ꫂ᭪݁ pair: leon s. kennedy x fem!medic reader
ꫂ᭪݁ summary: after weeks of silence and heartbreak, you finally confront leon about pushing you away and what starts as a painful conversation turns into the truth you’ve both been avoiding for far too long.
⚠︎ warnings: age gap ( leon is 49 , reader is in her early 20s ) , superior/subordinate dynamic, slowburn , power imbalance, workplace romance, emotional neglect, mutual pining, miscommunication, jealousy , abandonment issues, angst, hurt/comfort, crying, arguments, guilt, possessiveness, emotional breakdowns, unresolved trauma, ptsd themes, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, dirty talk, rough sex , emotional reconciliation, not proofread
ꫂ᭪݁ a/n: once again, i originally took this and rewrote it a bit from a longer fanfic i made for my yumeship with leon, so i apologise if it's ooc,,
three weeks. twenty one days. five hundred and four hours.thirty thousand, two hundred and forty minutes.
it sounded like absolutely nothing when you just said the words out loud. it was just a measurement of time, a blip on a calendar that ordinary people passed through without a second thought.
ordinary people went to the grocery store, paid their rent, watched the seasons begin to turn. but for you, living through it... existing inside that suffocating, drawn out span of time felt like dragging your exhausted body through amiles long field of agony since that night.
every single second was a dragging weight for you. the aftermath of what took place at the russian sanatorium had clung to you like a cold memory that settled deep into the marrow of your bones and refused to let go. but the worst part wasn't the memories of the mission itself.
it wasn't the smell of damp concrete and metallic decay that seemed to haunt your apartment. it wasn't the coppery scent of blood, or the blinding adrenaline that left you shivering and drenched in cold sweat in the dead of the night. it wasn't even the sensation of the rusted surgical table biting into your back, or the bruising grip of leon's hands on your hips, though those memories alone were enough to make your breath hitch and your eyes burn with unshed tears.
no. the absolute worst part, the part that was actively tearing you apart piece by bloody piece, was the silence. the crushing, deafening silence from the one person you needed most in the entire world right now.
the interactions between you and leon had dissolved into complete nothingness for the past few days. it was as if that night, that brutal, shattering night where the two of you had finally crossed every single line drawn between you, had been entirely erased from his head.
you were reduced to a passing shadow in the sterile, brightly lit hallways of the dso. you were nothing more than a ghost haunting the breakroom. when you both were unavoidably forced into the same room for department updates or passing shift changes, all you received was a simple, impersonal nod from him.
the briefest fraction of a second of eye contact before he would forcibly tear his gaze away. his jaw would lock tight, a muscle ticking violently in his cheek, and his expression would instantly morph into an impenetrable, towering fortress of ice. it was rare.
it was painfully short. and it was killing you. you hated yourself for it.
you hated the pathetic, desperate way your heart would completely stop the second you caught a glimpse of his broad shoulders down a corridor. you would spend your evenings sitting on your thrifted velvet couch in your dimly lit apartment, staring blankly at the your laptop screen or by the window, feeling so fucking pathetic for how entirely consumed you were by the loss of him. it wasn't just sadness; it was a physical ache.
it was a echoing cavern right in the very center of your chest, right behind your ribs. you missed him so much it made you physically nauseous. you missed his presence in every room you went in.
you missed the rare, quiet moments on long flights where his high guard would slip just a fraction, where he would let his head rest against the window and just breathe. you missed the unspoken, magnetic understanding that used to thrum between you two, the way you both could hold an entire conversation from across a crowded room just by the arch of an eyebrow or the tilt of a chin. you missed the banter.
you missed being a brat just to see that intense fire ignite in his blue eyes. now, there was just this vast, freezing wasteland. he had locked the door, thrown away the key, and left you standing out in the cold.
but what you didn't know, what you couldn't possibly see through the massive, fortified walls he had built around himself, was that leon kennedy was drowning. for him, it was a thousand times worse. it was a self inflicted torture he couldn't let go.
every single time he caught a glimpse of you, the way your silky hair fell perfectly over your shoulder, the way your delicate fingers tapped against your coffee cup, the exhaustion bruising the skin under your beautiful, expressive eyes, a violent, gut wrenching wave of pure self hatred crashed over him, pulling him under. the guilt was eating him alive from the inside out. he couldn't stop replaying that night in the sanatorium.
it played on an endless, agonizing loop behind his eyelids every time he tried to sleep. he had lost control. he had let years of suppressed, desire snap his fragile restraint in half.
he had pinned you to a filthy table. he had ignored your feelings, masking his own terror with brutal, punishing authority. he had snapped at you when you were vulnerable, when you had just nearly died.
he had taken everything you offered, completely consumed you, and then... what had he done? he had offered you absolutely zero comfort in the weeks that followed.
he had left you to freeze in the dark, emotional fallout while he played that stupid, unaffected senior agent. he thought he was doing the right thing. he truly believed it.
he thought that by shutting you down, by putting up that impenetrable wall of ice, he was protecting you from the walking disaster that he was. he was an older agent made entirely of a lifetime of government mandated violence. he was damaged beyond repair.
and you... you were brilliant, beautiful, full of light, with your entire life ahead of you. he had convinced himself, in the most lonely hours of the night, that dragging you into his suffocating darkness was the ultimate sin he could make.
the rest of the dso building was like a tomb. the sole source of light in his immaculate office was a single desk lamp casting long, harsh shadows across his paperwork. a half empty glass of cheap whiskey sat sweating onto a coaster.
his calloused fingers had hovered over his keyboard for what felt like an eternity. he was filling out the paperwork. a formal request for a supervisor transfer.
he had stared at your name glowing innocently on the bright monitor screen for an entire hour. he traced the letters with his eyes, his heart clenching so painfully he thought he might actually be having a heart attack. he reasoned with himself over and over again.
he told himself that someone else, someone better, someone who wasn't carrying a lifetime of undead ghosts and survivor's guilt, should be your superior. you deserved a clean slate. you deserved a partner who wouldn't bruise your thighs on a rusted table just because he was terrified of losing you.
you deserved a normal life. and with a shaking hand, a hand that had held steady through thousands of firefights, he finally clicked the mouse. he hit submit.
the screen loaded, the request went through to the director's office, and leon dropped his face into his hands, completely shattered. he just hadn't told you. he had been too much of a coward to look you in those beautiful eyes and break your heart to your face.
the call came late on a tuesday night. it was raining outside, a miserable, steady drizzle that matched the desolation inside your apartment. you had been sitting cross legged on your couch, wearing an oversized sweatshirt that had seen better days, a mug of chamomile tea gone completely cold between your hands.
you were just staring at the wall, letting the hours slip by, when your phone buzzed against the coffee table. the sudden noise made you jump. you reached out, your heart giving a pathetic, hopeful flutter.
maybe it was him. maybe he had finally cracked. maybe he was outside your building, standing in the rain, ready to apologize and tell you he couldn't do this anymore.
but hunnigan's name flashed steadily on the illuminated screen. you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat thick and painful, and swiped to answer.
"hey," hunnigan's voice came through the speaker, crisp, professional, and completely devoid of the emotional nuclear bomb she was about to casually drop. "i hope i'm not interrupting your evening.i'm calling to inform you of a structural change regarding your current assignment protocol."
you frowned, your brows knitting together. "a structural change..?i don-don't ..understand. what's going on?
