newness of this sensation. Leon’s presence shifted, the weight of him moving as he crouched lower, his knees spreading yours to settle himself between them. He guided those same fingers downward, his gaze dark and heavy as he surveyed your entrance. There was a pause—a final, breathless moment where he looked up, his eyes searching yours for that last spark of silent consent.
When he saw the hunger mirrored in your expression, he finally made contact. His fingers, still slick and warm, grazed your most sensitive skin with a feather-light touch that made your entire body bolt upright.
A low, shaky breath escaped you as he began to move, his touch transitioning from a graze to a slow, rhythmic pressure. He watched the way your hips instinctively bucked toward his hand, a small, triumphant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Do you like that?” he murmured, his voice a gravelly vibration that seemed to hum right through your skin. “You feel them inside?”
“Mhm…” you managed to answer
He leaned forward, bracing one hand beside your head on the floor while the other continued its torturous work. “Good, baby.” He began to kiss your inner thighs with a gentleness that contrasted with his constant in and out from you.
Every time you tried to close your eyes, he was there, his voice commanding you to stay present. “Look at me,” he whispered against your skin. “I want to see exactly what I’m doing to you.”
The friction of his fingers, the heat of his breath, and the hard weight of him hovering over you turned the room into a hazy blur. You reached out, your nails scratching against his shoulders, desperate to pull him up and close the agonizing gap between your bodies.
“So impatient,” he rasped, though there was no rebuke in it. “Wait for me just a little bit more, I’m not done with you here.”
He shifted his weight, his large hands sliding beneath your thighs to hook them over his shoulders, exposing you completely to the dim light of the room. You let out a broken gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as he leaned down.
When his mouth finally replaced his fingers, the sensation was a revelation. He started with slow, swirling grazes, his tongue tasting your inner folds with a devastating precision. The rough silk of his tongue against your most sensitive nerves made your back arch in a desperate search for more.
“Leon,” you choked out, his name a plea that died in the back of your throat.
He didn’t pull away. Instead, he deepened the contact, his hands gripping your hips with a bruising intensity to hold you still for him. He was thorough, his focus singular and obsessive, searching for your spot.
You were unraveling, your senses peaking as he caught your rhythm, his pace quickening until you were hovering on the very edge of a precipice.
Leon felt the way your muscles coiled with an intensity that signaled you were reaching your limit. He didn't break the contact, but he slowed the rhythm of his tongue just enough to make you ache for it, forcing you to linger in that white-hot space of near-release.
Slowly, he looked up.
His face was flushed, his lips wet and glistening, but his eyes were what caught your breath. They were dark, blown wide with a mixture of predatory focus and raw adoration. He stayed right there, his chin resting against the inside of your thigh, watching the way your chest heaved and your pupils dilated, the way your lips parted to let out a silent, shaking breath.
“That’s it,” he whispered, his finger grazing over the center of your tension while his eyes stayed locked on yours. “I want to see exactly when you break. I want to see you lose it for me.”
Slowly, he pulled himself up. He moved like a predator, his body a heavy, muscular shadow as he crawled over you, his knees sliding between yours to reclaim his place. He was flushed, his lips swollen and his hair a mess from where your fingers had been tangling in it.
You were thoroughly prepared—unraveled, slick, and aching for the weight of him to fill the void his mouth had just left behind.
“You’re perfect,” he said in a whisper.
He didn't wait this time. He reached down, his fingers finding his belt once more, but this time his movements were fast, fueled by a desperation he could no longer hide. He cast his remaining clothes aside. The report you were supposed to write, the jobs you were supposed to protect—it all burned away the second his bare skin pressed against your inner thighs.
He braced himself on his forearms, his chest hovering just a hair’s breadth from yours. He was trembling now, his own restraint finally snapping.
“I told you I wasn't done.” he whispered against your lips, his hands sliding under your hips to tilt you upward, aligning you perfectly.
With a slow, deliberate push, he began to bridge the final gap, his eyes locked onto yours so he could see if you needed to stop—
“Are you okay?” He asked, looking for reassurance, a sign that he hadn’t pushed too far, too fast.
—but you didn’t.
“God, yeah…” you breathed, the words trembling as they left your lips. Your hands moved from his shoulders to his face, your fingers caressing his cheek as you looked back at him with a dazed genuineness. “Don’t stop. Please, Leon…I really want this.”
A flash of something primal—relief mixed with an even deeper hunger—crossed his face at your confession. The tension in his shoulders seemed to snap, his resolve finally giving way to the sheer need he had been holding back.
“Good,” he rasped, his forehead dropping to yours for a fleeting second. “Because I don’t think I could stop now if I tried.”
Leon let out a low, tortured groan into the crook of your neck, his muscles locking as he buried himself to the hilt. He stayed there for a heartbeat, unmoving, his forehead pressed against the cool floor beside your head as he fought for breath. The sensation of being completely filled by him was overwhelming, a grounding weight that finally anchored the frantic energy of the last hour.
“You feel…” he started, but the words broke. He didn't finish. He didn't have to.
He began to move, his pace deliberate and punishingly deep. Each thrust was a heavy, rhythmic pulse that echoed against the hard floor beneath you, a stark reminder of your surroundings. His hands were everywhere—pinning your wrists to the floor one moment, then sliding under your back to pull you flush against his chest the next, desperate to minimize any space between you.
The friction was electric. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your nails digging into his back as you matched his desperate tempo. Every time your skin collided, the sound was a sharp, wet slap in the silence of the room, punctuating the raw, unscripted nature of what was happening.
Leon looked down at you, his face a mask of intense concentration and raw need. He wasn't the composed, calculating man who worried about the mission anymore. He was a man possessed, his eyes tracking the way your head tossed from side to side and the way your fingers clawed at his shoulders.
