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Jul 21

𝐏𝐇𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘; ˡ. ᵏᵉⁿⁿᵉᵈʸ

WARNING!⦂ mdni ,, explicit content ,, word count (8k) ,, thirsty tuesday ig ,, took almost three months but we back like a crack addict! ,, leon s. kennedy (re:9) ,, good ending! (ugly cries) ,, fem!reader (special op/marine reader) ,, not proofread ,, ptsd ,, angsty ,, sexual tension ,, a lot of playful banter ,, teasing ,, yearning ,, kissy kissy + spooches! ,, angst ,, he makes you tiramisu! ,, missionary + doggy style ,, some dirty talk in 🤌i t a l i a n🤌 since the fandom apparently agrees that he speaks the language ,, pure lovey-doveyness ,, size kink if you squint ,, slight competition sex ,, overstimulation ,, dumbification ,, vanilla as shyt ,, he talks you through it ,, praise kink mentioned ,, breeding kink if you squint ,, some manhandling ,, "i been a hopeless romantic since i came out the womb in this mf!"

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇, leon has known you for far too long, the both of you keeping each other at arm's length for the sake of missions and past circumstances. but seeing that you and him almost died, even more times than normal, he's had a change of heart.

neither of you are getting any younger, so he may finally decide to retire... if you'll indulge him, that is.

──────── [ 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺 ] ────────

It feels like your head is in a fog.

Or rather, maybe you're seeing for the first time, and the rest of your body just has to catch up.

Leon is talking with Grace, the poor FBI woman still shaking and distraught from surviving the horrors of tonight.

You almost chuckle at the thought.

It seemed like almost every other night, there was some new horror to uncover. Whether in Raccoon City, or across the country.

It was the same thing.

Leon on the other hand, looks like he's never been better. Apparently, he's been able to save face ever since he was sent to save the former president's daughter out of that strange island in Mexico.

But survival isn't the same as living. It never has been.

You've seen him in the worst moments of his life; a tired alcoholic who can't fully get past the fact that his life hasn't been stable since he was just a rookie cop.

But you've also seen him in the best moments.

"Hey."

You were so lost in thought, you didn't even notice Leon had joined you.

Standing by your side, his arms are crossed, back leaning against the military vehicle.

"You okay?"

You respond with a tired nod, "... Just fine," before standing up properly. "You?"

"Same here," Leon nodded with a tired chuckle. "My back doesn't feel nearly as good though."

"That's unfortunate," You sigh, though you can't keep the smile off of your face.

Even so, it doesn't take long before you change the subject.

"How's Grace doing?"

Leon glanced back toward the ambulance parked across the lot, headlights cutting through the dark in dull beams of white.

"She's holding up," he shrugged after a moment. "Better than most people would."

You followed his gaze.

Grace sat wrapped in a silver emergency blanket, speaking quietly with one of the agents beside her. Every now and then, her hands still trembled when she accepted an item.

"Poor thing," you murmured.

Leon huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. "Yeah. Welcome to the club."

That earned a small smile out of you.

Silence settled after that. Not awkward, as it almost never was between the two of you.

Just tired.

Unfortunately, it was the kind of silence only shared between people who'd spent years finding each other in the aftermath of disasters.

Leon adjusted his gloves before finally muttering, "We're not getting any younger, are we?"

You looked over at him, raising a brow.

"Not me. But you? Maybe."

"Oh?" He glanced sideways at you. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You’re Italian." You gestured lightly his way. "If you don't keep the baby face, you just evolve into some kind of mafia boss. That's how it goes."

Leon stared at you for a second before laughing. And he was genuinely laughing this time, tired and rough around the edges, but still bright.

"Mafia boss?"

"Mhm."

"I drive a Porsche one time, and suddenly I'm in organized crime?"

"You've always looked suspicious." You shake your head, mock disappointment rolling off of you.

"Wow." He placed a hand over his chest, almost like you had insulted his bloodline. "After all these years, that's what you think of me?"

"Well," You hummed thoughtfully. "The leather jackets aren't helping your case."

Another laugh escaped him, quieter this time.

And then the silence returned.

Softer now.

Warmer.

You weren't sure when the exhaustion settled so deeply into your bones. Only that, for the first time in years, the thought of going home alone sounded unbearable.

Leon seemed to glance at you like he already knew.

"So," he started carefully, gaze lingering somewhere ahead instead of directly at you. "You going home now?"

You opened your mouth to agree... only to stop.

You could've said yes.

Could've told him you had paperwork waiting, and a bunch of calls to make. There were already a dozen excuses lined up neatly in your head, just like they always were.

Instead, your voice came out quieter than expected.

"... Well, I don't think Grace is going anywhere tonight that she'll need us." You spoke as you looked down at your hands, giving a small shrug after. "And Rose is staying with Jill for the weekend anyway."

Leon glanced over at you, listening. But the words settled strangely between you.

Not an invitation.

Not quite.

But for the first time in years, there was nothing immediately pulling you away from him. No obligation waiting at home. No reason to disappear into your own life the second the mission ended.

You weren't even sure why admitting that made your chest feel tight.

Leon was quiet for a moment.

Then he exhaled softly through his nose, almost amused.

"You know..." His gaze drifted toward the dark horizon ahead of you both. "If we leave now, we'll probably just spend another decade circling back to each other."

Your breath caught slightly.

Not because the statement was untrue.

Quite the opposite.

From Raccoon City to Spain, Washington. Fucking China.

There were years of near misses, late-night calls, classified files, hospitals, funerals, and reunions under both of your belts.

Always finding each other again... and then always leaving anyway.

Suddenly, standing beside him now, exhausted to the bone after nearly dying again, you realized something awful and painfully simple:

Neither of you wanted to be alone.

"I think we should hang out in a place that isn't a work setting." Leon added as he finally looked over at you then, tired blue eyes softer than you'd seen them in years.

Then, naturally... as if he hadn't just changed the trajectory of both your lives, he jerked his thumb toward the parking lot.

"My place is closer."

"..."

You simply stare, unblinking but still taken aback by his boldness.

And it only takes Leon a few more seconds before he realizes what he accidentally implied.

"To eat, if you want." He scratches the back of his neck, trying to mentally look for an out. "Or maybe drink."

"..."

"...Sleep?"

"...That sounded worse." You deadpanned.

Leon raised a brow. "What? You said I looked like a mafia boss. Kinda obligated to offer you a ride now."

That finally pulled a laugh out of you, quiet and breathless.

And somehow, that felt scarier than if the two of you had just left.

"Sure thing," you rolled your eyes, joining him as the two of you walked over to the nearby parking lot.

It was barely intact, and somehow, his car was still sitting there. Just cheerfully prepared to be ridden in again.

Leon unlocked the Porsche with a quiet chirp of the headlights, but at the moment, the car still looked ridiculous sitting among military vehicles and ambulances.

"There it is." Your eyes narrowed, fully prepared to make fun of him.

Leon sighed immediately. "Don't start."

"You drive the most divorced, middle-aged man car I've ever seen."

"I am not middle-aged."

"No, you're older. I was being generous." You chuckled. "Plus, you make noises every time you stand up."

