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The door shut behind you harder than you intended, the loud thud echoing down the sterile DSO hallway and earning you a few glances you didn’t bother acknowledging. The hallway smelled like burnt coffee, printer ink, and that ever-present undercurrent of gun oil that seemed to cling to everything in this damn building. Your jaw was tight, your pulse still kicking hard from the conversation you’d just had, or more likely, this whole shitty day. Your superior’s voice looped in your head like a broken record.
There’s no one else I can reassign you to.
You’re with Agent Kennedy.
You should be grateful.
Grateful?
That word made something ugly twist in your chest. If you had to spend one more second in Leon Kennedy’s presence, you’d end up putting your own gun to your head just to escape him.
You shoved a lollipop into your mouth, biting down harder than necessary before letting it settle against your tongue. Artificial cherry flooded your senses, sweet and bright, grounding in a way that felt almost pathetic. It beat nicotine, though. Barely. Your fingers flexed at your side like they missed the weight of something that burned instead of dissolved.
You hated him with every fiber of your being.
The worst part? You hadn’t always.
Your thoughts dragged backward to the memory of the first time you’d seen him. Back when his name meant something different to you and it didn’t make your shoulders tense or your patience wear thin just hearing it.
Everyone knew who Leon Kennedy was. That wasn’t an exaggeration. You’d heard his name long before you ever set foot inside DSO headquarters. The agent who walked out of situations no one else survived. The one buried under so many classified operations that half his career might as well have been a myth.
Back then, you hadn’t just respected him. You’d admired him. More than you should have, probably.
You remembered standing in that lineup, hands clasped behind your back, trying to ignore the way your heart hammered against your ribs while your superior droned on about the rookie program.
You’d been nervous, praying to any god that would listen not to get stuck with someone weird and unbearable.
It never even crossed your mind that you’d be paired up with him, even if there was a small, quiet part of you that hoped for it anyway. Who wouldn’t?
So when they called your name along with Agent Kennedy’s, you’d actually thought you misheard at first. Your brain lagged behind, struggling to catch up, until you looked up and saw him standing there.
Leon Kennedy didn’t just look like a legend, he was the reason legends existed in the first place.
He stood slightly apart from the others, not in a way that demanded attention, but in a way that naturally drew it in. His suit was black and perfectly tailored, sitting clean across broad shoulders. His hair fell in soft, layered strands, ash-blond with darker undertones, long enough to brush his cheekbones and threaten to fall into his eyes if he tilted his head the wrong way.
His face was sharper up close than you expected. Defined jaw, a faint shadow along it like he hadn’t shaved that morning or didn’t see the point. His mouth rested in a neutral line that leaned toward displeasure, and his blue eyes pierced you in a way that wasn’t curious but more assessing.
He was very attractive, annoyingly so.
You’d noticed the way he smelled too when you got close enough—gunpowder layered under something woodsy that you couldn’t quite place.
You’d walked up to him anyway, nerves buzzing, determined not to embarrass yourself. You’d offered your name with a small smile, hand outstretched, hoping stupidly that maybe the rumors about him not including ‘being a decent human being’ was because it was just assumed.
You were sorely mistaken.
Your hand hung there for so long you felt yourself squirm. His gaze flicked to it for a fraction of a second before returning to your face, already losing interest.
“Kennedy,” he greeted, his voice gruff, stripped of anything resembling kindness. After the smallest pause he added, “Don’t get in my way.”
You remembered the way your smile faltered, confusion flickering before you covered it with a quiet, awkward laugh. You told yourself he was having a bad day. That he was just… very serious and focused, that maybe he’d warm up after you two got to know each other.
You should’ve seen that as your first red flag, and not give him the benefit of the doubt. Unfortunately, all that did was give him time to prove that the first impression had been a warning.
Leon Kennedy wasn’t just distant. He was intentionally difficult and cold in a way that felt like he wanted to build a wall and had no interest in letting anyone past it.
“You’re holding your gun wrong.”
“Your footing’s off.”
“Bioweapons don’t wait for you to check your safety.”
That one had made your teeth clench so hard your jaw ached. It wasn’t just the criticism, it was the tone he used like you were something inconvenient he’d been forced to deal with.
At first, you tried to swallow it. You told yourself it was temporary, that you’d learn what you needed to learn and move on. You told yourself he was like this with everyone, but then you started noticing he wasn’t.
That when something in you snapped. If he was going to treat you like an idiot, then fine. You’d stop trying to earn anything from him.
Two could play this game.
The sarcasm came easy, sharp and quick on your tongue. You poked at him, tested him, let your comments slip just enough to toe the line of professionalism without outright crossing it.
You added the lollipops after a while too. They were mainly for you, something to stave off the nicotine itch that seemed to buzz under your skin constantly, but the first time you caught him staring at your lips when you popped one out of your mouth to speak, you knew they’d come in handy.
You always made a show of it. The crinkle of wrappers louder than necessary, the candy clacking against your teeth when you spoke, the devious smirk every time you saw his gaze wander.
He hated it, you knew he did. You saw it in the way his jaw tightened just slightly,and how his eyes narrowed for half a second before he looked away.
This back and forth lasted for months before it all finally came to a head in the training room.
The air in the training facility was thicker than the rest of the building, heavy with sweat and the metallic tang of spent rounds. It clung to your skin, mixed with the faint sugar lingering on your tongue, grounding and suffocating all at once.
Leon had been on you from the second you stepped onto the floor.
“Your grip’s off, again.”
You hadn’t even fully settled into position yet. You knew your grip wasn’t off. You’d drilled it enough times, had it corrected by other instructors who didn’t sound like they regretted your existence. You adjusted anyway.
A second passed, then an impatient exhale left him. “Too slow.”
Your eye twitched.
He circled you like you were something under inspection, boots heavy against the floor, presence looming just close enough to feel but never quite touching. You could hear the faint creak of his gear when he moved, the soft shift of fabric and straps, the subtle clink of something metal against metal.
You hated how aware of him you were, how you kept sneaking glances despite the resentment boiling inside you.
The tactical gear stripped away the clean, polished look he wore in the office and replaced it with something more dangerous. The fitted black shirt clung just enough to outline the shape of his solid chest. The sleeves were pushed up, exposing his forearms. Thick muscle, veins running just beneath the skin, flexed subtly every time he adjusted something or reached for your stance. The sleek, black watch on his wrist caught the overhead light every time he moved.
You dragged your attention back to the target, annoyed with yourself. You wished he was even a little bit uglier, just a little. It would make everything so much easier.
“Fix your footing, you look like you’re about to start tap dancing, not shoot a gun.”
You shifted your stance a fraction, slower this time because you knew it would irritate him. Sure enough, you caught the subtle roll of his eyes out of the corner of your vision, followed by another quiet sigh.
You knew you weren’t bad at this. You weren’t him, obviously (no one was) but you were good. Better than most of the rookies you’d trained with. You’d put in the work, pushed yourself harder than you needed to just to prove you deserved to be here.
