AN: Don't own Resident Evil, property of Capcom. Thanks to Cleonism over at LJ and my boy Daniel for helping me with this.
On nights when he couldn't sleep he would climb up to the roof of his flat, and watch the city below him. The lights, the sounds and the inevitably of it all; the inevitability that all of this could end.
In the blink of an eye, humanity could be wiped out by a disaster, sudden nuclear war, a genetically engineered virus…
He doesn't sleep often, as made apparent by the love seat he saved from a thrift store; placed conveniently in a spot where he can see everything. No one else comes up here, being that it's too high for many of the tenants here. The government provides.
When it feels like it.
So now, Leon S. Kennedy sits deep in the cushions of someone else's seat of love, feeling an odd emotion reminiscent to despair. Or, it's the four beers and two shots of tequila getting to his head.
He loosens his tie, navy blue, standard issue agent garb. He takes another swig of and sinks deeper into the disgusting, maroon, velvet plush.
Casting his eyes upward he thinks about the day's events, or rather the months. Today was the day the verdict was handed down on Umbrella Corporation. After months of proceedings, pulling strings with the higher up's they got what they all wanted.
A guilty verdict.
What they all wanted, right? You would think so, but when Chris Redfield threw his tarnished S.T.A.R.S. badge at the feet of the defense team, and screamed: "Every single one of you will rot in hell for what you've done, every single fucking one of you!" Leon remembers as cheers erupted as guards dragged the screaming man from the room; the judge pointlessly pounded a gavel that no one heard.
The rest of them, the ones who fought on the front lines through all of this, they dutifully followed their brash leader as he was being led through a media circus. They sat in the front row during the entire proceedings, each in order by appearance and relation.
Barry came first of course, somewhat slow and thoughtful; thinking of what it was next he would have to be put through before he could finally rest at ease. It wasn't revenge he was after, not like Chris or Jill; he just wanted to go home to his family without putting his gun in his holster ever again. He had atoned enough, right?
Jill stormed out, searching for where the guard's had taken Chris, knowing full well what had gone down at the Umbrella facility in Russia. The true perpetrators were still out there, where she didn't know, but justice wasn't complete until Ozwell E. Spencer was dead.
Or Albert Wesker, which is why she fears going on, continuing this goose chase. Every time she falls asleep she worries when she'll wake up and Chris Redfield will leave again; knowing full well that she can't go where he's gone. Jill Valentine will never underestimate either men, her former captain or her lover; both never giving up until the other is dead. Is it unfair to ask him to quit?
Rebecca Chambers walks hand in hand with the former felon, Billy Coen. His tall frame dwarfs her small stature, but its nothing but protective on his part as she glares down the judging stares of the media audience; the man she holds hands with has gone through enough, they all have. He was the most brutally harassed on the stand, it took everything in Rebecca's will power not to jump up and throttle the defense arbiter until she saw his eyes bulge out.
It took everything in Billy's sane mind not to beat the judge to a pulp as he ordered Rebecca to recall how Richard Aiken died; similar accounts had been told by her fellow S.T.A.R.S. members- her tears were only a drop in the sea of tears that others had cried for those they lost. Can't they just leave all of this behind them?
Others leave too, names of survivors Leon only knows in passing. They shake his hand, thank him for all his hard work; after a while the old ache in his shoulder starts, he prays the next time he goes to see Dr. Keenan she'll give him Valium to sleep.
Close to no one remains in the hall, save for himself and tall, well tanned man.
Carlos Olivera doesn't quite know what to say, or quite why he's here. Perhaps it was his underlying sense of honor, or duty, but they were masked by his ever unserious attitude; all of this was so out of his league, he's had six years to cope in which he squandered. He casts his gaze over to Leon, and gives him a thumbs up, "Hey Kennedy, nice going in there."
Leon returns the gesture, trying to filter the annoyance from is voice, "Thanks." As he's walking away, he stops suddenly and looks back at Leon, " Redfield numero dos is still inside if you're looking for her. She didn't look so hot after the verdict." Leon shoves down the urge to lambaste this man for paying such close attention to Claire in the first place, but instead nods and makes his way back inside the court room.
The door swings open, and closed as he stands at the back of the room watching the singular form of Claire Redfield; motionless, she hasn't moved since she sat down four hours earlier. He doesn't know whether she knows he's here or not, but he doesn't want to disturb her. In the months since the trial went underway, Claire and their fellow Umbrella survivors had crashed at Leon's flat (which was more then spacious, the perks of the Government right?) last night being one of the nights Claire herself had stayed.