"That's because I keep getting thrown through buildings." Leon deadpanned, shrugging one of the straps to his uniform off.

You hummed thoughtfully. "Fair point."

Leon opened the passenger door for you anyway, one hand resting against the top of the frame.

"You know," he muttered, "normal people say thank you when someone offers them a ride."

"Normal people don't drive villain cars."

"It's a Porsche."

"It's a mafia boss Porsche."

"Really?" A tired laugh escapes despite himself. "And what do you drive again?"

"My truck has character."

"Your truck looks like it fought in a war."

"Yes, it does. That's the point." You scoff, fully serious in your statement. "It means it won."

That actually got a real laugh out of him.

God, you'd missed hearing that sound.

Entering the car, Leon tapped the top of the vehicle before closing the door.

And honestly? The interior of the car was nice.

Maybe you should think about getting a car like this, sleek and not covered in dust. That'd probably be more feminine than your 'I carry the corpses of the animals I've personally field dressed back home.'

"Ready?" Leon spoke as he got in the driver's side, refraining himself from groaning at the change in position.

"I saw that look,"

"You didn't see anything."

"It's the same look you gave Grace when she tossed your Requiem to you instead of just handing it to you." You giggled, one of your hands coming up to cover your mouth. "You hesitated in the movement."

"You said so yourself, I'm old." Leon rolled his eyes, looking up at the ceiling of the porsche.

"I had to stop myself from laughing when you grabbed the gun and looked like you were trying to make a plan on how to get back up!"

"... Are you done yet?" Leon chuckled, absolutely offended.

He absolutely loved your laugh though, and that was enough to let you have a pass on making fun of his age.

"Yes, I'm done."

The engine rumbled to life beneath them, though neither of you reached for the radio.

Honestly, it was strange, really.

After all these years, you'd spent remarkably little time alone with Leon Kennedy.

The drive itself was quieter at first. Comfortable.

Phoenix lights blurred softly outside the windows while Leon rested one hand against the steering wheel, the other drumming absently against the console.

For once, neither of you seemed in a hurry to fill the silence.

Eventually, though, you noticed the road shifting away from the direction of where a neighborhood would be.

You glanced over. "We're not going home?"

Leon shook his head lightly. "Need to drop the antidote off first."

Right.

The antidote.

Even healed, the damage from the infection still lingered faintly beneath his eyes. Exhaustion clung to him in a way you recognized all too well.

"Right, I almost forgot." Your expression softened slightly. "How's Sherry handling all this?"

Leon made a face immediately.

"That bad?" You blinked. "Did she have to stop working?"

"No, she's fine. Just thought of something annoying." He paused, rubbing his forehead once they hit a stop light. "She'd like to see you again after so long."

That earned a small laugh out of you.

"Oh, I almost forgot." You leaned back into the seat. "What about that bald-headed guy she likes?"

Leon groaned like you'd physically injured him.

"Please don't remind me."

"Oh my God," you laughed. "They're still together?"

"I'm choosing not to acknowledge it."

"You sound like a dad."

"I practically am."

The offended seriousness in his voice only made you laugh harder.

Leon shot you a look, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

"I'm serious. The guy stares too hard."

"Leon, that's because you glare at him like you're evaluating a security threat."

"I am evaluating a security threat."

You shook your head, smiling helplessly.

And for a moment, just one small, fragile moment, it didn't feel like the aftermath of another bioterror incident.

It felt normal.

Dangerously normal.

Like this was what the two of you might've sounded like years ago if life had been kinder.

──────── [ 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺 ] ────────

The second you stepped inside of Leon's, warmth hit you first.

Not just from the house itself, but from the unmistakable feeling that someone actually lived there.

Dim lights, a half-finished book tossed onto the couch. And then smaller things.

Like coffee cups left in the sink and the faint smell of soap and gunpowder somehow permanently embedded into the walls.

Your eyes drifted toward the coat rack by the door.

Then narrowed.

"... Leon."

He glanced back while locking the door behind him, raising a brow when he saw the way you pointed at his clothing stand.

"Hm?"

"Why do you own six of the exact same jacket?"

Leon simply looked between you and the row of leather jackets hanging neatly beside the door.

As if the answer were obvious.

"... Because I lose them on missions?"

"... Leon." You repeated, staring at him.

"... What?"

"You actually spend money on backups," You huffed. "Of something you lose constantly?"

"They're comfortable." Leon shrugged again, "and I keep missing them when they're gone."

You snorted softly, stepping closer to inspect one of them.

"They all look exactly the same."

"That's the point." Leon shook his head like a disappointed lawyer.

"Comfortable enough to justify owning an entire leather jacket army?" You gawked.

Leon was casual while unholstering one of his weapons near the coffee table, before replying with, "I don't own a two-story house just so I can waste money irresponsibly."

"... That's the dumbest justification I've ever heard."

"They're good jacket." Leon rolled his eyes before pulling one free from the rack and holding it out toward you. "Try it on."

You gave him an unimpressed look.

"... What?"

"You keep criticizing it. Put it on."

"I'm not putting on your weird mafia jackets."

"They're not mafia jackets." Leon groaned, his fingers rubbing against his forehead like he had a headache.

"They absolutely are."

"They're government-issued, emotional support jackets."

That almost pulled a chuckle out of you. But you weren't going to let him know that.

Which is why, with dramatic reluctance, you finally slipped it on.

And immediately paused.

The leather was softer than expected. Warm from the house already, but heavy in a way that felt oddly comforting.

Your expression shifted before you could stop it.

Leon noticed instantly.

"Told you."

"... Okay, maybe it's a little comfortable." You frowned harder, simply out of principle.

But he wasn't wrong. It felt like a weighted heat blanket.

"A little?" "I'll let you keep it if you admit defeat."

"Don't push me." You huffed. "Not yet, I need to figure out whether I would actually wear this in my daily life or not."

Leon laughed quietly to himself as he started removing the rest of his gear near the coffee table.

For a brief second, his eyes flicked back toward you standing there in his jacket.

Then immediately away again.

Fuck, you looked good.

"... Don't." he muttered under his breath.

You raised a brow. "What?"

"Nothing."

He grabbed the kitchen counter instead, already retreating toward the sink before you could question him further.

"Actually," Leon called over his shoulder, voice suspiciously casual, "you didn't get prior approval to wear that, so legally, I need it back."

"Legally?" Your jaw dropped.

"House rules."

"You offered it to me!"

"Temporary loan."

"You are unbelievable."

"And yet," he scoffed while turning on the sink, "you’re still wearing the jacket."

You looked down.

Realized he was right.

And somehow, embarrassingly enough, that made your face feel warm.

You huffed, obliging anyway and placing the jacket back on the rack before joining the man that tried to disappear into the kitchen.

Though, it was not before Leon gave you one last deeply suspicious glance while you were still wearing it.

... Though, he looked away too slowly.

You noticed, but didn't press, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed instead.

"So what exactly are you making?"

"Classified."

"Leon." You narrowed your eyes.

"... What? I can't be mysterious?" Leon huffed, "anyway, it's a dessert."

"That somehow worries me more."

He ignored that completely, already washing his hands again before moving around the kitchen with surprising familiarity.