“Again, maybe this time focus more on the target and less on whatever the hell has you distracted.”
You lowered the gun just enough to glance at him, brows pulling together. “How long are you gonna keep that stick up your ass, old man? Seems to me you’re starting to like it up there.”
You loved to make jabs about his age, it always got something out of him.
His gaze snapped to you, something flickering behind it before it flattened again just as quickly.
“Reset,” he grunted, pointing in front of you and ignoring the comment entirely.
You huffed softly, turning back to the target. “Careful, don’t strain yourself. I know reflexes start going downhill after thirty.”
You adjusted again, lining everything up exactly how you knew it should be. You fired, the recoil snapping clean through your arms, the shot landing exactly where it was supposed to.
You lowered the gun, glancing at him with a raised brow.
“Well?”
His eyes flicked to the target, then back to you. “Better, but you’re choking the grip. The gun isn’t going to bite you, but the BOWs will.”
You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “You know, I’m starting to think you just like hearing yourself talk.”
“That obvious, rookie?” he shot back dryly.
It caught you off guard just enough to make your mouth twitch. Once in a while, if you pushed the right way, something real slipped through and not that cold, polished exterior he wore like armor.
You leaned your weight onto one leg, letting your posture go loose in a way you knew he hated. “Jeez, do you come with a mute button, or is this just like, a permanent condition?”
You could feel him moving behind you without looking, close enough that the heat of him brushed the back of your neck. “Focus.”
You huffed a quiet laugh, finally turning to face him. “I am focused. I’m just trying to tune out the world’s most boring instructor.”
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes flicked to you and down towards your lazy posture. “If you need entertainment, you’re in the wrong field.”
“Oh, trust me, I figured that out the second I got stuck with you.”
“You ever try, I don’t know,” you added, gesturing vaguely at him, gun hanging loosely in your hand, “talking like a normal person? Or is this whole brooding, emotionally constipated thing part of your brand?”
He ignored your comment completely. “Unless you’re looking to shoot me, I’d suggest treating that like a weapon and not a toy.”
“Tempting,” you muttered under your breath before turning back to the target with a roll of your eyes that you didn’t bother hiding. You raised the gun again, and fired. The shot landed dead center, again.
You lowered the gun just enough to look at him. “Let me guess, still not good enough sir?”
His gaze moved from the target back to you. “You hesitated.”
Your grip tightened slightly around the handle. “I didn’t—”
“You did.”
You stared at him for a second, something hot and irritated rising in your chest. “Wow. Incredible. You must’ve missed your calling as a motivational speaker.”
“You’re not here to feel good about yourself, rookie.”
“And you’re not here to suck all the life out of the room, but here we are.”
“You’re too stiff,” he continued, his gaze hardening. “You overthink every—”
“Oh my god,” you cut in, dropping the gun to your side with a sharp exhale. “Do you ever stop?”
“If you can’t handle basic correction—”
“It’s not correction,” you snapped. “It’s you nitpicking every single thing I do like you’re waiting for me to screw up.”
“Because you do.”
The words landed fast, flat and unapologetic. You let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Yeah. Sure. Meanwhile, half the rookies out there can barely hold a gun straight, but I don’t see you riding their ass like this.”
“They’re not my responsibility.”
“Lucky them.” Your voice had gone tighter now, the irritation harder to hide.
“You want the truth?” he asked, voice dropping just slightly, something colder settling into it.
You held his gaze, unflinching. “Please. Enlighten me.”
“You keep proving to me that you’re not ready for the field.”
The words hit harder than you wanted. Your stomach sank as he continued, each word like knives driven into your back repeatedly.
“A pretty girl like you would be better off behind a desk. Filing reports. Making coffee. Something you can’t screw up.”
You couldn’t breathe. The room didn’t even exist. The smell, the noise, the weight of everything around you—it all vanished, leaving nothing but that devastating sentence echoing in your head.
Pretty girl.
Like that was all you were, all he saw.
Something hot and vicious surged up your spine, flooding your chest so fast it almost made you dizzy. Every ounce of frustration, every moment you’d swallowed his comments, every time you’d told yourself to just deal with it, all crashed at once.
Your grip tightened around the gun so harshly the material squeaked.“You don’t fucking know me!”
Before you could stop yourself, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you in two quick strides. Your chest nearly brushed his as you got right up in his space, your hand coming up to shove against his chest.
His body barely moved with the shove but his eyes sharpened, something flashing behind them that wasn’t there before.
“I didn’t get here because I’m pretty,” you continued, the words spilling out now, raw and unfiltered. “I got here because I worked for it. Because I survived shit that would’ve broken half the people in this building.”
Your breath was coming faster now, your chest rising and falling as you held his gaze, refusing to back down.
“So don’t stand there and act like I’m some clueless rookie who wandered in here by accident. I earned my place just as much as you did.”
You didn’t let him respond, didn’t give him the satisfaction of watching you spiral. His expression had frozen in that unreadable way of his that just made you want to spit in his face. You turned on your heels and made a beeline for the exit.
The hallway stretched out in front of you again, all polished floors and fluorescent lighting, the same low hum of activity carrying on like your entire world hadn’t just tilted on its axis.
“Unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath, the word slipping out as you shoved your hands through your hair. “Un-fucking-believable.”
Your boots hit the ground hard, each step fueled by the leftover adrenaline still burning through your system. You could feel it in your chest, in your fingertips, in the way your breathing refused to settle back into anything resembling normal.
A pretty girl.
The phrase hit again, just as hard as the first time, and you let out a short, bitter laugh that earned you a passing glance you didn’t care enough to acknowledge. Your fingers curled into fists at your sides.
Leon Kennedy was an asshole. You didn’t care that he was the DSO’s golden boy. Didn’t care that everyone treated him like working under him was supposed to be some kind of privilege you should be thanking your lucky stars for.
You weren’t learning anything from him. All you’d gotten out of this so far was a constant headache and a growing list of reasons to want to punch him in the face.
And you were done with it.
That was what had sent you straight to your superior’s office in the first place. You’d laid it out plainly, told him you wanted a reassignment, that this wasn’t working, that it was a waste of time for both of you.
And what did you get?
A half-assed dismissal and a scolding look from your superior like you were the problem, not Leon. You let out another humorless laugh, shaking your head as you turned a corner a little too sharply.
You needed to hit something, badly. That’s what led you to the gym.
You pushed through the double doors leading toward the lower level. The sounds hit you first: the rhythmic clang of weights, the dull thud of fists against punching bags, the quiet hum of conversation blending into background noise.
Perfect.
Your shoulders rolled back slightly as you stepped fully into the space, the tension in your body coiling tighter instead of easing. Your thoughts hadn’t settled yet, Leon’s voice echoing in the back of your mind in a way that made your teeth grind all over again.
