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“You're insufferable, oh my god” Divell complains, the hand below his ribs tugging him closer as she gets him out of the cab.
The wind ruffles her hair; it's freezing out here and she has to take care of her drunk boss.
“Go home, Lamb” He slurs over his words, dragging his feet while she guides him forward.
Divell rolls her eyes; sure, she's certainly going home despite being politely ‘asked’ to make sure he gets home in one piece. How did this man even survive this long on his own?
“Shut up” She murmurs, waiting for him to find whatever pocket he put his keys in.
It takes him a while to find them, Divell already weighing the pros and cons of making him sleep on her couch when the keys jingling fill her with relief. Good.
She wastes no time taking them from his hand before he can even try opening the door, not caring about Leon's complaints. Dying of hypothermia out here because he's definitely going to take just as long to open the door is not on her plans just yet, especially since freezing to death sounds awful.
“I can open my own doors”
“You took like five minutes to find the keys”
A few words are muttered under his breath, most likely berating her despite not being loud enough to be understood. Not that Divell cares what an angry jerk has to say. Even if he so happens to be her superior.
“I'm not that drunk” Leon finally says once she manages to get him into the elevator, calloused fingers pressing the 6th floor button.
“Sure, whatever you say,”
The two of them stare at their reflection in the mirror as they wait to reach his floor, guilt settles in his gut as he does; he's 38 years old, what the hell is he doing? Drunk, practically being carried by a rookie who's half a head shorter than him and way younger.
Sure, he had to admit the girl was strong, but it didn’t make him any less pathetic.
Divell hated this; the fact that they asked her -of all people- to make sure he got home safe proved either how tight her leash was or how much she was trusted. And the worst of it all was the certainty of which option was the correct one; nobody would trust something like her.
Maybe they shouldn't; what if she decided to get rid of him now? Made a run for it?
Killing him would be easy in a moment like this, at least that's what Divell thinks right now; he's drunk, vulnerable, weak.
Everything she is, everything she tries to run away from.
Much to her demise, she was still well-aware that doing so wouldn't solve anything; it wouldn't give her a normal life, it wouldn't give her the freedom she so desperately craved, either.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
Part of her wonders what they'd do with her, maybe put her down like a rabid beast,or maybe just keep her as a test subject again. None of those seem appealing, despite how much she craved eternal rest.
A beeping noise alerts them before the doors open, and Divell takes a deep breath before tugging him into the hallway.
“Third door to the left…” His voice is quieter now, almost as if he were about to fall asleep, or throw up. She hopes it's neither of those, not really in the mood to carry his full weight, or be covered in vomit. Ew.
A nod is all he gets as an answer before she unlocks the door to his place, pushing it open to see the most depressing space known to man; empty takeout boxes and beer cans on the coffee table, which was clearly already cluttered by scattered papers. Hell, the room barely has any decoration except for a few photos on the wall of people she had barely ever seen twice.
A sigh leaves her lips when forcing herself to utter no comment, aware that her place doesn’t look much better.
The apartment is not much bigger than hers, even if it still looked inherently much more expensive despite the messy state it was in. Not like it was that surprising; of course the DSO's picture perfect golden boy is gonna get a much higher pay than the nasty thing you keep tucked away in a corner like a failed experiment. Well, it’s not like she wasn’t anything other than a failed experiment, so maybe it was just the correct way to proceed.
She doesn't try to be gentle when letting him drop on the unmade bed, barely sparing a glance at him before turning around, determined to leave. What else was she supposed to do here, make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit? Not her job, Leon was a big boy; he could manage to not die on accident, right?
And then she stops dead on her tracks, not even getting out of his bedroom, a weird feeling settling in her stomach. For fuck’s sake…
A sigh of defeat leaves her lips. God, she's being stupid.
At least that's what she tells herself when turning around and properly staring at him; still laying on the exact same position he landed in, not even having bothered to make himself comfortable or kick his boots off.
Okay, this is definitely not her smartest choice; what is she even doing? Taking off his boots, making sure he's okay… This isn’t her job. Hell, he hates her, something he had already made clear more times than she cared to count, why does she bother to keep trying?
His hand is tight around her wrist the moment she tries to take off his jacket, eyes wide open as if he had never fallen asleep in the first place. Divell doesn’t flinch, big red eyes staring right back at him.
“Why are you still here?” He says, words drowsy despite the face he makes when realizing it was just her.
It takes her a moment to answer, partially because of her inability to come up with a proper response.
“You were gonna sleep with your shoes and jacket on?”
Leon groans, clearly exasperated even if allowing himself to relax, defeated.
Whatever; he's drunk and tired; the least of his problems is this thing he has to call his colleague having a weird change of heart and deciding to do something nice for him.
He rolls onto his side once she's done, almost weirded out when she just tugs the blankets over his body, shielding his body from the cold of his room before giving him a somewhat gentle pat on the shoulder.
Okay, a totally normal thing to do considering they can't stand eachother.
The sound of his footsteps doesn’t go unnoticed as she walks away, silently cursing himself for what he's about to do. But he does it nonetheless, not irresponsible enough to just let her go.
“Stay, it's late” His words are tainted by what seems to be an odd mix of both embarrassment and defeat, somehow managing to catch her off-guard, even more so when he gets up, pushing past her with a pillow and a blanket he ripped from the bed now tucked under his arm. “I'll sleep on the couch”
Big eyes stare at him, almost dumbfounded before following him into the living room.
“You don’t have to do that,” She argues.
“Not really, but it's like 2am”
He tosses the pillow onto the couch, laying down shortly after, as if he were doing her a favor she didn’t ask for. “I'm not about to let you walk off and take a cab alone this late, I'm not an idiot”
Oh.
Divell crosses her arms over her chest, obviously offended. Sure, it's late, but she's not helpless or anything like that…
“I can take care of myself-” She starts, but Leon cuts her words short before she can really say much.
“For fuck's sake, just go to bed” He groans, not leaving much room for arguments while turning to the side, now awkwardly facing the couch's backrest in order to ignore her.
A half-uttered curse reaches his ears, but he doesn’t bother to try to decipher what the hell she’s saying.
An almost triumphant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth at the sound of his bedroom door finally slamming shut. Good.
Divell sits on the bed, silently bending over to take her boots off while silently trying to decide wether she's gonna sleep in her clothes or not.
Maybe she should have worn something other than jeans, not that she could have possibly known the night would end up like this.
It's silly, she knows he's right despite how surprising it is to see him worrying about something like her, but part of her couldn’t help but feel as if he were still being a jerk, somehow.
She shouldn't care, not really.
Hesitant hands slide his closet open, silently praying he can't hear any of this, even if the sound of the mountain of clothing barely contained by the doors collapsing immediately after it opened was certainly loud enough to be noticed. Great.
“I'm gonna kill myself…” She mutters, picking up the pile and carelessly placing it on the bed.
What the hell is she supposed to do now? Does she fold it? Hell no, what if it's gross or something? Ew. Plus, she doesn't like him enough to take care of his probably dirty clothes.