Honestly, you weren't sure why that caught you off guard.

Maybe because most of your memories with Leon existed in places like ruined buildings or helicopters.

Sometimes even safehouses and the backs of military vehicles.

But not kitchens or homes.

Not this.

Leon opened the fridge briefly before glancing over his shoulder.

"There's pasta in there if you're hungry."

You blinked once, slowly smiling a second later.

"You're so sweet to gift me more ammo to tease you with."

He frowned lightly. "What?"

"You're literally proving my Italian mob boss allegations true."

"Oh my God."

"Porsche. Leather jackets. Homemade dessert. Pasta in the fridge." You snorted, covering your mouth. "Is there more?"

"It's leftovers." Leon sighed, torn between laughing and rolling his eyes.

"You sound one bad day away from threatening people for protection money."

Leon pointed a spoon at you. "You are incredibly judgmental for someone who just agreed that my jacket was nice."

"... That's unrelated."

A laugh escaped him quietly before he turned back toward whatever he was working on.

The soft sounds of the kitchen filled the silence for a while after that.

Cabinet doors, running water, silverware against ceramic. and everything domestic.

The kind of noise neither of you had ever really allowed yourselves to imagine being familiar with.

You hesitated briefly before asking, quieter this time:

"Mind if I make coffee?"

Leon paused for half a second, not long enough for most people to notice, but long enough for both of you to understand the implication anyway.

Then he nodded once.

"Yeah," he spoke simply. "Go ahead."

And just like that, there was a quiet understanding that neither of you was in a hurry to end the night.

Hours seemed to slip by after that.

Talking came strangely easy now, especially with caffeine joining into the conversation only a few minutes after making it.

Little things became the main topic of conversation. From old stories to half-finished thoughts and jokes layered over exhaustion.

At some point, Leon finally slid a plate across the counter toward you.

You picked up the fork resting on the side, looking down at it before staring back up at him.

"... You made tiramisu?"

Leon leaned back slightly against the counter, looking entirely too smug with himself.

"What, surprised I know how to make something besides pasta?"

You shook your head, taking a careful bite. Pausing to focus on the flavor, you frowned thoughtfully.

Leon immediately noticed.

"What?"

"... I genuinely can't tell if I like this or dislike it."

The betrayal on his face was immediate, replying with an accent.

"You dare insult my homeland's dessert?"

"You were born and raised in America." You deadpanned, raising a single brow.

"Spiritually though, I am Italian."

"You drive a Porsche and own more than six leather jackets." You teased. "I know I said you look like an Italian mob boss, but that's not culture, Leon. That's a midlife crisis."

He looked genuinely offended.

"This is why I never cook for anybody."

Despite yourself, another bite disappeared from the plate.

Leon noticed that too.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"... You're still eating it."

You refused to look at him.

"Shut up."

The smile that pulled at his mouth after that looked softer than anything you'd seen from him in years.

At some point, the coffee had gone cold, but neither of you noticed. The conversation had drifted too far by then.

From failed missions to old safehouses.

From Spain to Washington.

From people you'd lost to people you'd managed to save anyway.

Somewhere between refilling mugs and leaning against opposite sides of the kitchen counter, the years separating those memories stopped feeling so large.

Leon laughed quietly at something you'd said, shaking his head.

"I still can't believe you punched that guy."

"He deserved it." You shrugged helplessly, placing a mocking hand on his shoulder.

"He outranked you."

"Yes," You agreed with a nod. "but he was annoying."

"That's not a valid reason to assault a superior officer." Leon's jaw almost dropped, surprised at the fact that you were defending actions that couldn't actually be defended.

"It should be."

Leon snorted softly into his coffee.

God.

You'd missed this.

Not the missions or the chaos.

Just this.

The easy rhythm of him.

Eventually, though, reality crept back in through the windows in the form of darkness fading slowly toward early morning.

You glanced toward the clock.

"... Damn."

Leon followed your gaze.

3:17 AM.

"We're too old to still be awake right now." You laughed under your breath, exhausted.

"Says the woman on her fourth cup of coffee."

"Coffee in the AM is medically necessary." You added with a grin.

Leon hummed in mock agreement.

Reluctantly, you finally stood from the couch, smoothing your hands against your jeans.

"... Alright." Your voice came quieter than intended. "I should probably head out. Call an Uber or something."

Leon nodded automatically at first.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Probably."

But the second you actually started gathering your things, something in his chest twisted sharply.

Too familiar.

Too final.

Like every goodbye before this one.

Raccoon City. Spain. Washington.

Years and years of watching taillights disappear into distance.

His jaw tightened slightly before he could stop himself.

"You know..." Leon spoke suddenly, causing you to glance back toward him.

He was still sitting on the couch, forearms resting against his knees now, eyes fixed somewhere low instead of directly at you.

"We could stop doing this."

"... Doing what?" You replied softly.

Leon finally looked up.

"Leaving."

No jokes, like you expected. Or some sort of deflection. Just an honesty that somehow made your chest ache worse than almost dying had.

You stared at him for a long moment. Because the awful thing was, you understood exactly what he meant.

It wasn't just tonight, but all of it.

The years, the distance, the constant returning and disappearing.

And maybe it was exhausting, or maybe it was surviving another nightmare. Maybe it was just the fact that you loved him in a way you'd spent years refusing to name.

But the truth slipped out before you could stop it.

"... Leon."

Your fingers tightened slightly around your bag strap.

"If I stay tonight..." You laughed once under your breath, nervous despite yourself. "I'm probably gonna end up kissing you."

Leon went very still, like he understood what you meant but hadn't actually expected you to say it out loud.

"And if we kiss," you continued honestly, gaze dropping briefly toward the floor, "then we'll probably end up making out on your couch like we're twenty."

The corner of Leon's mouth twitched despite the tension in his eyes.

"And if that happens," you muttered, almost embarrassed by your own honesty now, "then eventually we'll end up sleeping together."

Leon leaned back slightly against the couch with the softest, most dangerously amused expression you'd seen all night.

You're almost sure he's internally laughing at you.

But then, he replied with the most annoyingly, simplest response.

"... You've thought this through."

"Oh, shut up."

A quiet laugh escaped him. Fond instead of mocking. So unbearably fond in fact, that it almost made your chest hurt.

He stood.

By the time he stopped in front of you, neither of you was pretending this was casual anymore.

Leon reached for your wrist gently.

Not enough to trap, but enough to ask you to stay still.

His thumb brushed once across your knuckles before he lifted your hand slightly, pressing a soft kiss against the back of it.

The gesture felt almost old-fashioned.

Tender in a way that completely disarmed you.

When he finally looked back up at you, the teasing had faded from his expression entirely.

"Stay tonight," Leon said quietly.

Not stay forever.

Not love me.

Just... stay.

The room felt strangely quiet after that.

Not uncomfortable.

Just full.

Like there were suddenly too many unspoken things sitting between you both all at once.

Your face felt warmer than you'd like to admit.

So naturally, your brain reached for the first stupid thing it could find.

"... You say tonight," you muttered lightly, adjusting your grip on your bag strap. "But what if I want to stay in the morning too?"

