#cant have a bodyguard trope without the classic 'self defense' scene

[inkonparchment]

sentinel - re4r bodyguard!Leon x college student!reader.

Leon decides it's time for a self defense class.

cw - suggestive themes.

"This is stupid," You spit, folding your arms across your chest defensively.

Leon holds his impassive expression, refusing to relent despite hearing you call this session stupid for the entire day. It was Sunday morning, clock reading '7 AM' when he had unceremoniously thundered at the door of your dorm, looking very amused at your disheveled appearance when you had thrown open the door, insults lined up on your tongue.

He had told you to dress for the gym and then disappeared before you could hurl a singular insult at him. He may have gotten you out of the comfort of your warm bed on a Sunday (you groan heavily at the fact) but you were under no obligation to make this easy for him.

You had made sure to huff and puff very loudly throughout the walk to the gym, throwing dirty looks over your shoulders at him that he didn't seem to notice, suddenly very interested in the trees, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

The gym is empty when you show up, the guy at the reception nearly sleeping away with his head resting on his palm. He pays him no mind when the two of you enter, you staring at Leon in shock as though he had grown an extra head when he makes a beeline for the boxing ring.

You thought that maybe this was part of his insisting fitness routine that he makes you keep up, always countering with 'do you want to end up like those horror movies protagonists who can barely run for five minutes? no? that's what I thought'. But this was insane, him gesturing to you with his head as he parts the ropes, making it easy for you to enter.

"This isn't stupid," Leon sighs, "This is necessary. Please get in."

You roll your eyes, stomping your foot in annoyance before clambering up and through the ropes. You come to stand very close to him, the collar of his zipped up jacket neatly tucked under his chin as he looks at you plainly, unaffected by your scowl.

You resist the urge to splay your fingers at his chest, almost seeing yourself reflect in his eyes. God he feels warm, the sensation reminding you of your comfortable bed, almost lulling you into him, whispers in your head to melt into him and- what the fuck?

You snap out of the haze, the tips of your ears growing hot as you hastily whirl around on your feet and grumble away to the corner diagonal from his. You shake the thought of him from your head, vision plagued with the image of him from the carnival. This could be worse, much worse.

And oh it is.

After shrugging off your athletic jacket and hanging it from the post, you turn around to face him. It is only then does your mind truly register what he's wearing, the gravity of the situation slapping you across the face with a harsh smack and chasing away any sleep.

Leon had shed his jacket too revealing the black compression shirt, the Under Armour logo snug at his chest, the dip of his waist highlighted by the grey sweatpants hanging at his hips. Your mouth runs dry, mind unable to comprehend a single thought as you watch him stretch dutifully.

His hands intertwined with each other as he raises them to the sky, his biceps rippling and bulging against the sleeves, head jutted forward making the bangs fall in front of his eyes. It's good that he can't see you, see how you're almost drooling at the sight of him stretching so casually, setting you on fire with a simple tug of his hands.

Leon brings his arms down, shrugging away his hair to look at you standing so dumbfounded in the middle of the ring. "Stretch," He commands.

And your body goes into autopilot, your resilience heeding away to his authority. Your brain catches up late, exasperated with how pliant you had become, waking your sleeping muscles, averting your eyes to gain some composure. This was going to be a long day.

You feel the vibrations through the floor, gentle and slow as Leon stalks towards you. You take a step back in panic, heart lurching at his sudden proximity. He stops at a distance away from you, grateful that he isn't flooding your senses.

"So," Leon begins, tilt to his head, a twinkle in his eyes, "Why are we here?"

"Aren't you supposed to tell me that?" You mimic his head tilt, hands planting on your hips. He doesn't budge, eyes boring into yours, a tugging sensation at the bottom of your stomach. "Ugh whatever. You're gonna show me how to punch?"

"It's called self-defense, sweetheart," He says it with sarcasm, Leon changing his stance, legs kicked open and holding his hand, palm facing towards you. "You need to be ready for anything. I'm not expecting you to fight anyone off, just enough to catch them off guard. Now c'mon, show me how to punch. We'll work from there."