Without the company of her older brother, which was rare.
After a long day at court both of them had promptly headed back to his place, they had shared leftover Thai food in comfortable silence; neither being in the mood for much conversation, and then retired to bed. Leon to his room, Claire on the couch (she refused the spare room, incase Chris did end up coming over) where they stayed until the middle of the night.
Leon woke up to the sound of glass shattering, which was near impossible with every security measure he had installed. He removed his magnum from the desk by his bed, and made his way to the kitchen, where the noise originated.
He withheld his sigh of relief when he found Claire on the kitchen floor, glass shards surrounding her. Her knees were folded into her chest, head bent over with the long cascade of her auburn hair acting as a curtain; concealing her from the harshness of the fluorescent lights.
"Claire?" Leon asked softly, "Claire are you alright?" Shudders, small gaps issued from her rocking form, "It should have been me," she replies in the smallest voice he's ever heard her use. He steps further into the kitchen, setting down the gun as he goes and being careful not to step on the glass, until she whispers harshly.
"No, stay away!" he ignores her protest and bends down in front of her, no longer caring if he's cut by the glass.
"Claire, let me see your face, talk to me Redfield." It's her last name that draws her attention, she slowly lifts her head; her eyes are closed through the shadow of her tangled tresses. Leon reaches out to push her hair back, when her hand snaps out to grip his wrist fiercely, " No Leon, no, no, no…." He sighs, and remembers that she has a habit of sleep walking, but this is no dream, and he knows it.
"Claire-" he begins, she squeezes his wrist harder and her icy gaze settles on his, taking him aback; " I should be dead Leon, not them. Not any of them, and not Steve…" she breaks into sobs again, "And Sherry-" Guilt wracks him as he stares at her, he tries to shush her, but the tears come harder.
" I had a dream," she begins, her eyes never leaving his, "I was in the Police station, before everything got fucked up- I was with Chris and Jill, talking to Forest when Wesker came in…." she inhales a shuttering breath, " He pulled out a gun, and shot every single member of Alpha and Bravo team. He left me alive though, and handed me the gun; telling me that there's one bullet left in the clip."
She lets go of his hand, propelling herself backwards away from him, he is frozen in place, the pain in his hand
"Then Steve was there, he was begging me to kill him, telling me that he couldn't take it anymore…" Her eyes grow dark, hands turning into fists that begin to pound the floor deliberately. He looks at her, trying to maintain his calm and composure, waiting for her sobs to cease, feeling helpless again.
"I put the bullet in his head Leon, right between the eyes." Claire's breath hitches in her throat, "There was no bullet left for me." Throwing all caution to the wind he crawls over to where she's firmly planted against his kitchen cupboard, grunting slightly in pain as glass penetrates the skin of his palm; she doesn't pull away as he snakes his arm around her.
"There wouldn't need to be Claire," he says softly, firmly, reassuring. He hopes he sounds convincing, even if he isn't quite sure of it himself; but he can pretend for her.
"Why?" she asks, turning her head. Their noses are just a hair's width from touching; Leon swallows, his Adam's apple bobs painfully and he knows she's watching with those cerulean eyes of hers. Judging him, needing him to give her a reason.
He doesn't know if he can with words, apart of him feels like an asshole for thinking it or even acting upon it. So much lies delicately in balance with the two of them, something so simple as what he wants to do could tip them irrevocably.
"Why?" she whispers hoarsely again, he sighs and hopes she won't hate him forever for this.
The arm that was gripping her shoulder slides gently to cup her chin in his palm, and slowly he crosses the line between them--his lips firmly plead upon hers, wishing for something more then the joined sorrow they share so well together.
He doesn't give her time to respond, no time to think, return or deny him the privilege of her affection; he pulls back and hopes it's enough. Leaving her to regain whatever she had before she snapped, he knows she's capable of finding the answer.
The trouble is, Leon doesn't think he's just as able to find it; the answer.
She saves him the effort of breaking the silence.
"I'm not bailing him out this time," Claire sighs mutely as he walks forward, stops and sits in the row behind her--leaving distance between them incase either of them needs to escape this conversation quickly.
"They're only not holding him in contempt of court, because of his testimony, and the bullshit sentence the handed down."