The corner of Leon's mouth twitched immediately.

There it was. The opening for another easy escape route.

Normally, he would've taken it.

Would've said something smart. Teased you about stealing extra time and giving both of you a way to breathe around the tension.

But this time, he didn't.

Instead, Leon just looked at you quietly for a moment.

Really looked at you.

And for the first time all night, there was no deflection left in his expression.

No performance. No practiced charm. No distance.

"You can," he sighed softly.

Simple, too honest.

The laugh that escaped you afterward came out smaller than intended, almost nervous.

Because somehow that answer felt more intimate than more flirting or deflecting would've.

Leon seemed to notice that too.

But he still didn't retreat from it.

He didn't rush you or close the distance further. He didn't even pressure the moment into becoming something bigger.

He just stood there patiently, like after all these years, he'd finally decided he was done running from whatever this was between you both.

And now he was willing to wait and see if you were ready to stop running too.

Leon didn't say anything else.

He simply waited.

He wasn't expecting an answer immediately, but after everything the two of you had survived, he thought you'd both earned at least that much patience.

You looked down at the bag still hanging from your shoulder.

The one you'd instinctively reached for the second leaving became an option.

It suddenly felt... ridiculous.

Almost laughable.

Like some stubborn part of you had still been preparing for another goodbye before either of you had even finished saying hello.

Neither of you moved, not for several long seconds. But your eyes met his once more.

There wasn't some grand realization waiting for you.

No sudden rush of certainty.

Just a quiet understanding that if you walked out that front door tonight, nothing would actually change.

You'd both go back to waiting.

Back to missed chances.

Back to pretending there would always be another mission... another reunion... another time.

Your shoulders relaxed with a slow exhale.

"...Okay." Your fingers loosened around the strap.

It was barely above a whisper.

But Leon smiled like you'd told him everything he'd spent years hoping to hear.

You slipped your bag from your shoulder, leaving it gently beside the coat rack almost absentmindedly.

A small thing.

An ordinary thing.

But it felt enormous in the moment.

Leon stepped aside first, letting you walk toward the hallway before following a few steps behind.

The house had gone softer somehow.

Quieter.

Maybe it was exhaustion, or the hour.

Or maybe it was the fact that neither of you was pretending anymore.

You paused in the middle of the living room, still holding onto that stupid bag of yours tighter than necessary.

Then glanced back at him.

Leon was watching you in that same unbearably patient way that had been making your chest ache for the last twenty minutes.

And suddenly you understood something horrifying... If he kissed you right now, you would absolutely let him.

Your laugh came out faint under your breath.

"... This is probably a bad idea."

Leon leaned lightly against the wall beside you, arms folding loosely across his chest.

"Probably."

"You're way too calm about this."

"If I recall, I almost died three times today." The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "... Or rather, yesterday."

That earned a tired smile out of you.

"I guess I kinda changed my perspective."

The silence came again.

Not empty.

Waiting.

Your eyes drifted down briefly before you could stop yourself.

Leon noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His expression softened almost immediately.

And when he finally crossed the small distance between you, he moved slowly enough to give you every chance to stop him.

One hand lifted carefully toward your face, fingers brushing lightly against your jaw.

Still asking.

Still patient.

You leaned into him before you could second-guess yourself.

That seemed to undo something in Leon completely.

The breath he let out sounded almost relieved as he kissed you.

Soft at first.

Careful.

Not rushed in the slightest.

Like after all these years, he wanted to actually feel this moment instead of racing through it.

And God, maybe that was what finally broke you a little. Because Leon had kissed people before; you knew that.

But this didn't feel practiced.

Didn't feel smooth or performative.

It felt honest.

Tired, a little tentative.

A little like both of you were still surprised this was happening at all.

When you pulled back slightly, Leon rested his forehead briefly against yours, laughing quietly under his breath.

"…Well." he huffed softly, looking back at you. "…That explains a lot."

You couldn't help smiling.

"...What?"

Leon rubbed the back of his neck.

"I've been trying to figure out why every goodbye with you felt..." He searched for the word. "...Wrong."

You blinked at him quietly.

He laughed once beneath his breath before adding, "turns out I was just in love with you."

"..."

There had never been a more quieter house in the history of all houses.

"... Dear God." You finally covered your face, flushed.

"Yeah."

"You just ... Really?"

"Yeah."

"..."

"You couldn't have realized that before we almost died?" You gasped in frustration. "It had to be right now and not on your possible death bed?"

Leon thought about it, shrugging like it was as simple as misspeaking in front of a crowd.

"...Apparently not."

A snort escaped you.

Then another.

Soon enough you were both laughing.

Not because it was particularly funny.

Because after years of funerals, biohazards, governments collapsing and impossible odds, the answer had been painfully simple.

You two were just really, really, stubborn sometimes.

He wiped at the corner of his eye with one calloused thumb, still grinning like an idiot. "To be fair," he sighed between the sentence, "I didn't exactly have time to sit down and journal about my feelings while dodging mutant freaks."

"Oh please." You rolled your eyes. "You've had time, at least a few years. Didn't you tell me you just had a vacation like, a month ago?"

He sobered slightly then. Though not defensive, certainly thoughtful.

Tilting his head, he stared as if he was studying you for clues he should've seen sooner.

"... I mean, I knew I cared," he finally admitted quietly. "More than any other job… more than protocol or duty ever told me to." His voice dropped lower. "But saying it out loud felt… heavier."

You stared at him, the big man who faced down bioterrorists without flinching, now looking oddly vulnerable over three little words.

And somehow that made your heart squeeze up again.

Leon reached out again, unexpectedly but unhesitating. Pulling you into a proper embrace, it felt worthy of being remembered.

Not romantic or performative either; just solid arms wrapping around your shoulders, like armor clicking into place around someone... precious.

"... It feels good."

"What does?"

"Hearing you say it," You reply quietly, hugging him back. "that you love me"

Looking back up at him, you noticed his eyes. The blue was still a shimmering light, but his pupils were dark, blown wide despite the lights.

His hand slowly slid from the small of your back to your waist, pulling you closer. You could almost feel the heat of his body through his shirt; the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your chest.

Or maybe that was your own.

"I want to kiss you again."

Leon's brain catches on the word 'again,' not please or now, just again.

As if, to you, this shouldn't be rushed or some desperate attempt at feeling comfort.

Like you've already memorized the shape of the first kiss and want permission to learn it deeper.

He doesn't respond at first, tilting his head slightly at the thought.

But after a few seconds, his eyes flicking towards the digital clock on the oven, he already knows his answer.

He nods before he can stop himself.

Your mouth finds his this time. Slower and more deliberate. His hand moves from your waist up to the back of your neck this time, fingers threading into your hair with a gentleness that doesn't match the calluses you can feel against your scalp.

The kiss deepens when you part your lips first.

A sound escapes him. Low and half-surprised, half-relieved. His other hand finds your hip, pulling you flush against him now. The heat of his body seeps through your clothes, and you realize distantly that you've been cold for years without noticing.

His tongue brushes against your lower lip, and you welcome the taste of coffee and tiramisu into your mouth.