You exhaled slowly through your nose, hands flexing at your sides as your gaze swept the room, already zeroing in on the nearest heavy bag.
you grabbed the wraps from the rack nearby, already yanking them tighter around your hands than necessary, like you could bind the anger into something useful instead of letting it sit and rot inside you.
—
Bzzt bzzt.
The vibration against your wrist pulsed again, more insistent this time, dragging you back to reality. Your fist slowed mid-swing before dropping heavily to your side, your chest rising and falling as you sucked in air that suddenly felt too thick and hot.
It took a second to realize how quiet it was.
You blinked, dragging the back of your hand across your forehead, smearing sweat as you glanced around the gym. It was completely empty now, only the faint echo of your own breathing bouncing off the walls.
“…shit,” you muttered, your voice rough from disuse.
You lifted your wrist, squinting down at the screen. It was way later than you thought.
Your arms felt heavy, your legs unsteady as you stepped back from the bag, the tightness in your muscles settling into something more draining. It was only now, standing still, that you realized just how long you’d been at it.
Still, it had helped. A lot more than sitting around stewing ever would have. The anger hadn’t disappeared, but it had dulled, sanded down into something less explosive.
You grabbed your things and made your way toward the locker room. The air shifted as you pushed through the doors—cooler, carrying the faint scent of detergent and disinfectant instead of sweat and rubber.
Your thoughts still drifted back to him, though. They always did, no matter how hard you tried to stop it. The words replayed, quieter now but no less irritating.
A pretty girl like you…
You grimaced as you peeled your shirt off, the fabric dragging slowly against your back and stomach before finally coming free. Your pants were worse. The material stuck stubbornly to your legs as you shoved them down, stepping out of them with a quiet exhale, your muscles protesting the movement. By the time you were done, you were left standing there in your bra and panties, skin damp, the cool air of the locker room doing little to help.
“So what, you trying to get out of this now?”
You recognized that voice immediately. Slowly, you turned and there he was.
Leaning just inside the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. The look on his face was harder than usual, his eyes locked onto you with a heat that might have made someone else falter.
You just stared at him. “…you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
The disbelief came first, cutting through everything else. Your brain lagged behind the moment, trying to catch up to the sheer absurdity of what you were seeing. Leon Kennedy, the absolute last person you wanted to see right now, standing in the women’s locker room like it was no big deal.
A flicker of embarrassment crept up your spine as you realized that you were half-naked in front of him. Your arms crossed instinctively over your chest, but it did little to hide anything from him.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” you demanded. “Did you seriously come all the way down here just to—what—keep criticizing me?”
“I heard about your little visit to command,” he shrugged, ignoring your frustration. “Didn’t take you for someone who runs the second things get difficult.”
“Wow,” you gaped, shaking your head slowly. “That’s what you got out of that?”
Your grip tightened slightly against your arms as you shifted your weight, the earlier exhaustion still lingering but quickly getting drowned out by a fresh surge of irritation.
“I didn’t run,” you continued, your voice flattening as you met his gaze head-on. “I asked to be reassigned because this—” you gestured between the two of you, “—isn’t working.”
His expression didn’t soften. If anything, it grew more rigid as he watched you. “And whose fault is that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the guy who thinks ‘training’ means pointing out every mistake without actually teaching me how to fix it?”
He didn’t respond immediately, but you saw the slight narrowing of his eyes and the tension that crept into his posture.
“And for the record,” you added, your voice sharpening as you pointed toward the door behind him, “you’re in the wrong locker room. In case that somehow slipped your mind.”
He didn’t move or even bother glancing back.
You turned away from him quickly. Your eyes darted toward the row of lockers, scanning for anything you could throw over yourself that wasn’t just your own arms.
Heat crept up your neck despite yourself, a flush dusting across your cheeks that only made your anger spike higher.
Why the fuck were you blushing?
You rifled through the empty lockers. It had to be the situation. That was it. Pure mortification. Anyone would react like this if the person they hated most decided to stroll into the women’s locker room while they were half-naked and drenched in sweat.
“Ugh,” you hissed under your breath, shoving the locker shut before moving to the next one. “What a fucking pervert.”
Behind you, there was a sharp scoff. “Excuse me?”
You ignored him completely. You opened another empty locker. You checked the next one, and the next, your movements getting harsher with each useless attempt. When you realized you were shit out of luck, your fingers dragged through your hair in frustration.
“You heard me,” you said, turning back around to face him. “Or what—are you losing your hearing along with the gray hairs and crow’s feet?”
You barely had time to register it before he closed the distance between you, his hand wrapping around your bicep in a firm grip as he pulled you toward him. It was sudden enough to knock the air from your lungs for a second.
“I’m so sick of your bullshit,” he growled, his voice laced with something that felt dangerously close to anger.
Your free hand went up instinctively to steady yourself against his chest. He was so solid under your touch, the steady rise and fall of his breathing distracting.
He was too close.
Close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his breath against your lips every time he exhaled. It was impossible to focus on anything but him. Your eyes flickered up to his. His gaze was already on you, then it flicked down to your mouth.
You felt a thrill shoot through you. You watched intently as his brows drew together, his lips parting slightly but no sound seemed to escape him. The fine lines around his eyes seemed more prominent than before as he searched your face.
“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me all night,” you said, aiming for annoyance, for anything that would give you back some control, but it came out softer, almost breathless. “Or are you going to move?”
For a second, he didn’t speak or move. His eyes flicked to your lips down again, lingering. Your hand was still on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm now, faster than it should’ve been, matching the rhythm of your own.
He dipped his head and your eyes fluttered close on instinct, expecting him to kiss you. Instead, a sound of surprise left your lips as you felt his press against your neck.
His lips were somehow warm against your overheated skin, dragging slowly over the damp curve where sweat still clung from your workout. He inhaled deeply against you first, and then his tongue traced a slow, hot line along the side of your throat, licking up the salt there with a hunger that made your knees feel dangerously unsteady.
Leon’s hand spread slipped from your bicep, trailing down to your side, fingers flexing into your skin as he mouthed at your neck again, kissing lower, his teeth catching just enough to sting before he soothed it with his tongue. The scrape of it sent heat rushing through you so fast it felt humiliating, your head tipping back against the lockers, baring more of your throat to him.
“Fuck,” he murmured against your skin, and the vibration of his voice there made your stomach clench. “You taste so fuckin’ good for me, rookie.”
You sucked in a breath, fingers twitching at your sides, every nerve ending in your body suddenly too awake. His lips moved again, kissing along the line of your throat while his thumb slid over your side in lazy circles that made it harder to remember why you were supposed to be angry.
“You wanna know what my problem is?” His teeth grazed your neck. “Fine, I’ll tell you.”
Another drag of his tongue.
“It’s the way you talk back.”
His hand shifted, gliding up over your waist, broad and warm, your skin prickling at the touch.
“The way you always stand there looking at me like you’ve got something to prove every time I open my mouth.”
He nipped at the spot beneath your ear, and your hands twitched, your body leaning into him despite the thin, frantic voice in your head telling you to stop this, ask the questions that mattered—why now? Why after months of treating you like shit? Why after making you feel ridiculous for ever admiring him in the first place?