"Life in prison is a hefty sentence," Leon responds, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his blazer. He can see her shrug, cross her arms over her chest in the way she does when she's brooding, "Not hefty enough, or so they say."
He lets the silence permeate around them again, it isn't the time to solicit out any advice until she wants it.
"Leon?" she finally asks, turning around slightly to look at him, "Yeah?" he replies; feigning nonchalance to cover up for the sick feeling he has in his gut.
"Today, Sherry turns eighteen," he watches her shoulders sag, her face rest in the palms to cover her presumptuous tears. God, he thinks, he just wants to be able to hold her like he used to be able to; before years and distance changed them, before the notion of touching her frightened him.
Leon doesn't know how to tell her, that since he signed Sherry away he's sent her letters, birthday cards and god knows what else; straight to the address they gave him. He doesn't know how to tell her, that for six years he told Sherry he wished Claire hadn't left them for Chris; knowing fully they'd he'd just keep leaving her.
He wrote it in full detail, how after weeks of being holed up in the abandoned S.T.A.R.S safe house he planned to tie the then nineteen year old Claire down; how he would lie next to her and tell her everything he ever thought he needed to say to a person.
Because everything he ever knew about life died with Raccoon. Because he let himself be an idiot and grow attached to a woman who'd nearly gotten him killed; for whatever reason he still doesn't understand.
He needs to tell her that he wants to live, live for a purpose beyond whatever twisted fate is seemingly laid out for them. Then, he wrote, he would make love to her; whether she approved of it or not, because he needed her to see that there was life besides chasing her brothers shadow.
The entire time he knew she'd never read them, and if someone did it wouldn't matter-- it was too late. He was a pawn of the government now, on the front lines of this ever raging war to save humanity. It was his confessions, his way of saying sorry.
He signed every letter: Yours always, with love kid, Leon S. Kennedy.
Standing up he digs into the breast pocket of his suit jacket; retrieving from it's depths what he usually has inside a copy of The Destroyers by Graham Greene.
Claire looks up, "Here," Leon hands the faded Polaroid he received in the mail four years ago to her; he walks out again, and doesn't wait for her reaction to the picture of Sherry Birkin sitting behind a sheet of glass.
He needs to figure out some answers to the questions that perpetuate his existence, then maybe he can deal with what's left between them.
Taking deep breaths he exhales, and watches as the puffs dissipate into the darkness. Times like these, he finds it too easy to simply compare life to whatever he deems poetic and tragic; lets himself become wrapped up in metaphors and similes. People would expect that from him, the illusion of sensitivity he used to retain.
The truth is, Leon lost most of his feeling hours ago when the temperature dropped to below fifty. He couldn't muster the effort to feel sensitive to anything, let alone care about what was expected of him. Or at least this is what he told himself, or the alcohol was amplifying his cynical tendencies.
A creaking of door hinges resounds from behind him, he doesn't need to get up to know who it is. Part of him wants to make the effort to throw himself off the side of the building, rather then face what's to come.
No one ever said government agents were always valorous.
"You need some company over there?" He turns his head, and tries not to be stunned by Claire's appearance. Despite the expression on her face, he can't help but grin at the sight of her hair down, and the top three buttons free from closure on her on her ivory blouse.
"Sure," he replies, regretting the lilt in his voice that's borderline pubescent.
She flops down beside him, ever the showcase of modesty as she props her slender legs on the ledge; the hem of her skirt draws up past her mid-thigh. Her feet are bare, he knows that Claire paints her toenails the same shade of pink every time she performs the ritual; she almost never wears nylons. Briefly, his mind allows him to be thankful of this.
He stares straight ahead, and takes another sip.
" Everyone left a few hours ago, they didn't want to impose upon you any longer I guess," He shrugs. "It wasn't imposing," he replies casually, "Except for nearly walking in on your brother in the shower, the man sings worse then my entire department."
"How often do you get to hear grown men sing in the shower Kennedy?" Claire asks him, amusement tingeing in her voice, "Not often enough, let me tell you." he drawls sarcastically, "My work week isn't complete unless I see naked men, and hear naked men sing Motown in the communal shower."
She snickers at this, whether she can help it or not, "Gee, I didn't even give it a guess after all these years. I always figured you as the James Bond type." He quirks an eyebrow at this, "Me? James Bond?" Claire nods.
"You know--James Bond, 007, M16, her majesties secret service?" Leon nods, "Yeah, I know, Ian Fleming. So how do you figure me the type?"