This feeling. It's the same particular warmth that's followed the two of you through every hellish mission.

Every debriefing, every late-night phone call where neither of you said what you actually meant.

Your fingers find the hem of his shirt, and at that, Leon breaks the kiss just long enough to breathe, forehead pressing against yours, voice rough around the edges.

"That good?"

"Shut up," you laugh, breathless. "I'm not teasing you, am I?"

He almost responds, but you pull him back in before he can.

This time, your hands slip beneath his shirt, palms flat against the warm skin of his lower back. He tenses briefly, reminding you of the old scars that probably littered his skin. Still, you gently press your fingers, and slowly, he relaxes into your touch like he's been waiting years for exactly this.

His own hands aren't still.

One traces down your spine, slow enough to count each vertebra through your shirt. The other cups your jaw, thumb brushing across your cheekbone, tilting your head to change the angle of the kiss.

When he pulls back this time, his eyes are darker, breath rushing in and out of him like he's being ripped of oxygen.

"Bedroom?" The word comes out rougher than he probably intended.

You swallow, averting your gaze for a second.

It's not like you weren't prepared for this, that's why you had tried to leave earlier.

You knew this was gonna happen tonight.

You nod anyway.

He takes your hand, bringing it up to his lips again as he leads you down the hallway. It's shorter than you expected, just three doors long.

He leads you to the last one on the right, pushes it open with his shoulder without letting go of your fingers.

The room is dark. There's a lamp on the nightstand, but it isn't turned on.

It's a surprisingly minimalistic room.

No pretension. No performance. Just a space where someone sleeps.

Where someone lives.

Leon stares, the silence turning into waiting. It's heavy with all the other thoughts on memories where this exact thing could have happened if either one of you had been brave enough in that moment.

His hands find the hem of your shirt, but he doesn't pull at it. Just holds the fabric between his fingers, watching your face for any flicker of hesitation.

You lift your arms.

The shirt comes off over your head, and the air hits your skin cool enough to raise goosebumps. Leon's breath catches audibly, a small, unguarded sound that makes your chest ache.

His thumb traces the strap of your bra.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, though more to himself than to you.

Your hands move to his shirt next, watching his expression shift when a few inches of his torso is revealed.

When you both pull the fabric up and off of his shoulders completely, your eyes latch on the scars that map his body.

It's almost like a diary, of every mission you've shared and all of the missions you've missed. There's a twisted line beneath his ribs that you recall being from Spain, then there's a patch of rougher skin near his collarbone, but you don't know that one.

The gunshots scars on his shoulder from Raccoon City.

But then, there's newer ones, still pink, from tonight.

You touch the freshest one gently, inspecting it as if it had just suddenly appeared.

"It doesn't hurt," Leon's hand covers yours, before you could ask or touch further.

"..."

"... What?

"You're a liar, that's what." You deadpanned, raising a single brow, but still adjusting your hand to hold onto his instead.

"Okay, there's some minor discomfort." He rolled his eyes, expression still warm. "But it's not bothering me, okay?

"... Yeah," A sigh escapes you, soft and careful.

He pulls you closer, chest to chest except for the thin layers still between you. His hands find your waist, thumbs tracing slow circles against your hipbones.

"I love you," he starts again, whispering it like he's testing how the words feel in his mouth.

Like he wants to memorize the shape of them.

Your throat tightens.

"I love you too."

He raises both of his hands to cup your face, his kiss landing on your forehead first. Then your eyelids. Then the tip of your nose. Each one deliberate, like he's cataloging every inch of your face.

When he reaches your mouth again, the kiss is softer. His hands roam your body with reverent patience, memorizing the curve of your stomach, the dip of your waist, the place where your hips flare.

Lifting one of his hands, your bra comes undone with a single pinch of his fingers. He doesn't rush to remove it though, instead, his palm settles flat against your bare back, pulling you closer.

The sensation of his hands against your body makes your eyes flutter closed.

"Good girl," he breathes against your lips as his hand lifts to your shoulder.

Something in your chest tightens.

Without a word, he hooks the straps and slides them down your arms. When you don't react or stop him, he allows the bra to fall fully, tossing the fabric aside on the bed behind him.

Leon pulls back just enough to look, his unhurried gaze tracing downward.

When his eyes meet yours again, there's something raw in them.

"Can I touch you?"

You nod, letting your forehead touch his again.

His hand rises slowly, still stubbornly giving you every chance to change your mind. When his palm finally cups your breast, his thumb brushes across the nipple, your breath hitches.

He turns to watch your face, ignoring the pull to stare at your body for a moment. He's trying to catch the micro-expressions, every flutter of your lashes. Anything to let him know he's doing good.

"Like this?"

You can barely nod, but that doesn't stop you from turning your head to kiss him again.

He repeats the motion, more deliberate. His thumb circles the hardening peak while his other hand finds your hip, steadying you.

The room seems to narrow down to just this; the point of contact.

His mouth finds your neck next, open-mouthed, warm, tracing down the column of your throat until he reaches the hollow where your pulse pounds. He lingers there, breathing you in.

"Leon—"

"I know." He murmurs, voice muffled against your skin.

His hand slides from your breast down your stomach, fingers splayed, palm warm against your skin. The touch is maddeningly slow, tracing the curve of your waist, the jut of your hipbone, the waistband of your pants.

But then, he pauses there.

"You're shaking."

You don't deny it, you are. Small, almost unnoticeable tremors run through your limbs without your permission, like you've been standing in cold water too long.

"Overstimulated," you manage, taking a deep breath. "I haven't done this with someone in... well, a while."

Leon's eyes soften.

Gently, he pulls his hand back, settling it on your waist instead, something a little safer.

"We can stop."

The offer is genuine. You can hear it in his voice.

There's a willingness there; to set aside everything he wants if you need him to.

"Don't stop." You shake you head, "Just... go slow."

"Got it," He nods his head again, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

Even so, his smile is the tenderest thing you've seen all night.

He lowers you onto the bed, the sheets cool beneath your back. His warmth hovers above you, but he settles beside you instead of on top, propped on one elbow, tracing idle patterns across your stomach.

"You know," he murmurs, "I spent years telling myself this was a bad idea."

"... To sleep with me?"

"No," A wry smile. "To think of you."

You laugh softly, reaching up to touch his face. He leans into your palm like a man starved for contact.

"I think of you all the time," he adds, "both Sherry and Claire tell me that I was being an idiot."

"That tracks." You teasingly shrug.

"She said—" His voice then drops into a surprisingly accurate impression of Sherry's exasperated tone. "—'Leon, for a government agent, you have zero situational awareness when it comes to your own feelings.'"

You snort, biting back a snicker. "She's not wrong."

"No," he agrees softly. "She's not."

His hand resumes its slow exploration. Down your ribs, across your hip, along the waistband of your jeans. He doesn't push past the barrier yet, just traces its edge.

"I want to take these off," he says quietly. "But only if you want me to."

Your heart hammers against your ribs, but the feeling isn't invasive.

If anything, you crave it more.

"Yes." You reply, the words coming out steadier than you feel.

Leon sits up just enough to reach your button, working it open. The zipper sounds impossibly loud in the quiet room.

