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You’d lost count of how many orgasms you had within the past twenty-four hours.
It’s not like you were keeping track to begin with. Leon had made it very clear that doing so wasn’t the point.
There was no expectation for either of you to keep score. There was only the expectation to feel it. To enjoy each other as much as possible. As much as your bodies could allow. The challenge was a delightful one. A kind of excitement neither of you had been able to experience for months. Almost a year, come spring.
At first, that time a part didn’t seem too bad. A marriage of nearly two decades meant that you had rhythms and routines; patterns that were so very easy to fall into the second you got each other alone.
Before the syndrome had even reared its head, you were near-insatiable.
How could you not be?
Having worked alongside each other since The Incident meant that you got to see each other grow. You evolved into better versions of yourselves, and embraced the parts you had always liked. Being that close, that involved, also taught you both to welcome whatever opportunities you could. Whether that was getting each other off in the bathroom of a lonely rest stop, or in the comfort of your home.
Of course, once those black marks decided to finally make themselves known, your bodies had naturally begun to slow.
Sure, you were both getting older…
Leon now needed prescriptions, and his shoulders had gotten a lot stiffer (though that wasn’t to your surprise really because he’d always had bad posture). You too had been feeling the effects of age. Your mornings now spent massaging your sore joints, and chiropractor visits had become a near-weekly occurrence.
All of these things you could navigate, but the syndrome wasn’t as forgiving.
So like with everything else in your shared life, you adapted.
With some trials and a few errors, you learned to appreciate each other in new ways; reaching crevices of your relationship you would never known possible. Through a certain lens, it was actually a rather beautiful thing.
But that didn’t mean you still weren’t inexplicably horny and incomparably frustrated.
So when Grace cured you both, after all was said-and-done and DSO had more or less cleared you, it certainly didn’t come as a shock that you both had only one thing in mind.
Leon had enough restraint (or decency, depending on how you looked at it) to wait until you were both in the car before doing anything. But just as you encroached on the outskirts of Raccoon City’s ruins, a large hand found its home on your thigh.
Leon’s grip was firm and warm—a kind of heat that not even thick denim could resist. It had you shifting in place, leaning farther into the leather seat, and subtly trying to spread your legs more.
Eventually his thumb started to trace lazy, albeit soothing circles into the flesh. Then suddenly the button of your jeans had come undone, and your husband’s thick fingers were slipping past the waistband of your underwear in search of your puffy clit. You don’t think you’ve ever come faster in your life.
With a few more excruciating miles still between you and home, Leon was silent as he moved the Porsche between the congested lanes of the highway. He ended up taking the closest exit (where it even led to, you still don’t know) and drove until he spotted the gravel lot of a small abandoned gas-station.
You were pulling him into the back before he could even unbuckle himself.
You rode him harshly. Sloppy and uneven—not that it mattered in the slightest. With his hands on your face, holding you close as he flexed his thighs beneath you, it didn’t take long for you to come again. And it took even less time for him to spill into you with a breathy grunt.
When you did finally make it home, after what felt like hours, you were practically wrestling him through the front door. Pressed between the wall and his hard body, Leon took you in the foyer—right next to the shoe-rack, and the small table where you usually kept your keys.
Trying to recall the night before was like listening to a skipping record. Your memory consisted of flashing images; of sounds you hadn’t heard in so long; of ice-blue eyes and the feeling of stubble against your chest.
You certainly remembered the next morning though. You were awake first. While Leon slept, you took the time to stretch out your spine and massage your aching wrists. At some point during it all, you missed Leon stirring. You missed his soft hum, and the mattress dip as he crawled over to where you sat on the edge of the bed.
He was the first to kiss you—a soft peck to your shoulder while he pulled you back into his lap. “Just wanna rest today,” was his excuse. It’s what he kept telling you as he rolled you both over, as he sucked at the hollow of your throat, as he took your nipple into his mouth. “We deserve this.”
His hands were everywhere—hooking your legs over his shoulders, sliding up your stomach to your breasts and back down again. Then, with his face inches from your dripping pussy, he searched for your eyes. “Ain’t that right, pretty girl? You deserve this.” He then pressed a teasing kiss to your mound. You whined, all high-pitched and pathetic, and Leon just laughed. “Yeah. My beautiful wife—“ he mouthed at your folds “—deserves whatever she wants.”
Leon ended up pulling an orgasm or two out of you in a matter of forty minutes. Though, you’re certain if you hadn’t been the one to set the boundary—to pull him back up your body with promises of returning the favour—he would’ve gladly stayed between your legs the whole day.
