Chapter Text
“Don’t keep me waiting.”
His ears pricked up as he heard your demand, sharp and urgent, gutting him like a knife. He couldn’t lay his eyes or a finger on you as instructed. He was not allowed to speak unless spoken to. You were there as his Charon, his guide, and he had to trust in that somehow, this not-quite stranger, not-quite friend.
Yet relief flooded him. How long had it been since he didn’t have to think for himself, for others, or for the whole goddamn world around him? How long would these precious minutes last until he would have to face them all again? A pocket of time severed from reality that you had created together, like make-believe. Such nights with you couldn’t come soon enough.
Groveling on his hands and knees, he made his way towards you as you tapped the sole of your stiletto heeled boot on the floor impatiently. Coming to rest inches away from the ornate armchair you lounged upon, he sat on his haunches, head bent to the ground in deference.
Even then, you gave it a good few minutes before addressing him. The sensation of pins and needles crept up through his feet into the backs of his calves. His wrists ached. You paid no mind as he heard you sipping on your drink. Bubbles fizzing like little firecrackers accompanied by the liquid sloshing against your teeth as it slid past your throat. The shrill clink of a glass upon marble. He imagined the nape of your neck, delicate as a swan, and wondered why each time it inspired a voracious appetite within him for violence.
Just as he was about to break, you threw him a bone. “Good boy.”
Finally.
You yanked the ring of his dog collar to your face, making sure that his eyes were lowered all the while. The buckle jingled as you undid the strap of his leather muzzle, stiff to the point that it had dug into his skin. Removing it let in a dizzying gush of fresh air that almost knocked him sideways. He gulped it down greedily, cheeks flushed and sweaty as you pushed him to the ground again, using him as a footstool. After he had recovered, you stuck the tip of your boot in front of him. But his hesitance made you frown.
“Do I really have to ask twice?” you admonished, smacking his jaw with the vamp, burrowing your heel into the dip of his shoulder—the one with a peculiar star-shaped scar.
He flinched, more so from the memory of it rather than the physical pain, reminding him of the part of him that had not died with the city where it all began. That time and time again, his claims that he was no longer the same person as before were bullshit. A fresh-faced rookie. The boy who wore his heart on his sleeve. Still picking up and mending the pieces almost 28 years later.
Gingerly, he took your boots in his hands, untying the laces that crisscrossed all the way over your knees one after the other. He kissed every eyelet as the joints in his fingers creaked. It took forever until your legs were stripped and exposed like an unwrapped gift. Immediately, he worked his tongue from the base of your feet, saliva coating the toes that he suckled on like a babe. Licking broad wet strokes to your ankles, he could make out the mild, crisp taste of lilies on his palate.
“Stop. Touch yourself for me.”
As if on autopilot, he reacted unwittingly, his limbs moving faster than his mind could think, that it was constantly playing second fiddle, scrambling to catch up. A soldier trained to obey, to follow whatever ludicrous orders that came from above. He was so good at it, so good at putting himself through the grinder, convincing himself it was for the greater good, even though he didn’t believe a word they were saying. He had done things he wasn’t proud of, but despite that, if he had to choose between opening fire on civilians and those who gave that command, he knew which he would pick.
“Look at me while you do it.”
He was surprised to find his hand pumping his shaft, already erect, as though a period of time had lapsed between now and then that he couldn’t account for. Sometimes, he felt like the moments he had spent with you in that house were a fever dream, dilapidated and crumbling, like the walls around him. But every time he touched you, you were real.
“Look at me, Leon.” Your voice resounded through the room, firm and unwavering, but in this instance, there was a subtle softness to the edge.
At last, he cast his gaze up, meeting yours directly. Both pairs of orbs searching, finding, feeling each other out on where they stood, like a dance. “Tell me,” you insisted.
“Green,” he rasped, his eyes doleful and pleading. The thought of it potentially being over so soon killed him. “It’s green, I swear.”
He saw you press your lips together into a tight smirk. You were entirely clothed, your nipples peeking through the fabric while he lay stark naked before you. What he would give to undress you, to catch a glimpse of what was underneath. It was reserved for rare occasions where you granted him access to enjoy you, to savor the fullness of your body, like a ripened flesh of fruit he could bite into. It was only recently, too, that he could discover these hidden parts of you like a new lover, piecing together the puzzle that he never tired of.
A memory of your heated coupling resurfaced. Where the red light had filtered in from the sky. Where he had sucked and groped your breasts as you rocked back and forth against his hips, deliriously grinding your pussy down on his cock. All sighs and sweat and cum. A loud moan erupted from his chest as he recalled this, his breathing erratic while he rutted his cock into his clenched fist, chasing his own high.
“Don’t you dare.”
Your snarl snapped him out of it and he slowed his movements, watery blue eyes boring into yours like a stand-off. He blushed in embarrassment at the involuntary whimper that reeked of desperation, betraying his need for release. Tutting, you extended your legs languidly, cupping his cock between your feet as you toyed with it. The pressure you applied was discomforting and satisfying at the same time. It was hard to separate the two, and once again, his body had a mind of its own, thrusting upwards to intensify the friction against your skin.
He yelped as a foot clamped over his balls. “Did I say you could do that?”
“Fuck!” Shaking his head, he faltered, “N-no, no. I mean, I’m sorry.”
He choked out the breath he had been holding as you released your grip testily. “I want you to beg for it, you understand?”
“Yes. Anything you ask.”
In the silence, you sized him up as he bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed thickly. “Please.” It started as just a single word. “Please.”
I want you. I need you. I’ll do anything. I’m nothing. I’m just a worthless piece of shit meant to be used by you. You’re everything to me. Use me. Please fuck me. Fuck my cock. Yeah, just like that. Oh god, fuck me. It feels so good. I can’t— Fuck, don’t stop. I wanna cum. Please let me cum. Please, please, please!
He didn’t know what he was saying anymore. His speech was an incoherent mess of words that he’d never in a million years utter until he had met you. Was it as degrading as it sounded?
It didn’t take long for him to find his release as you rubbed him raw with the soles of your feet. He cried out as hot flashes of cum spurted across his stomach and you descended upon his mouth, filling it with the drink you had imbibed just before his climax. The alcohol burned the back of his throat as he coughed and sputtered. Yet he grasped your body to his, devouring you whole, sucking on the muscle of your tongue as you writhed around the floor, the spit you exchanged dribbling down your chins like rivulets of blood.