You reached up, your fingers tangling in the damp hair at the nape of his neck, forcing him to look at you so you could kiss him. You savored yourself in his mouth, invading every corner, playing with his tongue. In a sudden spark of boldness, you even caught his lower lip between your teeth and bit down—hard enough to feel the metallic tang of his blood, ripping a guttural pained moan from his throat. The sound never made it past his lips; it died instantly in your mouth, swallowed whole by your kiss.
When he pulled away you could see how his lips bloomed red and curved into a smile that you knew meant your end.
With a sudden, explosive surge of strength, he hauled you up from the floor, sitting you squarely atop him.
The change in gravity was dizzying. You gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself as you slid down the full length of him. Leon didn't give you a second to adjust; his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, his knuckles white as he took control of the rhythm. He began to thrust upward with a punishing, relentless depth, his head falling back as a jagged groan tore from his throat. From this position, every sensation was amplified as he drove into you again and again. You arched your back, your fingers digging into the corded muscles of his chest, your own voice breaking into high, shattered moans that filled the small space between you. He contemplated you, his lips still stained a bruised red from your bite, savoring the sight of you completely undone.
“Ah— Leon… please,” you choked out, your head tilting back, letting your hair fall as your eyes rolled shut.
He didn't slow down. If anything, the sound of his name in that wrecked tone made him push harder.
“It’s too much,” you cried, a soft, high-pitched oh escaping you as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Leon, I’m… I’m going to…”
“I know, baby, I know.” He recognized at once, going gently but steady. “I’ve got you,” he continued, his breathing coming in heavy, jagged stabs. “Don't fight it. Just give it to me. Give it all to me.”
You let out a shuddering moan, your fingers curling into his hair to pull his mouth back to yours. “I love you,” you managed to breathe against his lips, the confession lost in the middle of a desperate, messy kiss.
Leon didn’t hesitate. “I love you too,” he breathed out, the words sounding like they had been torn from his chest. “So fucking much.”
You buried your face in his shoulder, your teeth grazing his skin as the first wave of the peak hit you. It was a total eclipse of the senses. You cried out his name, a broken, melodic sound that was swallowed by his own guttural roar as he finally lost his grip on reality.
Leon thrust himself inside you one last time, his body locking beneath yours, every muscle in his frame feeling the electricity as he followed you over the edge.
For a long, suspended minute, the only sound was the frantic, echoing thud of two hearts trying to beat as one. He held you with a bruising intensity, his fingers trembling, finding their way to your hair.
The first thing you felt was the biting chill of the air, the second thing was the sore he left in your entire body.
When you fully opened your eyes you realized you were no longer on the floor, you were tucked safely into the heat of the bed, your skin clean and the sheets pulled high against your chest.
The sound of footsteps made you turn your head. Leon drifted into view, a stark, beautiful contrast to the morning light. He was wearing nothing but his pants, his chest bare and his hair still damp and tousled from a recent shower. He looked softer than you had ever seen him, the lethal edge of the mission replaced by a quiet, domestic calm.
“Morning,” he murmured, his voice low.
He sat on the edge of the mattress, the weight of him dipping the bed as he leaned forward to offer you a steaming cup of coffee. A faint, secret smile played on his lips—the kind only you were allowed to see.
“And Happy Christmas… again.”
You reached out a trembling hand to take the mug, your fingers brushing against his—a small contact that managed to bring alive a memory of what you did hours ago. You took a slow, grounding sip, the heat of the coffee mirroring the warmth spreading through your chest as you looked at him.
“You’re a lifesaver,” you rasped, the sound of your own voice a raw, husky betrayal of just how much you’d cried out his name in the dark. You shifted beneath the heavy weight of the blankets, the deep ache in your thighs and core serving as a delicious, lingering map of his strength. A soft, playful smile finally tugged at your lips as you looked up at him.
“And Happy Christmas, Leon,” you added, your voice dropping to a tender whisper. “Though I think we both know I already got exactly what I wanted.”
Leon’s gaze heated, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he set his coffee aside. He leaned over you, his bare chest radiating a warmth that made the morning chill vanish instantly.
“Is that so?” he murmured and you nodded, your thumb caressing his lower lip—still slightly bruised from the night before. “And here I thought I was being subtle by bringing you coffee before demanding a rematch.”
You let out a soft, airy laugh, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his damp hair. “Subtle? Leon, you’re sitting on bed half-naked with that look in your eyes. You’ve never been subtle a day in your life.”
He chuckled, a low, vibration that you felt deep in your chest as he surged forward, pinning your wrists gently against the pillows.
“Fair point,” he admitted, his nose sliding against yours. “Then I’ll be direct.”
He dipped his head, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath hot and sending a fresh wave of goosebumps down your spine. “You moaning my name? It’s the best thing I’ve heard all year,” he whispered. “And since it’s still Christmas morning...”
You looked for his eyes, “I think you are just in time to add it to your list.”
“God, that’s great.” Leon’s smirk deepened, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Cause I’d love to hear it again.”
You laughed softly.
“Oh,” Leon breathed, his expression shifting as a sudden realization hit him. “Almost forgot.”
He reached into his pocket, and as his fingers uncurled, your heart did a slow somersault.
“One last gift.”
“Leon, what the fuck—”
“I’m tired of the wire,” he took your hand with a steady gentleness, sliding the crude, twisted copper wire off your finger. In its place, he slid a cold, heavy band of real gold onto your finger. He met your eyes, a trace of that rare, private smile tugging at his mouth.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his thumb tracing the new metal against your skin just like he had with the wire. “It’s only symbolic.”