He pauses, eyes meeting yours again.

His hands hooking into the waistband, he waits for your final permission. He doesn't have to wait long for you to lift your hips.

The jeans slide down your legs, past your knees, over your ankles. He drops them somewhere on the floor without looking.

Leon's gaze returns to you immediately.

Lying there in nothing but underwear, exposed, under the soft darkness of his room.

"You're staring," you whisper.

"... Can you blame me?"

You blink, slowly shaking your head as his palm finds your thigh. Slowly sliding upward, he follows the curve of muscle until he reaches the lace at your hip, tracing its edge with one finger, watching your face.

"You really are beautiful," he repeats.

Then he leans down and presses a kiss just above your hipbone.

Your breath catches once more as he continues, his lips trailing across your stomack.

Soft and unhurried, each kiss lands onto your skin like some unspoken promise. Across your ribs, leading up to the middle of your breasts. Then impatiently, as if the moments actually caught up to him, he reaches the hollow of your throat to press another kiss.

By the time he reaches your mouth, you're trembling again.

"Keep your eyes open," he murmurs against your lips. "Please."

You oblige, your head falling back against the mattress.

His hand slides down your side again, over your hip, coming to rest against the damp fabric between your thighs.

His palm presses gently.

Your hips lift involuntarily.

"Good girl." He groans softly, the action making his stomach tense, warm and thrilling. His thumb circles through the fabric, pressure light, watching your every reaction.

"I want to hear you," he huffs. "Can you do that for me?"

You nod again, pulse thundering underneath your chest.

His finger traces the seam of your underwear, finding the heat beneath, pressing just enough to make your breath stutter.

"What do you like, baby?"

The endearment catches you off guard, but you stutter out a quick, desperate reply anyway.

"Everything," you manage, barely keeping your eyes open as your cheeks flush. "Just want you."

"Okay," He smiles against your throat. "Then I'll give you all of me."

His palm stays pressed against you through the damp fabric, patient and warm. The pressure doesn't increase yet, he just holds it there, letting you feel the weight of his hand.

"... Everything," he repeats, softer now. Testing the word. "That's a lot of ground to cover."

You chuckle lightly, "well, start somewhere then."

"Aren't you bossy?" Leon's mouth curves against your throat.

But he moves anyway.

His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, and this time he doesn't pause for permission. He's already watching your face when he pulls them down.

The fabric slides past your knees, draping over your ankles before they're gone.

Cool air hits skin that's been overheated; the contrast makes your hips shift against the sheets.

"Look at you," he breathes, u bothered in how gravely his voice sounds.

There's no practiced seduction in his voice, or performance. Just a man confronted with something he's wanted for years.

His palm finds your knee first, then they go up

Dragging his fingers along the inside of your thigh, where the skin is softest, his calluses catch slightly, a texture you've imagined against your skin more times than you'd ever admit.

"You're still shaking."

"Yeah, I know."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No." The word comes out sharper than intended. "No. Please, don't stop."

Leon nods once, a solemn vow.

His thumb reaches first, brushing through the evidence of your arousal.

The sound you make is involuntary. Small and broken in the middle.

God, does it make Leon want to fuck you right then and there.

"There you go," he murmurs. "That's what I wanted to hear."

He doesn't rush despite his desire, his thumb tracing your folds with the same deliberate attention he'd given to reloading his gun earlier that night.

When he finds your clit, your stomach clenches without permission.

"Here?"

"Yes." You manage more or less strongly than anticipated. "Right there."

He circles it once. Twice. Pressure so light it's almost cruel.

"Like this?"

"Leon." You huff.

"I'm asking." He chuckles lightly, though there's no teasing in his voice now. "Tell me what you like. I want to do this right."

The sincerity of it undoes something in your chest.

"Harder," you whisper. "A little harder. And—" Your breath catches as he adjusts immediately. "—slower."

His thumb presses in tight circles, slow enough to build heat without rushing toward release. The rhythm is steady, every stroke designed to keep you right here

A finger dips lower, teasing your entrance.

"Can I?"

You nod frantically.

He slides one finger inside you, and your brows furrow at the stretch. It's not painful, of course, just full in a way that makes your inner muscles clench around him involuntarily.

Jeez, you really haven't done this in a while... does that mean your touch-starved?

'Cause if that's the case, that's not the best match up for sex at three in the morning.

"Fuck," he breathes. "You're so tight."

His forehead drops to your shoulder as he works his finger deeper, curling slightly, searching.

When he finds the spot that makes your vision blur, he stays there, pressing rhythmically while his thumb continues its work on your clit.

"So good," you gasp. "Feels so good."

"Got it," he nods. "I've got you."

A second finger joins the first, the feeling intensifying. It almost borders on being overwhelming, but then it settles into something you don't want to end.

Your hand finds his hair. Fingers thread through the strands and grip hard enough to make him groan against your collarbone.

"That's it," he whispers, voice still rough. "Hold on to me."

His pace increases incrementally. Not faster, exactly. Just deeper. More deliberate.

"This is—shit," You moan, your voice muffled halfway when you go to cover your mouth and try to steady yourself. "This is embarrassing. I'm already close."

"I know." He replies quickly, lifting his head to watch your face. "I can feel it. You can let go whenever. I'm not going anywhere."

The permission is what breaks you.

The orgasm rolls through you in waves, each one cresting higher than the last. Your inner walls pulse around his fingers, and he keeps moving through it. Keeps pressing. Keeps circling until the last tremor subsides and you're left gasping against his shoulder.

"Aw," he coos quietly. "There you go. Felt good, right?"

You drag him up by his hair, crushing your mouth to his. The kiss is messy and uncoordinated. You can still taste the coffee on his tongue.

It should be strange, all of this should. But for some reason, it doesn't feel as new as you thought it'd be.

Your hands finally find his belt, fumbling with the buckle.

"I got it," Leon quickly interrupts the motion, sitting back on his heels as you watch him work the leather free with practiced efficiency.

The belt slides through the loops, and as he unbuttons himself, he doesn't bother standing to remove his jeans; just pushes them down far enough to free himself from his boxers.

Your mouth goes dry.

He's more than you expected. Thick and already slick at the tip. The sight of him, scarred and patient and achingly hard, makes something clench low in your belly.

"Condom," he suddenly starts, gesturing toward the nightstand drawer with his head.

"Top drawer?" You blink, sitting up to reach over for it.

"Yeah." He nods, though once you hand him the packet, after a few seconds pass, he adds, "you're not going to ask if I've done this before?"

"I mean, you're in your early forties, no?" You teasingly stick your tongue out, leaning close enough for your nose to just graze against his. "I know you have. It doesn't matter."

A flicker of something crosses his face. Not guilt, quite the opposite. It seems like he's more relieved that you're not pretending otherwise.

But before he says something cheesy or reassuring like he normally does, he instead latches on to the least problematic thing that you spoke.

"Actually, I'm forty nine." he begrudgingly corrects.

"... Dear God," you wheeze. "I'm in love with a man who has the potential of being a grandfather.

"Stop that," He scoffs, rolling the condom on with steady hands before returning to you, settling between your thighs. The weight of him is anchoring, real and warm.