"effective tomorrow morning at zero eight hundred hours, you have been reassigned," hunnigan stated, her tone perfectly even, reading from a script you couldn't see.
"you will no longer be operating under agent kennedy. you'll be reporting directly to a new supervisor."
the moment you heard hunnigan's word you felt like the world completely stopped spinning. the hum of the refrigerator, the sound of the rain against the glass, the ticking of the clock on the wall, it all vanished, sucked into a vacuum. your breath caught sharply in your throat, refusing to go down to your lungs.your fingers tightened around the phone until your knuckles turned stark white.
"what?"you breathed, your voice cracking, sounding incredibly small and fragile. "why? did i... did i do something wrong?is this a disciplinary action?"
"no, it's nothing like that at all," hunnigan replied quickly, though there was a faint, almost softening in her tone. "your record is spotless. it was entirely an internal decision. a request from senior leadership. ''
your new supervisor is agent david miller. he's highly capable, newly promoted, and honestly, he is much closer to your experience bracket. it's believed this will be a much more compatible working dynamic for your continued growth within the dso.his files and your new schedule have already been sent to your encrypted inbox. have a good night. we'll see you tomorrow."
the line went dead. a flat, monotone beep echoing in the quiet apartment. you didn't move.
you couldn't move. the phone slipped from your numb fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor. the cold tea sloshed dangerously in the mug.
a request from senior leadership.
he had requested it. leon had requested to get rid of you. the realization didn't hit you all at once; it bled into you slowly, paralyzing venom going through your veins.
you didn't sleep a single second that night. you laid in your bed, the soft duvet completely tangled around your legs, the darkness of your bedroom pressing down on your chest like a physical weight. you stared up at the ceiling, and you cried.
you cried until your throat was raw, until your chest physically ached with the force of your sobs, until you were completely, entirely empty. you cried for the loss of him. you cried for the cowardly way you had been discarded.
he hadn't even had the basic human decency to tell you himself. he hadn't even looked you in the eye. he had just filled out a form and handed you off to someone else like you were a piece of defective equipment.like you meant absolutely nothing to him.
the next morning was a waking nightmare. your alarm blared, and you dragged yourself out of bed feeling like you had been hit by a freight train.staring at your reflection in the harsh lighting of your bathroom mirror, you barely recognized yourself. your eyes were swollen, red rimmed, and aching. your skin was devoid of its usual warmth.
you splashed freezing water on your face, methodically brushing out your hair, trying to smooth it down into something resembling professionalism. as you stared at the dark circles under your eyes, a fleeting, desperate, bitter thought crossed your mind.
maybe it is for the better.
maybe this was the universe's harsh way of telling you to finally let him go. to move on. to stop hoping for blood from a stone. to stop pining for a man who evidently, wanted absolutely nothing to do with you.
you tried to force that resolve into your chest. you tried to armor yourself with anger. you told yourself you hated him.you told yourself he was a coward and you were better off without his heavy, suffocating presence.
but it was a lie. the moment you stepped through the sliding glass doors into headquarters, the ache was still there, throbbing and raw and completely debilitating.
and if you were in pain, leon was existing in a state of pure, suffocating, self inflicted torment. the reality of his stubborn, idiotic choice hit him with the force of a physical blow the very first moment he saw you walking down the corridor beside your new supervisor. agent david miller was exactly what hunnigan had said.
he was young, conventionally handsome with a full head of neat, styled brown hair and striking green eyes. he was completely lacking the suffocating, traumatic scars that leon carried in every single line on his face. miller walked with a light step, unburdened by decades of bioterrorism and death.
and leon hated him instantly. he hated him with a fiery, ugly passion. it was a sudden, violent jealousy that flared up in the center of his chest like battery acid, burning his throat.
he stood by the coffee machine in the bullpen, an untouched cup of black sludge in his hand, and he watched you two. his knuckles were white as he gripped the styrofoam cup, his other hand clenched into a tight, shaking fist inside the pocket of his slacks. his jaw was grinding so hard his teeth physically ached.
he watched as miller leaned entirely too close over your desk. he watched miller smile, a bright, easy smile that leon couldn't manage if his life depended on it. he watched miller point at a line on a file, his shoulder brushing against yours.
he watched miller laugh at something you said, though your face remained completely impassive.
why the fuck do i feel so jealous?
leon would scream at himself internally, a furious, hypocritical rage boiling in his blood.
i did this.i pushed her away. i signed the damn transfer.
but cold, hard logic didn't stand a ghost of a chance against the agonizing reality of watching another man actively try to take his place.of watching another man look at you with the exact same hunger leon had spent years trying to suppress. two weeks dragged by like this. two full weeks of absolute, unadulterated hell.
miller had made his intentions painfully and blindingly obvious from day one. he was completely smitten. he was a moth drawn to a flame, and you were the brightest thing in the entire facility.
he was constantly hovering around you. constantly finding made up excuses to be near you, to ask you questions he already knew the answers to. he was dropping shameless, flirtatious compliments about your hair, your outfits, your perfume, actively trying to blur the strict lines of your professional relationship. but for you, it was entirely, devastatingly one sided.
you were a ghost going through the motions of the living. you were doing your paperwork, analyzing medical reports, running diagnostics, but your soul was completely vacant. you were silently, profoundly grieving leon while he was standing right there, just fifty feet away from you, in the same building.
you didn't care about miller's charming smiles. you didn't care about his witty jokes or his perfect teeth. you would offer polite, hollow nods. shutting down his advances with a cool professionalism that he didn't even seem to fully comprehend was a rejection.
you just ignored it. it was background noise. because your mind, your heart, your entire being was constantly drifting back to the cold, distant, piercing blue eyes of the man who had abandoned you.
you would catch glimpses of leon walking past the glass walls of the medical bay, his shoulders rigid, his face unreadable, and your breath would catch every. single .time. the absolute breaking point, the moment where the fragile thread holding everything together finally snapped, arrived on a miserable rainy thursday afternoon.
an urgent mission briefing was called.
it was a multi team operation, requiring the coordination of medical, tactical, and intel divisions. when you walked through t doors of the briefing room, your heart immediately slammed violently against your ribs.
the room was already darkened, the blackout blinds pulled down over the windows. the only light came from the harsh, stark white glow of the projector screen at the front of the large, oval, polished table. you paused in the doorway, your grip tightening on your tablet.
you took a deep, shaky breath and moved to take a seat. to your horror, the room was packed, and the only available chair put you directly, inescapably in leon's line of sight. he was sitting almost directly across from you on the opposite side of the table.
you sat down slowly, your legs feeling like lead. and to make matters infinitely, impossibly worse, miller didn't take a seat. instead, he chose to stand right behind your chair.
he leaned forward, resting his hands casually on the back of your seat, caging you in in a display of casual, territorial intimacy that made your skin physically crawl. the proximity was suffocating. the air in the room felt entirely too thick to breathe.
the hum of the projector seemed to vibrate in your teeth. the lead agent stood at the front and began the presentation, a laser pointer moving across the screen as he droned on about extraction points in eastern europe, hostiles, weapons caches, and perimeter breaches. but the words were pure static noise to both you and leon.
neither you nor leon heard a single thing. you kept your eyes glued with terrifying intensity to the illuminated screen. you were terrified that if you looked away, if you let your gaze drift across the table to him, you would completely shatter in front of twenty senior agents.
