leon s. kennedy
did he...groan?
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leon sits at the workbench, carefully disassembling a pistol, his movements precise and controlled. every click and slide of the metal is accompanied by his steady, focused breathing.
you step close behind him, leaning into the warmth of his back. one hand drifts to his shoulder, the other brushing lightly down his arm. you press a soft, teasing kiss to the side of his neck, letting your lips linger just enough to feel the subtle shiver of reaction beneath them.
he stiffens for the briefest fraction of a second, a quiet groan in his throat escaping before he clears it with a soft, controlled clearing of his throat, pretending nothing happened.
hm… careful,he murmurs, voice calm and even, though his hands falter ever so slightly over the weapon. you hum softly, brushing your fingers along the ridge of his shoulder, teasing gently:
what? i’m just… showing appreciation. for your… skills.leon’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. he shifts slightly, adjusting the pistol in his hands to maintain composure, muttering under his breath:
… impossible to get a single thing done…you press another kiss against the same spot, watching for any slip. his hands freeze for a heartbeat, then resume their careful work. his eyes flick up at you just briefly, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, but he looks back down immediately as if nothing happened. leaning closer, your hands trail along his biceps, fingers tracing lightly over the tension there. the scent of him — faint leather, faint soap, faint warmth — mixes with the metallic tang of the weapon. the playful rhythm continues, a quiet, intimate game of testing boundaries. he exhales softly, muttering under his breath again, just loud enough for you to catch:
i swear… you’re impossible… can’t focus for even a second.