Almost too real, if you're being honest.

"Tell me if it hurts."

"Sure," You nod, pressing another quick kiss against his lips. Then he's pressing against your entrance, and all the thoughts swirling around in your mind narrow to this single point of contact.

He pushes in slowly. God, he's agonizingly slow. Just an inch at a time, pausing whenever your breath hitches, letting you adjust to the stretch of him.

"Okay?"

"M-more."

He sinks deeper, and the fullness is overwhelming in the best way. Your body accommodates him gradually, muscles relaxing around his length until he's seated fully inside you.

Neither of you moves for a moment.

Just breathing.

Just existing in the same space.

"Look at me," he whispers.

You open your eyes to find his already on you. His expression is shattered open in a way you've never seen. There's no masks or deflection.

You don't think you've ever seen him this serious before.

So, you do the most normal thing to do in this situation.

"Hi,"

You almost immediately cringe at the absurdity of the greeting. After all, he's already seated in you, to the hilt even.

It's kinda hard to greet someone properly when you're both naked

The laugh that escapes him is a half-sob, literally. Like he's refraining from moving, or worse, crying.

"Hi."

You smile softly as he rests his head against your chest, slowly grinding his hips against you.

The first thrust is slow, experimental as he lifts his head back up. A bead of sweat slowly trickles down his temple, his mind focusing on learning the angle that makes your jaw go slack. By the third thrust, he's found it, and he chases that reaction with single-minded focus.

"Fuck, this is what I wanted." he grits out. "Every time... every fuckng goodbye."

You can't help but gasp, your legs wrapping around his waist without thought, pulling him deeper.

"Every mission," he continues, hips rolling in a rhythm that's building toward something inevitable. "Every debriefing. Every time you walked away."

"Leon—"

"I kept thinking," he pants, "maybe next time. Maybe she'll stay."

The confession breaks something loose in your chest, and before you know it, you pull him down, mouth finding his ear.

"I'm staying," you breathe. "I'm right here."

His rhythm falters for half a second, then returns with renewed intensity. His hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit again, pressing in time with his thrusts.

"Again," he growls, mouth still against your throat. "I want to feel you come again."

The dual sensation is too much. His cock filling you, his thumb circling you, his voice rough with need against your ear.

"Leon, fuck" You whine, the orgasm building faster this time. It's less surprising, but somehow more consuming.

"That's it," he groans. "That's my girl."

You shatter around him, clenching hard, and the sensation pulls a wrecked sound from his throat. His rhythm stutters, then breaks entirely as he follows you into release, hips pressing deep and holding there while pleasure wracks through him.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks.

Your fingers trace idle patterns across his shoulder blades. His breath gradually steadies against your neck.

Eventually, he lifts his head.

"Worth the wait," he finally huffs, trying to be playful.

But the smugness is undermined entirely by the tremor still running through his hands.

"Wow, what a great comeback." You swat his shoulder weakly. "Now shut up."

"Make me."

So you kiss him instead. Slow and lazy and full of everything neither of you has said yet.

When he finally pulls away, he deals with the condom with quiet efficiency before his arms drape around you in a quick hug.

"Hey," he murmurs against your hair. "You're gonna stay till the mornin' like you suggested... right?"

You smile

"Morning."

Dawn is still hours away, though it's still certainly close. There's not going to be much time to sleep or wake up.

But you guess you'll figure out what comes next later.

Leon's breathing deepens, steadily, on the verge of something unspoken. It's almost like something invisible hangs in the air: the weight of a confession he didn't make, or perhaps one he's been holding onto for longer than tonight.

But instead of addressing it, he reaches over and grabs another condom out of his dresser.

"... Uh, w-wait a minute?" Your caught off guard, the slightly panicked sound leaving you unguarded as you tilt your head.

"Shh, don't worry about it." Leon chuckles, gently covering your mouth with the palm of his hand.

"Don't worry about it?" You playfully gasp, still talking past his hand.

"Nah—"

"Leon, I have every reason to."

"Yeah?" He raises a brow. "Give me one."

"Well, for one, your stubble keeps itching my face."

His palm stays warm against your mouth for a beat too long. When he finally pulls it away, you're already grinning up at him, breathless and still dizzy from round one.

"I'm gonna pretend like I didn't hear that," Leon frowned slightly, his other hand coming up to rub at his chin. "And I thought you liked my beard."

"Mini beard," you corrected, "but with that being said, I don't think you can afford to be insatiable."

"What? I'm forty-nine." He shrugs, tearing the foil packet open with his teeth. "Gotta prove I've still got it."

"That's exactly my point, you're gonna be cramping up in the morning."

"How dare you?" Leon scoffs, clutching at his chest like you had physically wounded him.

"Who are you proving you still got it to anyway? Me?"

"Myself, mostly." He nods as the condom rolls down his length. "But your opinion matters too."

You laugh, but the sound dies in your throat when he hooks his hands under your knees and pulls you to the edge of the bed.

The movement is sudden, commanding. Your back arches off the mattress.

"Turn over."

The request is gentle, but there's steel beneath it. A switch has flipped somewhere behind those tired eyes.

You raise a brow, concerned almost. But still, you comply.

Turning, the sheets feel cool against your front, a sharp contrast to the heat still radiating from your skin. You push up onto your elbows, glancing back over your shoulder.

Leon's hands find your hips. His thumbs press into the soft dip just above your ass, his other hand pressing into your thigh and spreading you just enough to make your breath catch.

"God, look at you." His voice rumbles; practically dropped an octave even. "Been thinking about this view for years."

"Years?" You tilted your head.

"Minimum." He leans over your back, mouth brushing your shoulder blade. "Every time you bent over to check your gear or stretched after a long drive."

"Leon."

"Every time you leaned across a table to point at a map."

"... Leon."

"I'm serious." His lips trail down your spine, slow and torturous. "You have no idea what you did to me."

"Pretty sure I'm getting an idea now." You snicker.

He laughs against your lower back, breath warm. Then his hands tighten on your hips, and the laughter fades into something hungrier.

The head of his cock presses against your entrance, not pushing in yet. Just resting there, letting you feel it.

"Probably since Spain."

"... Well, that must've been annoying," You chuckled softly, your cheek pressing into the mattress now. "I guess Ashley knew what was up."

"It was so annoying, unfortunately." Leon rolled his eyes. "... You ready?"

"Leon, if you keep stalling—"

He slides in, interrupting you. The angle is different from before, deeper. The stretch makes your fingers curl into the sheets, a sharp gasp escaping through clenched teeth.

"Fuck." His voice cracks on the word. "You feel that? How tight you are from this angle?"

You can't answer, you can barely breathe. You're still so sensitive from your last orgasm that your mind is reeling.

He pulls out slowly, almost entirely, leaving just the tip. Then pushes back in with the same agonizing deliberation.

"Look at you." His hand comes down to rest on the curve of your ass, thumb tracing down to the place where your bodies meet. "Look at how well you take me. You're such a good girl."

A whimper escapes you at that, and it seems like he's catching on.

You might just have a praise kink.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "That's what I thought."

