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“Need a ride home, sir?”
Leon blinks out of a daze. Grace’s ambulance has already driven into the horizon, its red-and-blue lights winking like stars. One of Chris’ wolves, the runt of the family, it seems, from their nervous disposition, looks at him expectantly, well, as expectantly as one might seem with five-eyed goggles that stare him down with each reflective pupil.
“Ha, no, I’m fine. I’m waiting on my ride.”
“Are you sure? The captain might have my ass over the coals if I don’t see that you get home in one piece.”
“Like I said. I’m fine,” Leon answers, careful not to be too harsh with his tone. Having Chris as a captain doesn’t seem easy, and he hopes not to lend this rookie the burden of their beef. "You can tell him my wife's picking me up."
He might be a hardass, but between Chris and his wife, Leon would rather not incur the wrath of the latter. He fidgets with the band around his finger. There’s not much else to do than twiddle his thumbs until she arrives. She never gives him the benefit of a heads-up. Even with his phone missing, he knows she has enough connections to make her ETA known.
He watches the clean-up crew clean up. He’s never stayed around long enough for the aftermath, which sounds ridiculous in his old age, but it’s true. It’s a pleasant sight. Therapeutic. He finally sees the appeal in watching paint dry. The fires dim and get put out one by one.
His Porsche pulls up to him with a keen purr, and he feels his cheeks warm. From embarrassment, mostly. He'd forgotten it was even missing. The window slides down.
“Looks like you lost something.”
“Old age’s getting to me,” he sighs, and trudges to the other side. This car was an anniversary gift, but somehow, when they’re together, he always finds himself in the passenger seat.
“Don’t say that. If you’re old, I might as well be at death’s door,” she says.
“Never,” he laughs. “You’re not dying before I do.” She’s his invincible woman. He slides the piss-hued syringe into her hand, and she raises an eyebrow. She’s too leisurely with sliding her leggings off and injecting it into her thigh. She’s not as bruised up as he or Sherry, but still, goddamn, she takes her sweet time even in the face of death. Leon watches as Elpis does its job to incredible success.
“Guess we’ll both have to hold on to life.” She starts the car, and they ride down the unlit forest out of Raccoon City.
Not even the night skies offer some semblance of comfort. It’s cloudy out, and likely exacerbated by the smoke that clamps a dome down on its far-reaching radius. Leon leans back and listens to the engine of his car. Adrenaline keeps him awake. He stares at Ada as she drives.
She has a sixth sense for when he’s looking, but she keeps her eyes on the road. Missions like these are few and far between now. None that keep him away for so long and without contact. With the late-stage infection, it was exceptionally more difficult to stomach that they might be dying after every brutal hurdle this world threw their way.
Something else keeps him alert. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and she glances at him.
“Hard mission?” she finally asks.
“Not more than normal,” he grunts.
“Hard on your body?”
He doesn’t reply. He looks out of the windshield.
The journey home is always long no matter where they end up. Physically they were only a couple hours away from home. When they get back, she doles out her first command.
“Don’t shower just yet.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He stands in the hallway like a scolded dog after rolling around in mud when she goes out to the garage to get the rest of his belongings. She must have been following close behind, because she’s managed to retrieve his coat from Rhodes Hill, and some of the firearms he left in the city are back in their possession. He supposes he won’t need to owe the D.S.O. the paperwork for any write-offs. She drops his forgotten gear by the shoe rack, and in what must be a purposefully unsubtle way, because otherwise he would never have seen it, she slips a palm-sized medallion in her coat pocket. For sentimental value, as much as he knows she’d hate to admit it.
“Okay. Come on.”
He follows her upstairs, careful not to track any dirt further inside. She ushers him into the bathroom without grace. She turns on the faucet for a hot bath. She takes off her dress and bra, throwing it into the hamper. Leon ogles her slipping off her panties. They suit her, no more or less now than they did ten or twenty years ago.
Steam takes to the ceiling in seconds. She looks unbothered in the extreme humidity. Glowing, even. She approaches him and even though she’s shorter than he is, Leon feels completely subdued by her.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
She toys with the hem of his shirt before she tugs it over him, and the most he does is bend forward to allow her to do so with ease. Without her saying, he doesn’t know how much he has to do, so he usually doesn’t, not at all, and it’s worked ever since. She strokes his hair when it becomes mussed, a mere shirt doing what a day’s work out in the zombie-plowing fields couldn’t. She studies his body, and her eyes on him make him feel like the same young man when they first met. She takes a closer look at his scars, the ones that had just cleared up an hour or two ago, as if to be sure that he had been cured too.
She unbuttons his trousers. Immediately his dick twitches, out of arousal and out of fear, even though it’s not something she hasn’t seen before. It had been a while since the big baddies had taken a liking to him like this. He cups himself.
“There were two,” he blurts out.
“Who?”
“Gideon and Zeno.”
“Not quite a party,” she muses, “but that’s okay. I think we’ve outgrown them already.” Leon nods. She drops his pants around his ankles and he steps out of them. His legs are suddenly wobbly, as if held up by dignity alone. She pats the edge of the tub, and he sits, legs in water.
“Can you take off your own underwear?” she asks. He does so with trembling hand. The fabric of his boxers detach from his crotch with sticky, lingering yearning.
Ada looks at him nicely, lips tucked in and smiling gently.
“Show me where the bad men touched you, Leon.”
