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It wasn’t that Leon hated his name, not at all. He just hated hearing it.
“Leon, can you drop this off for me?”
“Leon, is that paperwork I asked for done?”
“Leon, what does your schedule look like next month?”
His name was always followed up with someone asking him for something. And usually, they were just asking to be polite. In his line of work, everything was a command, thinly veiled as a request in order to seem polite. What was he going to say? Sorry, I actually have a date then, I can’t go on an international manhunt to stop bioterrorism and save all of mankind from its impending doom. As if.
He never thought this way about it until Spain. Never mind the exhaustion, the death, or carrying a mind-controlling parasite in his body; All of that would have been bearable if it wasn’t for Ashley Graham’s voice constantly whining his name, acting like a helpless brat any time he got so much as 20 feet away from her. He doesn’t dislike her at all, he’s actually grown fond of her in a big brotherly way (despite the distance he keeps her at to avoid her hormones spiking), but every time he hears her voice that’s all he can think of, like nails on chalkboard sending chills down his spine. And ever since then, he can only associate his name with all of the burdens he’s been made to carry.
He told you all of this over drinks at your place a couple months ago; you and him had ended up running errands all over capitol city in a frustrating string of dead ends and misinformation, leading to an exhausting, pointless day with nothing but sore feet and headaches to show for it. You were only a couple miles away from your place, and it was past 8:00pm with snow in the forecast, and you knew he didn’t want to take the train, so you united him over. He was too tired and annoyed to say no, and he’d been over before, so it wasn’t a big deal. You were fortunate enough to rent a small house in the outer city and often had small gatherings and let people crash on your couch. You were the “mom friend”, everyone told you. There are worse things to be.
So you sat there on your couch, cradling your hot whiskey lemonade, listening to him vent about how annoying work was for him lately. He obviously needed to get this out, so you let him.
“I was so passionate when I was young that now everyone relies on me for things they could easily do themselves. I want a break, too. I want days off, too.”
You always had Leon figured out a bit better than the rest of the office, even though you’d only worked there for a couple of years. They all assumed his cold, hard exterior was built up after experiencing all the things they can only guess that he went through, and that his occasional wit meant there was still a soft heart under all that tan skin and tousled hair, making him a natural hearthrob. None of this was exactly wrong of people to think, but you failed to see why everyone thought he was so mysterious. Sure, there was mystery in the tall tales of his resume, but there was no point in wondering what made him the way he was.
He wasn’t cold- he wanted to be left alone.
Knowing this, you tried your best to not interrupt him at work, or to knock on his office door every two minutes, and he seemed to appreciate it whether he knew it was intentional or not. And maybe it was your own sarcastic nature that led him to be comfortable confiding in you when he was especially irritated with something. It had led you to moments like these at least, and you were happy for it.
And so listening to him here, going on at lengths about how he’d like nothing more than to not hear his name for just one day, you made a subconscious note to not say it unless it was for something you were doing for him.
“Leon, I got your papers from the printer.”
“Leon, the barista gave me an extra latte, do you want it?”
“Leon, why don’t you go home early, I can finish this up.”
It felt sad to think that no one else thought to extend these simple kindnesses to a man who has always done so much.
And over time, he seemed to end up talking to you from the other end of your couch much more often. He’d even asked you if he could come over once or twice as opposed to you extending the invite. You dared not tell any of your coworkers, lest they start rumors amid their jealousy. It wasn’t like you were trying to do anything but be someone he could open up to, since it became exceedingly obvious there wasn’t anyone like that in his life, and you knew all too well how important that can be.
“The President wants me to babysit his grown daughter again next week.”
“Tell the president to sit and spin.”
“I wish,” he said. You talked and laughed and bitched, and then it was 4am and you woke up with a start. The two of you had fallen asleep on the couch at God knows what hour. You took your empty cocktail glasses to the kitchen and turned the lights off before fetching a spare blanket and covering him with it. Look at you, tucking him in like a babe you thought to yourself. He was pretty when he slept. You looked back at him from the hallway as you made your way to your room, leaving the door open so you could hear him if he got up before you.
But as you got more comfortable, it seemed like his kindness peaked. For instance, the last time you hit the shooting range together, he’d scolded you for how tense you always got, making your elbows lock. “For the millionth time,” he sighed and put his arms on yours, making them bend as they needed to, “fucking relax.” You could feel him shake his head as he walked back to the booth next to yours. The tension he created never helped your form or your aim. In fact, you missed every shot after that. He was at least nice enough not to comment on it, but he didn’t need to. You felt his glare upon you but you couldn’t look him in the eyes.
A few days after that, you handed him the paperwork you’d revised for him, and minutes later he was tossing it back down on your desk. “Formatting errors,” he said, before turning heels and walking right back out. You flipped through the papers, looking at all the places where he’d circled your mistakes in red ink. How’d I even miss that?
