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lolabangtan · 8 months

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enjoy the silence part1

prequel series masterlist

Pairing; Rookie!Virgin!Leon S Kennedy x Fem Reader

Summary; Leon is desperate. He needs to be with you, touch you, kiss you-guess you guys will just have to survive Raccoon City first, huh? Sequel but can be read separately.

Warnings; 18+ minors dni get the fuck out or tyrant will punch u in the face, ageless blogs get blocked, pillow humping, virgin leon, blowjobs/swallowing, gore/violence, LOTS OF DEATH AND BLOOD AND GROSS STUFF, zombies obvs, think that's it :)

Word Count; 11.8k

(a/n) okay so. this is the first part. this is it. i have posted. ha. who'd have thought. anyway i hope you guys like this, leon is 21, reader is 20/21, leon is a virgin but has just figured out masturbation and you have given him a handjob, reader is a secretary at the RPD, have fun meeting claire, hopefully you want to read more bcus there will be more parts (probs two more), and i reaaally hope this lives up to all your expectations!

stage 1

So-

So warm and-

Too much too much so hot and wet and too-

Leon wakes with a moan on his lips, one hand fisted in the pillow next to his head and his body trembling.

When he blinks he sees images, dreams of you behind his eyelids. Flashes of you straddling him with your head thrown back, nails digging into his chest-sweet images of his body curled around yours from behind as his hips grind into you.

His body is pulsing again, throbbing and screaming for attention. It’s a familiar feeling these days, one he’s become accustomed to since he met you. He knows if he looks down there’ll be a small wet patch on his briefs, his spend soaking through the fabric in his desperation, and his mind immediately conjures up a brief fantasy of your tongue lapping at it, at his sensitive bulge.

Leon doesn’t even question it or second guess himself as he rolls onto his side and tugs his other pillow between his legs, thighs cradling it and positioning himself as though you’re really here.

He turns his face to bury it in his mattress as his body starts moving on its own, without even thinking he starts rutting his cock against the soft cotton of it and whimpering to himself. The feeling is incandescent, overwhelming to his feverish brain, material chafing somehow pleasantly against his shaft, brushing over the thick veins and making the head of his cock leak needily.

Three weeks with you, and he’s still humping his pillow every chance he gets.

It’s almost worse in a way, he thinks sometimes. He knows what your hand feels like, he knows how you smile at him when his release decorates your forearm, he knows what your warm, wet mouth feels like-though he doesn’t know that quite as well as the others.

His hips move faster as he recalls the evening a few days before, when you’d kneeled down and situated yourself between his legs as he settled into the sofa. He’d been fidgeting, hands picking at his sweatpants, breathing coming heavier and cock jumping in his briefs at the sight of you before him like that. It’s a common fantasy for him, his cock in your mouth. The most common are his dreams about being able to please and satisfy you, but his imagination often conjures up flashes of you swallowing around his length, images that seem almost too real, that make him tear up and bite his lip as he gets overwhelmed.

Leon moans into his bed as he hooks his leg tighter around the pillow, crushing it against himself as he desperately grinds against it. The mere memory of you smiling up at him as you pulled at the strings on his sweatpants is enough to bring him to the edge in this moment, teetering on it as his mind dances with blurred images of you.

His stomach tenses as he moves, body strung out already and thick globs of precum leaking from his weeping tip.

The only problem was that as soon as you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock and sucked, he couldn’t stop himself from throwing his head back against the sofa cushions as he came in your mouth. He’d kissed you afterward, when you reassured him that it was perfectly fine, it was flattering really, there’s always time to learn new things isn’t there? And he’d tasted himself on your lips-no doubt not the most appealing taste he’s ever experienced, yet it somehow made it more real, what you’d just done.

He digs his teeth into his sheets as he moves, bed rocking slightly underneath him as he chases his high, drunk on the memory of your warm mouth. The soft sensation of your tongue swiping against his shaft and how gentle you’d been with him.

He hazily thinks that tonight, maybe tonight he could last longer. It’s a foolish thought but he clings to it nonetheless, pulling on that hope and the desperation to experience you again as he whimpers and tips himself over the edge.

Leon knows tonight won’t be much different, he knows. A few seconds longer, maybe a little more. His foggy pipe dream, a delusion that plagues him as his come spurts wetly into the fabric of his pillow.

Still moving in the aftershocks, he grins to himself as he remembers it’s Friday today-everyone will go out for drinks later, you’ll press your arm against his and ask if he wants to share a cab, and then you’ll get out at the same time as him and follow him into his apartment.

Leon falls still eventually, giving his body a much needed break as he thinks of you. It’s not even just learning about his body, experiencing new things with you, he’s learned about your favorite movies and the shows you watched as a kid, he’s learned why you like that certain type of pen at work rather than the shitty ballpoints they buy, he’s learned about your family and where you grew up, about your friendship (thank fuck) with Chris and his sister Claire. He hasn’t learned enough.

You eat up every part of his day and night, he dreams of you before he wakes and fantasies about you as he goes through his day. He wonders what you’re doing as he types up paperwork, he wonders if you drive as he goes out on patrol, he tries to figure out what you’re annoyed about when he sees you frown at your computer.

He knows he’s going to be jittery all day, just fantasising about what will happen when you’re alone again, but the thought almost excites him now, in contrast to the heavy dread he felt a couple of weeks ago.

Now? Now you’ll make it better-you’ll help him and make him feel better than he ever has, you’ll gently push his hands away when he mumbles to you about trying to make you feel good, tell him there’s always time, when he’s really ready, when he’s more comfortable, then he can try.

Leon pulls back his sheets and glances down at his pillow, tainted with a smeared wet patch on the side of it.

He briefly remembers that he doesn’t have to work today, and experimentally he rolls his hips forward again.

The whimper that leaves him is nothing short of pathetic, weak and needy as his softened cock drags through the mess he made. His visions swims at the stimulation, too much and thrumming through his body like he’s been electrified, weeping cockhead flushed and angry at this satisfying torture he’s inflicting on himself.

Leon’s thighs tremble and shake, trying to squeeze around the pillow, and his eyes blur, briefly thinking again of hooking his legs around yours as he ruts into you from behind.

With a gasp, he rolls back. His dick jumps as his body goes through the aftershocks, laying against his stomach, and he smiles softly, letting his eyes fall shut.

The disappointment hits him just then, the relief of not working giving way to annoyance at not seeing you. He’s hesitant to try and make plans with you outside of work, outside of what you ask him. If he had his way he would have texted you every day for the last couple of weeks, making plans and asking, begging, to see you, but he doesn’t want to scare you off. This thing with you is only a few weeks old, and it’s not even just that. He’s learned so much about himself, about his body and his life and his likes and everything, you started it and you’ve helped him and he can’t let go of this. He can’t do without it just yet, and he most certainly can’t do without you.