She rolls her eyes, "Besides the obvious?"
"What's the obvious?" She chuckles again, "Before I explain, hand me one of those Heinekens you have stashed in the cooler." Another eyebrow raise, he hands it to her anyway "Since when did you drink beer?"
She pops the cap off on the side of the couch, and licks the foam bursting from it. "Since you had it in your fridge." He doesn't even try to hide his obvious ogling.
"So?"
"So what?"
"So how am I obviously a James Bond type?" Claire takes a drink, and glances at him sideways, " Well you work for the government-"
"Duh," Leon interrupts, she glares at him, "Not only that, but you have a dry wit that rivals both Sean Connery and Roger Moore."
"Really?"
"Really," grinning slyly, she takes the final drink of her beer and sets it down beside her on the concrete.
"And lest we should forget, your charm around the fairer sex." Leon snorts and sets his own drink down, avoiding spilling it on his good dress shirt.
"What charm? Oh you mean getting shot down by every woman, and I mean every woman who isn't interested solely in what's in these fucking expensive pants," he sinks lower into the couch, trying to hide his embarrassment from her; continuing to mutter and hype the comparison, "If that's the case, call me Bond. James fucking Bond."
Dropping her legs from the ledge she scoots over, leaving a small distance between them; he feels her hand on his shoulder and wonders what she has to say about his self proclaimed misfortune.
"Well James, there's a few dozen movies, a few dozen books. There's got to be at least one smart, attractive woman out there who wants more then what's in your pants," he sighs, "And don't lie Bond, you and I both know you buy Dockers in the clearance section at the Men's Warehouse." Leon looks up at Claire, smirking even though he's somewhat reproachful about his admission.
He becomes aware of the fact that her hand is still on his shoulder, her fingertips lightly grazing the flesh beneath; she isn't looking at him anymore, instead she's got that far off look again--it's nearly agonizing the way her auburn hair frames her delicate face.
He wants to do something stupid again.
Clearing his throat he decides to bring up the conversation again, because if he stares at her like this any longer bad things will happen.
"You know, I'm trying to decide what Bond girl you're most like," Claire huffs defensively, removing her hand to cross her arms over her chest, " I don't match Ian Flemings literary bond template, or the movie template. I'm more like--more like Miss Moneypenny."
"Oh, how do you figure?"
"Well, she's usually behind the scenes, supporting 007 as he does stupid and reckless things," a thoughtful look crosses her face as she continues, " They flirt tirelessly, but never act upon it, knowing perhaps their career and friendship would be sacrificed-" Leon sits up straight at this, the knowledge of what she's saying sobering him even after the amount of alcohol he's consumed.
She uncrosses her arms, and looks at him dead on.
" Moneypenny pines away for him, hoping and wishing that deep down there's a guy that isn't a complete chauvinist. She hopes that he can get over the pain of the first woman who ever betrayed him…" Trailing off Leon's impulse to do the unthinkable crosses he mind again, but he isn't sure it's exactly what she wants; what he wants.
"Claire?"
"Yeah Leon?" he turns to face her completely and holds out his injured hand to her, "C'mere." Her face grows grave as she see's the bandage, her voice cracks in replying, "I'm sorry Leon."
"Why are you sorry?" She motions towards his hand, "Don't worry about it Claire, now please--get over here," he asks severity thick in his voice, she scoots close enough so their thighs are touching.
He leans back into the couch, taking her with him; she doesn't resist when his arms rest on the planes of her abdomen. He rests his chin on her hair, inhaling the scent of the fruity shampoo he always smells when he passes her in the shower; she entwines her fingers into his, exhaling a breath she had taken.
"Leon, why didn't you tell me about the picture?" Claire inquires, trying to mask the rage bubbling 'neath the surface, trying to analyze his reasons behind the deception.
Leon thinks, and its another one of those moments where his words fail him colossally. He grips her hands tighter, preparing for her attempt to escape what he's about to tell her.
"It's the same reason I kissed you last night Claire," he leans closer so that his lips are brushing the back of her ear, "It's because I wanted you to stay." She becomes rigid, "But-"
"If I had given you that picture, it would have been another reason for you to never stop hunting them. Another reason to blame for putting the distance between us."
He feels her shift, before he can react she's straddling him; her hips an even level with his own. Her eyes are glazed with mist, her lower lip swollen from biting in trepidation, she lowers her face to his so that their foreheads are touching.
