Chapter Text
He wasn’t quite sure when it had happened, falling into the routine with a steady grace and an admirable sense of adaptability. He was known for such things, and they came easily with enough experience, so it was little surprise that he eventually got used to it. The glimmer of red in his eyes, the dark trail of the blackened blood in his veins, the tendency to hiss or growl and drop to all-fours as if to threaten.
Somewhere along the way, Leon and his parasite had become more than that, an evolutionary bond gripping them tight and tying them together. It started out resentful, terrifying, even disgusting, but given enough time he found himself compromising, just like Wesker had asked.
But…Leon had always been stubborn by nature, tenacious and hard-headed and never one to back down. His growing issues with authority had only strengthened the problem, leaving him irritable and liable to snap. It manifested itself as a sort of tug-of-war between him and his unwelcome guest, always edging away from whatever the Plagas wanted in an almost instinctual motion.
He didn’t want to be difficult, but it was the only way he knew how to deal with that loss of control. The Plagas couldn’t cajole him with pain, he was far too resilient to that, nor was it allowed to physically damage him.
Thus, it developed a new plan of attack.
‘Soft,’ It prompted, the thought bubbling up as if it was his own.
Leon rolled his eyes and nodded, sitting down on the bed, shifting anxiously as his body felt a wash of euphoria. He’d figured, if anything, he’d be the one keeping the Plagas on a leash, and yet it was seemingly the opposite. The effortless control It had over his body meant it could shift things around as it pleased with pin-point accuracy. Even a wisp of his anxiety cropping up could easily be snuffed out by an ocean of happy chemicals, like a fucked up reward system.
At first he’d panicked, unable to be content with the feeling that his own emotions were being controlled by the parasite living within. A blur of days followed that moment, fuzzy memories of coaxing voices and soft hands that made his nearly catatonic body eat.
Wesker had scolded It for that, subjecting them to an utterly incomprehensive lecture about chemicals and dosages that left his head spinning. Ultimately, it boiled down to a far simpler message: ‘Control yourself, or I will.’
The Plagas had adapted to the order just as it always had in life, and Leon was left to deal with the consequences of their little ‘compromise.’ Apparently, demanding that the invasive bug hitching a ride in his body to refrain from getting him high was off the table. Just not so much as to leave him catatonic or worse.
If that stupid bug had a face he knew it would’ve been smirking at the time.
From then on, Pavlov’s law ruled his life with an iron fist of dopamine, cortisone and, more embarrassingly, arousal. Because his existence wasn’t complicated enough with an ancient monster fused to his spinal tissue.
He sighed, shifting to lie down entirely as lethargy rolled across his body. The same white walls stared back at him when he blinked his eyes open, simply drinking in the silence only broken by his breathing and the occasional shifting of his leg.
He already wanted to get up, never one for sitting still, but when he moved a bit too much the parasite protested.
‘Stay,’ It demanded, chittering impatiently in his mind.
“I have to get up,” he mumbled back, leveraging himself up with an arm.
He could feel It’s displeasure, but it was gone as quick as it came, replaced with a familiar heat that started at his core.
“Stop that…” He groaned, pressed his legs together, “It’s… ‘Said not to…”
Instantly, the memory replayed itself in his mind, excruciatingly detailed down to each mote of dust floating in the air, Wesker’s dulcet voice stating, ‘In moderation.’
“You call this… Hah… ‘Moderation?’” Leon managed, carding a hand through his rapidly dampening hair, feeling sweat gather on his fingertips.
‘Want Mate.’
“He’s not our mate you freeloader, he’s… Our boss.” He settled on the familiar term, though it made him flinch at the thought of being found lazing around. He really had to get up.
‘No,’ It replied stubbornly, ‘Need.’
“Shit…” An utterly embarrassing sound crawled its way out of his throat, a high-pitched moan more akin to a whine.
‘Host stay.’
“Okay, okay,” he placated hurriedly, frowning, “What’s the deal?”
It didn’t answer, but a complex emotion settled in his head, and a levelled discomfort he immediately knew how to fix. He sat up in a placid haze, every motion slow and measured as his impulses synced up with the bug’s. He moved the blankets and pillows with careful accuracy, forming a circle atop the mattress. It wasn’t enough, they both could tell, but neither wanted to brave the living space to collect more linens. Not when his body was heavy and sweating, thighs slick with things better left unspecified.
“Mm, what are we doing?” Leon wondered, panting as if it might have a chance at cooling him down, “What’s this…thing?”
‘Not thing! Nest!’
His eyes shot open, “Oh god, I’m not gonna lay eggs, am I?” That was more than a step too far for him, frankly. He absolutely drew the line at having any more foreign objects in his body.
‘Stupid,’ It scolded like a disappointed parent, ‘Stupid Host. Foolish.’
“I’m being insulted by my own parasite.” This was definitely a new low.
‘Submissive need Dominant mate. Good for hive.’
“What does that even--” Oh no. “No way. Are you in season?”
‘Yes. Acceptable. Good Host,’ It praises, itching his brain oh-so pleasantly in a way that made his head swim.
“No, no, I need to focus,” Leon protests, “I can’t actually get like…you know…right?”
‘No. Host has no place to store young.’
“...And that won’t change, right?”
‘Host cannot.’
Right, that was probably about as definitive an answer as it was going to give…
“Okay, so… What do we need to do?” The silence rang out to answer him for a few long moments, until a familiar sound made itself known. If the Plagas had given Leon ears they would have perked up in that moment.
‘Mate.’ It says it reverently, echoing inside his head like it was a cavern.
The vicious heat grew worse, enough that he made for his shirt, struggling with the fabric for a few moments before worming out of it. Stark black veins faded into alabaster skin, its surface littered with old scars and stray freckles like a canvas of memories, now dampened by sweat and shifted by harsh breaths.
“Jesus,” Leon swore, arching off the bed to needily tug his pants down past his hips, “Any… Ngh… Any chance you could turn this down?”
The answer plunged into his mind within a second, layered with ravenous need. So that was a ‘no’ then…
“Humans…aren’t really meant to get this hot…” He decidedly reminded it, curling up and clutching the sheet beneath with a rapidly whitening fist.
“Leon? Pet?” The door opened with little warning beyond the call of his name, and it must have been quite a sight to be greeted with. Leon’s shirt tossed across the room without a care, his pants bunched at his ankles, his body framed by the blanket walls and the relentless flush trailing over every inch of his skin.
“Oh?” Wesker drawls coyly, “What’s this?”
“Mate,” Leon replies desperately, his eyes a vibrant ruby red.