Leon rolls out of bed and strips the case from the pillow, grimacing a little and chucking it into the laundry hamper as he pads into the bathroom. He turns the shower on and leaves his phone on the counter, grabbing a new shampoo bottle from the cupboard underneath before stepping under the stream of steaming water.

He closes his eyes and tips his head back, letting his hair soak as his mind wanders.

The wandering takes him back to the previous Friday-the moment at the end of the evening when he’d been trying to subtly watch you, eyes big and round as he waited for you to make a move out of the bar and take him with you, eager to be with you again and maybe even touch you or just feel that fucking good again-

When it had finally happened and when he was standing on the pavement, waiting for you as you chatted to the cab driver about your destination, Chris had stumbled out of the bar behind him as well. He’d fallen into Leon and sloshed quite a bit of beer down the back of his trouser leg, before slinging his arm around the rookie’s shoulders and babbling about Jill doing shots.

You’d come over at that point, tugged on Leon’s arm and pulled him away from Chris, toward the car and the open door as you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, letting him go to say a quick goodbye to the other officer-whose jaw was slack as he watched the interaction.

Leon grins to himself as he massages the shampoo into his hair, thinking about the Monday morning when he and Chris had been slouching against opposite counters in the breakroom, both glugging coffee and only half awake.

Chris had watched him over the rim of his mug, steam wafting up and wetting his forehead amusingly, and told him he’d noticed yknow. He’d seen the looks and the glances, the little touches and hand brushing between you and Leon-he was no fool he knew exactly what had happened.

You had walked in just then and settled against Leon, arm pressing against his and making him all too aware of the small contact. He’d smiled into his coffee as his heart stuttered at your presence, before tuning back in to Chris rambling about how well he knew you and how he figured it out the moment he saw you-until you hummed lowly, raising your eyebrows as you quietly enquired about you only figured it out when I kissed his cheek on Friday night didn’t you? And only because we got a cab together right?

Chris had narrowed his eyes and drunk more coffee, shuffling out of the room as he grumbled at both of you, about it being too early for this shit.

Leon washes himself, avoiding certain sensitive areas, and spends a leisurely time relaxing under the water. The week was difficult, cases piling up and too many patrols, the day when Jill tried to punch someone who dodged and she decked Carlos instead, his body still a little tense and strung out. Naturally, his mind drifts to you and all the ways you would help him relax if you were with him.

His member twitches and he sucks in a sharp breath, wincing and too tired to do anything about what his body is trying to hint at.

As he steps out of the shower, shouting from the apartment next door becomes apparent, no longer hidden by the sound of his shower. Leon raises his eyebrows and pauses, trying to remember the last time his neighbours argued so loudly. A sudden thump echoes through the wall, as though something was thrown against it, and he jerks backward in surprise. He walks backward out of the bathroom and makes a mental note to check on them as he leaves, slightly worried about what the fuck just happened.

Leon finds some underwear, pulling out sweats and a shirt from the draws as he goes. He hums as he moves around his room and dresses slowly, unknowingly to the tune of the song they first played in the bar when you went home with him.

Leon’s stomach grumbles embarrassingly loudly, prompting him to head to his kitchen and scout the cupboards. They’re disappointingly bare, offering him cereal he doesn’t particularly like, a half empty bottle of soy sauce, some unsalted butter and a pot noodle.

He opts for the cereal, pouring a bowl and grabbing a spoon and settling down in front of his tv to, secretly, watch an episode of Bridgerton to start his day.

In his bathroom, his phone buzzes on the countertop, migrating across the surface slightly with every vibration.

Leon doesn’t hear a thing, mere metres away on his couch.

Forty minutes later he stands and stretches, dropping his bowl into his kitchen sink before heading back to his bedroom to tug on some jeans. An errand day he thinks, those new socks he’s been meaning to buy, a food shop, and fixing the hinges in his kitchen cupboards-like he meant to do when he moved in.

It’s only after he finishes getting dressed and heads out the door to his car that he realises he’s left his phone behind, huffing and jogging back into the building to grab it before leaving again.

He scrolls through the notifications as he heads to his car, noting that there are, oddly, more than usual.

When he looks up, he notes something else.

Unsettlingly, there’s only three cars in his street. Usually it’s packed, up to 30 or so vehicles crammed into spaces they really shouldn’t be and depriving him of a parking space. But now, his car sits idly in front of his building, another sits empty at the end of the road-and most strangely of all, a beat up car a few metres behind his with the bonnet open. It’s not turned on, the engine isn’t running. The front is just propped open, waiting for someone to come and fix it.

He smells smoke.

Leon jogs over to the car, stopping and hovering his hand over the engine in the open bonnet. Cold.

Furrowing his brow, he turns and walks to the building next door, intending to ask about the argument this morning and if they need help with their car. He knocks, waits a minute, and knocks again. Quiet.

He turns, lips pressed together in confusion, to his car, but a flickering orange light catches his attention.

Leon walks to the end of the street, clutching his car keys in one hand and his phone in the other. A pile of clothes is burning on the pavement corner. Shirts and jeans, some jumpers and a pair of shoes smouldering and reducing to ash before him.

That’s when Leon realises the street is awfully devoid of pedestrians as well.

It’s not a hotspot or a popular place in the city by any means, but with the amount of people who live on the road there’s frequently a large number of persons strolling the pavement on either side. Yet today, only Leon, an abandoned car and some burning clothes.

Stumbling back a few steps, he makes the decision to delay his errands and head to the station, to at least just find out if something has happened.

His steps slow as he walks toward his car, unconvincingly telling himself that there must be something going on in the city centre he doesn’t know about, something that’s drawn everyone away from this street and he just somehow doesn’t know about it. There’s an explanation of course there is, people didn’t just up and leave their homes.

As he reaches his car he looks back down at his phone in his hand, the device he’s clutching rather tightly as his mind races.

A number of missed calls from a number he vaguely recognises, with the Raccoon City area code assigned to all public numbers, and multiple voicemails. Leon frowns a little, unsure why he’s so popular this morning.

He hooks his phone up to his car before he drives off and hits play on his voicemails.

The first one is static.

A number he doesn’t recognise, rattled off in that automated voice before Leon hears twenty seconds of crackling, unnerving, static.

The weather has been terrible lately and it starts raining outside as he drives, sky blackening to the point he almost believes he slept through the day and is driving at night, so he supposes something must have happened to the caller's phone signal.

He turns his head briefly as he passes an open street, furrowing his brow at how empty the roads are right now. Not just his street apparently.

The second voicemail is from the station.

The automated voice reads ‘Raccoon City Police Department’, somehow pronouncing it wrong, and Leon straightens up in his seat.

“Lee-Leon? Leon are-y-there-can’t-”

He goes cold at the tone of your voice, panicked and scared and something he never wants to hear again as long as he lives. He clenches his jaw as he looks at the weather outside, cursing it for breaking up whatever you were trying to tell him. What the fuck happened? What could have happened?