you felt deeply, terribly uneasy. you felt weird in your own skin. miller's constant, hovering presence behind you was an irritating, buzz just like stupid fly you couldn't swat away.
but the unavoidable pull of leon sitting right there across the table was tearing you apart at the seams. you missed him so badly your hands were visibly shaking under the table. you had to clasp them tightly in your lap, digging your fingernails into your own palms to ground yourself.
across the polished wood grain, hidden in the shadows, leon was completely losing his mind. he couldn't focus on a single word of the briefing. his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to keep them trained on the satellite maps, kept flicking back to you in the dim blue light.
he saw everything. he saw the uncomfortable tension in the delicate slope of your shoulders. he saw the way you were gripping your own hands.
he saw the way miller was fucking hovering over you like he already owned you, his hands practically brushing your jacket. and the ugly, corrosive jealousy boiled over once again, hotter and more suffocating than before. and this time, it was a physical pressure in his chest.
he watched the way the projector light caught the shiny strands of your hair. he watched you bite down hard on your plush bottom lip, a nervous habit of yours he knew entirely too well.
he remembered exactly what those lips tasted like. he remembered the exact pitch of your voice when you moaned his name in the dark of that ruined hospital. he couldn't take it anymore. he was suffocating in his own perfectly built trap.
halfway through the briefing, while the entire room's attention was fixed firmly on a complex structural diagram of a compound, leon shifted. his movements were controlled, born of decades of stealth training, but they were driven by a desperate impulse he simply couldn't hold back anymore. he reached into the pocket of his tactical shirt and unclipped his silver pen.
he reached over to the leather bound clipboard resting on the table in front of him. silently, he tore off a small, blank, triangular piece of paper from the bottom corner of a scattered report he forgot about. he brought it flat to the table, shielding it with his broad hand.
you caught the subtle movement out of the absolute corner of your eye. you didn't turn your head, but you shifted your gaze just a fraction. you squinted in the low, ambient light, your breath hitching in your chest as you watched him writing something down.
his face was cast entirely in shadow, his expression a hard, unreadable mask, but the grip he had on the silver pen was white knuckled, the veins in the back of his hand bulging. when he finished the short note, he capped the pen and folded the small slip of paper perfectly in half. then, with a subtle, flick of his index and middle fingers, he slid it across the polished surface of the massive table until it stopped dead exactly an inch away from your notepad. your heart completely stopped.
you stared at the little folded triangle of paper like it was an active explosive device. you waited for ten torturous seconds, your eyes flicking up to the projector, making absolutely sure neither miller nor anyone else in the crowded room was paying even the slightest bit of attention to your side of the table. when you were sure the view was clear, you reached out with trembling fingers.
you slid the paper off the edge of the table and pulled it down into your lap. beneath the table, you carefully, slowly unfolded it. the handwriting was sharp and hurried as you tried to read it.you had read enough of his mission reports to know every angle of his script.
'see me in my office after the briefing'
and with that. your heart plummeted so violently, it felt like it had crashed straight through the floorboards into the basement of the building. all the remaining color drained entirely from your face. a cold panic flooded your veins like ice water.
what could this mean? what could he possibly want now?
after three full weeks of actively avoiding you. after treating you like a total stranger he had never even met. after going behind your back and transferring you away to another man without a single word of explanation...
now he wants to see you? alone? behind the closed, door of his office?
your mind, completely unmoored by anxiety, raced through the most devastating possibilities. was he going to end everything with you for good? was he going to tell you that your mere presence in the building, the way you looked at him, was too much of a distraction?
was he having you moved to another branch entirely, maybe shipping you off to a field office in europe so he wouldn't have to deal with the guilt anymore?
the rest of the briefing was a total, unmitigated blur of anxiety. you didn't hear a single word. you just stared at the screen, your stomach tied in excruciating knots, waiting for the axe to fall.
when the lights finally flicked back on with a loud, blindingly bright snap, the spell was broken. the tension in the room dissipated into the mundane sounds of office life. chairs scraped loudly against the office floor.
agents began grabbing their files, stretching or filing out of the room in smaller groups. leon stood up immediately. he grabbed his clipboard, his jaw set so tightly it looked like it might shatter.
before he turned to leave, before he joined the flow of traffic out the door, he looked at you. it was a fleeting, fast glance, but it hit you with the force of a physical blow to the sternum. his blue eyes were so entirely, frustratingly unreadable.
was he mad? or was he just exhausted by the whole situation?
you honestly couldn't tell now. and before you could even process the weight of that look, he turned his broad back and walked swiftly out of the room, heading straight down the corridor toward his office.
soon, the massive briefing room was almost completely empty. just the quiet, dying hum of the cooling projector fan. and miller. he stepped around the side of your chair, stepping right into your personal space with that easy, entirely oblivious smile plastered across his face.
"hey," he said, shifting his weight casually, completely unaware of the absolute warzone currently raging inside your head.
"intense briefing, huh? eastern europe is going to be a hell of a nightmare.'' he pauses for a bit . '' look, i was thinking...maybe after we finish up work today, we could head out? there's this bar downtown, just opened up. great reviews. we could grab some drinks, maybe some food? i heard the place is pretty great, and honestly, we could both use a breather before the prep work starts tomorrow."
your mind was still miles away, entirely trapped inside the tiny, folded piece of paper currently burning a hole through the fabric of your skirt pocket. at first, his words didn't even register as a date. your brain was so overloaded with anxiety about leon that you almost blindly brushed it off as a friendly, post work destress thing. a way for coworkers to vent. but then you looked up at his face.
you really looked at him. you saw the expectant glint in his eyes. you remembered the two weeks of his hovering. the lingering, unnecessary touches on your shoulder. the compliments about your perfume. the way he was leaning in right now, trying to catch your eye, trying to establish some.. connection that simply wasn't there. it all clicked into perfect place just now.
it wasn't just friendly. it never was. he was asking you out.
an overwhelming wave of sheer exhaustion washed over you. you were so tired. you were tired of pretending.
you were tired of hurting. your heart, bruised, bleeding, and aching constantly, was still completely, hopelessly, permanently glued to leon. there was absolutely no room in your chest for anyone else. not even a fraction of an inch. you couldn't even fake a smile for this man. you had to shut this down.
you had to do it firmly, right now.
"agent miller," you started, your voice quiet, but incredibly, surprisingly steady. you forced yourself to meet his gaze, making sure he saw the absolute seriousness in your eyes.
"i appreciate the offer. i really do. it's kind of you." you paused, taking a slow breath, making sure the words you were about to say were clear and final. "but i have to decline," you said softly. "i am.. already seeing someone else."
miller blinked. he blinked twice, the easy, confident smile slipping rapidly from his face, replaced by a flash of genuine surprise, and then, a flush of slightly embarrassed understanding.
"oh," he said, taking a small, physical step back, creating distance. "right. i... i didn't realize. i'm sorry, i completely misunderstood the situation. sorry to bother you. really.have a good night."