Still, she gathers courage to grab a pair of sweatpants -surely too big for her- before tossing the rest back in the closet, right how she found them - mostly. There's no way he'd notice, right?
The fabric barely manages to slide past her hips. Okay, maybe his sweatpants aren't as big on her as she thought they'd be. Awkward.
How does that even work? Leon's ass HAS to be bigger than hers, right? Not that she thinks about that. Okay, maybe she does, but not in THAT sense. Ew.
Her back hits the mattress with a soft thud, surprisingly much more comfortable than she thought it would be; a shitty bed might have given him an excuse to be an idiot all the time.
It's awkward, uncomfortable, sleeping in a room that isn't hers. Especially since it belongs to the one person she can barely talk to for more than three seconds before one of them wants to move to another continent.
Part of her wonders if he'll burn the bedsheets the following day. She wouldn't blame him, maybe guilt was contagious.
The room feels colder after she turns the lights off, bed oddly empty. It's depressing, barely allowing her to focus on something as simple as falling asleep.
It's pathetic, how small she feels tonight, trying to curl up in a fetal position like a lonely child climbing into its mother’s bed. Had she ever been so weak?
Not really, or that’s what she assumes considering she couldn’t recall ever sleeping like that, even if it seemed to be the only thing making her feel somewhat comfortable tonight, for some strange reason.
She barely noticed finally slipping into slumber, a sense of familiarity she couldn’t quite grasp lingering on the back of her mind.
Leon groans when the sound of Divell tossing and turning coming from the bedroom manages to wake him up. Goddamn it… if these aren’t the consequences of playing gentleman and making sure she’s safe.
He's about to go back to sleep when the unmistakable sound of sniffling reaches his ears, barely audible yet quickly noticeable for him.
Part of him questions if the smartest choice would be to ignore it, try to go back to sleep as if nothing were happening.
It's none of his business, right? Sure, she did take him home, and made sure he was okay, but…
A quiet curse slips past his lips when finally making up his mind and getting up, quickly greeted by the sight of her curled up in the middle of his bed the moment he sets foot inside the room. She’s still asleep, somehow, despite the tears rolling down her cheeks.
He’s hesitant when kneeling by her side, barely doing anything other than staring down at her trembling body. Huh, he didn’t even know something like her could cry, what the hell is he supposed to do in this situation?
“Lamb, wake up” His voice is barely above a whisper, obviously not giving him any result.
“C'mon, Divell.” A calloused hand settles on her shoulder, the gentle weight she's immediately getting her to jolt awake as if he had just thrown a bucket of cold water at her.
Red eyes stare up at him, not quite able to focus for a moment, chest heaving, body trembling. Great, just what he needed.
The room is quiet apart from that, neither of them daring to utter a word as if talking meant disruption, as if any other noise could only make things worse.
“Sorry I woke you up” Divell is the one finally daring to speak, barely managing to bite back tears despite being certain he already noticed them.
A part of her feels stupid for attempting to hide something so obvious; it would be far easier if she just allowed herself to cry. Still, the thought of humiliating herself further made her skin crawl.
It's not like she would expect Leon to comfort her either if that were the case; what would he even do? Hug her? Tell her everything would be alright? Hell no, that's not something he would ever do for someone like her, the most she would be getting would certainly be a detached pat on the back and a few unfelt words.
“You okay?” He asks, unsurprisingly already standing up before even allowing her to answer with anything other than a quick nod, gaze straying away from his and focusing on her trembling hands instead, or the way the bedsheets pool around her waist; anything except for him, unable to see the nasty feeling akin to concern fighting its way into those awfully blue eyes of his. Everything about the mere possibility of his concern feels wrong, disgusting even.
“Get some sleep.” A heavy pat on the shoulder is all she gets before he walks away once again.
She shakes her head no; there's not much he can do, not with how their relationship is. It’s not like she expected things to go differently, either.
A sigh leaves her lips the moment the door clicks shut, allowing herself to lay back down, chest tight as if someone had laid a rock upon it and asked her to keep it there.
How humiliating; even if she was certain he wouldn’t mock her for some childish sobbing, the disgust she would be met with over the following days was something she had already accepted. Still, it was better than having to put up with pity, or concern; someone like him couldn’t worry about something like her, not even a woman, not even human; simply a miserable creature trying to resemble one, right?
Maybe that’s what she truly is, everything she’ll ever be capable of being.
Maybe the burning in her chest wasn’t only caused by rage, no matter how hard she tried to make herself believe that.
Rays of sunlight peek through the blinds. She turns around, tugging the bedsheets past her head in an attempt to sleep in.
When did she even manage to fall asleep again? What time is it?
Her head is pounding, accompanied by that weird feeling in her stomach; guilt? Shame? What happened wasn’t really her fault, and she still feels pathetic.
Another thirty minutes of sleep sounded like heaven, even if the sizzling sound and sweet aroma coming from the kitchen would certainly not allow it. What the hell is he doing?
She gives up on the thought of resting after a few seconds, finally getting up and heading in what she assumed was the direction of the kitchen only to be greeted by the sight of him wearing the exact same clothes as the previous day.
“Morning” she says after stepping inside the kitchen, the same neutral tone she uses when greeting him at work.
“Morning” he says it back, peeking at her over his shoulder.
Maybe she should have changed back into her jeans, because she can see the furrow of his brows upon noticing she's wearing his sweatpants. Awkward, even if he avoids commenting on it. “I'm making breakfast, you eat scrambled eggs, right?”
“Uh- sure” Who doesn’t eat scrambled eggs?
“Why are you still dressed like that?”
“I wasn't just gonna go into the room while you were sleeping” He comments, staring back at her as if she were stupid. Maybe she is, because she definitely didn't think having breakfast together was a thing they did now.
“I made coffee, there's also orange juice in the fridge”
Maybe she should give him a break, he's just being nice. Still, why would he even bother to be nice to her? Since when? This whole thing feels out of place.
Fuck her and her stupid nightmares, because now he went from hating her to feeling bad for her. Or that's what she assumes this is, what else would it be? Basic human decency? Hell no.
She spares a wary glance at him before walking up to the counter and pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“Sugar's on the cabinet right above you”
He keeps the sugar in its bag, a clothespin keeping it closed. His apartment might be more expensive, but it's way more depressing than hers. Not that she could have expected much from a man. In fact, she should be surprised he doesn’t have any stupid lion or horse decorations laying around.
She puts three teaspoons in her coffee, Leon tries to be subtle when staring at her, almost judging.
“Bioweapons can't get diabetes?” He asks, and Divell tries not to tell him to go fuck himself.
“Do you want me to stay for breakfast or not? I could leave right now,” she counters, even if not really offended. Leon rolls his eyes.
“Can you ever take a joke?”
He leaves the two plates on the table before filling his own cup, taking a sip of it as he sits down in front of her.
“Not from the guy who hates me,”
Part of her hates that the breakfast isn’t bad at all. He tries to hold back a chuckle.
“I don't hate you,” both of them know he's barely trying to make his words sound believable. “I just… heavily dislike you.”
Yeah, right, because there's such a big difference between the two.