The rational part of your brain was clawing to stay upright, trying to gather enough strength to push him away, to force him to answer for it before you gave him anything.
But then his mouth slid down the side of your neck again, open and hot, his tongue flattening over the sore little spot he’d just bitten, and the thought dissolved into the thick air.
“You challenge me,” he murmured, the words dragged over your skin like another touch. “Every damn time. Doesn’t matter what I say, you’ve got some smart little comment waiting.”
His fingers tightened at your waist.
“And those fucking lollipops.”
He lifted his head just enough to look at you, his face close, lips redder than before, eyes fixed on yours with a focus that felt almost feverish now.
“Always rolling them around in your mouth,” his eyes dropped to your lips. “Swirling your tongue around them in front of me, can’t fuckin’ stand it.”
Your pulse thudded hard against your throat, and he noticed that too. A pleased sound left him before his hand slipped around to your back, fingers slipping under the band of your bra, pulling it taut before letting it snap back against you.
You glared at him, but it immediately melted as his mouth drifted over the upper swell of your breast. It was almost worse than if he’d gone lower immediately—the teasing heat of his mouth where your skin was sensitive and damp, making your body feel unbearably heavy and hot all at once.
“And when you pout after I tell you something you don’t wanna hear, I start thinking how those lips would look a hell of a lot more useful wrapped around my cock than mouthing off.”
A helpless, breathy sound escaped you. Your thighs pressed together, slick gathering between hem the longer his mouth pressed against your skin.
Your hands lifted to his hair, fingers threading into the soft strands at the nape of his neck and then higher, gripping harder when his mouth closed more firmly over the swell of your breast. He groaned at that, the sound vibrating straight through you as he sucked another reaction from your skin, teeth catching lightly before he soothed it with his tongue.
You tugged harder this time. His head pulled back with the motion, enough that he had to lift his face to look at you.
His lips were wet, slightly parted as he dragged in air through his mouth, his breathing heavier now. His eyes had gone dark enough to almost eclipse the familiar blue entirely, fixed on you with a hunger that made something reckless spark in your chest.
You smirked at him. “So that’s what this is? “You’ve just been wound so tight the whole time?”
You tilted your head, feigning thoughtfulness.
“Poor Leon,” you cooed mockingly. “Was this your problem? You just needed to get your dick wet before you could manage being a decent human being to me?”
When he spoke, his voice had gone low enough to scrape against his throat. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you rookie?”
Your pulse jumped, even as the nickname made you want to sneer at him.
“Keep running that mouth,” he purred, stepping in until your back pressed harder into the lockers, “and I’m going to find a better use for it.”
His fingers closed around your jaw then, thumb pressing lightly at your chin to tip your face up. The hand at your waist slid lower, spanning your hip, hauling you flush against him until you could feel the hard length of him through his clothes. The realization that you were doing this to him dragged another pulse of arousal through your body so fast your thighs tensed.
“There,” he muttered, eyes locked on your face as he ground against you just enough to make his point. “You wanted to know my problem?”
His mouth brushed your jaw, then the corner of your lips, not kissing you yet, just close enough to leave you aching for it.
“That’s your answer.”
“Leon—”
He cut you off with a look.
“Someone should’ve taught you a long time ago,” he chided softly, “that if you keep mouthing off like this, eventually somebody’s going to shut you up.”
Without giving you a chance to react, his mouth crashed into yours. Your teeth clicked together as he lips sealed over your own in a brutal kiss. When you bit his lower lip, hard enough to make him hiss, his hand tightened at your thigh like a reflex, almost bruising.
You slipped your tongue into his mouth and he met it instantly, filthy and greedy, kissing you deep enough to make your head spin. His tongue tangled with yours in wet, rough strokes, nothing teasing about it now. He tasted like salt and something unmistakably him, breath coming harder through his nose as he pressed you flatter into the lockers, his whole body crowding yours until there was nowhere left to go.
The hard length of him dragged against your stomach, blunt and insistent. The feeling of it made your clit throb wildly, in tandem with your rapid heartbeat.
He ground into you with a wrecked sound that didn’t belong to the controlled, cold bastard who’d spent months staring through you like you were an inconvenience. This Leon was consumed with need so obvious you would’ve laughed if you weren’t feeling the exact same way.
Your lungs started to burn before he finally tore his mouth from yours.
His lips were wet and swollen, his breathing rough as he immediately dropped to your neck again, kissing down the side of it in sloppy, hungry passes. His hands came up to your chest, big palms cupping your breasts over your bra before squeezing hard enough to make your back arch off the wall. The pressure was blunt, almost punishing, thumbs dragging over sensitive peaks already pebbling beneath the thin fabric, and the sharp pleasure of it ripped a helpless whine from your mouth.
He let go only to trail his hands down your sides, fingers splaying over your ribs, your waist, your hips, as if he needed to feel all of you at once. The movement was slow enough to make you shiver, but there was nothing gentle in it. He was mapping you with the same intensity he did everything else, touch heavy and possessive, dragging lower until his hands finally landed where he wanted them.
His fingers dug into your thighs. He hummed the moment he got a full grip of your thighs, palms spanning the soft, strong flesh as he hauled one of your legs more firmly against him. The pressure of his hands indented your skin, making the fullness of your thighs press around his grip, and he stared down at it like the sight alone was enough to make him lose his mind.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groaned, crude and almost disbelieving. His thumbs pressed in harder, kneading. “These fuckin’ thighs.”
Heat rushed into your face. He looked up at you from under his lashes, expression hungry and shamelessly filthy now.
“You have any idea,” he muttered, squeezing again hard enough to make your hips twitch towards him, “how long I’ve been thinkin’ about these?”
Leon’s head dipped, his mouth brushing the inside of your thigh, just enough to make your muscles tighten under his hands. Then he left an open-mouthed kiss there.
“How they look when you train.” Another kiss. “How they flex when you’re trying to show off.” His teeth scraped lightly over the meat of your thigh. “How they’d feel clamped around me.”
A small, broken moan slipped out of you.
The filthy ease of how naturally he said things like that should’ve sounded obscene but instead landed straight between your legs. You’d expected glaring silence, maybe a few clipped words. You had not expected this.
The cold metal at your back, the sticky heat gathering between your thighs, the scrape of stubble and teeth and tongue over your skin—everything blurred together into one overwhelming throb of sensation that made your fingers clench uselessly in his hair every time he found a new place to bite.
One particularly hard bite had you crying out his name as his teeth sank into the soft meat of your inner thigh. “Leon!”
Your chest was rising too fast now, your hands torn between shoving him back and dragging him closer. Every muscle in your body felt wound too tight, and he was making it worse on purpose, his thumbs stroking the sore skin near where he’d bitten as if soothing you while his eyes burned with pure satisfaction.
“You trying to get us caught? That what you want, rookie?”