"you too," you murmured, watching him retreat.
he grabbed his files and quickly exited the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall, leaving you standing entirely alone in the deafening, heavy silence of the empty briefing room. you were alone now. just you, the empty chairs, and the terrifying reality of your situation crashing back down on your shoulders.
the gut wrenching realization of leon's written request.
you stood perfectly still for a long time, your hands resting flat on the cool surface of the mahogany table. you were lost in a labyrinth of your own thoughts, your mind taking a sharp, terrifying turn for the absolute worst.
what if he wanted to finally tell you, to your face, that he never wished to see you again? what if this was a formal dressing down? what if he just wanted to clear his own guilty conscience?
to sit you down, look you in the eye, and formally apologize for being a fucking asshole in the sanatorium just so he could sleep a little better at night, right before he walked out of your life for good? just what exactly could a man like leon kennedy want from you after barely a real, human conversation had taken place between you two in three long weeks? but as you stood there, clutching the edge of the table until your fingers ached, something shifted inside you.
deep down, beneath the layers of hurt and anxiety, a tiny, stubborn, absolutely reckless spark ignited in your chest. a spark of desperate, angry courage.
you made up your mind right then and there. this shit had to be cleared out. the air had to be cleared. you absolutely could not live in this freezing, agonizing purgatory for a single day longer. you needed answers. you demanded them.
even if getting those answers meant the ache in your heart would finally reach its absolute, breaking peak. even if whatever he had to say completely, irreparably shattered you into a million pieces. you would rather bleed out from the truth than slowly freeze to death in his silence.
you took a deep, shuddering breath, pulling the cool air into your lungs. you let your hands fall to your sides, smoothing down the fabric of your skirt. you turned on your heel and walked out of the briefing room.
the hallways of the dso were absolutely quiet now. most of the day shift staff had already packed up and gone home to their warm beds, leaving only the crew of analysts and night guards.
every single step you took down the long corridor toward his office somehow felt infinitely heavier than the last,while your anxiety was skyrocketing, bubbling up in your throat. your pulse was pounding in your ears so loudly and it was entirely deafening. you passed empty offices, closed doors and rows of silent cubicles.
the walk felt like it took hours.
by the time you finally rounded the final corner, stepping into the senior agent wing, the corridor was completely empty. it was just you, the pristine white walls, and the door with his silver nameplate on it at the very end of the hall.
you stopped a few feet away from the door.
you genuinely expected the worst. you tried to prepare yourself, wrapping an imaginary wall around your chest, bracing for the final severing of ties with him, if he wished that. you prepared yourself to lose the absolute last, pathetic, lingering bit of hope you had foolishly clung to for an apology, for a reason, for anything that meant he still cared.
and then, you reached his door.
the warm light from his desk lamp spilled out into the dim hallway from underneath the crack at the bottom of the door. you closed your eyes for a split second, gathering every ounce of strength you possessed. you raised a trembling hand, curled your fingers into a soft fist, and then knocked on his door.
it feels like the air in the hallway is too thin, suffocatingl as you stand outside the door. you've been standing here for what feels like an hour, though it's probably only been a few seconds. your hand is still raised, knuckles white and trembling.
the warm light beneath the door is a sliver of yellow in the otherwise dark hallway. you're terrified. you're so terrified that your heart feels like it's going to bruise your ribs from the inside.
you spent the last few weeks convincing yourself that this moment was coming, the moment where he'd look you in the eyes and tell you that he just can't do this, that the danger, the mission, all of it is too much. you've built up entire scenarios in your mind where he tells you to walk away and never look back. but even with all that preparation, the reality of it is nauseating.
you're not ready to lose him. you never were. you never will be.
"come in." his voice. it cuts through the silence, deep and rough, right through the soles of your feet.
you reach for the handle, your palm damp against the cold metal, and you push the door open. the office seeming like a cavern. it's 9 pm and the rest of the dso is a ghost town at this hour,unlike this room.
the only light comes from the small desk lamp. it's a pool of warm, amber glow that makes the rest of the room feel infinitely far away. leon is there, hunched over his desk, his silhouette a jagged outline of tension.
he hasn't even looked up yet. he's surrounded by a chaos of mission files and his tablet on the desk, but he isn't working right now. he's just sitting there, staring at a blank spot on the polished mahogany.
you step inside, the door clicking shut behind you with a sound that makes your stomach flip. you stop a few feet away, feeling like an intruder in his space, even though you've spent hundreds of hours in this exact room. you're wearing your usual office clothes, but right now they feel way too formal, too tight even.
you want to run, but your feet are rooted to the floor.
"you wanted to see me ?"you say. your voice sounds thin, barely like whisper. you hate how fragile you sound. you hate that you're trembling in front of him, that he has this much power over you just by existing in the same room.
leon finally lifts his head. the movement is slow as if his neck is stiff from the weight of everything he's been holding. when his gaze finds yours, you feel the air leave the room too.
he looks destroyed. there's no other word for it. the man who is usually so composed, so unshakable, looks like he's been through a war that no one else can see.
the dark circles under his eyes are deep and his hair is a mess, pushed back carelessly from his forehead. he doesn't smile. he doesn't even move to stand up.
he just watches you, his blue eyes searching your face with a desperation that confuses you. he's looking for something, an answer, a reaction, an opening? you don't know.
"please sit down " he says. his voice is a gravelly scrape, lacking that usual authority he has. he gestures vaguely to the leather chair across from his desk, but he doesn't look at you as he says it. he looks back down at his hands, which are clasped tightly together on the desk.
you don't move.your heart is hammering against your chest, a frantic bird in a cage.
"i'd rather stand," you reply, your voice gaining a little more edge. you want to be able to leave if you need to. you don't want to be trapped in his chair, vulnerable.
leon lets out a heavy, ragged exhale. he leans back, the leather of his chair groaning under the shift in his weight. he looks like he's aged ten years in the last three weeks. he drags a hand down his face, the stubble of his jaw raspy against his palm.
he looks everywhere but at you, at the files, at the lamp, at the floor, as if he's trying to find the courage to say something that feels impossible to voice.
"look.i'm not good at this," he starts, his voice dropping into that low, intimate register that always manages to pull you apart. he's rambling, trying to find his footing. "i never have been. but i asked you to stay behind because... i wanted to apologize. properly. "
you wait, your pulse drumming in your ears.
the word 'apologize' hangs in the air, heavy and strange. you've wanted this, haven't you? you've replayed a hundred different versions of this conversation in your head where he tells you he's sorry.
but now that it's here, it feels wrong. it feels like he's treating the last three weeks of your life like a mission error, a protocol issue to be filed away.
"the sanatorium," he continues, finally forcing his eyes back to yours. his gaze is intense, searing. it's like he's trying to memorize your face. "how i acted. how i treated you. it was wrong. you were in distress, and i was... cold. i shut you out like a fucking asshole . i didn't offer you any comfort and I.." he stops, his throat hitching. he looks physically pained, like every word is a jagged piece of glass he's forcing himself to swallow.
"i thought i was doing the right thing. keeping my head in the mission. but i know i hurt you." he pauses, looking at you like he's waiting for you to say it's okay. but you can't. you won't.
the pain of those three weeks, the loneliness, the feeling of being discarded, the way you'd lay in bed at night staring at your phone waiting for a message that never came, it's all there, sitting right behind your eyes.
"the transfer," he says, his voice thickening.
"hunnigan told you, obviously. i requested it. i thought... thought getting you away from me, putting you with someone who isn't a completely damaged wreck, would be better for you. someone who wouldn't drag you down." he leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk.
he looks so tired. so incredibly tired of fighting himself. "i understand if you never want to see me again.i understand if you hate me. i'll keep my distance as much as humanly possible. i just... i needed to apologize.properly." the silence that follows is deafening. it's the silence of a house after a storm, where everything is quiet, but everything is ruined.
you watch him. you watch the way his hands clench and unclench, the way he refuses to look away now, as if he's daring you to be angry, or sad, or anything at all. but your blood is boiling.
that polite, formally way he's speaking to you, like you're just a casualty on a mission report, a liability he needs to carefully detach from, it straight up feels like a slap in the face. is this what he thinks? that a simple apology cleans the slate? that he can just press a button, move you to another supervisor, and everything goes back to normal?
