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Leon was far from inexperienced.
He was almost fifty, so that tracked.
Married once.
Divorced once.
More than a few long-term relationships had ended for the usual reasons.
His entanglement with Ada Wong had been a slow-burning tango that had taken more than ten years to reach the point of marriage. But ten years of sexual tension wasn’t enough to keep a marriage together. Throw in Ada’s inability to give a straight answer, and at least two affair partners, and Leon had exited that one after another ten years. Ten years of bitterness and stubbornness and a clash of wills.
Ada still calls him sometimes.
Leon never answers.
Grace Ashcroft was half his age. He shouldn’t have even been looking at her like that, but damn if she hadn’t captured his attention and held it. Cute as hell with a shocking amount of steel beneath all that anxiety.
They met while looking into the Raccoon City survivors.
Their relationship had blossomed over bodies, but solidified through the peace they brought each other.
He brought her home after everything with Rhode Hill, Raccoon City, and the ARK. They’d patched each other up, showered off all the blood and grime and passed out together in the bed they’d been sharing for a couple of years now. Leon had pulled her close, and they’d slept for fifteen hours before consciousness snuck back in.
Leon wasn’t really surprised to find her curled up against his chest like a kitten when he opened his eyes, pale hair fluffy and tickling his nose, smelling like his shampoo because she had run out of hers.
She’s wearing nothing but one of Leon’s t-shirts, swimming in it really, the collar too wide and slipping off her shoulder. And he can’t help but press a kiss on the unmarred skin there.
Grace’s anxiety is nowhere to be found in sleep, as always, one of her legs thrown over his hip, her heel tucked behind his thigh. The shirt she was wearing was riding up, and the apex of her thighs was pressed against his belly.
Grace isn’t wearing any panties. Bare as the day she was born under the threadbare material of his shirt.
He should let her rest, not consider pining her beneath his body and fucking her until his name is a mantra of supplication on her lips.
But he was only a simple, mortal man with his beautiful, sexy, adorable girlfriend pressed warm, wet and willing against him.
And his cock knew it.
The bastard was at full mast, prodding Grace in the ass and straining at his boxers.
Leon trailed hand up the thigh wrapped around his hip, calloused fingers teasing silky skin. He nibbles at her neck, sucking a few marks there for good measure.
Grace wiggles into his hand when he grabs her hip, fingers digging into the supple flesh of her ass. “…Leon?” Her voice, thick with sleep, cuts off on a gasp when he rolls them.
He gave in to temptation and pressed himself fully against her.
Leon lifts his face, his face, glancing down into pale, green-grey eyes, hazy with sleep. And he’s hit with the sudden realization that they’re alive.
Both of them.
He feels better than he has in a long time and like he was ten years younger, too. A novelty for a man who put his body through as much shit as Leon did.
No more thinking about his immediate mortality.
Now he could actually plan for the future he didn’t think he’d get.
“You’ve got a scheming look in your eyes,” She tells him, arms sliding around his shoulders, drawing him closer, kissing his temple.
He hums, turning his head to catch her mouth, “Just thinking.”
“Anything interesting?”
“…maybe,” he says, sounding thoughtful.