“Grow up”
“I can't believe you say that considering you put like three spoons of sugar in your coffee”
Divell is torn between pretending to be offended and just laughing, even if still trying her best to hide the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“Why do you even have sugar if you don’t use it?”
The conversation flows surprisingly smoothly, somehow. Divell isn't used to this, to him looking back at her with anything other than disgust or hatred.
“My friends use it.”
“I can't believe anyone would want to be your friend”
Okay, that was mean. Not that he doesn’t deserve it.
Breakfast is okay, even if awkward at times. A small part of her wishes they would get along like this more often, but she already knows trying again would be pointless.
Divell remembers the first time she saw him; younger and scared, no matter how hopeful. Leon had been kind at first, before he was told what she was, what he had to do.
It's silly, how hard she tried to make him like her when they met. How she inevitably gave up; Leon wanted to hate her, she didn’t blame him for it. How are you supposed to be okay with looking after something that reminds you of those who ruined your life?
The following days go as if nothing had happened between them, as if they had never shared breakfast in his kitchen, as if she had never slept in his bed.
Part of them are unable to deny the relief that comes with going back to those hateful glares, or the way she could so easily irritate him. The familiarity of their usual interactions somehow comforting, in a way, definitely better than pretending that talking to him doesn’t make her want to rip her own head of. Or his.
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The sound of the door slamming a few seconds after stepping into the room doesn’t get her to flinch, not after the day they've had. She doesn't care about much at this point, her own feelings swirling on her gut, rising up her throat like bile. She's definitely going insane tonight.
Sure, it's not the first time Leon and her share a bed after a mission, but that's not even half of the problem; she messed up, big time.
Yeah, they might have gotten the stupid fucking files they needed, but it did cost her a few bullet and stab wounds to diverse areas of her body. Not that she cared, and that was precisely the problem.
“If you're trying to get yourself killed you might as well let me do it.” His voice drowns every other thought despite the fact that he's not even being loud.
An exasperated noise leaves her lips at his words. This is stupid, fucking stupid; the wounds will heal, she’s not even bleeding anymore. Why the fuck does he pretend to care?
“Do you need me to ask for it?” she mutters, sitting down on the edge of the bed and bending forward to take her boots off. There's dried blood splattered on them, not like they were pristine before, but the thought of cleaning them already made her want to toss them in the trash.
“For fuck's sake, Divell.”
Calloused fingers brush his hair back, a certain tension in his movements that makes him seem almost nervous. “I'm being serious, you can't just-”
“I did what I had to, we got the stuff!” She tries to reason, even if her arguments don’t make much sense considering the careless risks she didn’t hesitate to take.
Her boots and socks are tossed to the side, brain filled with unrelated thoughts as she attempts to ignore him; how much she needs a shower, if her undershirt is too gross to sleep in…
“Yeah, while being reckless and putting yourself in danger” He comments, as if he cared about whether she survived a mission or not.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! The only reason you don’t want me to die is because of how much fucking paperwork you'd have to do.” She's the one the one to start yelling, standing up in an attempt to seem somewhat imposing, like she feels anything other than exhaustion and self-hatred. It’s not like something so stupid would work on Leon, especially with the stupid kitty pattern on her socks.
He doesn’t bother trying to deny it, not a single word abandoning his lips despite the way her blood-red eyes remain focused on his. It's weird considering he's always the one to end their stupid arguments.
A shaky slips from her mouth as she heads to the bathroom, barely sparing him a glance before locking the door behind herself before resting her back against it, regret etched onto her features.
What the fuck is she doing? She can't just go around yelling at her boss like that, right?
The sound of him abandoning the cheap hotel room makes her stomach drop. Why would he be leaving?
There's not much she can do now, not that she would dare to go run after him covered in blood and grime like a loyal dog. Divell Lamb isn't a loyal dog, right? Even if she behaved like one at times.
The reflection of her battered body stares back at her after undressing, defeat in her eyes while going over the newly-acquired wounds; now turned into nothing more than almost healed cuts.
A part of her couldn’t help but find it funny, how he thought she would die, he always thinks she's going to die. As if she had such luck; the only thing she ever gets are a few new scars added to the drag path that has become of her body, no sweet relief, no peace.
It takes her a moment to get used to the freezing cold water cascading down her body, quivering breaths unable to subdue the discomfort while washing the dirt away.
Her thoughts drift, not really paying attention to how much time she spends in the shower, especially since she puts extra focus on basically rubbing her skin raw, as if that could make her cleaner.
Leon is sitting on the edge of the bed when she gets out, noticing a bottle of cheap gas station whiskey held by the neck before swiftly looking away.
“Let me shower and then we'll talk” His words prove her intentions of ignoring him unsuccessful, old wood floor creaking under his boots when he stands.
“Okay?” he’s quick to ask, as if she had any choice in the matter.
“Okay” she answers, tone carefully neutral while watching head for the bathroom, bottle now on the nightstand.
She lays down on the bed the moment he closes the door, staring up at the battered ceiling as if counting the spots with water damage would distract her from how impossibly uncomfortable the god-knows-how-old mattress is, as if that were her biggest problem.
How is she going to be able to sleep tonight? The knot on her belly and the springs digging on her back already promise a night full of tossing and turning. Great, just how she wanted the day to end.
Listening to the shower running in the other room and attempting to find shapes in the ceiling’s peeling pain proves to be awfully boring after the first few minutes, a sigh leaving her lips when deciding to just sit up once more and rummage through the nightstand drawer, might as well check if someone forgot anything.
Calloused fingers immediately come into contact with a worn book cover, flimsy material feeling like it’s about to get ripped off the moment she opens it. Oh, great, the holy bible.
Why do all cheap motels have a bible per room? Are they haunted? Considering the state this room is in, probably yes. Maybe they're gonna sleep in the same bed someone died in. Ew.
She doesn't bother to read it, simply passing the thin pages as if there was something waiting for her at the end. It's nonsensical, she knows it.
Divell doesn’t believe in gods, and even if she did, something like her could never be worthy of salvation.
“I don't hate you.” The sound of his voice catches her off-guard, making her jump a bit as her gaze immediately drifts up to see him stepping out of the bathroom, wet strands of hair sticking to his forehead. How embarrassing.
The mattress dips under the added weight when he sits next to her, still leaving some distance between them.
“Are you sure about that?” She asks, placing the battered book back where she found it.
Leon leans forward, hand tight around the bottle she hadn’t dared to touch earlier as he uncaps it, taking a generous swig immediately after. “You're not supposed to drink on the job, y'know?”
“I don't want you to die,” he continues, mindlessly handing her the bottle.
Divell takes it, even if wary. “Sure, I don't like you but that doesn’t mean I want to write a casualty report on you.”
Okay, having this conversation is definitely worse than sharing breakfast at his place. Still, she takes a sip, and then another, trying to act like alcohol would magically make her disappear. Maybe it would, it had worked for her before… in a sense.
“I wouldn't blame you if you wanted me dead,” her voice is slightly rougher as the words slip past her lips, as if it were the most normal thing to say.
“I want you dead too sometimes," the confession feels wrong, and she knows it is. Why the hell would she tell him that? God, she's-
“I know,” he says, interrupting her already frail trail of thought.