It went on like that for hours. From him lapping at your release, to you teasing his annoyingly pretty cock with your throat. It was a constant, mind-numbing, breath-taking push-and-pull.
Of course, getting to be with him again meant everything to you.
But you had thought that was the end.
Not of your sex-life (definitely not), but of the reunion.
In your wildest fantasies—those that belonged to a version of you who knew nothing of Elpis—you had envisioned it at length: physically coming back together. Touching him again. Getting to love him in every way. With the long-looming threat of death, you’d hoped—desperately wanted—to feel him like that again, if only once more.
And by some insane stroke of luck, your wish came true. You got what you wanted, and then some.
And you were grateful. Really, you were... But as Leon pounded you from behind, you were starting to realize that maybe you hadn’t really been prepared at all.
You felt good. Really, really good. Fucking amazing, even. And it was almost too much.
Everything that happened over the course of the weekend was coming to a head. All of the tension, the boiling emotions, and the seized-up dreams finally released. It was climbing the peak right alongside another climax, and you weren’t sure if you could handle the fallout.
As Leon slammed his hips into yours again, you nearly collapsed onto the sink. Eyes rolled all the way back as you tried to balance on curled toes.
With Leon’s relentless cock bullying your walls, a heavy pressure was blooming between your hips. Mewling, you harshly push them back to meet his thrusts. “I know, baby, I know," Leon's husky voice carries over your back—still damp from the steaming shower you'd just came from.
Leon, who had been watching you carefully, readjusted his grip then. He tugs you back into him, one arm across your shoulders and the other coiled tight around your hips.
Your jaw goes slack at the new angle.
His cock is pressed deep—deeper in a way that immediately has you squirming. The sheer size of him is overwhelming.
“Hey, look at me.” Leon’s eyes are blown wide, almost pitch-black. He’s always had an intense stare, but this time it’s lethal. It takes everything in you to keep your eyes open. “I love you, you know that?” Your knees buckle. “Seriously. I”—another thrust —“I know I don’t say it—shit—a lot…” he shoves his head into yours with a growl. “But I do. Fuck, I do.” Helplessly, you nod through the feeling. Lashes growing heavy with tears as the air around you thins to nothing but salty sweat and the warm spice of Leon's body-wash.
With his arm—that goddamn bicep that makes your mouth-water and your cunt flutter—Leon reorients your attention back to the mirror. Through half-lidded eyes, you study the hard set of his jaw. “Fuck, look at you,” he groans. Your pelvis is screaming from the friction, and your spine feels as if it’s going to snap at any moment. Everything in you begs for sweet, beautiful release. You just grab onto your husband's arm and squeeze. It's the only response you can manage at this point that isn’t a sob. “You’re fuckin’—agh—so fuckin’ beautiful.”
You consider making an effort to speak. To beg—God knows he'd give in without hesitation... But you’re a selfish being. And perhaps, maybe, even a bit masochistic. Because Leon—your husband, the love of your life—is purring praise after praise into your ear while he works your body in every way he knows how. And you’re preening; already fucking gushing all over your old man. All you want is to give him every ounce of your attention; of your self, and your arousal. Every sharp thrust makes it harder not to let yourself go completely.
“Feel you squeezin’ me, baby,” he pants. “So-shit, so tight.” You start to feel tears slip down your cheeks. You have half a mind to care, but the other half is shameless. Shameless in how you twitch from the blood rushing in your veins. Shameless with how you crane your neck up to him, to meet his eyes, and to put yourself on full display for him as you start-up your own half-hearted rocking rhythm.
Leon tightens against you. In you. “D-Does it feel that good? Does—agh—does my cock make my pretty wife wanna cry?” he swallows hard. Your mouth falls open with a babble, and suddenly all the sounds you had been suppressing come out tenfold. “Ah, fuck," Leon spits through gritted teeth.
He’s flush against you now—his hips desperately grinding against your ass.
“Want you to make a mess on my cock, baby. C’mon. I—oh, fuck me.” His arms strain, caging you into him even tighter. “Need you to come, pretty girl. Need—shit. Need you to let go f’me. …I got you. I got you.”
When you finally come, Leon falls back into the tiled-wall, keeping you still as he works through his own orgasm. He groans and pants in your ear, while you tremble and claw at his arm.
You’re both left a complete mess. Sensitive, unable to speak or move much as you choke on the fog filling the bathroom. Despite all of it, Leon still somehow manages to kiss your face again. And you—with the very little energy you have left—let out a contented hum. You make a point to run a shaky finger along the smooth silver of his wedding band. He touches yours, too. Soft, and oh-so reverent.