You wondered where this came from. Maybe you were making a big deal out of it, maybe he just had a little extra on his plate he hadn’t told you about, something confidential. Or maybe you kept fucking up because you started trying to please him as opposed to just being nice where you could. And when did that start? When did you start getting gratification from doing things for him? And now here you were, paying for it emotionally, laying in bed unable to stop thinking about it for long enough to fall asleep.
You finally leveled your head and decided it was nothing. Nothing had changed, so there’s no reason for you to think something had. Those were such small things to even think twice about. What was he supposed to do, let you hurt yourself shooting, turn the paperwork in wrong?
You stopped by your favorite cafe the next morning, as you did most Fridays, and got him a drink too. You gingerly set it on his desk and smiled, still not quite able to look him in the eyes, and left before you could see his reaction. You didn’t need one, you didn’t need to hear him say thank you or good morning. You did this because you wanted to be kind, not because you needed his praise. At least that’s what you told yourself. It felt like you’d given him a peace offering, but the knot in your stomach hadn’t totally dissipated.
You went to the break room during lunch to get your food out of the fridge and make your second coffee of the day. Leon was sitting at a table talking to someone, still sipping from his latte. You tried not to be so aware of his presence in the room making the air thick. As you waited for the coffee to drip, you felt your phone vibrate.
(1) New Message
L. Kennedy: Your place tonight?
You exhaled in relief and typed back. Sure. I’m free any time after seven.
In reality, you were home at six, but spent the next hour anxiety cleaning, wanting to give him the calm environment he came to you for. You watered your plants, lit a candle, and waited at your spot on the couch, sipping a preemptive cocktail, wondering where the sudden need to impress came from. He knocked on the door just after eight.
You let him in and he hung up his jacket, plopping down on the couch a little harder than usual. You couldn’t help but let out a little laugh before asking, “should I make your drink a double tonight?”
“Please,” he said, arm dramatically over his eyes, almost looking like he was ready to take a nap. He always left the drink of choice up to you, and you liked surprising him.
“This one’s called a Ward 8,” you said, placing it in his free hand. He didn’t make a face while he drank it, so you assumed he liked it just fine. You stood above him, drinking yours, wondering how to break the silence he let linger in the air. Eventually you sat down next to him, and let the silence linger a bit more. It almost made you angry. Why was he doing this to you? What was he here for? Did he not have anything to say? So you placed the burden of conversation on him, giving up the search for words to say. If he didn’t feel a need to fill the dead air, why should you?
And then, he sat up a bit, finishing his drink and setting the glass down ungracefully. He let out a long sigh, like maybe he was looking for words to say.
“What?” you asked.
“I’m going to be gone for a while.” Another long sigh. “Maybe a couple months.”
Ah. There it was. It didn’t exactly surprise you, but it wasn’t relieving either. You gulped and tried to think of what to say. You knew it was pointless asking where he was going, or how dangerous it would be. Saying you’re sorry felt pointless. It didn’t matter. And you couldn’t help but realize this was inevitable. You almost started to think about how much you’d miss him, and the void he would leave in your daily routine, but that was all selfish. He needed the focus to be on him right now. He’s the one actually going to do God knows what at God knows where, adding God knows how many people to his body count.
“When do you leave?”
“Monday.”
You waited through a few more seconds of silence before he fell forward to lay his head in your lap, his arms around your waist. You couldn’t move, not that you exactly wanted to, but you’d never been this close to him before. And where could you put your hands but on his back, in his hair?
And so that’s where you eventually put them after a solid minute of holding them awkwardly above him. He needed comfort now more than ever, that much was clear. You focused on the rise and fall of his back as he breathed, the room so still, your head spinning just a little bit from the alcohol. You could smell the sandalwood cologne he wore, the grenadine on his breath. You heard him mumble something into your thigh.
“What was that?”
“I’ll miss this.”
You blinked and processed what he said. You could only think to respond with some sort of wit to alleviate the severity of his situation. “I’ll keep a drink waiting for you when you get back, don’t worry.”
“Are you sure about that?”
You needed to take another moment to process. “I mean, of course, why wouldn’t I..?”
“A lot can change in the time I’ll be gone. I won’t be around at all. Why would you wait for me?”
And then you realized. He was asking you to wait for him. He’d never had someone to come back to before. And you somehow became that. You made him sit up so you could look him in the eyes and tell him he was being ridiculous, but you didn’t get the chance before his mouth was on yours, hands cupping your face, taking you in. And now your head was really spinning. You had no chance to think, nowhere to retreat to as his tongue pushed into your mouth, and your hands moved around his body like you were looking for some ledge to hold onto, any crack to grasp at all, barely able to kiss him back as you fought to grasp what was happening. You finally pushed him off of you, breathing heavy as he put his forehead to yours.
There were a million things you wanted to say at the same moment as you were realizing them. To tell him you needed him, how you wanted nothing more than to wait for him, fuck it, to serve him. Realizing just how sweet it was to be here, cornered by him like an animal in your own home, and it was too late to feel any shame about it. Slowly you had made space in your life for him, and now there was no getting rid of it. His presence was there even when he was gone; you planned your days around the small interactions between you two, and now he was on top of you, kissing you again and grabbing you by the shouders to bring you even closer, taking over your body like he’d taken over your life.