His breath is already reeking from the cheap whiskey they're drinking, heavy hand squeezing her shoulder. “I guess we feel the same way, then”
Divell hates this, and she's certain Leon does too; talking about this type of stuff is not their thing; since when do they share a drink? Since when does he try to be nice? Having a heart to heart with someone like him seems wrong. Hell, every single thing about this situation is wrong.
It’s almost like walking on a minefield -or at least the feeling of it- and she's pretty sure she already stepped on a few.
Their stupidly awkward conversation keeps flowing, bottle passing between the two until it's half empty. Not the smartest choice considering the day they'll have tomorrow.
Being like this with him stops feeling so weird after the alcohol sets it, even if they don't dare to share much more about themselves. It’s not like they need to, both well-aware of what the other is to bother with poor excuses and sad stories. Would he even care? Because she certainly wouldn’t.
Laughter and giggles poison the room somewhere along the way, as if the tension of moments before had been swiftly replaced by stupid jokes despite the lingering nervous glances.
“You're insufferable, always whining about what I do wrong…” she manages to utter, drunken state allowing her to tell him off without him being too offended.
“Like it's my fault I'm this.” It’s silly, how she still doesn’t dare to describe herself with the proper terms despite how many years have passed, as if daring to say the word would somehow make it more real, more disgusting.
“Oh, shut up, Lamb,” he counters, “like you don't spend all day trying to piss me off,”
“How?”
“I don't know, telling me I'm not supposed to drink on the job, for example.”
The words almost get her to laugh. Pathetic.
“Am I wrong?” Her tone gives away the obviously failing attempt to remain somewhat serious, trying to keep a last bit of pride despite snatching the bottle away from him. “You're supposed to be in charge, not getting wasted!”
Leon lets her have it as if they were closer, blue eyes focused on the way she tilts her head back when taking a long sip, almost downing what's left of the bottle in one go. A part of him is certain that's what she would have done if he hadn't decided to grab the bottle back. Rude.
“Hey!” She complains, glaring at him for a second.
“So I can't drink but you can? Don't be a hypocrite.” She furrows her brows at his comment, fauxly offended.
“Technically, I'm supposed to keep you from dying or doing anything stupid, so I can get drunk, not you”
The argument is stupid, and doesn't make much sense to her. But she doesn’t bother to respond with anything other than rolling her eyes.
His adam's apple bobs as he swallows the amber liquid, obviously not caring enough to savor the cheap drink.
Divell doesn't even realize she's staring until he sneaks a glimpse from the corner of his eye.
Her back hits the mattress again before he can think of something to say, legs dangling off the edge of the bed, hands moving to hide her face in a poor attempt of replicating exhaustion.
A tired sigh leaves her lips as she chooses to focus on the ceiling once more, obviously bored, somewhat conflicted; what is wrong with her? Since when does she stare at him with a feeling other than hatred or pity?
Her stomach feels weird, as if she were nervous, even if she has no real reason to feel that way. Maybe she shouldn't have drunk so much, but being sick would maybe justify her stupid behaviour.
The bottle clicks against the nightstand's wood surface after he drinks what's left of it, the sound drawing her attention back to him for a split second.
“Are you tired?” He asks, the only thing he can come up with to avoid the awkward silence now settled in the room.
Divell shakes her head no, gaze still locked on him as he lays down by her side, a groan leaving his lips the moment his muscles try to relax on the uncomfortable surface. “The ceiling looks interesting?”
“A bit” She murmurs, words slightly slurred. He doesn’t have to be a genius to know she drank a little too much, especially when catching a glimpse of her rolling to her side, hair messy over her face in a way that makes him immediately look away, even if reluctant. This can't be happening.
It feels as if his flesh were igniting under her gaze despite his best attempts to ignore it. What the hell got into them? They had never behaved like this with eachother, and they have been sleeping in shitty one-bed motels after missions for a while now.
Is she actually looking at him like that, or is it just his drunken mind playing tricks on him? When did he think sharing a drink with her was okay?
Guilt settles heavy in his gut as his brain immediately goes over everything that's wrong with the thoughts plaguing his mind; Divell is his 21 year-old trainee, and worst of all, not even human.
“You okay?” The sound of her voice breaks him out of the silent pity party he's throwing himself, a gentle hand settling on his bicep. Shit.
A shy smile is the first thing he sees when turning to look back at her, sharp fangs glinting a bit under the poor lighting. Bile almost rises up his throat at the disgusting warmth blooming on his chest like sickness. Oh.
“Yeah, i- um-” He stutters, and Divell’s brows furrow as if he had suddenly become a stranger. “Why?”
Leon S. Kennedy stuttering for apparently no reason. It almost makes her laugh, her only thoughts instructing her to keep doing whatever she's doing just to see how far she can push it.
“I don't know, you seem… tense.” Sharp nails drag oh-so-gently down the sleeve of his shirt, fabric tight around his muscles. Oh, this thing knows exactly what she's doing, and Leon hates every second of it.
He tries to hold back any noise, any hint of his breath quivering, attempting to will the hair on his arm not to stand. This is wrong.
Blood runs hot in her veins, as if making him miserable were the only thing that made sense. Part of her hopes neither of them remember this the following morning; she might hate herself even more. The other knows he’ll certainly remember.
“Lamb.” He calls her name, a quiet warning the moment she shifts closer.
Divell doesn't blame him for what he's probably thinking, not when the fabric of her shirt bunches up around her waist, big red eyes focused on his like some loyal dog.
“What?” She fakes stupidity, even if looking like sin. How long until he stops avoiding it? How long until he gives in? “I'm not doing anything.”
An exasperated sigh leaves his lips, she's right, and that's the worst part; she's only laying down by his side, drunk off her feet. How does he always manage to get the most stupid ideas?
Divell stands up after a bit, a playful smile on her lips she doesn't act upon.
“Move, I wanna sleep” she says, tone awfully dry now, and Leon obeys.
Maybe she was right, the ceiling was indeed interesting.
He spares a quick glance to the side, her back is facing him, and the only thing he pays attention to is the curve of her hips. Okay, maybe stains and peeling paint weren’t as interesting as her. God, he feels like a pervert, quickly turning around in an attempt to force himself to fall asleep before she realizes.
Barely a few minutes go by before Divell mumbles something, restlessly shifting by his side.
“Can't sleep?” He asks against his better judgement, even if the answer is obvious for both of them.
“Aren't you so smart?” She says, standing up and heading to the bathroom. Any attempt of being mean seems completely ruined by the fact that she can barely walk in a straight line, not that he's in a much better condition.
He can only roll his eyes, too tired to argue yet too uncomfortable to fall asleep.
The bathroom door clicks shut, and it's barely a second before he hears her scream.
It's a split second reaction, he barely thinks of what he's doing when jumping out of bed and rushing in her direction, only for her to sprint into the room before he even got to the door, body colliding with his.
“What happened? Are you okay?” The words slip past his lips before even realizing he’s talking, eyes focused on hers as he tries to ignore the fact that his arms are now snug around her body, muscles taut against his own. When did that even happen?