You’re at the station right now, you should be surrounded by cops and in the safest place in Racoon City that you could possibly be. His foot presses down a little harder on the accelerator, fingers tapping against the steering wheel and other leg bouncing as his mind conjures up horrific images of you.

The automated voice reads the station name again and his hands jerk, already terrified at what he’s about to hear. The car swerves into the other lane slightly but the road is so ominously empty it doesn’t even matter.

“Leon? Le-Leon? Can’t-they-shit just don’t-ev-one-is getti-everyone-they’re all-getting-Leon? Fuck-they’re all-no-sick-Mar-can’t-Marvin? What ar-you-no no-don’t-Leon plea-”

Leon’s hands are shaking when the tone beeps, leaving his car in heavy silence.

He blinks, catching a shape on the side of the road and slowing his car down.

Pushing the door open, he climbs out slowly and takes a few steps forward, using his hand to shield his eyes from the steadily worsening rain. The shape is blacker than the sky, and with a few more hesitant steps, Leon realises it’s the burned wreck of a car.

Smoke blackening the metal and the windows, tyre rubber melted into the tarmac and another shape on the ground next to it.

Leon walks over to it, heart quickening as he takes in the evident four limbs, the shape that suddenly looks very human-like and unmoving on the ground. He kneels down next to the body and reaches a hand out before he realises what he’s about to touch and retracts suddenly.

The body is charred, burnt to a crisp, and yet something else is wrong.

He ducks his head to get a better look, and then gasps as he falls back on the road.

The corpse has no jaw.

Blinking rapidly and breathing quickly, Leon scrambles back and staggers to his feet, almost falling into his car and slamming the door as he grabs at his seatbelt.

He spends a shaky minute or so with his eyes closed, breathing heavily with his forehead pressed against his steering wheel, reluctantly admitting to himself that something is very very wrong with the city. The city you’re currently stuck in the centre of, all alone or already dead for all Leon knows.

That thought spurs him into action and he starts the car again, speeding down the rain slicked road in a couple of seconds. His eyes dart around, checking anywhere he can see for something, anything. There’s some foolish part of his mind that thinks maybe just maybe you’ll be here, for some unknown reason you’ll be strolling along this road and far away from whatever distressed you on that voicemail, you’ll flag down his car and kiss him in greeting, tell him you just fancied going out for a walk along the road for some reason, you haven’t even been near the station today.

Unsurprisingly, this does not happen.

The sky stays black and the heavens stay open, pelting his car with heavy rain, the road stays empty and his mind stays tumultuous.

Eventually he arrives at the gas station he frequently visits before work, buying snacks and lunch he knows he should leave in favour of home cooked food and saving money, but that he can never resist. There’s a cop car and a truck outside it this time, both with doors open and the interior lights on.

Leon slows and pulls up next to one of the pumps, jumping out of the car and figuring if something truly terrible is happening and everything is going to shit as badly as it seems it is, it might not hurt to have some gas in the tank at the very least. He starts filling it up as he glances cautiously around the station, seeing everything conspicuously abandoned.

Everything looks mid use, like the drivers of the truck and the cop car just jumped out of the vehicles, up and left without another thought. One of the gas pumps has a handle hanging down, nozzle dripping dark petrol onto the tarmac, as though someone dropped it and ran, Leon thinks. Didn’t even have time to slot it back into place.

The handle he’s holding clicks quietly and startles him a little, before he replaces it and closes the petrol cap on his car.

He takes a few steps toward the cop car, rounding the back of it-and coming to an abrupt halt once again at the sight of a dark puddle on the wet tarmac.

Petrol, right?

It’ll be petrol. Of course, of course it’ll be a petrol spillage. Some distance away from the pump. With no handle out of place or hanging down anywhere near it. It has to be petrol.

Swallowing nervously, Leon carries on and trips over his feet a little as he avoids the puddle, mind jumbled at the events of the morning.

The door to the gas station is dirty, grimy and the window is cracked somewhat. He steels himself and pushes it open slowly, eyes falling on the shelves that have fallen over, the food strewn over the aisles and the splatters of…not petrol.

He barely wraps his mind around the fact that there’s blood on the floor of this gas station before he sees a foot poking out from behind a rack of crisp bags, unmoving. Shakily, he walks over and rounds the corner-and comes face to face with a body slumped down against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of himself and hand attempting to stem the flow of red streaming from his neck. His movements are weak though, like he’s been here for a while, trying to stem that wound and keep himself alive. The failure is evident, pale face slackening and hand loosening.

The man sluggishly points to a door just behind and to the side of him, where there’s distant movement in the shadows of the window in it. Leon looks back down just as the man's hand falls away fully, exposing a raw, fleshy wound, crimson and gunky, meat torn with what looks like a bite mark.

The firearm in his hand shakes by his side and Leon is distantly confused by it, wondering what’s wrong with his weapon, though when he casts a quick look downwards he realises it’s his hand trembling.

Sickly, wet chewing-lumpy red on the floor and-white eyes-tendons pulling and-and-

Leon hunches over in the corner of the store and empties the contents of his stomach onto the grimy linoleum.

His hand gropes the shelves next to him blindly, finding a bottle and opening it shakily. He only sniffs it before he downs a few gulps, just making sure it’s not bleach or some such thing, and washes away the taste in his mouth.

A noise outside makes him jump a little, liquid (lemonade?) spilling from his lips as he jerks his head up.

Quietly, he makes his way slowly to the door and grips his weapon tightly, willing his hand to stop trembling. He pauses behind a shelf and takes a deep breath in, steeling himself for what might be about to happen, for what he might be about to face and-

The door springs open and slams against the wall, light from the streetlamps outside flooding in to frame a girl's silhouette. A ponytail swings in the shadows and he sees her looking around-he steps out and intends on introducing himself until he sees the rotting face looming up behind her, hands outstretched and jaw dropping open unnaturally wide.

He doesn’t think, his training kicks in and he yells ‘Duck!’ as he aims.

His hands are steady now, breath releasing as he squeezes the trigger and watches the body fall on the threshold of the gas station. Red spreads onto the linoleum beneath it, making Leon swallow and avert his eyes, trying to forget that whatever that was, it was once a person.

After the most panicked and brief introduction Leon has ever experienced (he yelled ‘LEON’ and she yelled ‘CLAIRE’ as they sprinted out the door towards Leon’s car), he speeds out back onto the empty, open road, heading for the station.

As they pass fields and farms, both of them watch yet more of these things wandering around. They seem lost, questioning and aimless-until they hear the roar of the car and turn toward it. They stumble and fall over themselves in their haste to get to whatever is making such a noise.

By the time Leon’s car skids into the city centre he and Claire have amassed some sort of groaning, limping cult ambling along after them.