He kissed the bite, then licked over it in a broad, slow pass that made your thighs shake.
“So loud for me,” he murmured against your skin. “All that attitude, and this is what you sound like when someone finally handles you right.”
You let out a shuddering breath, half moan, half protest, but it only seemed to encourage him.
His hands slid farther under your thighs, hauling you closer to the edge of him, forcing you to feel the heat of his breath where you were already aching. He pressed another kiss to the inside of your opposite thigh, then another, alternating between kisses and bites that left you unbearably aware of how little fabric was still between his mouth and where you wanted him most.
He bit again, this time higher, closer, and your head knocked back against the locker with a breathless moan you absolutely could not swallow. Leon laughed under his breath. “Think I like you better like this.”
He slid one hand up the outside of your thigh, then back in, fingers digging deep enough to keep you spread while his mouth worked another mark into the inside of your leg. His other hand stroked up your calf, then back over the thick curve of your thigh with obvious appreciation, like he genuinely couldn’t stop touching you there.
“Wanna fuck them,” he admitted bluntly, giving your thigh another punishing squeeze. “You ever think about that while you’re busy mouthing off to me? How good these would feel wrapped around my cock? How easy it’d be to pin your legs and make you take it?”
Another shaky, needy sound left you. You couldn’t help it. Every filthy word out of his mouth lanced straight through you, and the humiliation of how much you liked hearing it only made your body hotter.
“Didn’t know you’d blush this pretty when I talked dirty to you.”
Leon looked up at you, hand sliding higher along your inner thigh until his thumb just brushed your clit over the soaked fabric of your panties. You jolted at the contact, a stifled whimper breaking through despite how hard you were biting down on your bottom lip.
His thumb pressed a little firmer, teasing around the swollen bud without giving you what you wanted. His expression turned openly smug.
“That wet already?” he asked. “From a few kisses and me telling you exactly what I want to do to you?”
“You gonna let me use these?” he asked, the hand not teasing your clit moving to squeeze one of your thighs, testing the give. “Gonna be a good girl for once and let me fuck ‘em?”
The words hit hard enough to make your cunt clench around nothing. You had to swallow before you could even think about answering him. Every part of you was screaming to say yes, to let him do whatever filthy thing had him looking this ruined.
Instead, you widened your eyes just enough to make it obvious, lower lip pushing out in an exaggerated little pout as you looked down at him. It would’ve been ridiculous if your breathing wasn’t so uneven, if your thighs weren’t already marked with his mouth.
“I don’t know,” you mumbled, voice breathy. “Not sure you deserve to fuck my thighs after being so mean to me for months.”
You let the words hang there, then tipped your chin up another notch, making the pout worse on purpose.
For a second, you thought you’d gotten him. A small, vicious thrill sparked in you. Good. Let him squirm for once. You were not about to fold the second he got his hands on you, no matter how badly your body wanted exactly that.
A smile spread across his features. It wasn’t soft or amused. It was a wicked little thing that you knew meant you were thoroughly and utterly screwed.
“I think,” he began, rising to his feet in one fluid motion, “you need a reminder about who’s in charge here.”
The sudden loss of his mouth and hands made your body protest instantly, but you barely had time to complain before he was towering over you. “On your knees,” he ordered.
Your face scrunched up in trepidation. He was using the same cold tone you’d heard countless times in training and debriefs. So obviously, you didn’t listen. “You ask all your rookies like that, Agent Kennedy?”
He exhaled once through his nose. Then his hand caught your arm and yanked you forward hard enough to make you stumble into him. The smack on your ass followed immediately afterwards, the sound cracking through the empty locker room so loudly it echoed.
A whimper tore out of you as the sting bloomed across your flesh, and it felt humiliatingly good through the thin fabric of your panties. It shot straight between your legs, causing more slick to pool between your already drenched folds.
His hand stayed planted on your ass after the slap, fingers spread possessively over the sore spot he’d made, and his eyes locked onto yours. “I’m not repeating myself.”
Slowly, with your lips still parted from that soft, involuntary whimper, you sank down.
He hummed approvingly. “There you go. See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?"
Your knees hit the floor, the cold tile a sharp contrast to the fever in your skin. You knelt between his boots, your attention dropping straight to the obvious tent in his tactical pants.
It was impossible not to stare.
The outline was obvious now, straining enough that it made your mouth flood with saliva. Desire hit you in a dizzying wave, your cunt fluttering as your mind immediately supplied the image of him in your mouth—his hand in your hair, his voice rough and commanding, punishing you for every smart remark, every eye roll, every time you’d pushed him just to watch him crack.
Leon watched your eyes trace the bulge and let out a chuckle. “That interested already?” he asked, one brow lifting. “You look like you forgot how to speak.”
He was kind of right, honestly. Even if you’d never admit it out loud.
Your fingers worked at the button of his pants instead. Leon didn’t help, just stood there and watched while you undid him, the silence stretching thick and charged around the rasp of fabric and your uneven breathing.
When you finally freed him, his cock sprang out with enough force that it almost slapped against your flushed cheek.
He was bigger than you’d imagined. Thick from base to tip, flushed a deep red, and hard enough that the veins stood out in pronounced lines along the underside, pulsing faintly beneath taut skin. He looked heavy in his own hand when he finally wrapped his fingers around himself, the fit of it making something helpless twist through you.
You’d never seen a cock you wanted more. The realization must’ve shown all over your face because Leon barked out a low laugh. “Well, shit. That’s one hell of an expression, baby.”
Your eyes snapped up to his at the pet name. He’d called you a lot of things since the day you met him, and none of them had ever been soft like that. Pretty girl had come out of his mouth like a jab, but baby sounded different. You liked the way it slipped from his lips, wanted to hear him say it over and over again as he fucks your mouth senselessly.
“C’mon, don’t tell me all that attitude disappears the second I put my cock in front of you.”
He gave himself one slow stroke. His hand was big enough to make the length of him look almost manageable at first glance. You imagined the stretch of him too vividly, the weight of his cock on your tongue, the drag of those veins against the slick heat of your mouth.
He tapped the tip lightly against your lower lip, smearing the thick glob of precum there. “Knew you’d look pretty down there for me.”
He slid his fingers into your hair, hand settling at the back of your skull. The gesture sent a thrill down your spine. He nudged your lip again with the tip, tracing the shape of it in a slow drag that made your mouth open on instinct. “Hmm.. eager aren't we?”
His thumb brushed your cheek almost fondly before he gripped your jaw just enough to keep your attention on him. He watched you lean in, your tongue flicked out just a little, chasing the taste of him as impatience got the better of you.
You were thrown when he stepped back, blinking up at him. “What are you doing?”
Instead of answering, he turned and headed for your bag where you’d dumped it near the bench, crouching just long enough to rummage through it.
“Leon?” you questioned, your tone more suspicious this time.