He obeys. As reluctant as his body is, he’s reigned control of it over the years, each unconscious urge or qualm come under the umbrella of his will. He takes his hand away and spreads his legs. His penis isn’t quite hard yet, but showing off to her will definitely make it so soon, and he's already jutting from over his balls. It’s dampened with something that won’t be washed away with one rinse, and Leon suspects the sensation of Gideon’s harvesting his pleasure lasting much longer than a shower.
“Just your cock?”
“No,” he answers breathlessly. He cups his cock and balls and pulls them away from his hole. Without anything between them, he’s squeezing the open air, and the fact that there’s even enough room to squeeze around anything is already cause for concern.
“Oh, Leon,” she sighs. She runs a handful of hot water over his leg, rubbing him in a mimicry of comfort, but he takes any act of hers sincerely. “They really made a mess out of you.”
He swallows. “Did they?”
“They turned you into a hole,” she says bluntly. She spreads him even wider, more than his aching muscles will allow. Only her fingertips dig into the fatty part of his thighs, but she’s tearing him apart, like a frog’s legs splayed out during a dissection. His asshole clenches. He gasps when he can unmistakably feel cum squirt out of him, a jet on its lowest setting.
He leans against the tile wall, closes his weighed down eyes for a second until Ada taps him. “Leon,” she commands, and he peers at her. She has two fingers brought up to his face, dipped in ejaculate. For all the things he should be ashamed of, the only one is letting his wife touch another man’s cum.
“Whose is this?” she asks.
“I—I don’t know,” he admits, darting between her stern gaze and her fingers. It was so fucked. He was so fucked. It could’ve been either, it could’ve been both. If he had to hazard a guess, it would be Zeno’s, by the virtue that the cum looked more human than not.
She tuts. “Did you enjoy it so much you forgot who was even in you? Maybe it was a party, after all.”
Leon blushes. “It wasn’t,” he mutters defensively, “it was just the two of them.” Though he knew it wouldn’t matter to her whether or not there had been more. He only wanted her to know he would never lie.
She digs her fingers deeper between his cheeks. They had left no stone unturned and no patch of skin unstained, so even the journey to his asshole left her steps muddy and sticky. Ada dips a finger inside with no complaint and no resistance, and Leon groans. His grip on the edge of the bathtub tightens.
She muffles her own noise of amusement.
“No wonder you don’t know who came in you. Just a finger gets you forgetting your own name,” she says. She inserts two fingers in fully. His guts are tightening; it displaces two fingers worth of cum onto his asscheeks.
“Please, Ada—”
“How was it this time?” she asks, prodding his bladder from the inside. After the bottles of water Chris’ team so helpfully supplied to him, Leon feels bloated but his urethra is corked by his erection, the pain in his crotch not at all helped by the need to urinate like carbonation shaken in its bottle. If he pees in front of or on his wife again, he won’t hear the end of it for at least half a year.
“Earth to Leon,” Ada reminds. “How did it feel?”
“It was—was good,” he whimpers. Ada strokes lower, right against his prostate. “They were big. Both of them. Even Zeno.”
She chuckles. “I don’t doubt it. I’ve spent enough time with Wesker to expect there might be a family resemblance.”
The fact, no matter how far into the past it was, that she’d seen any part of that man brings Leon’s heart to a stammer. She rubs him from the inside, and he looks at her imploringly. A face that told him not to ever worry.
“Did he fuck well?”
“Yeah…” Leon gasps when Ada presses her thumb against his taint, pinching his insides against it. His cock twitches from its base, pathetic and untouched. “For a clone, he knew what he was doing. He put his speed to good use.”
“Fast, wasn’t he,” Ada comments. Leon watches her bite her lip in concentration, and her fingertips increase their pace in him, stoking his prostate into a hot puddle.
“Fffuck, oh my God,” he whines. “Ada!”
“You obviously liked it enough to let him breed you,” she says, making the same assessment he did. Or maybe she was there. Maybe she watched. Leon could never know. She always liked to comb him for answers she already had. “I bet Gideon had enough fun in you too.”
“I don’t know,” he cries. “But it was too much in me, I can’t—he—there were so many of him inside…!”
His hands cup under his belly, the closest she’ll allow him to be near his cock. The urge to jerk himself off is mounting, but he’ll never do it. He presses aching divots into his crotch where his pubic hair is, feeling the heartbeat of Ada’s fingers fucking him from the inside, reopening the wounds of his rape. No matter how big Gideon and Zeno were, Ada commands just as much space inside of him, a gaping cavity for her to slip into and live in forever.
“‘S so, so good,” he babbles. “More—”
“What can I do, Leon? You keep making yourself too available,” Ada sighs. “I told you to watch out for yourself.”
But she doesn’t sound sorry at all. Her fingers plummet into the cunt she and many others have sculpted out over time. Her other hand cups his balls, teasing his cum that begs to be released, and like a twitchy trigger finger he orgasms, into the air and then on himself, biting the back of his scarred hand.
She’s always been here for him for this. When Krauser had fucked him into a shape not like himself, she’d been the one to massage that pulp of a man back to form, taking care of him that she only knew how. And even when he was just a rookie, stalked by all manner of monsters that he thought only existed in an imaginary closet or under the bed…
“You’re lucky I’ll always be there to clean up your messes.” She kisses his forehead, and resumes ladling water over his body.
"Ada..."
Some part of him knows she must get off to his pain and his suffering. She has to. The way she digs her nails into his bruises and the way she runs him around in circles. But no other woman would do something like this for him. His pain and suffering are the foul cuts of meat, and even that must be put to use, rather than let waste in a landfill and set loose to drink himself to death and go stir-crazy in sleepless nights.
He’s never had a bad night of sleep when with her.