"is that it?" you ask. your voice is shaking, but not from the fragility you felt in the hallway. it's shaking from a cold, sharp anger that's been building in your gut for twenty one days.
leon frowns, his brow furrowing. "wait,"
"is that.. it?"you repeat, your voice climbing. you take a step forward, your heels clicking on the floor. you're right at the edge of his desk now, close enough to smell the faint, familiar scent of him, gun oil, rain, and that clean, sharp scent of his soap.
"you bring me in here, after three weeks of treating me like a ghost, to give me what.. a rehearsed, bullshit apology so you can feel better about yourself?"
"it's not rehearsed," leon fires back, his own voice rising. he looks frustrated, his blue eyes flashing. "i'm trying to do the right thing,"
"the right thing?" you let out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. it's bitter, sharp, and entirely unforced.
"what the fuck is wrong with you, leon?"
he flinches. the harshness of your words seems to knock the air out of him. he looks stunned, like he didn't expect you to fight back. but you're done being the quiet, obedient medic.
you're done being the one who waits for his permission to exist.
"how could you be like this?" you demand, the tears finally, finally spilling over. they feel hot against your cold skin. you don't bother wiping them away. you want him to see them. you want him to see every single piece of the mess he made.
"you think this is what i want? you think you're protecting me by throwing me away? by handing me off to some new supervisor like i'm a damaged toy you don't want to deal with anymore?"
"i'm trying to keep you safe from me. god." leon stands up abruptly, the chair skidding back against the floor with a screech that sets your teeth on edge.
he towers over the desk, his chest heaving, his blue eyes desperate.
"you don't know what it's like inside my head. you don't know the shit i ruin, the people i get hurt."
"well.i don't fucking care about any of that shit!jesus." you scream. your voice cracks, raw and ugly. you grip the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles turn white.
"i never cared about that! i cared about you!all i wanted that night in the sanatorium was for you to look at me. to give me one word of comfort. one word of love. and you?you looked right through me like i was nothing. do you have any idea how much that hurts? to be looked at by the person you love like you're just... what ? scenery?"
the room is spinning. you feel like you're standing on the edge of a cliff, and you're just waiting for him to push you off.and god.you've said too much. you know you just have. but there's no turning back now. the words are pouring out of you like blood from a wound that won't close.
"and now you want to just... disappear?" you continue, your voice dropping to a harsh, trembling whisper. "you want to walk out of my life like days, months, years of my love for you meant absolutely nothing? despite everything i've endured ? the nights i cried myself to sleep wondering what i did wrong? wondering if i was too much, or not enough, or just... unwanted?"
you shake your head, tears streaming down your face.
"this is all so stupid. it's so fucking stupid, leon."
leon stands frozen. the fire he had just seconds ago seems to have been extinguished by your honesty. he looks at you, really looks at you, and the exhaustion on his face turns into something much more fragile.
he looks like he's seeing you for the first time in weeks, not just the medic, not just the subordinate, but the woman he's been trying so hard to push away. the silence in the room is heavy. it's not the tense, waiting silence from before; it's the thick, suffocating silence of a truth that's finally been laid bare.
you drop your head. your long, hair falls forward, acting as a curtain between you and him. you're shaking, your entire body vibrating with the effort it takes to keep standing.
you feel so exposed. you feel humiliated. you've just told him everything, and you have no idea if it's going to make him love you or make him walk out the door.
"i feel so pathetic," you whisper. your voice is barely audible, a small, sad sound in the large, quiet office.
you stare down at the desk, at the scattered papers, at the way the light catches the dust motes dancing in the air. you feel a tear drop from your chin, hitting the wood with a quiet plip.
leon breathes, and his voice is so broken, so full of a raw, agonizing ache that it makes your chest seize. he reaches out, but he doesn't touch you. he's terrified of his own hands. you can see the conflict in his face, the way his muscles tense and relax as he battles his own restraint.
"and i am," you continue, your voice barely holding together. you look up at him, and your eyes are glassy, red, and searching his for some sign of life, some sign that you're not alone in this hell. "i mean... how could i possibly not be in this situation? falling for someone who can't even stand to look at me for more than five seconds?" you pause. the room is so quiet you can hear the hum of the cooling system in the walls. you're trying to breathe, to find the right words to make him understand, but every word feels like it's failing you. you just let it all out, raw, and completely unguarded.
"i just don't understand," you sob, the words tumbling out of you.
"do you even feel something for me? if so, then do something about it, you fucking asshole. i can't, i can't do this anymore. i can't keep guessing. i can't keep waiting for you to decide if i'm worth keeping around. tell me. just tell me the truth. do you love me, or are you just trying to be a hero again?" you're staring at him, your chest heaving, your face wet with tears. you look like a mess, you know you do, but you don't care.
you've stopped caring. you're done playing the game where he's the ice and you're the fire, and you're the one who always ends up burning.
leon stares back at you. for a moment, he's like a statue. then, the change happens. the wall he's been building around his heart for weeks, for months, for years, finally gives way. the stoic exterior crumbles. he looks at you with an expression that's so naked, so filled with a mixture of love, fear, and absolute agony that it makes your heart stop. he's not the agent anymore. he's not the dso supervisor. he's just a man. a man who is clearly, painfully in love, and terrified of the damage he's done.
he doesn't wait for you to say anything else. he doesn't wait for a bridge to form. he rounds the desk with a speed that catches you off guard, his heavy boots thudding against the floor.
he closes the distance between you in two long, desperate strides, and before you can even react, his hands are on you. they're firm, almost bruising, as he grabs your shoulders. he's looking at you like you're the only girl in the world, his gaze wild and unfocused, as if he's trying to memorize the way the light hits your skin.
"feel something?" he rasps, his voice a low, gravelly sound that vibrates in your chest. "are you kidding me? god, sweetheart ... i feel everything. i feel it every second of every day.'' he pauses.
''it's like a fever that won't go away." he's breathing hard, his chest brushing against yours. you can smell the faint, sharp scent of his cologne, the heat radiating off his body, the way his heart is slamming against his ribs just like yours.
"but i do feel the same for you," he confesses, the words coming out as a jagged admission. he sounds like he's dying, like the words are physically hurting him as they leave his throat.
"i have for so long. but i feel guilty. god, i feel so fucking guilty. i look at you, and all i see is everything i'm not, everything i never deserved to have." he lets out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping down to rest against yours. the contact is electric.
you can feel the sweat on his skin, the frantic beat of his pulse at his throat, the way he's trembling. you've never seen him like this. he's completely undone.
"i'm in love with you," he whispers, and the words are so quiet, so incredibly intimate, that they seem to change the entire atmosphere of the room. it's a confession that holds the weight of months of silence, of suppressed feelings, of late nights wondering what could have been.
"i'm so madly in love with you it makes me sick. but you have this entire, beautiful life ahead of you, and i am... drowning in my own hell of a life.''
''i thought that.. if i was cold to you that night, if i pushed you away, it would be easier. easier for you to find someone who could give you the life you deserve." he opens his eyes, staring directly into yours. they're blue, deep as the ocean, and filled with a raw, agonizing honesty that makes your breath hitch.
