Chapter Text
He hated safehouses. Always had. Too quiet. Too temporary. And this one smelled like mildew and regret.
He sat on the edge of the mattress, shirt half peeled off, gauze pressed to his ribs with one shaky hand. Blood seeped through the wrap, dark and lazy. Claire stood across the room, arms crossed, watching him like she was daring him to move again.
“Sit back,” she said. Not a request.
“I’m fine.”
She snorted. “You’re not fine, Leon. You’re dripping blood like a busted faucet and you’ve already tried to stand up three times.”
He didn’t answer. The quiet stretched.
Claire stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “If you move one more time, I swear to God—”
“Swear to God what?” he murmured, trying for humor, but his voice cracked. She was too close. She always did this—stormed in, smelled like adrenaline and shampoo, looked at him like she still saw something salvageable under all the damage.
She dropped her bag to the floor and pulled something from the side pouch.
Rope.
He stared at it.
“That for me?”
“You bet your ass it is.”
He opened his mouth. She shoved him back, surprisingly gentle for how pissed she looked, and swung a leg over his lap, straddling him.
“You’re not moving until morning.”
“You gonna babysit me all night?”
She leaned in. “Something like that.”
Her fingers were already wrapping the rope around his wrists, pulling them up above his head and tying them to the rusted bedframe. She wasn’t gentle, but she wasn’t rough either—just practiced. Confident. She cinched the knot tight, and he tested it once, twice.
Nothing.
“You came prepared,” he said, voice lower now.
“Not my first rodeo.”
“You’ve tied someone up before?”
She didn’t answer, just tugged at the last knot and sat back to look at him.
“You’re blushing,” he said, smug.
“Shut up,” she muttered, then added, “You’re the one who won’t stop bleeding out for attention.”
“Don’t need attention,” he said, letting his head fall back. “Just need you to stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I almost died.”
Claire paused. Her hands flattened against his bare chest. “You almost did.”
He looked up at her, bound wrists flexing uselessly against the headboard. “But I didn’t.”
“Because I shot a man in the face for you.”
“So hot.”
She smacked his chest, and he winced. “Ow. Fragile.”
She laughed, then slid her hands lower, over his stomach, her palms splayed and warm. “Still so full of shit.”
“And you’re still on top of me.”
She rocked her hips, once, slow and deliberate. He hissed.
“I should punish you,” she murmured, tracing the edge of the bandage with her nail. “For getting yourself hurt.”
“Gonna spank me, Redfield?”
“No,” she said, leaning down, breath hot at his ear. “I’m going to make you beg.”
Oh, fuck.
His wrists flexed again. “I’m not really in top form here—”
“That’s the point,” she said. “You're always in control. Always pushing. Fixing. Bleeding for people who don’t know your name.” Her hand slid down between them, palm pressing against his waistband. “So let someone take care of you for once.”
He sucked in a breath as she popped the button. “You call this taking care of me?”
“I call this getting you to stay the fuck in bed.”
She was unzipping him now, slow, watching his face the whole time. Her hair fell forward, messy from the fight, and he wanted to bury his hands in it—but he couldn’t. Bound. Helpless.
And hard as a fucking rock.
She noticed. Smirked. “Still don’t need attention?”
He swallowed. “Getting hard doesn’t mean I’m enjoying this.”
“Liar,” she said, and her mouth was on his throat.
“Claire—” he warned, but it came out hoarse, almost pathetic.
She sucked a mark into the side of his neck. He groaned.
“You’re gonna be good for me?” she whispered.
“Yeah.”
“Use your words.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She laughed, and fuck, he was gone.
“You’re gonna stay tied up like a good boy?” she asked, her hand finally slipping inside his briefs.
“Yes,” he gritted out.
“You gonna let me make you come without even touching your dick?”
“Wait, what—?”
She shifted, grinding against him through his boxers, dragging out every last gasp from him. Her teeth found his collarbone. Her breath was ragged now, too.
He wasn’t going to last. Not like this. Not tied up and looked at like that, like she wanted him.
“Say it again,” she whispered. “Say you’ll stay.”
“I’ll stay,” he groaned. “Fuck—Claire—don’t stop—”
She didn’t. And when he came, shaking, wrists straining against the rope, it was with her name in his mouth and her weight holding him down.
When he opened his eyes, she was watching him with something that looked an awful lot like love.
“You okay?” she asked softly, brushing sweaty hair from his forehead.
He nodded, throat dry. “You gonna untie me?”
She smiled.
“No.”