He straightened with one of your lollipops in his fingers. He peeled back the wrapper. The crinkle echoed in the too-quiet room, stupidly ordinary against everything else that had happened in here. Then he stuck it in his mouth and turned back to you like this was a perfectly reasonable detour.
His face scrunched almost immediately. The reaction was so unexpectedly normal that a laugh escaped you.
Leon shot you a grimace around the candy. “I don’t know how you suck on these things all day.”
That only made you laugh harder.
It felt strange, almost disorienting, seeing him like this. Just Leon, standing there with one of your cherry lollipops between his lips, looking mildly offended by the concept of artificial flavoring.
You tipped your head and smirked. “What, no sweet tooth?”
He pulled the lollipop from his mouth with a soft pop, his expression shifting in that frustratingly effortless way of his, dry amusement melting into something more pointed.
“The only sweet tooth I’ve got,” he drawled, already moving back toward you, “is for you.”
You scoffed. “That was awful.”
His mouth twitched. “You loved it.”
“I did not.” You folded your arms loosely over yourself, trying for offense and missing by a mile. “That line might work better if you hadn’t spent months treating me like shit. Honestly, your mood swings are giving me whiplash.”
That got a real laugh out of him. The sound made something in your chest loosen unexpectedly. His eyes softened as he stepped back in front of you.
“Yeah, I’m a nightmare. Yet, somehow, you still ended up on your knees for me.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling along with him now.
The lollipop was still wet from his mouth, candy glistening red beneath the fluorescent light. You expected him to pop it back in, maybe taunt you with it, maybe say something else corny about stealing your habits.
Instead, he lowered it to his cock.
He dragged the candy over the broad, flushed head, coating it in a glossy layer of syrupy red. The artificial cherry sheen spread over the tip, and your mind nearly stopped working right there. He took his time, rolling the wet candy over the prominent veins until the whole shaft gleamed.
It was somehow the hottest thing you’d ever seen.
By the time he finished, his cock was thoroughly coated, the scent of cherry already reaching you in soft waves. He flicked the stick away without even looking, and you heard the neat little clink of it hitting the trash behind you. Of course he made the shot.
Show-off.
When he brought himself back in front of your face, the smell hit harder—sickly-sweet tangled with the salty, musky scent of him. It shouldn’t have worked as well as it did. It absolutely should not have made your mouth water the way it did.
Leon saw your eyes widen and gave you a look full of smug satisfaction. “Figured you’d appreciate something sweet to suck on since you’re so attached to those things.”
He tilted his head, studying you. “Want a taste?”
“Yes, please.” you breathed.
You leaned forward and took him into your mouth. The first taste made your eyes flutter.
Cherry hit first, followed immediately by the salty taste of him underneath it. The combination was delicious. Your brain turned to static the second your lips sealed around the glossy head.
A rough sound left Leon above you.
You took him carefully at first, your tongue flattening as you sucked the candy-coated tip into your mouth. The sticky sweetness clung to your tongue and inner lips, making every little movement drag. Your hand came up, fingers wrapping around the base where you couldn’t take him yet, stroking while your mouth worked the upper half.
You looked up at him as you licked around the head, chasing the cherry coating, and the sight of his face nearly undid you. His mouth had fallen slightly open, his usual composure gone, throat working as he watched you savor him.
“Mmm… just like that, baby. So pretty with your mouth wrapped around this fat cock. Does it taste good?”
You tried to nod, but with him already filling your mouth it came out clumsy, more of a slow bob downward that took him a little deeper instead. A muffled little mhm slipped out around his thick length, the vibration of it seemed to run straight through his body.
Leon swore under his breath, his hips stuttering as you felt his thigh muscle tense where you were holding onto him for support. “Fuck, do that again.”
You moaned around him this time, letting it hum through him while you sucked more of him into your mouth. He hissed and his hips jerked forward, the motion pushing more of him over your tongue than you were ready for. Your throat tightened instinctively, gagging slightly, your eyes waterering.
His thumb brushed the wetness gathering at the corner of one eye. “That’s it,” he purred. “Doin’ so good for me.”
He gave you one more warning tug with his hand in your hair, one more slow drag of his cock over your tongue that made your throat flutter around him, and then whatever control he’d been clinging to finally started to fray completely.
His hips drove forward, using your mouth in earnest, shallow at first, and then rougher when you relaxed your throat around his cock instead of pulling away. Your lips stretched around him as spit gathered and spilled from the corners of your mouth until it slid down over your chin and the base of his cock. Tears broke free, streaking over your cheeks.
“There you go,” he growled. “All you needed was this cock to shut that bratty mouth up, huh?”
His thrusts turned more relentless, the wet sound of his heavy balls hitting your chin was loud and obscene in the empty room.
“You’re take me so fucking well, baby.”
The praise hit you like a drug. The approval you’d been so starved for made every nerve in your body light up at once. You whined around him, and his grip flexed hard enough to make your scalp sting. Your thighs rubbed together uselessly, a fresh rush of slick soaking your panties.
Drool was running freely now, your jaw starting to ache to accommodate his brutal size and pace. Still, you loosened your jaw enough to take even more of him in until your nose brushed against the coarse hairs at the base.
His grip turned harsh suddenly, fingers digging into your scalp, and you knew before he said a word that he was close. You could feel it in the pulse of his cock against your throat, the way his thrusts lost some of their momentum. His muscles tightened under palms every time he looked down at you and saw the state of your face.
“Fuck I’m—shit—”
You wanted him to come down your throat. Wanted it badly enough that you whined around him, trying to pull him deeper and keep him there. The idea of swallowing his cum made a greedy ache spread throughout your whole body. You wanted to taste it, to feel him come apart.
You coughed once around the sudden emptiness when he tore himself out of your mouth, a thick line of spit still connecting your mouth to the flushed head of his cock before it stretched and broke.
Leon kept one hand in your hair, holding you in place while the other wrapped around himself in a punishing grip, stroking once, then stopping, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle jumping there.
You made a hoarse, frustrated sound that vaguely resembled his name. Your voice barely worked.
You leaned forward instinctively, chasing him, trying to get your mouth back on him before he could recover whatever stupid self-control had made him stop.
He caught you immediately. His hold in your hair tightened to keep you where you were, his chest rising and falling hard as he swore under his breath.
His cock was flushed darker now, wet and twitching in his hand. His clothes were still too intact. Tactical gear, layers, belts, black fabric swallowing the shape of his body when all you wanted was skin. You wanted to see the lines of his stomach, the strain in his shoulders, sweat on his chest, all that strength stripped bare instead of hidden under DSO-issued black.
He stayed like that for a few more seconds before some semblance of composure came back. Just enough for him to give you a disbelieving, in awe look and exhale a low laugh that sounded more wrecked than amused.
“You are too fucking good at that.”
The words warmed your whole body. You hummed softly, smiling at his cock like you’d happily take him back in your mouth if he just let you. “Want more?”
That got a laugh out of him. “As much as I’d like to stuff my cum down your throat,” he said, thumb brushing your lower lip almost absently, smearing moisture there, “I have a few other ideas in mind that I think you’d like more.”