"i wanted you to hate me. i thought if you hated me, you'd forget about me. you'd move on to someone like miller, someone who could give you a normal life. " he lets out a broken, self deprecating laugh, a sound that has no humor in it.
"but i can't do it. watching him look at you, knowing i handed you over to him... it's killing me. it's absolutely eating me alive."
his hands move from your shoulders, sliding up your neck, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw, his touch incredibly gentle, almost reverent. he's wiping the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he's trying to fix the damage he's caused with just the warmth of his skin.
"that's the last thing i want," he pleads, his voice thick, rough. "i can't endure it anymore. i want you. i need your love, i need you. i know i made a massive mistake. i know i fucked up, and i know it's going to take a lot of time to fix this, to earn your trust back. but i want to do it. god, i want to. just... please. please tell me you'll let me." he's looking at you, his heart completely laid bare, his eyes wide and vulnerable.
he's waiting for you to say something, to give him a sign, to tell him that he's not too late. the tension in the room is so thick you could cut it with a knife, and your own heart is pounding so hard it's all you can hear. you're looking at him, and you feel the last vestiges of your anger, your hurt, your pride, simply melting away.
all that's left is this. the way his hands feel against your skin, the way his breath is warm against your face, the way his eyes hold yours with an intensity that makes the rest of the world disappear. you don't know what to say.
you don't know if there are words for this. and you realize, in that moment, that you don't need words. you just need him.
you move. it's a small movement, a sudden shift in the air, as you reach out and place your hands on the sides of his face. his skin is warm, his stubble rough against your palms.
you can feel the way he leans into your touch, the way he lets out a ragged, shaky breath as if he's been holding it in for months. you look at him, really look at him, and you see everything he's been hiding. the fear, the guilt, the overwhelming, all consuming need for you. and you know that you feel the same. you feel the same ache, the same hunger, the same impossible, terrifying love that's kept you up at night for so long. you don't pull him in yet.
you just hold his face, your thumbs tracing the lines of his cheekbones, feeling the tension slowly begin to drain out of his body. he's watching you, his own eyes searching yours, a silent question hanging between you. he wants you to be sure.
he wants to know that if he lets his guard down, if he drops the last of his armor, you'll be there. you're so, so sure.
"leon," you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. it's the only word you can manage, and it seems to carry the weight of everything you've just said, everything you've been feeling, everything you hope for. he blinks, his expression shifting from desperation to a kind of stunned awe, as if he's surprised that you're still here, that you're still looking at him like this.
and then, he leans in, closing the last of the distance until your lips are only millimeters apart. you can feel the warmth radiating from him, the way his body is pressed against yours, the way his hands are still gripping your waist, holding you like you're the only thing keeping him grounded. the silence is absolute now.
there's no sound in the room, no sound in the hallway, no sound anywhere else. there is only the two of you, standing in the middle of a dark office, surrounded by the gut-wretching nightmares of the life you've both been leading, and the terrifying, beautiful promise of something else. he looks down at your lips, then back up to your eyes, his gaze so heavy and so full of meaning that it makes your knees weak.
he's asking, in his own silent way, if this is okay. if he's allowed to step across the line he's drawn in the sand. you don't look away.
you don't pull back. you just wait, your heart thundering, your breath catching in your throat, waiting for the moment when the world finally shifts, and everything you've ever wanted becomes real.
leon doesn't let you go. not for a single, agonizing second. the suffocating silence that had been building between you both for three torturous weeks completely shatters, replaced by the frantic, echoing sound of your hitched breathing. his large, calloused hands are all over you, frantic and starving, tracing the shape of your waist, mapping the delicate curve of your spine through the thick fabric of your sweater.
his grip is punishingly firm, like a physical manifestation of every single thing he hasn't been able to say out loud. he maneuvers you backward with toward the edge of his massiv mahogany desk.
the scattered papers, the redacted dso files, the mission briefings he had been pretending to obsess over just moments ago are completely forgotten to him.
with a swift motion that leaves you entirely breathless, he lifts you off the ground. your legs instinctively, naturally wrap around his narrow hips, seeking the heat of him. he sets you down onto the cool, hard, polished surface of the desk, the impact sending a jolt right up your spine.
he doesn't give you a fraction of a second to adjust. he moves into the space between your thighs immediately, parting your knees further, his massive body caging you in completely. the sheer, unyielding weight of him presses you back against the wood, a beautiful, trapping pressure that you have been craving in the darkest, loneliest hours of your night.
his hands are incredibly steady, but his chest is heaving violently. his breathing is completely ragged, the hot, heavy air of his gasps hitting the sensitive, shivering skin of your neck as he begins to work on your clothes. he reaches for the hem of your oversized sweater, his thick fingers slipping underneath the knit fabric, brushing directly against the bare, goosebump covered skin of your waist.
the sudden, shocking contrast of his hot, rough skin against yours sends a violent shiver straight down your spine, a tremor that leon definitely feels against his chest. and he's taking his sweet time. he pulls the fabric up slowly, his knuckles dragging deliberately up your ribs, over the delicate lace of your bra, until he is working the fabric over your head.
the cool air of the office immediately bites at your exposed skin, but the chill is instantly chased away by the absolute inferno raging in his eyes. his gaze never leaves yours for a second. it's burning with an unhinged intensity that makes you feel both entirely stripped bare and overwhelmingly, profoundly cherished.
he tosses the sweater carelessly over his shoulder, not giving a single damn where it lands on the office floor. his eyes, blue and hungry and completely, entirely ruined for anyone else but you, drop to the delicate black lace of your bra. the sight of you sitting on his desk, half undressed, your chest rising and falling rapidly under his heavy stare, makes his sharp jaw clench tight.
he doesn't hurry. he doesn't let the blinding adrenaline force him into a frantic, sloppy mess. instead, he leans in so slowly, an agonizingly deliberate descent that makes your toes curl in anticipation.
his warm lips graze the delicate shell of your ear, a soft, teasing touch, before he shifts his mouth down your neck. he presses a searing, wet, open mouthed kiss directly to your collarbone, his teeth scraping ever so lightly against the bone. his mouth is blisteringly hot, and the rough, prickly texture of his jawline stubble is raspy against your soft skin.
it is a perfect contrast that makes your heart hammer a violent, erratic rhythm against your ribcage. he's his sweet time with you , mapping the territory he had stubbornly denied himself for so long. he kisses the soft, swell of your breasts right through the black lace of your bra.
his tongue darts out, tracing the intricate floral pattern of the fabric, dampening it, the wet heat seeping straight through to your sensitive skin. the way he treats you, with such slow, obsessive, deliberate focus, is almost more intoxicating than the act of sex itself. it is pure worship.
he shifts his hands behind your back, his large fingers deft and entirely practiced as they easily find the small metal clasp. with a soft click, the bra falls completely open. he doesn't pull back to look; instead, he gently pushes on your shoulders, guiding you to lay all the way back.
you sprawl down onto the cool mahogany surface, your back arching, your dark hair fanning out beautifully over his scattered, discarded papers. leon leans over you, his hands coming up
to cup your bare soft breasts. he fondles them with a desperate, starving hunger that makes you arch your back entirely off the desk, a quiet, needy gasp of his name tearing into the quiet air.