He navigates the streets as quickly as he can, pulse picking up even further as he gets closer and closer to where you hopefully are. A glance to his right shows Claire looking pensive, and though he’s aware it’s not the usual circumstances for introductory small talk, he thinks it’s worth a try if he may be experiencing the apocalypse with this woman.

“So-Claire, right? Why are you-what brings you to Racoon City on today of all days?”

Sounded alright enough he thinks, enough casualness to maybe relax things but enough bite in the last part to read as a joke if she’s in the mood. God, if someone had told him a week ago he would spend his morning masturbating, shooting zombies and then trying to make small talk on the way to see if you’ve died or not, he would have laughed himself into unconsciousness.

Claire spares a glance for him before looking back out the windshield and biting her thumbnail. A moment later she looks back at him and sighs.

“My-I’m looking for my brother-I was meant to visit him anyway, and then I got here and, well, this was happening. Figured he might know what’s going on, or at least be somewhere safe given he’s a cop and all-”

Something jars in Leon’s mind as she speaks and he whips his head towards her, slowing the car a little so he doesn’t drive headlong into something.

“Are you-Redfield? Claire Redfield?”

The look she gives him suggests that while there are creatures outside that would likely eat her, she somewhat wishes she hadn’t got in the car with him.

“Sorry-I’m-I don’t mean to sound creepy or weird or-I’m Leon Kennedy, I work with your brother-I work with Chris, same team and everything at the station-”

“You’re the rookie?!?”

Great. So that’s going to follow him around then.

Leon grimaces and watches out the window as three of those things tear into a carcass on the side of the road, something that may once have resembled a horse.

“If Chris told you that Leon Kennedy is the new rookie then sure I guess that’s me-”

Claire huffs out a laugh and turns back to the window, seemingly satisfied with his answer and confident she’s not in a car with some kind of perv. Nice to know it takes more to convince her than something as minor as saving her life from a zombie.

“Not a fan of the nickname huh? Sounds like Chris really, at least he just stuck with rookie and didn’t give you anything else too bad-”

She stops abruptly, her and Leon both craning their necks to stare out the windshield.

There is…a lot of fire.

Leon swallows, eyes darting about as he watches the bumbling figures trip over themselves and bump into abandoned vehicles. There’s a row of burning cars blocking their way, in some sort of tangled heap across the road. Leon pulls to a stop in front of them, next to the charred wreck of a van on its side, distractedly watching a hand poking out the broken windshield-followed slowly by a mess of limbs falling onto the tarmac with an audible crunch.

Claire turns toward him and opens her mouth, no doubt to formulate some sort of plan about getting around this wreck with their lives if at all possible, but a kind of roaring noise stops her. Hesitantly, both of them turn in their seats and look out the back window of Leon’s car.

And that’s when the truck comes barrelling towards them.

stage 2

Throwing himself clear from the car had seemed like a good idea ten seconds ago, but Leon wonders if he was right about that when his knees and his elbows hit the concrete, followed shortly by his head.

Someone is shouting his name, vaguely audible through all the pounding thrumming in his brain.

With a groan, Leon pushes himself up off the road, wincing at the pressure put on his elbow, and tries to turn toward the shouting.

His car has joined the ranks of the burned out vehicles, having been compressed by at least half during the truck impact. With a groan, Leon bends and looks through the flames engulfing the windows, just managing to catch sight of someone flitting around on the other side.

The shouts become clearer as the fog leaves his mind somewhat, and he realises it’s Claire shouting his name, panicked and desperate.

He yells back, voice slurring slightly.

When he closes his mouth again there’s an odd taste in it, which a brief poke to the side of his face tells him it’s a trickle of blood from his hairline descending grossly into his mouth. Leon spits red on the ground.

There’s more shouting back and forth, both increasingly aware of the creatures closing in and the flames rising up, before they decide to both head to the station and see what they can find. You and Chris, hopefully.

His pulse picks up and the rest of his vision clears as he thinks of you again.

He could be too late.

You could be wandering around Raccoon City, brainless and ravenous and about to take a chunk out of someone's neck because he’s taken too long. You, dead, simply because he didn’t check his phone for too long, didn’t look at the news and instead spent his morning getting himself off to the thought of you.

As he stumbles past some crawling things on the floor, he winces and chastises his body, reacting to his fantasies of you even in a situation like this.

Ducking into an alleyway that he thinks is a shortcut to the station, he starts breathing faster. He should have been more attentive, more proactive the past few weeks. He’s finally got something, he’s learning about himself and above all else he’s learning with you, soon he was going to learn about you, he was going to make you feel good-he was going to take you out on dates, the bookstores on the other side of the city, the museum in the centre and even the fucking strawberry farm on the outskirts.

And Leon should have done all those things in the last few weeks.

He should have clung onto you, even more than he does, called you and texted you and met up with you, should have told you how fucking important all of this is to him. How important you are.

Nausea brews in his stomach, churning and clawing at his guts as images flash through his mind. It’s as though he’s forcing himself to watch some sick, perverted slideshow. Images of when he first saw you behind your desk interspersed with an imaginary scene of your broken body lying on it instead. He thinks of when you kissed him. The first one, his favourite one, just inside his apartment door. Silence in the hallway apart from his shallow breathing, the feeling of your shirt fisted in his hands. He stumbles in the alleyway and plants a hand on the wall next to him, bending over to attempt to regulate his breathing.

It hits him right then. Slams into him and feels like it cracks his ribcage, the fact that you’re probably dead already.

Not even a ‘what if I’m too late?’

He will be, he knows now.

This city’s ruin must have reached you, it must have taken over the station and you and Chris and you’ll both be dead in there.

He forcefully pushes down the thought you may be dead but that he’ll still have to kill you. That particular thought is a little too much, and makes his vision swim.

Leon eventually finds himself at a back door to the station that he’s never used before, though from walking past he thinks it leads to Wesker’s department on the opposite side of the station from his bullpen. The process of shouldering it open is interrupted by a scuffle within, footsteps running past that make Leon pause, and then shouting from the ending of the corridor.

Barging open the door fully, he hears the man shouting again. Dave or David or someone, whoever Leon unfortunately overheard talking about backshots a few weeks ago.

Then, a scream.

A scream and-

Silence again.

Leon’s pulse picks up once again, knowing death is at the end of this corridor.

There’s more shouting from around the corner, a man running past the end and yelling that ‘David! Marvin! You there? Think I found a way out-tell her-she’ll know what I mean! The lion and-’

He’s cut off by a scream as well.

Some part of Leon tries to process that those were men he knew, not just random gas station employees or people on the roads. He worked with them. He met them and talked to them mere weeks ago. In a couple of days he could have been on patrol with them.

Most of his mind, however, is focused on ‘tell her’.

Her.