This time, it's Claire that crosses the thin line they've drawn between each other; her lips are soft and tentative against his own. Dimly Leon is aware of how bad his breath must taste after all the beer, but the thought it washed away as she pulls back to stare at him clearly.
Something inside of him feels like bursting.
His hands weave into her hair, wasting no more thought on consideration or doubt; they collide hotly, feverishly. Neither one of them remembers who sought entrance first, but their tongues are dancing around each other in the best of ways; Claire's satisfied sigh makes Leon draw back, for a moment.
"W-what?" she breathes, her hands on either side of his face. For him the world is crumbling, around them, falling away like the skyline of Raccoon under the might of the missile they watched together, destroying everything.
All he could see, feel, smell was her. Her. He wanted her so badly then, and now. Now. Before it was too late, he looks at her seriously, "Please," Leon almost growls into her ear, trying to get it out before he loses it completely to desire. "Please don't let this ruin anything. Please tell me. Anything. If I go too far." He felt incoherent. "I can't promise that Leon," Claire answers him, trembling, "But I don't want to stop."
He pulls her face to his and their lips meet again. Her mouth tastes sweet despite the beer and Leon can feel his heart turn over each time her lips push back against his own, with as much longing as his own. It's Claire. It's Claire, he thinks over and over. Slowly he nips her lower lip between his teeth and deftly licks it with his tongue; eliciting another beautiful response from her lips. His fingers untangle themselves from her hair, to move down and skim over the sides of her ribs--moving to palm her brassiere adorned breasts.
It's the one syllable she moans that drives him insane; the "oh", he squeezes more until she whimpers in frustration, without taking her mouth from his she unclasps the offending article and drops it on the cement below. Coming up for air he looks at her pert breasts, the cold and his ministrations causing her nipples to turn to glass under her blouse. He goes to unbutton the rest of her blouse, she makes a squeak of protest.
"It's too cold out here," he gets to the fifth button and grins, "So?" Exasperated she pushes him back down, pinning his arms above his head.
"We'll get pneumonia," Leon laughs again and wiggles his hips underneath Claire's; she groans and struggles to keep his arms down. The friction of his apparent arousal against her own is driving her insane, and he knows it; as much as he would love to invest in the best foreplay imaginable, he wants to be inside of her more then anything right now.
He breaks free of her grip and rolls them over, above her now, his well toned arms trap her; eyes wide, shirt open she grins, "Well, fuck it I guess."
"That's the point," she glances down to the bulge in the bargain priced Dockers, "It certainly is."
Their giggles turn to sighs as they engage their mouths once more in a heated battle, Leon's fingers work the buttons out of her blouse and shrug it impatiently down her shoulders; wasting no time in attacking her neck and chest.
He places soft, wet kisses in a trail from her collarbone to the crest of her pert mounds--he whispers what sounds like beautiful, as she grips his head to push him down; his mouth encircles her nipple, his name on her lips erupts.
"Leon," he sucks harder, twirling his tongue in time with his other hand groping her other breast. Her hands release his hair and go towards the button of his fly, she manages the button but not the zipper; falling back in disappointment.
Lifting his head from her breasts he smiles devilishly through his bangs, "You want help with that sweetheart?"
"Uh huh," she replies, flashing a coy grin.
He releases her breasts with a sudden longing, reluctant shift: his attention slowly diverts. Claire's wrists bend to mount his tightened abdomen with opened hands, pressing her weight down enough to lend him a slight medium of room to reach underneath her pelvis.
Journeying down her navel, Leon contemplates with his hand, the direction with which it may travel. You only live twice, he thinks, while flattening his fingers against her stomach. She gapes with widening eyes at his glistening lips, flushed red from her own.
"Leon?" Claire asks slowly, "I haven't ever-" he looks up at her with a face that causes her mouth to close. His hand runs down the length of her thigh, pushing up her pencil gray skirt in the process. She gasps as she feels his touch; he is awe-struck at her already primed slickness.
His finger freezes with his eyes placidly foiling her tension. "Shhhh," he whispers gently, "I've got it under control." He sinks his lips into her open mouth, warming to her welcoming air with a taste not unlike his own. She sucks his lower lip tightly, and Leon closes his eyes amid the trusting kiss. His middle finger tenderly submerges within her, while he slowly begins to swirl her clit with his index finger.