“There's a huge spider there-” She says, face almost paler than usual.
Leon doesn’t know whether to laugh or tell her to grow up.
“A spider?” He asks, making sure that he heard it right. “You're afraid of spiders?”
“Shut up and just go kill that thing!” A clawed hand slaps his shoulder before going back to his arm, grip tight on him. Are they even aware of the position they're in?
A defeated sigh leaves his lips as he disentangles himself from her, head peeking into the bathroom as if he had a duty to.
“There's nothing here.”
Those are not the words Divell wanted to hear.
Leon steps inside before panic gets to her, already questioning his life choices -which weren't really his choices- while going over the room.
“What do you mean there's nothing there?!”
It left? Where the fuck did it go? That creature wasn't the kind of ugly thing that could just go unnoticed!
She wastes no time jumping on the bed, as if spiders couldn't climb.
“It's not here, Lamb,” he repeats.
“Do you want me to track it down or something? I thought that was more of your thing.” Asshole.
“Are you sure it's not there?” She says while silently trying to make peace with the fact they might have a new roommate.
“Yes, I'm- oh shit,” he doesn’t allow himself to finish the sentence, slowly but surely walking backwards out of the bathroom.
“You weren't lying when you said it was huge.”
On any other occasion, she’d be quick to make fun of him for admitting she’s right.
“I told you so,” she says. “Kill it”
“How the hell do you want me to kill it? It's the size of my hand” He argues, both his hands up as if proving a point would solve anything.
“Oh my god, be a man!”
Leon would laugh if he didn’t have to face the monster in the bathroom. “There's a bible on the nightstand”
“You want me to throw a bible at the spider?” The sentence is the most random thing he has ever uttered, and what's worse; he's considering it.
Red eyes stare back at him as if he were the most incompetent person she had ever seen.
Well, maybe he is.
“Either you kill it or I shoot it” she declares, and Leon has to take a moment to process what he just heard due to how stupid her idea sounds.
“Your aim is shit, you're gonna end up shooting me instead.”
He finally gives in, grabbing the stupid bible from the stupid drawer and heading back to kill the stupid spider in the bathroom. Okay, maybe they're the stupid ones.
“I don't see a downside in that” She murmurs, cautiously following right behind him.
He looks back at her for a moment, confused as to why she's there
“I have to make sure you kill it,” she comments, as if it were obvious.
Leon can't hold back the chuckle that leaves his lips at how little she trusts him with something so dumb.
The trust issues last for barely a few seconds before her feet meet the cold tile of the floor, the sight of the disgusting creature on the corner of the somehow more disgusting shower almost getting her to gag.
“Yeah, no, i think i trust you.” The words are quickly followed by a pat to his back, just below his ribs, before simply walking away and leaving him to deal with the beast.
“Real brave, agent Lamb,” he complains, more to himself than to her. It's stupid, at least to him; she's a bioweapon, and she's afraid of spiders? Are all bioweapons afraid of spiders?
In her defense, he hasn't seen many creepy crawlies in labs. Not that he frequently visits any either, thankfully.
The young woman sits up in the middle of the bed, legs crossed while attempting to listen to the situation taking place in the other room, the sound of his footsteps on the tile, the moment of silence she assumes he uses to gather courage before slamming the book on the spider once, then again, then silence.
“Did you kill it or did it kill you?” She asks after allowing him three seconds of grace, shifting a bit in order to lean slightly to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever is happening.
“It's dead,” he finally yells back, the sound of the toilet flushing letting her know where the corpse went. Thank god.
“I can't believe you're scared of spiders” He comments while walking back into the room, tossing the definitely ruined book back into the drawer before sitting down by her side. “You're far more dangerous than that thing, y'know?”
His comment makes her smile, only for a bit. Yeah, right.
“Are you gonna slam a book into my head too?” She jokes, big doe eyes staring up at him. He reeks of cheap whiskey, just like her.
“I think we already had this talk today,” he no longer bothers to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, at least not for tonight.
A part of them must feel dumb for doing this, allowing themselves a night of camaraderie and laughter despite knowing tomorrow everything will go back to nothing more than hatred and tense stares.
“Shut up.”
Leon loses interest in her words when noticing the one thing he didn’t want to see; the creature’s gaze flickering to his lips for a split second. Oh.
Oh no.
Divell feels warm, fuzzy. Not any of the things she should experience when looking at a man like Leon, her superior, the one person that has made his dislike towards her clear as day.
But warmth still settles on her belly, her body still feels that stupidly familiar tingling while her drunken mind goes back to how his arms wrapped around her just a few moments prior. This can't be happening.
No words are exchanged when her hand subtly brushes against his, their gazes straying from eachother's like disgustingly shy teenagers.
It's a nice sensation, the fear of rejection, the guilt of knowing how wrong this is. Certainly a nice change of pace from their daily fights, both with one another and with actual threats.
She's the one to take the first step, thumb nervously rubbing over the back of his hand, succeeding when pretending the action is mindless and not a planned display; a distraction for when she starts slowly leaning forward, subtly closing the distance between them.
“Divell, no, you're-” he catches on immediately, of course he does, almost pulling away while making up stupid excuses as if they weren't in the same state.
“I can't do this to you”
“Do what?” She asks, not giving up her poor attempt at sensuality when her hand climbs up, claws gently dragging up his arm before providing a grounding weight to his shoulder.
A sigh leaves his lips, debating whether he should word it differently or not.
“Hurt you,” he finally says, genuine concern in his baby blue eyes when making the confession. As if he hadn't already hurt her with the hateful stares or his clear distrust… not like it holds the same meaning, obviously.
Divell doesn't seem to care too much about his stupid arguments, lips pressing against his before he can come up with anything else to say.
Calloused hands feel surprisingly gentle when cupping his face, still allowing him to pull away if he so desired. Huh, he didn’t know a woman like her could be so… soft.
Leon is surprisingly quick to reciprocate, contrary to his words. It almost makes her laugh.
His hand fists on her hair, tugging her head back in an attempt to try to take the lead that only results in her tongue peeking out to lick into his mouth, a groan against his lips.
“You're not gonna hurt me,” she breathes against him, hands settling onto his shoulders before pushing him down. He lets her do it, her arms caging him against the bed.
The young woman wastes no time gathering confidence before sitting on his lap, hands now resting on his chest, nails dragging down the fabric. Calloused hands settle on her thighs, grip mindlessly tightening on the soft flesh.
If Leon had to be honest, he’d admit never having imagined being in this situation with her, much less that she'd look so good on top of him; beautifully dangerous, the kind he likes.
“Do I get off?” The question is genuine despite the breathy tone, staring down into his eyes when giving him a last chance to back off. The conflict etched onto his features is obvious, clearly torn between doing the right thing and listening to his less reasonable head.
“No,” he says, surprisingly quick for how plagued by doubts he seemed. “Stay here.”
He's quick to sit up, lips crashing against hers once again, rougher this time, teeth nipping at the plump flesh in a way that makes her whimper.