He allows himself a seedling of hope deep in his belly, allows himself the fleeting daydream of finding you alive and well, that the man was talking about you and you’re out of harm's way, somewhere with Marvin and soon he’ll be able to hug you and feel you and-

Slow.

Even if she’s alive, you may die before you get to her, remember?

A sobering thought, if he ever had one.

There’s silence in the corridor now, no screaming, no lewd chewing noises, nothing.

Leon keeps his gun steady by his side and edges toward where the shouting came from, hoping futilely that the man will still be alive and will be able to tell him if you’re here, if you’re safe.

He rounds the corner to see the man’s legs lying still, and his torso three feet away in a mess of bloody pulp and intestines.

Struggling against the bile rising in his throat, Leon stumbles over the legs and towards the arm that’s lying outstretched to the left, clutching a small notebook with a white knuckle grip even in death as though it’s of great importance. He crouches down and pries it from still warm fingers, before straightening back up.

One of his feet slips on the mess below him though, sending him tumbling forward and onto the wet floor.

Just as he’s debating what a pounding his elbows have taken this morning, he hears a groan and some shuffling behind him, something dragging along the floor.

Leon doesn’t even look back, simply scrambles forward to the beam of light he can see coming from under a shutter. His ankle is gripped by something as his head pokes out into the main hall of the station and he whips back to see, an action he promptly regrets at the sight of a rotting face hovering over his calf.

Then there’s running, shoes clicking along the floor and his shoulders are grabbed-

He panics for a split second before he smells your perfume, that addictive scent he’s come to crave over the past few weeks, especially when it’s slightly faded, slightly mixed with your natural scent. The pavlovian effect on him is impressive, making his shoulders go lax as he realises it’s your hands grabbing him, trying to pull him away from the zombie.

If you were undead, he’d be absolutely fucked, he thinks. One whiff of your perfume and he lets his guard down.

With one final, particularly rough, yank that makes him yelp, he falls back onto the floor, preparing himself for the absolute bollocking his skull will take yet again.

The back of his head falls on something soft and pillowy though, and as he takes in great heaving breaths, his eyes flutter open to see your tear stained and slightly grimy face hovering above him.

Lips pressed together and trembling slightly, streaks of dirt on your left cheek and forehead, a few red drops on your temple-and all upside down over his incredible dazed face. A more angelic sight, Leon has never seen.

A slightly hysterical laugh escapes him, breathy and a little manic as he reaches up to grasp your face, intent on pulling you down and feeling your lips against his.

And he would do that, if a wheezing cough didn’t come from above you both and make him refocus his gaze on a very ill looking Marvin.

Above him, you cough lightly and shift him up and off your lap, an action that would make him whine if you were without an audience.

How unfair, how traitorous of this entire situation to make him take his head from your skirt clad thighs. He’s walked out of his apartment into an abandoned, apocalyptic world, he’s almost been eaten, he’s shot-things, met Claire for the first time (?!?), thrown himself from a burning car, run through a zombie infested city, seen his coworker die, almost get eaten again-and now he’s finally with you again. It’s finally quiet, finally safe and secure and he’s with you. Hands shakily grasping his shoulders and biceps, strands of hair falling over your cheeks as your teeth dig into your lip. Eyes glassy and reflective, flicking between him and Marvin, pretty things he wants to stare into for as long as you’ll let him.

Leon knows it’s just everything getting to him, it’s just the overwhelmingness of his morning and the surrealism of this new reality he’s found himself in, but the thought of not touching you again, after he’s only just fucking found you alive and well, it makes his eyes go blurry and his hands grasp over yours tightly.

Marvin says something and you respond in kind, thumb passing over a sore spot on his arm briefly as you begin brushing it back and forth.

The breath Leon sucks in at the twinge resound down his muscle makes you look down again and fucking yes pay attention to me-

You shift, he blinks and your lips are pressed to his forehead briefly, heavenly, and then you’re pulling him up and onto his knees same as you.

He feels your hands relinquishing their hold on him and he detests it. Grabs your hands and holds them tightly in his lap, resting on his thighs. His eyes are trained intently on yours, watching you widen them a fraction in surprise as his sudden and slightly harsh grip on you, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to look at you, watch you while he can.

Marvin taps him on the shoulder and Leon spares a look his way, thanking him quickly for lowering the shutter on that thing, and casting a glance over a wound on the officer’s side. He knows the older officer a little, has spoken to him and been in meetings with him or stood by him in the breakroom, he feels sorry for him, for the wound he’s sustained and for the fact that it’ll mean he’s going to end up very…not himself relatively soon-but more than that he feels desperate for more of you.

That’s all he needs, more time with you and more of your soft smiles and speech directed at him and the feel of your skin on his he just fucking needs it, he needs it more than he needs anything right now.

Something in your gaze shifts ever so slightly and you rise to your feet, Leon’s grip on you meaning that he rises with you, fingers still tight on yours.

You smile at him, and his heart weakens.

He’s not even listening to the conversation you and Marvin are quietly having right now, his ears are buzzing and he’s smiling softly at you, uncaring about the dopey look he’s sporting.

The morning has taken its toll on him and his body is so tired, strung out and he feels like he could just melt into your hands, pour straight through the gaps between your fingers and onto the floor to pool at your feet.

Maybe you’d take pity on him, on this poor devoted boy, cradle your hands together to catch him and keep him close.

If only I were so lucky-

His grip tightens impossibly on your hands as his smile becomes tight, filled with the urgent need to show you, for you to see how devoted he is-how much he’s done and how much he will do for you. He receives a worried look from you at the grip, and he feels you flexing your fingers against his palms a little. Not that you can really move them very much right now.

He takes a step toward you and you nod at Marvin, smiling reassuringly at the other officer as Leon thinks he hears you say that you two just need a moment if that’s alright?

Something in his chest flutters at your words. Heat crawls up his neck at the prospect of being alone with you, knowing it’s not that kind of situation but unable to stop the reaction his body naturally has to you. A tug on his arm makes him refocus, watching you take a small step backward and wait for him to follow. He stumbles to you, giddy with sudden excitement.

He’s content to just follow behind you wherever you want to go in the station, only half heartedly listening out for any danger, mostly trusting you to know the safest way around the station by now.

You take him through the bullpen, ignoring a groaning officer on the floor who’s in the corner with half his leg missing, unable to stand or stumble after you both, and through an ominous quiet corridor to a small back office he’s only ever walked past. He’s seen you slip into this room a number of times, files clutched in your arms and usually an overly serious look on your face as you close the door quickly behind you. Leon had just figured it was a storage room for all the paperwork and confidential information you have to handle, but there’s fucking reams of it in here, more than he’s ever seen you with, piles and piles stuffed into filing cabinets and drawers that must have been building up for the past year or so.

The paperwork, unsurprisingly, isn’t his main point of focus though.