His pace stays controlled at first. Each thrust measured, deliberate, designed to make you feel every inch of him. His hands guide your hips in a rhythm that leaves no room for doubt about who's leading.

But then his breathing changes.

A muttered syllable slips past his lips. You don't catch the full word, just the shape of it, the way the language curls around his tongue like a caress.

Was that fucking Italian?

No way.

"... Uh... I'm a little rusty, but còsa?" You glance back, thoroughly confused about whether you were hearing things or if Leon actually learned how to speak Italian finally.

His eyes are half-lidded, focused on where your bodies connect. But as soon as he hears you, his left brow twitches at the joke.

"Nothing,"

But the next thrust is harder.

Another sentence follows.

"Che casso."

That one you catch.

"What?" You groan, trying to steady your breath again. "Why are you muttering in Italian?"

"Am I?" He perks up, sounding almost surprised. "Habit."

"Habit? Bullshit!" You cringe.

He laughs, but it dissolves into a groan as his hips pick up speed. The rhythm loses its careful structure. Each thrust drives into you with more urgency, more hunger.

"You actually learned that shit?"

"Yep."

"For what purpose?!"

His hand slides up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades until your chest meets the mattress.

"So that I could talk shit about my boss without him knowing."

"You're so—fuck—petty!" You squeal at the new angle, it makes him sink impossibly deeper.

You might as well give up on trying to talk normally.

"Ah—fuck, Leon."

"Say my name again."

"Leon."

"Again."

"Leon—augh, fuck!"

His name breaks apart into something incoherent, and another string of Italian spills from his mouth, low and rough.

"Perfetta," he groans as his hips slam against you. "Sei così fottutamente stretta."

They're fragments of praise he probably doesn't realize he's speaking aloud. But they only serve to piss you off and make you more flustered.

"M'gonna hit you if you say another lick of Italian, Leon." You try to growl, only for his hand to press your head further into his pillows, muffling your moans.

"Been holding back so long," he grits out, "every time I saw you, every time you smiled at me, every time you trusted me with your life. I wanted this. Wanted you bent over and fucking moaning under me."

Your hands scrabble for purchase on the sheets, but it doesn't stop your body from responding.

"I wanted to hear you fall apart. To feel you clench around my fucking until you couldn't think straight."

His thumb finds your clit again, pressing hard, circling in time with his thrusts.

"You close?"

"Yes—fuck, yes."

"Look at you. So responsive. So perfect." His voice drops to something almost reverent, his lips pressing onto the nape of your neck. "Taking everything I give you like the good girl you are."

The praise hits somewhere deep. Your hips push back against him, meeting his thrusts, chasing more.

"That's it. That's my girl." He chuckles, the laugh almost sounding sadistic. "Fuck, you're beautiful like this."

The orgasm builds differently this time. Faster, but deeper. Coiling in your lower belly until every nerve feels like it's drawn taut.

"Leon, I'm gonna—"

"I know." His hand covers yours on the sheets, fingers interlacing. "I can feel it."

"F-fuck," you huff, trying to keep your eyes open. "T-this is really, really embarrassing."

"Don't be," Leon gently bites into the crook of your neck, rutting into you now. "You can cum for me, pretty girl. Wanna feel it on my dick."

Your body gives up with your face pressed into the mattress and his name falling from your lips. Your body clenches around him in waves, each pulse drawing a broken sound from his throat.

But he doesn't stop.

His hips keep moving, keeps thrusting through your orgasm, drawing it out. Fuck, he's pushing you past just the point of sensitivity. It feels like it's almost too much.

"Too much," you gasp, trying not to cry from how overwhelmed you are. "Leon, it's too—"

"Resta immobile, tesoro." The Italian slips out again, his hand pressing into your lower back, making your arch deeper. "One more. You've got one more in you. I know it."

"I c-can't—"

"You can." His hand tightens around yours. "You're so close. I can feel it. Just let me take you there."

His thumb works your clit with merciless precision. Each thrust hits that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. The overstimulation edges toward pain, then past it, into something that makes your thoughts dissolve into static.

"That's it," he breathes, almost smiling at his mini victory. "There you go. I'm gonna fuck you dumb, aren't I?"

Your second orgasm tears through you without warning. Harder than the first, pulling a cry from your throat that you don't recognize.

He follows immediately after, cursing as he buries himself deep, hips stuttering, hand white-knuckled around yours.

Groans tumble out of him as he comes, raw and unguarded. His forehead presses to your shoulder blade, breath hot and uneven against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you moves.

Then his hand unclenches from yours, sliding up to cup your waist. He pulls out carefully, and the absence of him feels like a loss.

"Stay there," he murmurs.

You lay on your stomach, sprawled out, trying to catch your breath.

You hear him deal with the condom, hear the rustle of fabric, the click of the nightstand drawer.

He's gone for a second, and you hear water. Then his weight returns to the bed, and his hand finds the small of your back.

"Roll over."

He's got a towel in his hand, and as you move to your back, he cleans you up with the same careful attention he'd given everything else tonight.

His touch is gentle now, more clinical, but his eyes tell a different story.

"Hey." His hand stills on your thigh. "You okay?"

"I'm great." You sigh, wiping the sweat off of your forehead. "Just fine."

A smile flickers across his face, despite how wrecked your voice sounds.

He tosses the towel aside and pulls you against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other finding your hair. His fingers card through the strands with quiet eyes, as if he's thinking.

"Leon."

"... Hm?"

"You're not going to go quiet on me now, are you?"

His hand stills in your hair.

"What do you mean?"

"You used that whole round to avoid saying something." You tilt your head up to look at him. "I know you."

"Huh?" His jaw tightens, clearly embarrassed. "I don't—"

"Leon."

He sighs then, and unfortunately, the sound carries like it's been years since he's felt the weight of whatever words would come out of him.

"I don't know how to say it without sounding like an idiot."

"Well, try." You encourage, one of your hands coming up to rest on his cheek. "I did say I was gonna stay until morning, didn't I? We have all night."

His arm tightens around you, eyes searching for yours, and for a moment, you see the crack in his armor.

There's a fear beneath the bravado.

"I don't want this to be a one-time thing." He finally spoke, quickly, like he was pulling a bandaid off. "We've been avoiding each other for years. But now that this is happened, I don't want to just set it off to the side."

"Good."

"... Good?"

"Neither do I." You chuckle. "What? You just thought I'd like you fuck me and not stay around for breakfast? Or all the other ones too?"

Something breaks open in his expression.

His next kiss carries all the words he still can't say, and frankly, doesn't even need to anymore.

"You're gonna be the death of me," Leon pulls back, his eyes wearing the same glint as before, the one that spells trouble. "Here I am, struggling, thinking that I might fuck this up. And you're telling me that I'm just over thing."

"Yep, happens to the best of us." You nod, almost solemnly. "Especially the ones that are getting up there in age."

"You make another age joke, and I'm gonna fuck you again just to make you shut up."

"Another round?" You gasp, "Leon, I can barely move."

"Then don't." He sticks his tongue out to lick a strip of your neck, hand sliding down to your stomach again. "Just lie there. Let me take care of you."

"... Fine, but you better make me the best pancakes I've ever had."

"I'll make you anything you want."

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