Clawed hands guide his own to her butt, a chuckle leaving his lips as a response before daring to squeeze, landing a slap right after. The impact makes her jump a bit, even if her lips flicker to a smile
They're still mean to eachother, unsurprisingly; Divell uses the closeness between their bodies as an excuse to dig her nails onto his skin, wherever she can reach, careless about whether she’s leaving marks or not. Leon tugs at her hair, squeezes her tighter than necessary. The fact that his actions make her whimper brings a sense of excitement, she likes it.
Thumbs hook under her shirt and she can only pull back, allowing him to tug the fabric over her head before laying her down with her back to the mattress, finally allowing himself to get a proper look at her.
The sight makes him stop, Divell's body is not at all what he expected. Oh.
Scars take up most of her skin, ones he had seen, others he hadn't.
His gaze immediately lands on the bigger one, Y-shaped, clean, unlike the jagged lines on the rest of his body.
Sure, he had caught glimpses of it previously, but the full thing is unlike anything he had seen before. Well, not really.
He has seen those types of cuts a few times, only on those scattered moments he had been made to set foot in morgues.
A shaky sigh leaves his lips, fingers hovering over the pale skin, conflicted as to whether to trace the healed wound or not.
Divell tilts her head to the side, prolonged staring on her butchered body making her stupid insecurities rear their ugly heads.
Goddamn it… why is he even acting like he cares? He's barely paying attention to anything other than the scars, as if he didn’t have any. Sure, she was awfully well-aware of being flat, but this was downright insulting, to say the least.
“For fuck's sake-” words come out rougher, less imposing than intended, even if she does hit him with a pillow. “Are you just gonna stare or-?”
“Shut up for a second, okay?” He responds, silence filling the room for a second before Divell is reaching for her shirt, not as ashamed as she should be.
“Fuck you.”
His hands are heavy on her shoulders when pushing her to lay back down, tossing the pillow on top of her in order to provide a shred of dignity.
“I want it, okay?” Took him long enough to admit it.
“I'm sorry I stared at your scars, I didn’t expect you to be… like that”
“You're a jerk, oh my god.”
Yeah, maybe that wasn't the better wording.
Leon lets go of her, sitting back on his heels for a second. He looks his age when his brows knit together, almost defeated.
“Look, we don't have to do anything you don’t want to, Divell,” he says, handing her back the shirt in case she decides to take it. “But if you want it, then I'm up for it.”
“What, like I'm a chore?” She accuses, even if that’s not what he said.
“That's not what I mean!” He's quick to clarify. Huh. “Maybe I'm a jerk but I'm not an asshole”
Like there's such a difference. Like she should care what the man she's about to have sex with thinks about her.
She shouldn't care, she doesn't care, maybe if she says it to herself enough then she'll start to believe it, right?
She tries to look unaffected when tossing the pillow back at him, a stupid distraction from the playful look in her eyes she tries and fails to conceal when sitting back up. It's funny, she almost looks hurt when he pulls away, avoiding the kiss she almost gave him.
“I need words, Lamb” Oh.
“Will you shut up if I ask you to eat me out?” The question gets him to chuckle despite how she rolls her eyes. Bold.
“Maybe,” he murmurs, leaning forward in order to drag his lips down her jawline, a pleased hum. She cups the back of his head, mindlessly tugging on the surprisingly soft strands of hair the moment his calloused hand cups her clothed cunt, not wasting any time. “Will you?”
“No way, you'd like that,” words get breathier with ease, even if the change is barely perceptible.
“Maybe I'll like it more if you're loud,”
He doesn’t stare when yanking her shorts down her toned legs, doesn’t comment on the scars below her navel either. Divell doesn’t seem to care either, too used to her body to think of anything being unusual.
Teeth nurse at her bottom lip when Leon finally discards his own shirt, the sight of his bare torso more appealing than she had imagined. Not that she thought about it often. Okay, maybe just a little; the normal amount, right?
She allows her nails to scrape at herself when tugging her own underwear down and spreading her legs a bit, eager, rough; almost as if determined not to give him the privilege of doing it himself. Mean. Not that she'd give herself the chance to behave differently, not with him, not with anyone.
“Wait, you're a ginger?” He asks, almost dumbfounded as he catches a glimpse of her barely three day old bush, if that could even count as a bush.
“Yeah?” She rolls her eyes, almost irritated. Both of them fall silent for a second as he tries not to smile like an idiot.
Is he stupid? She's there, legs spread on the bed, wet pussy practically on his face and he's talking about her hair color?
“If you laugh at me again I'm gonna kill you in your sleep.” Hot. At least to him.
“I'm not laughing at you,” he denies, right before spitting on her pussy.
The glob of saliva landing on her hot flesh makes her breathing hitch. Maybe she should kill him right here, right now.
Thoughts of homicide abandon her brain as the pads of his fingers spread the saliva over her folds, thumb toying with her clit for barely a few moments before his middle and ring finger slowly yet surely ease inside her. She's warm, blood boiling with need.
Soft lips part, trembling breath falling off of them. It's cute to see her try to hold back the noises, determined not to give him a show, even if rude.
“That's it, Lamb,” he breathes, not daring to utter her first name while shifting a bit in order to lay on his stomach, fingers curling upwards just the way she needs, cheek pressed against her thigh as he stares for a second before finally leaning closer.
Oh, so he's actually eating her out, not what she expected, even if not about to complain. “Just relax for once.”
Divell shouldn't be surprised by how good he is with his hands considering how conventionally attractive he is, despite how weird it feels to think that anyone could put up with him willingly. Maybe he's only an asshole to her.
The first contact of his tongue with her clit makes her flinch a bit, hips shifting away due to the sensation, sensitive. Not that he’d let her.
He smooths down her thigh with his free hand until reaching the back of her knee, pushing the leg up and over his shoulder, wasting no time to eat her out like a man starved despite the strained relationship they kept.
Part of her how sensitive her body has become, belly twisting into knots while rendered unable to hold back the traitorous noises falling from her lips and sinfully confessing the pleasure he’s providing. It’s like taking a bullet to her ego, somehow degrading even if aware that those weren’t his intentions. Sex felt like that most of the time, one of the few things she couldn’t blame him for.
Her noises get more desperate as the muscles in her stomach tighten, legs trembling. She's close, devastatingly so, awfully quickly. It's embarrassing how easy she is to please, how little he had to do. Pathetic.
Trembling hands tug at his hair, eyes screwed shut as she debates whether to push him away or to tug him closer.
The need clouds her senses, she's right there, and part of her wishes she could stay like this forever, even if the thought makes no sense.
And then it's gone, hauntingly blue eyes staring down at her after pulling away. She attempts to hold his gaze, determined not to appear too weak.
“Hey-” Trying to complain doesn’t turn out how she expected, especially since her stupid attempt to come off like she always does when she's pissed at him only results in a pathetic whine ripping from her throat, big puppy eyes he wasn’t aware of now looking up at him with a certain desperation he wasn’t expecting from her.
A teasing smile is the only answer she receives while watching him reach for his wallet, grabbing a condom from it. Oh.
“You're not supposed to store them like that” she says, upper body now propped on her forearms right on time to watch him pull down his sweatpants.