That title is awarded to the way you pull him inside and shut the door after him, spin on your heel and throw your arms around him, as tight as his grip on your hands a few minutes ago. It throws him for a split second, having seen you relatively reserved over the past few weeks, content to just let him explore his body and his desires. Now he sees you may have just been reigning yourself in to give him some time to adjust, that you may just want his touch almost as much as he wants yours. Almost, he thinks, almost.

Hard to believe she’s as desperate and addicted as I am, unable to go a couple of hours without fantasising about her hands on my body-

Leon crowds into you, stepping forward until you’re sharing the same space, one of your feet between his as he closes his eyes and breathes you in.

His nose is shmushed into the crook of your neck-a little sorely, actually, but he refuses to move it. His eyes start to sting as well, burning a little as he soaks in the fact that you’re not dead, you’re not mindless and brainless and he doesn’t have to bring himself to shoot you, he can just be here with you, can drink in this moment.

The rest of the world drops away from him, the only important thing being your arms clutching him.

Peace. Perfect, pretty peace-the kind I only get with-

You detach yourself from him slowly and he fights the urge to forcefully pull you back into him. He could, he’s stronger than you, he knows he is. He doesn’t though, reluctant to show any kind of unnecessary force with you, but just for a second the need to hold you again almost gets the better of him.

Before turning in your place, Leon sees you wipe your eyes and your nose quickly. It hurts him, makes his chest ache knowing he can’t solve all of this and make your life better again.

Then you’re clearing your throat and telling him you have a uniform here somewhere, a vest and hip pouch and radio and holster held out to him in your trembling hands.

After the past few weeks, he’s unsure why but this seems wildly lewd. Changing in front of you? His palms are sweaty and his pulse picks up again, sending you a shaky smile before reaching for the hem of his shirt.

You blink and turn around, rounding the desk in the middle of the room to head to a large trunk he hadn’t noticed in the corner. Lifting his shirt over his head and accidentally ruffling up his hair in the process, he refocuses to see you holding two boxes of ammo and coming back toward him, gaze flicking down to his chest and up again.

Pride flickers within him and there’s a chance he straightens up, puffs his chest out a fraction. Just a little chance. Well, rather a big one. He does, he definitely does. It’s very likely not the right time, but he can’t help preening under your gaze, knowing you find him attractive. Leon feels his cheeks heat as your gaze dips once again, even lower this time, and wishes briefly that he was a little…cooler about these situations. That he could take charge or at least be confident just once.

The pride crumbles somewhat in him at these thoughts.

He should be able to take care of you, be able to step up and reassure you and make you feel like everything is going to be fine. But here he is, consumed by the need to hold you again, body alight just because of a look from you.

He toys with the button down shirt in his hands as he watches you set the bullets on the desk, mumbling absently that you thought he might need them. Your brows furrow as you pick up the uniform trousers from the desk and wander back over to Leon, who promptly yelps when your fingers start fiddling the button of his jeans without preamble.

When he feels your knuckles brush against his happy trail he sucks in a breath, feeling his knees buckle a little. The movement earns him a confused look from you, before you glance back down and press your lips together, evidently trying not to smile as you realise where his mind has gone and what his body is doing.

He blushes further, perpetually pale skin stained with desire and excitement at your proximity.

His eyes drop down to where your fingers are now brushing back and forth over his waistband, pupils expanding as he absorbs the sight of your fingertips delicately tracing his faint happy trail. Then, your movements pause.

Leon looks back up at you through his hair and sees your teeth scrape against your bottom lip a little. The hand not touching his waistband comes up to brush some of his fringe away, though a huff of laughter escapes you when it falls back to the same place right afterwards. The sound makes him smile softly, eyes trailing your face and heart fluttering.

“It’s really not the time, is it?”

Even as you speak, voice quiet and measured, your fingers dig a few centimetres into his trousers and pause with your hand gripping the waistband gently. He swallows and bunches your shirt in his hand.

He blinks, clenches his jaw. Thinks about this morning and the certainty he wouldn’t find you alive.

Takes a small step into you and listens to your breath hitch.

“Definitely not the time,” in a hushed tone, breathed into the space between your mouths.

stage 3

The grip on his waistband tightens and your forehead comes to rest against his, eyes squeezed shut and lips pressed together. He can’t help himself, he breathes out again, words barely audible in the millimetres between your lips.

I missed you. Miss you.

A shaky exhale reaches his ears, and he doesn’t know who it comes from.

He thinks you know what he means, hopes you do, anyway. Most of his body touching yours and he still misses you somehow. Still pleads for more and yearns for more of your skin on his. An addict, he’s become.

Your face moves, head shifting forward and you lean into him. He sighs contentedly as he feels more of your body heat, and lets his eyes fall closed when the button on his jeans is flicked open quietly.

Unwillingly, he lets a whine escape as your hand dips inside his trousers, fingers sliding down to pass a length over his shaft. The sound earns him your cheek pressed against his though, and he gulps at the closeness. All he ever wants and yet almost too much to handle.

His fingers loosen where they’ve fisted in your blouse and he tugs on it gently, trembling hand pulling at the fabric to just edge it out of your skirt. He frees the material just as your hand passes over him again, gasping into your neck as he slips his hand under it to press against your ribs.

The angle is slightly awkward and he can tell your arm is bent oddly as you push and pull, slide your hand in and out of his jeans.

He tries to refocus his thoughts and think, attempt to gather some brain matter to figure out how he can move so you’re more comfortable-and then your hand dips down just a little bit further just enough to swipe over his tip and his mind is muted. Fuzzy and blanketed as his hips jerk forward into you of their own accord. His fingers dig into your side gently at the sensation.

Your hand is withdrawn before he realises you’ve moved again, and this time you step back far enough that his hand drops from your skin as well. Dissatisfied with this new position, Leon whines and tries to move toward you again-stopped by a hand on his chest unfortunately.

The brief pleasure from a few moments ago hangs over his thoughts like a pleasurable fog, dragging over each and every one and dampening them. The only thing Leon knows is that he wants you, he needs you, his body craves your touch and now you’re moving away-leaving him and taking your hand off and it’s not fair-

The sound of his zipper being dragged down interrupts his distressed thoughts, scattering them when you slowly lower yourself to your knees in front of his trembling thighs.

One of your hands slides up his thigh, ghosts over his bulge and rests on his tummy. His hips buck briefly when you touch him and you smile before pressing down gently to lean him back against some overstuffed shelves. His breathing picks up as he leans back and looks down, seeing you kneeling prettily before his undone jeans.

It’s more erotic than some of the porn he’s tried watching. Torso bare and happy trail leading down into his open fly, material pushed open in front of your face. Leon thinks back to the last time you treated him by getting on your knees, how he tried so goddamn hard to control it and still couldn’t contain himself when your lips wrapped around his tip.

The thought of your warm wet mouth, how fucking good it was last time, it makes a sound rise up out of his throat, a whiney little whimper that causes you to grin and bite down on your lip.