The promise in his voice made your pulse race all over again.
Leon reached down and took you by the arms. The gesture, after everything that had just happened, should’ve felt abrupt. Instead it was strangely careful, almost soft. He helped you to your feet, one hand steadying your waist when your legs wobbled from kneeling too long on the hard tile. “C’mere.”
You eyed him suspiciously, still catching your breath. “That sounds like a trap.”
His mouth twitched. “Just get in my arms already, rookie.”
You stared at him. He stared right back, one brow lifting, absolutely serious. Whatever he saw on your face made him smile, almost boyish in a way that did unfair things to you.
“Come on,” he urged. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
You rolled your eyes but gave in, not like there was any real fight left in you anyways. A startled sound slipped out of you as one of his arms hooked under your thighs, the other around your back, before lifting you clean off the floor.
Your back met the lockers again with a light thud as he settled your weight there. Heat flooded low through your belly at the way he used his strength on you, holding you up like your body weighed nothing while he arranged you exactly where he wanted you.
He adjusted his grip and your legs were nudged wider, your thighs lifting and then draping over his shoulders. He stood planted between them, broad hands firm under you, keeping you pinned securely against the lockers and wall, and suddenly his face was right between your legs.
You could feel how wet your panties had gotten. The slick trapped in the fabric that now felt suffocating. Leon was looking at you like he could see straight through it. His hands flexed under your thighs, and his eyes dragged slowly upward—from the marks he’d left on your skin, to the damp cotton between your legs, to your face.
“Comfortable?” he asked dryly.
Your laugh came out shaky. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. Kind of hard not to.”
He shifted one hand just enough to thumb lightly along the inside of your thigh, spreading you a little wider while he kept you lifted. He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the inside of your thigh, close enough that you felt the heat of his breath through the damp fabric.
Your back arched off the wall, a pathetic whimper escaping your lips before you could swallow it back down.
Leon made a satisfied sound against your skin. “You get this worked up from me just talkin’? Or is it the part where I fucked your pretty mouth with my fat cock?”
His stubble scraped over delicate skin, sending a fresh shiver through you, and your fingers landed in his hair. He let you hold on while he took his time mouthing along your thigh with maddening precision, each kiss making the ache between your legs sharpen until it almost hurt. Whatever sliver of dignity you’d be clinging to finally vanished.
“Agent Kennedy, please touch me,” you whined, and just for good measure, you added, “I’ve been so, so good for you. Please, I need it, need you so badly.”
That was all it took. His hands tightened around your thighs. One of his fingers hooked into the side of your panties, dragging the damp fabric aside, holding it there while his eyes locked onto your slick folds. The sight seemed to hit him hard.
The first drag of his tongue through your folds made you cry out, your back arching away from the wall before the lockers caught you again with a rattle. Your hands flew tighter into his hair, fingers tangling deep, and Leon groaned into you.
His tongue was broad and hot as it traced upward through your pussy and parted you open. The sensation hit hard enough to make your thighs twitch against his shoulders. “Oh my god, Leon m-more, please.”
His answer was a low, pleased hum against your cunt that sent a fresh jolt of pleasure straight through you. His mouth found your clit, the first flick of his tongue there making your breath punch out of you in a broken gasp.
He ate you out like a man starved. His tongue worked in firm strokes, narrowing into quicker flicks when your hips started to roll. When he sucked your clit into his mouth and gave it a slow pull, your head knocked back against the lockers with a cry so loud you’re pretty sure people five floors down could hear it.
“Leon, fuck!”
His mouth was hot and relentless. He licked through your folds again, gathering wetness, then circled back to your clit and flicked over it until your thighs started trying to close around his head. His hands immediately tightened, holding you open, keeping you there.
“Nuh-uh,” he muttered against you, one thumb stroking once over the inside of your thigh in false sympathy. “You wanted this, baby. Now be a good girl and take it.”
Your whole body was his now—jumping under every flick of his tongue, arching every time he licked through your folds and then came back to that swollen, aching point with ruthless precision. He knew exactly what he was doing. Worse, he clearly enjoyed how helpless it made you.
Pleasure was building fast now, you barely had time to warn him before your orgasm crashed into you. “L-leon wait, I’m—”
Your back bowed, your thighs locking against his head as your whole body seized around the release, a moan breaking from your throat as you came on his tongue. Leon groaned into you the second he felt it, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrated straight through your oversensitive body and made the pleasure crest even higher. Instead of easing up, he doubled down, holding you there with his hands locked around your thighs while he lapped at you.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck… Leon p-please!”
It was too much already, too intense, but he didn’t stop. He kept his mouth on you through every spasm, licking broad and slow through the slick mess of your pussy, then narrowing back to your clit with a hum that sounded criminally pleased. The oversensitivity hit almost immediately after the first wave started to ebb, your body flinching, your grip tugging weakly at his hair in a half-hearted attempt to pull him away.
“Leon, s’too much—”
He ignored you, or maybe he heard the plea and liked it.
The next time his tongue circled your clit, he did it with such intentional pressure that your body jolted all over again. A broken whine escaped you, high and helpless, and he only tightened his hands under your thighs to keep you right where he wanted you.
“You can handle it, baby. I know you can. My pretty little rookie’s so strong for me, aren’t you?”
The second orgasm hit faster than the first. An overwhelming sensation of pleasure poured through your body so forcefully it left you stunned by it. A moan ripped out of you as you came again, harder, your release gushing out in a way that made your whole body go rigid with shock.
Leon groaned into your cunt ike he loved it, getting off on the sheer fact of what he was pulling out of you, tongue still working through you with greedy, almost reverent focus.
By the time he finally pulled back, he looked absolutely wrecked.
His mouth was wet and shining, his lips flushed dark, stubble damp from where he’d buried his face between your thighs. His hair was mussed from your hands, his eyes blown wide and heavy-lidded.
The sight of him like that sent a fresh pulse of arousal through you despite how boneless you felt.
Leon’s hands slid soothingly over your legs now, thumbs brushing the inside of your thighs. He pressed a slow kiss to the inside of your knee, then another a little higher, his mouth gentler now that he’d basically broken you.
“So pretty when you come for me, baby.” he drawled. “Fuck, you should see yourself.”
Heat crept up your face even through the daze. He smiled faintly at that.
Carefully, he lowered you back down until your feet found the floor. Your knees nearly gave on contact, and his hands immediately steadied you, keeping you upright while you tried to get your bearings. The second you had enough balance to stand, your hands were already on him.
“Take this off,” you begged, tugging at his shirt. “All of it. Please.”
The lack of resistance caught you off guard almost as much as the eagerness in the motion itself. He pulled his shirt off over his head in one smooth movement and tossed it aside, then reached for the rest, and you were there immediately, helping with impatient fingers. Your bra and ruined panties followed soon after.