The grip of Claire's lips starts to tremble, drawing cracks of air as the motion intensifies. He doesn't open his eyes to see if hers are closed as well, but flicks his tongue against her own. His middle finger is daring further; his index nearly twisting back and forth with a quickening speed.
She moans at last, resonating through his lips, and he feels it in his teeth. Leon's eyes slide open, and he halts the pleasurable movement of his hand. He pulls his kiss back and away a slight bit, catching Claire's opened eyes immersed in his face. He hopes she doesn't see the fear; the fear of giving in, of doubting his own intentions within his desire.
The image is imposed upon his waking eyes, much as it has always been at night, and now he has come to conflict with the beauty underneath him. How she breathes shortly. How her breasts rise when her lungs gather air. It's almost too much, he thinks quickly- he's loving every minute of touching her, knowing that he's the first she's allowed to be this intimate.
Claire's pupils zip side to side, and he knows she's caught his fright. "What's wrong?" she asks. He turns his head away, searching for an answer that may satisfy the question itself, if only to subdue it. "This is new for me too," he answers. Her nose gives a nod, and she takes a deep breath.
"Hands where I can see them, Kennedy," she breaths with confidence he may not have understood. He glides his hand back over her breasts, admiring them for a timid moment before resting on the love seat. She turns her face aside, leaning up towards Leon, stopping against the side of his. He grins slyly, feeling her fingers work open the buttons of his blue dress shirt.
Her lips bend to wetly brush against his cheek. He feels his pulse quicken as his heart pumps live heat twisting out into his veins while at last his torso is exposed. Her icy fingertips caress his hard abs, dancing their way to his groin. He breathes in her auburn hair again, nostrils sucking in her sweet scent. With a burning desire surging throughout Leon's body, he pushes himself up above Claire.
She grips his zipper, and the unfettered adjunct of Leon's potentially superficial relationships fall stiff in her cold hand. "Oh, Leon," Claire whispers with surprise. There it is, he thinks with amusement. She looks down and up again at him, and he finds himself once again subject to a blush; he knows exactly what she's thinking. Watching her from above he finds it hard not cry in relief as her delicate hands grip his hips with vigor and pull his slacks and briefs down.
It's almost as if she's intentionally trying not to touch him, but he can tell from the look in her eyes she wants to. Her thumbs rub idle circles from his hips to the insides of his thighs, he can't even suppress the growl in the back of his throat as she runs a finger over the tip of his head.
She decides not to tease him any longer.
Claire scoots down a little bit and Leon watches her, fascinated as she slowly wraps her fingers around the base of his cock. His arms almost buckle from holding himself up above her, stroking him slowly her tongue darts out and flicks the wetness already forming from him. He groans without censor as she laps him up much how a kitten would savor cream, "Fuck," he hisses as his hips begin to thrust inadvertently into her hand and warm mouth. This is all the encouragement she needs as her lips wrap completely around his aching length.
He's going to completely lose it inside her sumptuous mouth if he doesn't stop her soon.
"Oh god Claire," she releases her hold on him reluctantly, knowing that he can't take much more of this. She scoots back to face him, he lowers himself slowly down until they're breathing the same atmosphere; she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down for another probing kiss.
It all happens rather naturally, as they devour one another Leon reaches between them to stroke Claire again, and pulls off the nude colored panties she accessorized with her brassiere. He pushes the skirt up to her waist, she can feel his erection on her thigh; they both pull away simultaneously.
"Are you--?" he breathes raggedly, she nods and urges him forward with the movement of her hips against his.
He pushes into her body, the hard planes of his chest rubbing the soft expanse of her, pressing his cock against her sex and they both moan at the feeling of it. Claire moves her legs up and wraps them around his waist as Leon positions himself to enter her. He kisses her shoulder reassuringly when he nudges himself inside her tightness. She cries slightly, shaking under him as he moves, at first slowly within. She's no virgin, but it's obvious that both of them haven't been with anyone for a long time.
Once he was as far inside as it could go without hurting he stilled. He doesn't push in any further and he doesn't pull out. Leon stays like this for a moment, savoring . Claire's eyes are closed and concentrated, she begins to rock upwards on to him, urging him forward. He moans into her hair and pulls out a little, then slowly eases back in again.
"Leon?" She pants, her eyes still screwed shut, "Yeah?" he breathes, "You don't have to be gentle baby, I can take it-" She says with her mouth pressed against his ear. "I won't leave,"
"I know." Leon replies, the strain in his voice a clear sign of his self control.