He lets his head drop back against some files, ignoring the slight discomfort, and tries to prepare himself for what you’re about to do. Maybe-maybe you’re just kneeling for easier access but you won’t use your mouth, maybe it’ll just be your hand again and he’ll be able to deal with it better? Maybe he won’t come so damn quick like last time-

You hum quietly and he raises his head to look back down at you, on edge from just you’re positioning.

When he makes eye contact again, your hands lift up to grip his waistband and you tug.

His knees buckle and he grips one of the shelves behind himself to stay upright, swallowing in anticipation as you gently work the material to about halfway down his thighs.

Belatedly, he realises you’ve tugged his briefs down at the same time and his member springs free, bobbing in front of your face heavily. You smile at the sight and he preens under your gaze, filled with pride at the way you apparently like what you see. Maybe one day he’ll get used to it.

Once again, you slide your hands up his thighs, now bare and trembling, and his cock jumps . A light chuckle escapes you and he moans as air blows across the tip, twitching again just as you move to wrap your fingers around his length. He moans again, long and loud before freezing and glancing at the door only a few feet away from him.

Looking down, he watches you lean in and closes his eyes, trying to prepare himself for what he knows will make him crumble. Desperate hope fills him, clinging to the idea that he’ll last a little bit longer this time. His breathing quickens, his chest rises and falls rapidly as he feels you get closer and closer. He can feel the heat radiating from you, pressing in on him deliciously.

Naturally, you don’t do what he expects.

He lets loose a broken sound, choking it out of his throat as your lips press wetly onto his thigh. You stay there as well, pause for a few seconds.

Your hand shifts to pump up and down slowly as you move your head back, and Leon is instantly enamoured with the sight of glistening spit in a small mark on his skin. Flicking a quick glance up at him, you lean in again and his breath catches.

He watches greedily as you part your lips, pressing them to a spot just above the previous one, and suck gently on his pale thigh. The soft skin feels sensitive, almost too sensitive there, and he grips the shelf tighter, clutching it desperately.

Your face is close, so fucking close, to his member, though you tilt your hand as you push and pull, angling him away so you can suck harder at his thigh.

All too soon you’re done, pulling away with a wet pop that makes his stomach flip and his body sag down against the shelves, trying to push against you more. He need not worry for much longer though because then you’re swapping your hands over and leaning in again to suck on his other thigh. Leon whines at the contact and you smile against his leg, the action somehow more seductive than your hand on his cock.

He feels you shift on the floor, brushing against his shins, and then your mouth detaches from him, making him whimper before you lean a couple of inches higher and start sucking again. Your movements are harsher this time, enthusiastically marking him and bruising his thigh and his hand loses its grip on the shelf.

Leon can’t help bucking forward a little, and then you fucking moan.

The sound vibrates against his leg and he feels your tongue on his skin, unable to stop the groan that jumps out at it. His stomach tenses and his thighs flex before they tremble, and then he hears you hum, a sort of satisfied sound coming from you. He can almost hear the smile wrapped around the noise.

When he looks down he sees your gaze transfixed on the head of his cock, where a drop of precum has leaked onto your thumb.

His eyes dart between you and where your eyes are fixed. You smile briefly before ducking your head, gaze flicking up to lock eyes with him as your tongue darts out to lick over the drop on your thumb and up over his slit.

And oh-the sound that leaves him is nothing short of pathetic.

Some sort of mix of a moan that turns into a whine, strangled and choked and forced out of him as he tries to stay upright, undone with one swipe of your tongue.

He watches you pull your hand away slowly, moving forward at the same time until his tip is resting in your addictively hot, wet mouth. Your lips secure around him as you lay your palms on his thighs, thumb brushing one of the hickeys you sucked onto him.

Leon releases a shaky breath, thinking he may have gotten himself under control, he may be able to hold back a little bit-but then the tip of your tongue probes against his slit again just before you hollow your cheeks and suck on the head of his cock. Reflexively, his hips jerk forward as more precum spills onto your tongue, and he finds one of his hands snaking down towards you as he mumbles m’sorry, didn’t mean to m’so sorry-

Your hand rubs a calming circle into his thigh in acceptance of his apology, knowing how overwhelmed he gets when you pay this much attention to him.

His fingers tap the back of one of your hands quickly and your eyes dart towards it, pulling your mouth off of him (which he responds to with a whimper) and swallowing before looking up at his flushed face.

Leon? You wanna hold my ha-

Please-

His desperation earns him a sweet smile, and your hand moving up until he threads his fingers through yours, linking you together. His grip is tight but he can’t bring himself to care, simply desperate for some sort of tether to keep him grounded while he loses himself in pleasure.

Smiling once more, you rest your linked hands on his bare thigh and he swallows as he looks down at the contact. Just as you’re about to dip your head forward and lick at him again, he whispers at you. Voice barely audible even in the silence of the room.

Are you-can you-can you touch me again? Please?

S’what I’m doing Leon, be patient baby-

He preens at the words, squeezing your hand tightly and trying to settle back against the shelves as he waits for your next move. Pretty, greedy, impatient boy-

M’not-just-just want you-

Mm, you are, but it’s okay-I like you being greedy-so cute-

Leon stresses at the words, whining at you that he’s not-not cute-I’m-

Cute, Leon, you’re cute-my cute boy-

A sentiment punctuated with another squeeze to his hand and your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock. An action responded to with a heavenly moan dropping from his lips, loud and unrestrained.

From your moments together over the past few weeks, you see the signs and pause your movements, just holding him in your mouth lightly. His stomach flexes, torso undulating a little against the files and paperwork, shelves rattling somewhat. After a minute or so, he looks down and nods at you shyly, signalling he’s ready for more. Greedy.

He sees the glint in your eyes and almost regrets nodding, wondering what on earth he’s gotten himself in for now. His answer comes in the form of your free hand raising up to hook around his other thigh, grip curling around the back of the muscle and fingers grazing his balls.

The touch makes him jolt, but not nearly as much as when you inhale through your nose, look up at him and slowly sink your mouth down over the rest of his shaft, almost to the base.

Leon has never paid too much attention to whether his cock is large, average or small or anything, well not until he met you really, but he finds pride blooming in his chest when you have to stop with the head bumping your throat gently. Unfortunately he doesn’t have much time to embrace the feeling, sensing the coil in his gut tighten considerably.

The hand gripping the back of his leg brushes up and down lightly, and the simple touch sends him over the edge blissfully, soaking in the feeling of your mouth around his cock, your fingers brushing over the sensitive skin on the inside of his thigh, over the hickeys, and your hands wrapped together. He trembles and shakes against the shelves, hand jerking in your grip and whimpering as his release spills down your throat.