“Do you want me to go get new ones?”
The question takes her by surprise, even more with the way his eyes zero on her, any other movement stopping as if his words weren’t teasing for once, even if the thought of going to buy protection right now couldn’t be any more stupid.
“No, it's- it's okay” she stutters, cheeks flushing uncharacteristically as other thoughts plague her mind. “Were you planning this?”
The question makes him chuckle, a pat to her thigh as if to reassure her.
“No, I always have one just in case,” He explains, as if he had the need to. It’s not like she really cared after he finally tossed his boxers aside, hard cock slapping against his abdomen, flushed head already weeping precum. Oh, god.
She doesn’t bother trying to be the most discreet when it comes to staring at his nudity, shameless while watching his right hand pump his cock twice for good measure before rolling the latex down as if it were the sole purpose of his life.
“What is it?” He dares to ask after a few more seconds. “Are you-?”
“No, I'm not,” she interrupts before he can even utter the full question, not needing to hear it to be aware of his concerns.
Leon stares back for a bit, as if deciding if he should push her or not.
Divell takes the decision for him, all but graciously shifting onto her elbows and knees, back arched. God, how did he manage not to see the appeal earlier?
His hand is on her hip almost immediately while the other guides his cock to rub against her folds, teasingly catching on her clit. Yeah, she definitely hates him.
“It's gonna fit, don't worry,” he tells her, that stupidly smug smile tugging at the corner of his lip in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood, even if it makes her want to gather her things and leave.
Well, at least until she considers how horny she is. Fuck her and her stupid hormones.
“Shut up,” she says, hating the giggle she lets out, she hates the fact that he chuckles back even more.
“Tell me if it hurts, okay?”
He doesn’t give her much time to answer, probably assuming Divell would do so, like any normal person.
The first press of his cock inside her has her gripping the cheap bedsheets, lips parted in a quiet whimper. He's big, that's a given.
Divell had never thought of herself as small considering her height and strength, but with Leon on top she felt surprisingly delicate. It made her stomach feel weird.
“That's it, just take it…” he breathes, slowly bottoming out as deep as he can go, balls resting against her clit in a way that makes her tighten around him. A calloused hand settled on her lower back in order to guide her to arch further.
“Oh, fuck…” She breathes, the stretch rather uncomfortable despite his surprising gentleness. It's like he's gonna break her in half, not that she's gonna complain.
Instead, she pushes her hips back, attempting to get him to move.
“See? I told you it would fit…”
Is she gonna have to put up with him being stupid all night? Because this is definitely not worth it.
He's gentle at first, holding her in place when finally driving his hips into hers. Divell bites her bottom lip as he picks up the pace, slowly but surely.
Leon doesn’t kiss her scars, doesn't tell her she's beautiful or any of that bullshit sentimental people do. He has no reason to do that, she's not his to love, not his to use as anything more than sweet relief. It’s not like he’d want it any other way; Divell is still a bioweapon, still a monster, no matter how much he might be enjoying the warm embrace of her tight cunt. It’s not like she’d make a good lover either way
“Harder-” She pleads, almost sobbing onto the bedsheets when he complies.
A hand fists onto her hair, guiding her cheek to press against the mattress, free hand tight on her hip in a way that would surely bruise if she were normal, if she were human. Maybe it’s a good thing that she’s not.
“Like that?” He asks, landing a slap to her ass.
He's rough, just what she asked for. Divell forces herself to love it, even if her body doesn’t quite feel the same.
A whimper leaves her lips as that well-known pleasure-pain settles onto her belly when the head of his cock reaches too deep, too hard. Discomfort is stronger than anything else.
Big arms wrap around her midriff when draping his body on top of hers, warm skin flush against hers. She's sweaty, shaky, and his hot breath against her ear doesn’t help.
“You're so fucking tight…”
His hand cups her stomach, rough fingers surprisingly soft when compared to the risen feel of her scarred abdomen.
A gentle hand brushes her hair away from her face, revealing flushed cheeks and furrowed brows, hand tightly fisting on the bedsheets.
“You okay?” he asks, pulling back a bit after her whimpering gets awfully close to sniffling, hand smoothing up and down her hip as he tries to soothe her. Oh.
She nods, trying to push herself back against him in an attempt to get him to keep moving, a pathetic noise falling from her lips.
“For fuck's sake, Lamb-” He sees right through her, apparently, because he immediately pulls out. She stays put, defeated, almost sobbing at the emptiness. “Are you okay? Did I-”
“I'm fine, just-” She stutters, managing to sit up. “It's okay, I wanted it to-”
Words sound stupid when said out loud, selfish. Leon looks back at her as if she were insane, maybe she was.
“You should have told me, I should have-” He interrupts her, even if unable to finish the phrase, clearly upset.
Sure, he wasn't too fond of Divell, but that didn't mean he was okay with hurting her, especially in such a way.
“I know, I'm sorry.” Her hand resting on his thigh feels foreign this time, wrong. Pretending to be worried didn’t fit either of them. “Do you want to stop?”
She gives him those puppy eyes again, and he already figured out how much he hates them despite just having discovered them today. He hates how human they make her look, how gentle she seems. Divell isn't human, she isn't gentle either, right?
“Lay on your back, Lamb,” he orders, gaze slightly hardened.
She obeys without a second thought, eyes focused on his as he pries her legs apart before settling between them.
“I don't care if you want me to be rough, you have to tell me if I'm hurting you.” His words do not carry an ounce of playfulness within them. A sigh leaves his lips when she nods, frustrated. “Use your words”
“I understand” she's quick to say.
His hands smooth down her torso before guiding his cock to her entrance once again, slower this time despite Divell's obvious need, hips shifting in a stupid attempt of getting him to hurry.
“Look at that, she's practically sucking me in,” he murmurs, thumb tracing gentle circles on her swollen clit. She lets out the most delightful of noises when he bottoms out this time. “That's more like it…”
He stays still for a bit, staring down at her body; paying special attention to the way her chest rises and falls with every quivering breath, her legs trying to wrap around his waist in a hesitant desire for intimacy.
It's silly how they now try to avoid eachother's eyes as if simple eye contact were to make this any worse, not like he’s already balls deep inside her.
Leon doesn’t kiss her, doesn’t lean forward for their bodies to embrace one another. Divell doesn’t ask for it either, she'd stop him if he tried. Kissing right now would be too much, too close. How pathetic…
The headboard slams against the matress as he fucks into her like his life depended on it, probably the first time they use a motel bed for its intended purpose. Her boobs bounce with each trust, and Leon can't stop staring, even if he feels like a creep.
His hand settles on the back of her knee, pushing her leg up to his shoulder for better access. Divell tries her best not to sound too desperate, obviously failing.
“You're so loud” he manages to say, “even your pussy is so fucking loud-”
On any other occasion, with any other man, Divell would have told him to shut up without even thinking about it. But now the only thing she could focus on is the feeling of his cock slamming into her cunt, the devastating emptiness she feels when he pulls out and the delicious stretch he provides every time he fills her up once again.