"leon..." you whimper. he silences you by dipping his head down, his mouth opening over one of your tight, hard peaks.
he laves at the sensitive nub, swirling his tongue before sucking it into his hot mouth with a pulling suction. the sensation is so sharp, so beautiful, it draws a long, low, pathetic whine straight from your throat. he pays equal, worshipping attention to both sides, kissing, biting, completely marking your skin to show how deeply he craved you.
he eventually continues his slow, torturous descent. his lips leave your chest, trailing hot, damp, lingering down on the center of your ribcage, kissing the soft, sensitive, trembling skin of your flat stomach. his hands abandon your chest to trace the curve of your waist, sliding down the line of your hips until he reaches the thick waistband of your skirt.
he grabs the zipper, and pulls it down. the metallic sound is deafening in the silence of his office. his touch remaining agonizingly slow.
he grips the fabric of your skirt along with the dark nylon of your tights, and he begins to pull them down your legs too. he eases the garments over your thighs, over your knees, his rough palms dragging down your calves, taking the clothes completely off and leaving you sitting there in absolutely nothing but your tiny, lacy panties. he drops the clothes to the floor.
he pauses then, just for a heartbeat. he stands between your parted legs, his hands resting on your bare knees, his eyes scanning your completely exposed body with an expression of pure, unadulterated awe. it's a look of profound disbelief, as if his brain cannot fully process that you are actually here, that you are actually giving yourself to him, that after all the pain and the silence, you are finally, entirely with him.
the vulnerability in his blue eyes makes your chest ache in the absolute best possible way. he leans back down, his face hovering just inches over your pussy . you can physically feel the heat radiating from his face.
he presses a soft, gentle kiss directly to the thin, damp fabric of your panties, right over the absolute center of your heat. the gentle pressure of his lips against your most sensitive spot makes your entire body jolt, your cunt clenching tightly in a massive wave of pure anticipation. he leaves a damp spot on the lace before he finally moves.
his thick, calloused fingers find the thin edges of the lace. he hooks his fingers underneath the fabric, and slowly, he pulls them down. the cool air hits your slick, swollen flesh, making you gasp.
he pulls the panties down your legs, tossing them carelessly to god knows where. you are completely bare to him now. he settles firmly between your knees, anchoring you to the desk.
his eyes lock onto yours, burning with a dark, feral intensity, as his thumb slowly drops down and finds your swollen clit . the contact feels electric.
you cry out loudly, your head falling back against the desk, your eyes fluttering shut. your hands reach out blindly, clutching frantically at the broad, solid muscles of his shoulders, your nails digging deep into his dark shirt.
he's not giving you what you want. instead, he swirls his thumb in a slow, hypnotic, excruciatingly light circle over your clit, drawing out l sweet whimpers that echo loudly off the office walls. the friction is maddening, building a tight, coiled spring of tension low in your stomach.
then , he moves his hand slightly, sliding two thick, rough fingers down to the absolute entrance of your pussy. he rubs them against your opening, coating his skin in your wetness. the slow slide of his calloused skin against your soft, weeping folds feels like n unadulterated torture.
it is not enough. you desperately need him inside.
"please," you gasp, your voice breaking, your hips instinctively bucking up off the desk, chasing his hand, desperately trying to force his fingers deeper into your body.
"look at me," he murmurs, his voice a low, rumble right against your lips as he leans down to kiss you. you force your heavy eyelids open, meeting his dark, consuming gaze. as he captures your mouth in a deep, wet, starving kiss, he finally pushes inside you.
he begins to pump his fingers deep into your heat, slow at first, dragging out the stretch. he is prepping you, stretching your delicate walls, making absolutely sure that every single inch of you is primed, slick, and ready to take him. he moves with a beautifully rhythmic, steady, pressure, curling his fingers upwards to hit that sweet spot deep inside you, while his thumb remains firmly planted outside, still working your clit in relentless circles.
the combined, overwhelming pleasure makes you feel like you are literally melting from the inside out. your mind goes completely blank, short circuiting under the sheer volume of pleasure. leon presses soft, incredibly needy, open mouthed kisses to the erratic pulse point jumping frantically in your neck.
he kisses along your jawline, his stubble scratching you deliciously, before returning to devour your lips. his fingers work inside you in perfect, devastating sync with the movement of his mouth. he keeps up the relentless, beautiful pace until you are a writhing, whimpering mess underneath him.
your thighs are trembling violently, your hips thrashing upward to chase the friction of his hand, your senses entirely, entirely consumed by the feeling of him. and then, abruptly, he stops. he pulls his fingers completely out of your dripping heat.
the sudden absence of his touch makes you let out a loud, pathetic whine of pure protest. your body feels instantly cold, mourning the immediate loss of friction and fullness. leon stands up straight, his massive chest heaving heavily beneath his shirt.
his blue eyes are heavy, dark, and completely dilated with a mix of love and lust. he maintains strict, unblinking eye contact with you as he slowly brings his slick, wet fingers up to his mouth. he wraps his lips around his digits, sucking them completely clean, tasting you on his tongue.
the sight of him doing something so filthy, so incredibly intimate, makes your stomach twist into a massive, painful knot of pure, unadulterated longing. you can't just lie there. you push yourself up on your elbows, supporting your own weight, your chest heaving as your eyes stay hopelessly locked onto his.
he reaches for his belt. the sound of the metal buckle clinking open in the quiet, tension filled room is the absolute loudest thing you have ever heard. he undoes it slowly, the thick leather sliding free from the loops.
he unzips his tactical pants slowly , the sound of the zipper ripping through the air, and he reaches into his boxers, finally freeing his thick, veiny cock. it springs out, fully rigid, weeping slightly at the tip with precum . you stare at him in total, breathless, wide eyed awe.
you stop breathing completely. he looks so utterly devoted to you.
"look what you do to me," leon whispers, his voice thick, heavy with a mixture of arrogant pride and complete, devastating desperation. he reaches down and wraps his large hand around his own length. giving it two slow, deliberate strokes.
"look how much i absolutely need you." he steps fully back into the vee of your legs. his hands come up, gripping your bare hips tightly, his thumbs pressing into your hip bones as he pulls you down to the very edge of the mahogany desk.
your legs dangle over the side, completely open to him. he aligns the blunt, heavy, weeping head of his cock directly against your tight, slick entrance, but he doesn't push in. he tortures you.
he just rubs the tip against your sensitive slit, up and down, a slow, teasing, slippery friction that makes your hips buck up wildly, completely desperate for the connection, begging for the fullness. the air in the room is thick with the potent, musky scent of sex.
"leon, god," you whimper, tears of pure frustration pricking the corners of your eyes.
"shh. look at me," he commands softly. you force your eyes open, meeting his burning gaze, your heart thundering against your ribs like a trapped bird. holding your gaze perfectly, leon finally, finally pushes his hips forward.
it's a slow, painfully steady thrust. the blunt head of him pushes past your tight ring of muscle, stretching you wide. the stretch stinging slightly, a delicious, sharp, burning bite of pleasure that makes your eyes water and your fingernails dig deep into the leather of his jacket.
it feels incredibly good. it feels impossibly, overwhelmingly better than the first time you two had done this in that freezing, ruined hospital. this feels deeper.
it feels like he is finally, erasing all the pain of the past three weeks in one massive, claiming push. he sinks in all the way to the hilt, burying himself as deep inside your tight, wet heat as he can possibly go. you both let out a loud, guttural groan.like a sound of deep relief.
he drops his head, his forehead resting against yours, letting out a ragged, shaking breath as he lets his massive body settle completely inside your tight walls. he doesn't stay still for long.
he starts to move with slow, incredibly sensual thrusts. he pulls his hips back, dragging his thick length almost all the way out of you, the friction making you whimper, before he drives his hips forward, sinking back down into the absolute, deepest depths of you. each movement is painfully deliberate, rolling his hips to grind against all the right, sensitive spots inside you.
it is a slow, thick, syrupy friction that is rapidly building a massive bonfire in your veins.