So you gave in, kissed him back fully, hands on his chest and his triceps, feeling his muscles move as he touched more of your body. You were only wearing a dress, and you were sure you were quite exposed with how he was positioned between your legs now, but you had no option to cover yourself, and hardly any desire to. You burned as his hands gripped the soft skin of your thighs. You felt a moment of anxiety at exactly how far this may be going, but through the haze of your desire for him you were sure of one thing: that you would follow him anywhere he led you, no matter what that meant. You trusted him fully. He was your one true confidant.
And led you he did, his other hand moving over your breast. “Please,” he almost growled, “just let me… have you…”
And what could you do but gasp and moan under his touch? You nodded your head and took him back in to kiss you, and that was all he needed. The dam broke, and suddenly his kisses were harder, sloppier, his hands groping you so hard it was almost painful. He filled all of your senses as he began touching you under your skirt, rubbing you over your panties. He was kissing your neck now, giving you a chance to catch your breath as he moved the thin cloth to the side, rubbing a finger through your wetness before pushing it inside of you. His lips moved further south, and he pushed your dress down to reveal your full breast, and he gave your nipples the full attention of his tongue.
He was so greedy for you, yet so soft in how he moved. You clutched his hair as he sucked on you, and you couldn’t help but to look down at yourself being ravaged by him. He was still fully clothed, and you were a helpless mess at his mercy. He was a man through and through, and he knew what he was doing. His only focus was on pleasuring you.
You gripped at his shirt, and he took the signal to remove it, ripping your dress and underwear off immediately after. He pressed his bulge against you as he continued fingering you, adding a digit and watching your hips buck against him. The roughness of his denim somehow turned you on even more. You could feel his size; it must have been painful for him to be contained in them. It took no time before your hand found its way to his belt buckle, and then the both of you were fully naked, hot bodies pressed against each other.
He moved to straddle your face, and you accepted his length into your mouth, getting his cock as wet as possible. Looking up at him, you had the most ethereal view of his abs, his jawline, his dark eyes peering down at you as he slowly fucked your face. He thrust over and over again and you worked your tongue around him as best as you could, savoring his moans and the sweetness of his precum. He pulled out, a trail of spit leading from your tongue to his tip. He panted, looking down at the sight.
And then he was back on top of you, lining himself up with your slit. He thrust in so fucking slowly, just the tip at first, like he knew how much it would make you need the whole thing. And once he was fully inside of you, it was over. All the slowness, the grace, all of that was over, and it was just the two of you moaning and grasping at eachother, seeking out as much pleasure as you could, sloppy wet kisses being planted all over your lips and any bare skin you could reach. He were folded in half under him, your thighs pressed against your chest, being held there by his big hands, crying out as he hit that spot deep within you over, and over, and over. You couldn’t help but think, this is what it means to be with a real man.
“I’m going to make you mine,” he nearly growled into your ear, “all mine, all for me.” And how could you respond but to moan his name?
“Leon, please…”
And that sent him into overdrive. He placed his hand around your throat, and used his other to thumb at your clit, pounding into you even faster. His sweat glimmered on his skin in the low light, his mouth nearly in a snarl as he fucked you. “Say it again. Say my name again.”
And you did, yelling it out as you reached your orgasm, eyes rolling into the back of your head. He swore and shuddered as he buried his cock into you with three final slams. The way you’d tightened around him sent him to the edge, and it took you a moment to realize it wasn’t just your own wetness you were now filled with.
“Mine… all mine…”
You couldn’t even think clearly enough to freak out. And you were on the pill, so technically, it should be fine. But that’s a problem for tomorrow. Right now, the only thing you needed to think about was the man on top of you, still filling your throbbing cunt. You moaned at the loss of him when he finally pulled out, leaving a wet stain on the couch as you felt his cum spilling out of you. You must have looked like such a mess, soiled by him. He really did make you his, didn’t he?
He kissed your forehead sweetly. There were no words to say to eachother.
You had always had this quiet understanding of him. He didn’t need to say anything.
Eventually, you grabbed your lingerie off of the floor and put it on, for some type of modesty. He threw his boxers on, too, and poured a glass of ice water for you both to share. Your whole face buzzed as you came down from your orgasm and you could feel all the muscles that would be sore tomorrow. He leaned in and kissed you again, sweetly on your lips.
“Will you really wait for me?” he asked quietly.
“Of course I will, Leon” you kissed him again. “I always will.”
As you basked in the afterglow, you didn’t think of the news he’s dropped, of how you’d manage to make it through your days without him to bring an extra coffee to. You thought about how he’d finally took the space in your heart that was always his, and how when he returned, he’d be returning to you. And so you laid there together, heavy limbs intertwined on your couch, until you both fell asleep as you always did, blissfully exhausted.