Leon was built exactly like he looked in your worst, most self-indulgent fantasies—broad shoulders narrowing to a lean, hard waist, muscle layered clean and functional over every part of him. His chest was lightly dusted with hair, his taut skin marred here and there with pale scars that cut across otherwise perfect lines.
You realized too late that you were openly staring.
Leon’s mouth twitched. “Well,” he teased dryly, “that’s certainly flattering.”
Heat rushed to your face all over again. “Shut up.”
His brow lifted. “‘M sorry, you’re the one gawking.”
You recovered just enough to roll your eyes. “Can you blame me? Jesus, look at you.”
That got a real hint of a smile from him. He shook his head once like he couldn’t believe you, though the fond exasperation on his face made your stomach do a stupid little flip.
He nodded at the bench, stepping towards you. “Lie down.”
You obeyed without much thought, still half-dazed and thoroughly distracted by the fact that he was finally naked in front of you. The bench was cool under your back as you stretched out on it, your heart kicking up again with anticipation. You assumed that this was the part where he climbed over you and finally fucked you properly.
Instead, he caught your ankles.
Before you could ask, he lifted your legs, spreading them only enough to press them together again, raising them into the air while you looked up at him in confusion. Your thighs pressed snugly against each other, knees bent, and Leon positioned himself behind them with a look that made something click belatedly into place.
Leon smirked when he saw realization dawn across your face. “Thought you’d figured it out by now.”
You licked your lips. “You were serious about the thigh fucking?”
“Deadly, sweetheart.”
He leaned in, crowding over your lower body while one broad hand held your legs right where he wanted them. The other slipped between your thighs, fingers gliding through the mess coating your puffy folds. You squirmed at the contact, still sensitive enough that even that simple touch made your stomach jump.
“So wet for me, baby,” he cooed, mockingly sweet.
He brought those fingers up to his cock and stroked them over the length of it, spreading your slick along the shaft.
“Think you’ll behave now?” he asked, the corner of his mouth curling. “Let me use these the way I’ve been thinkin’ about?”
You nodded quickly, a soft “please” falling from your lips that seemed to please him even more.
“That’s what I thought.”
He shifted closer, one hand keeping your legs pressed together while the other guided himself down. The blunt, hot pressure of his cock nudged against the space between your thighs, slickened now with your arousal, and both of you made a sound at the same time.
Yours was a shaky inhale.
His was a groan.
He rocked his hips once, testing the glide, and his whole body tightened at the sensation. Your thighs were slick and warm around him, squeezing him in all the right ways, and judging by the look on his face he was already halfway gone from it.
“Shit,” he muttered, staring down where his cock disappeared between your thighs. “That’s—fuuuuck.”
He cut himself off with another groan and grabbed your thighs more firmly, fingers digging in just enough to keep them snug around him.
The first real thrust dragged a broken moan out of both of you. He set a rough, steady pace almost immediately, hips snapping forward with a need that made it obvious he’d thought about this too many times to count.
“Fuck, these thighs,” he growled, voice wrecked and tumbling out faster now. “Knew they’d feel good. Christ, better than I imagined.”
The bench shifted faintly beneath you with every thrust, your body jostled by the force of him, breasts bouncing softly while your legs stayed pinned together in his grasp. The friction was different than being filled, but not lacking. Every roll of his hips pressed him against you, the base of him dragging close enough to your oversensitive cunt in a way that had you whimpering.
“Look at this,” he muttered, almost delirious with it. “Look how pretty you are like this, baby.”
You pushed up onto your elbows enough to see. His cock drove between your pressed-together thighs with your arousal glistening all over both of you. His abs tensed with every thrust. The veins in his forearms standing out where he held your legs in place.
It was the hottest thing you’d ever seen, and you wanted to sear this image into your brain until that was all you could think about.
His rhythm picked up, getting more urgent, his head dropping forward briefly before he forced himself to look again.
“Shoulda fucked these first,” he grunted. “Woulda shut me up for good.”
You laughed breathlessly at that, and he shot you a look somewhere between offended and entertained before immediately losing focus again when he felt your thighs tense around him.
“Don’t laugh,” he muttered. “Shit… I’m serious. This is—fuck—”
He didn’t seem capable of finishing half his thoughts anymore. His rhythm faltered. His chest shone faintly with sweat now. His gaze kept dropping helplessly to the sight of his cock disappearing between your thighs like he couldn’t get over it.
The sight of him like this had your whole body climbing closer to that same edge you knew he was close to. You slid your hand down between your legs, and began to rub messy circles into your swollen clit.
His eyes snapped to your hand, then back to your face, and the expression that crossed him was so wrecked, so nakedly aroused, it punched another wave of pleasure through you. You started rubbing quicker.
Leon made a strangled sound at that. He was babbling now, voice cracked and helplessly filthy, every thought dragged right to the surface by how close he was.
“Used to fuck my first to these thighs,” he muttered. “Fuck—thought about pinning you down in that training room… spreading you out on the mat and making these pretty thighs squeeze me—shit—while you looked up at me all pissed off.”
His grip tightened almost painfully. His stomach flexed hard. His cock throbbed between your thighs with each ragged push, and the sight of him trying and failing to keep himself together only drove you higher.
“Don’t stop,” he moaned hoarsely. “Fuck, keep going.”
Sweat slid down his chest and stomach in thin, glistening lines. His mouth stayed open between curses, breath coming hard and uneven. His brows drew in tighter, jaw going slack just enough for a wrecked sound to escape him.
“Fuckfuckfuck—”
The next thrust stuttered deep between your thighs and then he was coming.
A broken, guttural moan tore out of him as his hips jerked, cock pulsing between your legs while he spilled all over your thighs and lower belly in thick, hot ropes. The first streak landed across your stomach, another painting the curve of your thigh, more following in quick pulses as he kept shuddering through it. His head bowed, then tipped back, throat working, every muscle in him pulled tight with it.
The sight was enough to push you into yours. This one was weaker than the last two but no less consuming for how utterly fucked out you already were. It rolled through your body in shaking waves, your back arching off the bench while all your thoughts dissolved into fragments of him—his mouth, his cock, his voice, the way he looked above you.
For a while, neither of you said anything.
The room narrowed to the sound of breathing filling the empty space around you. Somewhere in the distance, the fluorescent lights hummed. Metal lockers ticked faintly as they cooled. Everything else felt muted, drowned under the aftermath thrumming through your bodies.
Eventually, Leon straightened enough to ease himself back.
The slow glide of his softening cock withdrawing from between your thighs made you twitch, still too sensitive for even that. He looked down at the mess he’d made over you, the streaks of white against flushed skin, and a crooked smirk pulled at his mouth.
His hand came down, fingers dragging through the mess on your stomach in one slow pass, smearing it over your skin with a lazy, possessive stroke. His eyes tracked the movement, then lifted back to yours.
“Hmm,” he murmured, his tone filled with dry amusement wrapped around something silkier. “‘M thinkin’ this was the cure to that smart mouth of yours all along, huh?”