Drenched in pleasure, he looks angelic. His chest is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, thighs trembling, red flush spreading up from his pecs over his neck and onto his cheeks. Lips parted and hand periodically squeezing yours. His body jolts in the aftershocks, torso curving over you when you slowly slide off of him, sucking harshly once more just to hear him whimper.

He’s panting as you stand back up, slack jawed as he stares at you. Leon’s hand is still locked with one of yours and he squeezes tightly, making you smile at him softly, waiting for him to catch his breath.

He seems to surprise you though, when he pulls on the front of your shirt to draw you forward into a kiss. Your hesitation makes him pause and he furrows his brow at you, wondering why you don’t want to suddenly. Did he do something wrong??

No answer comes immediately, with you looking a little like you’re floundering for words for a minute, until he sees you bite your lip and tighten your grip on his hand as well. Quietly, you mutter that most guys don’t really seem to want to kiss after that, really so-

Leon interrupts you by pressing his lips chastely to yours, unmoving for a few seconds before pulling back. A closed mouth kiss, sweet and simple and one of his favourite acts with you, serving no other purpose than a display of his affection. When he separates, he feels your breath on his lips and leans his forehead against yours, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand.

He hums quietly at you before responding, saying that I mean, down there-punctuated by a sheepish look towards his tugged down trousers-it’s my-well it’s-it’s me isn’t it and I-I kissed you...last time...so why would I really mind?

A small sound of acknowledgement reaches him before you’re leaning back, unfortunately, and turning toward the desk again, passing the uniform trousers behind you to him, telling him he really does need to change now you two have been longer than maybe you should have. Leon’s body warms at the realisation than though you knew you definitely shouldn’t have, you still took the time to…do that for him. He tries to tell you as much, pushing his foot through a trouser leg and almost toppling over at the same time.

“Thank-well-no yeah thank you for-for-OW shit-”

A short glance and a grin is spared for him when he falls over with a thud, legs tangled in fabric.

“You don’t need to thank me Leon I-”

That earns you an indignant huff.

“I do, I should alw-”

“Baby if you say you should always thank me for touching you I will not be happy.”

He hears the smile wrapped around your words but wisely decides not to thank you again anyway.

“...Noted. But-I mean what’s so bad about it? Don’t you want-do you not want me to be-well, grateful?”

Leon’s looking down as he babbles, focusing on doing up his zipper, and when he raises his head he’s greeted by you facing his way again, leaning back on the desk. He trails his eyes over your crossed arms (nothing to do with the pushed up cleavage) and affectionate smirk working its way onto your face (it makes his cock twitch, sensitive against his briefs).

“Leon, sweetheart, I’m doing this as much for myself as I am for you-”

He can’t stop himself interrupting just then, because “Are you sure? I’m thinking you don’t feel like-like that just from doing…things to me-”

“No, not necessarily-I don’t come, if that’s what you’re asking-” A pretty blush crawls up his cheeks at your words, “-but it does uh-it gets me going if you know what I mean-but anyway, maybe in a little while your gratefulness could manifest in…other ways, when you’re more ready?”

Involuntarily, his lips part at your loaded question. Mind racing a mile a minute, he struggles to respond for a second because holy-can I-would you really want me to-will it-soon? Can I soon? Would you let me touch you? Soon? Please?

Halting at the hand you suddenly hold up, he realises he’s taken a few steps toward you without noticing he was moving. But christ, the thought of maybe being able to please you? To touch you in the same way he’s seen all the videos of? It makes his blood run hot, searing through his veins.

“Let’s survive first and then we can talk about me coming, yeah?”

Since you turn back around as you finish speaking, you miss how Leon grins widely at your words before faltering again and biting his lip. What if you don’t survive, what if neither of you do and he’s been so fucking selfish these past few weeks? All this time that he could have spent learning how to please you and now he might not even get the fucking chance, he might never know what you feel like, how you sound in the throes of passion or how you’d look when you climax.

He’s disturbed from his miserable reveries by you calling his name quietly. He watches you raise a brow at him, before looking between his body and the uniform and gear he has still yet to put on. Leon sends you a quick smile and ducks his head again, shucking on the shirt and vest. The actions don’t distract him from his thoughts, though you don’t seem to notice his sudden discomfort. Or if you do, you must attribute it to the hellish nightmare you’ve both found yourselves in-which is fair enough.

Leon takes a deep breath in, thinks that at least you’re alive-thank fuck-and exhales. There are other things to think about today. Namely, the notebook he took from the dead cop, and how the cop wanted to tell ‘her’ something, a ‘her’ that definitely could be you.

He clears his throat when he’s finished dressing, and watches you turn to look at him expectantly as he finishes adjusting his hip pouch. He attempts to ignore the appreciative look you peruse his body with, gaze travelling longingly over the material tight on his thighs, his trim waist and his biceps shifting under his shirt sleeves. Not the time not the time not the time.

Fishing it out of his jeans on the floor, he hands you the little notebook and waits for a minute while you flip through it, seeing your face change from intrigued to what looks like resigned. He explains what the cop said, about a possible way out, and you sigh tiredly in response.

Catching sight of his confused stare, you smile miserably and hand the notebook back.

“That is…definitely a way out. But it’s really fucking annoying and I wish it wasn’t the only way.”

Leon flips through the pages again, leaning back on some shelves as the images of unicorns and lions flick by. Sure as shit does not look like a way out. He responds with a dragged out ‘okayyyy’ as he tries to make sense of anything on the paper. He fails.

“Right. Well while I have no clue how this is a way out, how hard can it be to get out of the station, especially if you know how to use this-this-whatever the hell this is-”

“Because it means we have to run around this station, the station filled with people-eating…people-”

“-Zombies-”

He earns a sour look for that interruption.

“-Let’s not use that word-”

“Fine. But they’re zomb-”

“THINGS-we have to run around this stupid maze of a building while avoiding all those things so we don’t get eaten or mauled to death, we have to try and avoid all these ‘licker’ things-”

“Lick-what?”

“Not important right now-avoid those, solve these, hopefully not get caught in one of the many collapsing parts of the station, and then get back to the main hall-after which we’ll probably end up trapped underground anyway.”

Leon meets you with a blank look, unsure what to say to all the work that is apparently required just to get out of this building. He hears you huff out a laugh in response to what must be a slack jawed expression.

“Okay shut your mouth and let’s just go-we can do the hall first-” His heart flutters when you step forward and move your fingers under his chin, pushing his mouth closed. A pained smile crosses your face as you pause afterwards, pressing your lips together, “-and-and we can find out how Marvin is doing now as well, yeah?”

Leon follows you out of the mysterious little room, casting a look back to the typewriter and the piles and piles of papers, steeling himself for whatever he’s just gotten himself into.

->comments, reblogs and asks are most appreciated! likes don't spread my work at all so people are less likely to see my stuff and i'll be less likely to write!!! would loooove feedback from y'all, and hope you enjoyed this, plus hope you are looking forward to pt2!!!

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