Claire gently bites his shoulder and pushes against him again, "Leon, I wont leave, I promise," He growls again, tenderness seemingly evaporated into animalistic need.
He pulls out slowly again and she whispers, "Please" into his ear. His bare shoulders tense as he thrusts in without reservation. He sits up, pulling her with him so they're facing each other, rocking into each other at the same pace.
Leon can feel himself losing track of where he was, who he was, thinking only of how incredible the woman in his arms felt clenched around him. He wants to plant himself within her eternally, wants to stay inside her warmth and tightness until they're forced to face their reality.
Claire is incoherent, her breathing an inconsistent pace as she mutters against his skin, "Yes, God, yes, oh Leon!" He can see the sweat gleaming between them, on his and her chest; he releases her hips and finds her breasts again. She stifles her cries into his mouth, there's no pain as she bites down furiously.
He knew she was close, the tension building in her body, he thrusts deeper inside me, "Oh fuck Claire, I'm going to-" She pulls her mouth away from his, " Inside me Leon, I need you to c-"
He can't speak, neither can she, they're too far gone; the only sound in the night is of their slipping flesh and their mingled breathing.
Leon wraps himself around her, shielding her body with his as he thrusts once more into Claire, she cries out and clamps down on to his already bitten shoulder.
He finishes inside her, only when she has, the feeling of her caving in around him pushes him completely over the edge.
Both of them are shaking and writhing as their orgasm washes though them. He grinds into her a few final times and then goes motionless. They fall back, her arms link around his neck as he buries his face in her hair. Claire sighs, it's satisfied and something else, Leon can tell she wants to say something but thinks it would ruin what they have now.
"Thank you," she whispers, he lifts himself from her hair and stares at her face illuminated by starlight, "For?" She leans up and kisses him softly, "Everything."
His hand searches for hers in the darkness, he holds on loosely, but enough to not let go anytime soon.
They stay like that, no space between them until the sun peaks over the horizon of their rooftop asylum. Leon wakes up first, the sunshine setting Claire's hair aflame in the morning light. His eyes adjust to the harshness of the city, the sky scrapers and the sounds that day provides. A mewl and yawn escape the woman lying on top of him, she blinks a few times to get a grasp of their setting. She pushes off of him, and groans as he slips out of her still wetness; she can't help but giggle.
"Hey," Leon says, apprehension clear in his posture, "Umm so, I totally forgot a condom-" She lies back down on top of him, rubbing her hands over the smoothness of his chest; gooseflesh breaks out from the contrast of her warm skin and the breeze.
"Did you really think I'd let that happen without insurance Leon?" He stares at her dumbly, she bursts into a true laugh, "Jesus Kennedy, this is the twenty-first century, I've been on birth control since college."
"Did you really think I'd let that happen without insurance Leon?" He stares at her dumbly, she bursts into a true laugh, "Jesus Kennedy, this is the twenty-first century, I've been on birth control since college."
"Oh," he replies, and frowns, "Chris let you?" She shakes her head, "Oh god no, a friend of mine drove me to a clinic, at her suggestion. She was bound and determined to get me laid Freshman year," she looks up at him, a somewhat sour expression is there.
"What?"
"Did you end up getting laid?" Snorting she punches his bare arm, "Shut up, I'm not letting you in on the details of my college exploits," his frown disappears and he holds her tighter, "You know what?"
"What?" He smiles softly at her, "I totally could have been a college exploit, if only I had been assigned to Raccoon earlier."
"Oh?"
"Yeah."
They stare at one another for a brief moment in time, thinking of how things would have been different if they'd had the chance those many years ago. Claire bursts into giggles, "What's so amusing?" he asks in wonders at her outburst, "Nothing, just something sick that popped into my mind about the S.T.A.R.S office."
Leon's eyes widen in knowing, he sits up suddenly and shivers at the morning chill, "You know, I have a desk downstairs that's practically new and sturdy…" he trails off, leaving the suggestion in the air; Claire brushes her skirt down and throws his dress shirt on, leaving him half naked.
"Uh huh, I'll take it into consideration, but first find my underwear Leon, I really like those pair," She stands and makes her way to the door, picking up articles of clothing along the way.
"Claire?"
"Yeah?"
"I think I might've tossed them off the roof…"
"I guess the desk will have to wait then."
FINI.