She could go crazy like this, part of her believes this would drive her crazier if this were a one time thing. It's not gonna be that, right? At least she hopes so, even if it's an unrealistic thought; Leon would never want to do this again, not with something like her. This was definitely a one time thing, holding up hope was pointless, pathetic.
“Slap me-” She begs, a desperate attempt to get her stupid brain to shut up. “Please, Leon-”
“Are you sure?” he asks, even if the thought of striking her across the face makes his cock undeniably twitch. Maybe he’s just like her, in a sense.
The lack of response makes her quick to start begging again. For fuck's sake…
“God, you're a mess…” He mumbles. It's not like he's going to hit her hard anyways, he wouldn't dream of actually laying a hand on her.
His hand meets her cheek, harsh movement forcing her head to the side even if he didn’t hit her that hard.
A giggle leaves her lips. Okay, maybe she's not a mess, she's just fucking insane.
“Again” she orders, much to Leon's demise, and he complies, trying to ignore the fact he might be into it.
His hands are rough when shifting to her chest, resting just below the perky mounds as they bounce with each thrust.
Being able to see such a side of him feels wrong, sweat beading on his brow, the subtle way in which his grip tightens on her body at the sensation of his cock twitching. It's silly, but she wonders if he thinks the same about her; something he only saw as dangerous, now trembling with need beneath him.
Does he feel proud to have reduced her to this? Does he feel disgusted with himself? Both are valid, Divell wouldn't mind either.
He grabs her hips once more after providing a one last squeeze to her boobs, rougher this time before lifting her lower body, maneuvering her in order to meet him halfway through the movements. The shift makes her cry out, the head of his cock slamming into that certain spot that made her feel like exploding.
His gaze drifts to hers, watching as her expression shifts. Huh.
“There? You like it when I hit that spot, Lamb?” The words barely make sense to what's left of her melted brain.
“Yes- yeah, oh my god, Leon-” she calls his name between other words, nothing makes sense anymore except for what they're doing; how good they make eachother feel.
Clawed hands reach for his arms, mindlessly raking down the scarred flesh. Neither of them care about how wrong this might be, not anymore.
“That's it, take it” Sure, he hates her, but he certainly loves how good this feels, how she reacts to him. That makes sense, right? “You're gonna cum for me, right? Get my cock nice and wet?”
“Yeah- please-” She doesn't tell him to shut up this time, doesn’t call him an idiot.
A moment of stupidity, a crack in his trail of thought makes him take the chance to get closer, arms now wrapped around her to ensure the position stays mostly the same when his mouth gets to her neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh, his overgrown stubble deliciously scraping against the soft flesh.
Nothing she can't cover with how much makeup she wears on a daily basis, right?
His name slips past her lips once more when he manages to slip a hand between their bodies, the pad of his fingers dragging over her clit.
The added stimulation gets her legs to tremble, her own hands moving to settle on his back, almost embracing him, tugging him closer.
This is wrong. She hates him, he hates her too. What the hell are they doing? What happens after? She's so fucking stupid…
There's something in the way he looks at her, as if he didn’t know whether she was disgusting or fascinating. And the worst part was that she enjoyed watching the conflict unfold in his eyes.
“I'm gonna cum-” she confesses, almost desperate, body quivering like a newborn fawn.
A few words slip past his lips, praising tone not going unnoticed despite the fact that she couldn’t quite make out what he said.
Divell couldn’t say she was used to receiving praise, especially from him, but it still made something feel weird within her chest.
She feels herself explode soon after that, nails raking down his back in a way that makes him hiss with barely concealed pain.
Teeth sink down onto the side of his neck as hard as she can without actually hurting him, even if she'd like to, a mean attempt to ground herself while her muscles spasm, gushing around him, probably making a mess of both of them as well as the mattress.
“Shit-” The most desperate whimper leaves his lips, unable to hold back an orgasm that takes him completely by surprise. Embarrassing for him, to say the least; so pathetic that he forces himself to hide his face on the crook of her neck. Not that he'd let her see him in a moment like this, thick ropes of cum filling out the condom.
“Sorry” He apologizes, allowing himself to pull back and stare at her with blown pupils, cheeks flushed in an awfully gorgeous display of satisfaction.
“What? Can't handle teeth?” She teases, gaze straying to the red marks already blooming on the side of his neck. Damn, if his looked like that, hers had to be definitely worse. How the hell are they supposed to walk into work looking like that? Not too professional of them, even if theirs superiors couldn’t care less about their star agent fucking his trainee.
“Shut up” he breathes, and she’s unable to hold back the flicker of a smile on her lips. “You're gonna kill me”
“We should do this more often, then.” Oh.
Leon rolls his eyes, thankfully not commenting on her stupid words.
An awkward giggle leaves her lips when she feels him pull out, hand tight around the base of his cock in order to keep the rubber in place while making his way to the bathroom.
Divell is able to look back at him before the door is closed, managing to catch a glimpse of the trail her claws had left on his back, guilt settling in her gut at the sight, even if he hadn't complained about the rather obvious pain.
Why does she feel bad? What did she even expect other than to hurt him?
She's still… this, he still doesn't like her, right?
Everything stupid order, every stupid action reminded her of this, of her purpose, her curse. It’s not like she could do much about it; maybe that's what she'd always be, a weapon, a painful reminder of the evil that had ruined their lives, no matter how hard she tried to make things right. A part of her couldn’t blame Leon for hating her.
Divell stays put for a second, listening to the running water in the other room before finally deciding to look at the mess she made of the bed, cringing at the sight of soaked bedsheets; one of them is going to have to sleep on the wet spot, and it's definitely not going to be her.
Leon returns shortly after, wet towel in hand, awkward look in his eyes.
“Let me clean you up” he says, and she can only look back at him as if he had just made the weirdest offer ever.
“I can do that myself” she answers, yanking the towel away from him and walking to the bathroom. Old habits die hard, he assumes.
A defeated sigh leaves his lips, choosing to fix the bedsheets instead of insisting further; if she doesn’t want his help, then so be it.
He's laying down when she joins him back, gaze awkwardly drifting away from his.
She doesn't bother with attempting aftercare, even when Leon reaches for her, mouth opening before closing again when noticing that any attempt to start a conversation would certainly fail.
“Goodnight.” That’s the only thing he gets apart from a pat to the shoulder, room consumed by darkness the moment she turns off the old lamp on the nightstand.
He tries not to feel weird about any of this. The bedsheets are dry on her side, the mattress is still uncomfortable.
“Goodnight, Divell”
A defeated sigh leaves his lips, nose scrunched as thoughts plague his exhausted brain. A part of him already certain of how the following morning would play out, awfully familiar with himself; his arms probably snug around her, something he'll certainly be embarrassed about despite obvious attempts to conceal it.
Their lives will go back to normal after that -if it could be considered normal-, stupid sensations still lingering, just like the guilt from an obvious mistake.
Leon tries to tell himself it was a one night thing, just like Divell does, even if part of them knows sooner or later they'll end up tangled within eachother once more despite their harsh words and cold glares. It's pathetic, how one can long for the same thing they claim to hate.