Well, well, well. The day has finally arrived, the day when Leon asks you to punch him freely with no consequences. You feel your pent up rage flood your entire being, anger making you see red hot. Anger at being up so damn early on a Sunday, anger at how he's looking at you, anger at how effortlessly good he looks and most of all anger at yourself for wanting to know how he feels under your delicate touch.

Oh, you'll show him how to punch alright.

You work quick, stance changing to make sure you're balanced and centered, balling your fist like you've been taught, pulling your arm back and mustering up your entire body weight into it, swinging at your hips in the way that's been engraved into your brain and you let him have it.

You aim for his face, deliberately missing the open palm that he clearly wanted you to strike. You revel at the way his facial expression changes, panicking as he sees your fist hurtling at his face. He moves quick, bringing his hand up to where you're targeting his cheek, your fist connecting with his palm with a loud smack. The movement clearly catches him off guard, not anticipating the force of your punch as he staggers back, eyes blown wide as a giggle rips from your throat.

You stand up straight, laughing at his bewildered state. "Oh baby, you're not the first person to teach me self defense," You tease, not paying attention at the nickname that slips out, missing the way Leon's shoulders tense.. "You're gonna have to up your game."

A dangerous thing to have said, you realize, when you notice the glint in his eyes. It sets off a tiny danger alarm in your head and it thrills you, muscles tensing in anticipation. You know he won't hurt you, brain muddling as it tries to think if it's because of his job contract or because of some other reason. The mental gymnastics is what makes you slow to move when he lunges at you, quick and speedy like a viper.

Exhilaration shoots through you in an instant, trying to twist away from his grasp, breath quickening at the sudden motion as you successfully avoid him. Ridiculous, you think, no way he didn't willingly let you dodge him. He's somewhere behind you, trying to look back over your shoulder when you suddenly yelp. Leon's arms snake up around you, one against your waist and one going around your neck.

His touch is scalding, arms taught against you, holding you firm against his chest. Your hands shoot up to grip at his broad forearm on your waist, fingernails digging into his skin, unsure if you want to pry him off or press him even harder against you.

"I can surprise you in ways you can't even think of," The timber in his voice is low, rumbling deliciously against your ear.

Leon feels so dizzying, tugging your head back against his shoulder, his bicep flexed against your neck hard enough to keep you in place but not enough to cut off your oxygen. He dips his head close to yours, hot breath fanning your ear as he presses his nose into your cheek. Your heart is beating maddeningly against your chest, breathing so erratic, matching with Leon's. He pushes you closer into him, making you bite your lip harshly to stop the noise that threatens to spill out.

You feel so overwhelmed, unsure what to concentrate on; his hips against yours, his bicep around your head, his fingers digging into your waist or the way his head trails down to your neck, his hot lips leaving a trail of fire in his wake grazing against your skin.

You involuntarily flutter your eyes close, backing into him further, his hold tightening on you, almost afraid to let go. His bangs tickle your jaw as you arch your neck to give him more space to trace his lips over you, nose buried deep. You don't even know when you had brought your hand up, sliding with ease into his hair and tugging him closer, the hitch in his breath sapping the strength from your legs.

This is wrong. You should stomp on his foot, elbow him in the ribs and then slap him the face for touching you like this. Touching you in a way you don't think you ever have, in a way that has every thought wiped clean from your mind until all you can think about is him.

Electricity shoots through you when you feel his teeth graze against your throat, the motion making you tug away your lips from your teeth as a moan echoes through the empty walls of the gym. "Leon..." You whimper, almost sounding like a pleading servant at the altar.

His name slathered in your breathy moan sobers something up in him, shrugging your fingers away from his hair as he straightens up, loosening his hold on you. He backs away from you quick, eyes trained on the floor, "We'll do this later. Just do your normal routine."

And you suddenly feel cold, feeling empty as he rushes away, back trained strictly to you as he crouches down and fumbles with his bag. Embarrassment grips you as well, face growing hot as you snatch your jacket from the pole and nearly run to the treadmill at the furthest corner in the room.