"you feel so incredibly good," he praises, his voice a low, rough, dirty rasp right against your ear.
"so fucking good, sweetheart . you have no idea. it took absolutely everything in me not to touch you these past three weeks.i was dying."
"then please don't stop now," you whisper fiercely, your hands moving from his shoulders to grip the front of his jacket, pulling him down closer.
he groans loudly, a feral sound, and the pace begins to pick up just a fraction. the slow, deliberate, teasing thrusts begin to fundamentally change, becoming much needier, far more urgent. the friction growing hotter and tighter.
the wet, heavy slap of his skin against yours begins to echo loudly in the quiet office space. you can physically feel his iron composure slipping away. his hands grip your hips even tighter, leaving bruised fingerprints on your soft skin, anchoring you firmly to the hard desk as his movements become rougher and endlessly passionate.
he is pounding into you now, a deep, relentless, completely unhinged rhythm that has you throwing your head back and sobbing his name into the ceiling. as he hammers into you, his hand drops down between your bodies. his thick thumb finds your swollen clit again, pressing down hard, rubbing fast and relentlessly.
the overwhelming combination of his deep, bruising penetration and the targeted, rapid friction on your most sensitive nerve pushes you dangerously close to the absolute edge. it's too much. the pleasure feeling like a crushing weight, a blinding, white hot light expanding at the absolute center of your mind.
"cum for me," leon tasps in your ear, his voice rough, demanding, entirely consumed with need. "let me feel it, sweetheart.cum for me." and you completely shatter. a beautiful cry tears violently from your lips as your internal walls clamp down brutally hard around his thick cock.
your muscles spasm wildly, milking him, draining him, as your body violently trembles through the intense, pulsing, endless waves of your orgasm. leon feels it. he feels your tight crushing contractions squeezing the absolute life out of him, pushing him right over the edge.
he entirely abandons the slow build. his body takes over completely and his thrusts becoming a blur of fast, brutal, desperate, bruising motion as he selfishly chases his own pleasure.
"fuck, i'm right there," he snarls, his jaw clenched so tight it looks physically painful. he leans down aggressively, capturing your lips in a messy, needy kiss, swallowing your loud moans as he drives his hips into you one final thrust. he cums with a deep groan, his entire massive body going completely rigid against yours as he spills his hot, thick release deep inside you.
it's an endless rush of heat that makes your entire world fade into white. but the fire between you both is far too immense to be put out by just one release. the three weeks of agonizing starvation cannot be satiated so quickly.
you both collapse against each other for a few minutes, your chests heaving, your skin entirely slick with a heavy layer of sweat, struggling desperately to catch your breath. but before your heart rate can even return to a normal, steady rhythm, leon's hands are moving again. his hips twitch, his length swelling right back up to full, brutal rigidity inside your still quivering walls.
he doesn't say a word. he just pulls your legs tighter around his waist and begins to thrust again. the second round is a blur of raw, unadulterated passion.
it lacks the slow, teasing buildup of the first; it is purely about desperate, consuming need. you are messy, you are loud, you are completely lost in each other. leon pounds into you with a renewed, frantic energy, a physical apology for every single day he ignored you.
you match his energy perfectly, your fingernails scratching down his broad back, your mouth open and panting, taking everything he gives you like you're his sweet girl. the tension building faster this time, the friction slicker and hotter. you both chase the high together, maintaining intense eye contact as the pleasure mounts to an unbearable peak.
with a final, devastating thrust, leon buries himself to the hilt once more. he throws his head back, a low grunt tearing from his throat as he spills inside you for the second time, flooding your aching cunt. the adrenaline of the fight, the crushing, emotional drain of the past three weeks, and the absolute physical exhaustion of two intense, back to back rounds finally leave you.
both completely boneless.
you both lie there on the hard desk for a very long time, tangled together, like a mess of limbs and sweat. the only sound left in the office is your ragged breathing, and the faint, rhythmic ticking of the wall clock.
after a long, peaceful moment, leon finally shifts his weight.
he doesn't pull out of you completely. instead, he rests his heavy forearms flat on the desk, framing either side of your head, completely caging you in with his massive frame. his large, calloused palms gently, reverently cup the sides of your face.
his thumbs softly brush away the damp, dark strands of hair that are sticking to your sweaty cheeks. he looks down at you. that icy, impenetrable fortress in his blue eyes is completely gone.
his eyes are softer now, clearer, and more vulnerable than you have seen them in months.
"i love you," he whispers into the quiet space between you.
his words are heavy and painfully honest. it is a total surrender. "i love you so much it physically hurts me...fuck."
you give him smile a soft, trembling beautiful smile. tears of pure relief appear in your eyes, and you let your eyelids flutter shut as you lean your face affectionately into his warm palm.
"i love you too, leon. so much." you both stay exactly like that for a while, completely intertwined, just savoring the sweet warmth, the absolute, undeniable reality of him being with you again.
leon lets out a long, shaky, breath and slowly, reluctantly pulls his hips back. the sudden emptiness makes you shiver violently, a cold draft of the air hitting your sensitive skin again. you lie flat on your back on the desk for a moment, your chest still rising and falling, watching him through your half lidded eyes as he zips his tactical pants back up.
it's a quiet, intimate moment that feels like a sacred secret. a thick, warm string of his cum slowly drips out of your swollen entrance pussy, sliding lazily down the skin of your inner thigh, a satisfying proof of exactly what just happened between you two. feeling entirely adored, you reach down.
using two delicate fingers, you gently spread your slick, pink, thoroughly used folds open, showing him the beautiful mess he has made of you. a soft, genuine, highly teasing giggle escapes your lips.
he looks down, and a gentle, amused look instantly appears his handsome face. he groans loudly, running a heavy hand through his messy, sweat dampened blonde hair.
"you're absolutely gonna be the death of me, doll. you know that, right?" he reaches down and hands you the discarded lacy panties. his touch purposely, warmly lingers against the sensitive skin of your leg as he helps you sit fully up.
you both dress back in a comfortable peaceful silence. the suffocating, tension from earlier in the evening is completely dissolved and replaced by a warm intimacy that feels like it is going to stay permanently, at least you hope it would. you pull your sweater back on over your head, smoothing out the wrinkles in your skirt, while leon fastens his leather belt and grabs his leather jacket from the back of his chair.
he walks back over to you as you slip your heels back on your feet. without a word, he wraps his strong arms securely around your waist, pulling you flush against his broad chest.
he presses a soft, lingering sweet kiss directly to the top of your head.
"think we can continue this back at my place?" he asks, his voice returning to a low, gravelly, deeply comforting rumble right against your ear. "i don't think i can physically let you out of my sight tonight."
you tilt your head up, a small, happy smile playing on your lips. "yeah.. i'd really like that."
"good." he kisses your temple softly, his large hand moving to rest securely on the small of your back as he guides you toward the frosted glass door. "let's go home."
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