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damianabsinthe · 6 months

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Psychic Sobriety Chapter Two

18+

This is the latest chapter of my fic! It features sexually frustrated Leon, and you two drinking together. There's about 10k words in this fic so far, so I'm posting these when I go back to edit.

Tags for this chapter: drinking, cigarettes, angst, pining,

word count: 2,484

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Leon couldn’t sleep. He was too close to you, could smell you too clearly. You smelled like the earth, like musk, too much like yourself for his heart to stop beating erratically. He was fine until you decided to curl closer to him in your sleep, blissfully unaware of his predicament. He felt much younger, in the most uncomfortable way possible.

When he was younger, he didn't understand how the world could be so unfair. His naïveté cost him, but it died as much like his joy after racoon city. He couldn’t save everyone. The deaths weighed him down so surely that he knew they would never go away. But they are accompanied by goodness whenever you are near. You made him feel happy, made him forget his regrets.

One thing he could not forget was the current pressing need to touch. But you were so skittish- almost repulsed by his touch. This was not how he wanted you to spend the night in his bed. He wanted you satisfied and sleepy from making love to you- no. Give up on that thought.

Leon was not the casual sex type in his youth. He got too attached too quickly. But now he looked for you in the backs of other people. He wanted your body, your hair, your smell. No one else was you. So, he fucked strangers- in the dark, from behind, imagining they were you. And now here you are, in his bed, both in the dark and on your stomach. It gave him a good view of the slope of your ass. Damnit.

You shifted slightly closer to him. Leon prayed to the god he gave up on. It wasn't the first time he had slept next to you, long nights passing a bottle between the two of you will do that. But tonight was different, your demeanor changed. You got sloppy well before him. You kissed him before he knew what was happening. Then you begged him to take you- to make you cry. It was a lot to take in. The dynamic had suddenly shifted without warning. He wanted to bring you flowers, take you to dinner, and officially ask you to be his. And you would either say yes or no, but at least he would know.

One thing he knew- he would save this friendship. Even if you didn’t mean it. Because you must not have. You wanted to be loved. But he didn’t want anyone else to love you like he did- he didn’t want anyone else touching you. He wanted every part of you, to have and to hold- no.

He quieted his mind and paid attention to your breathing- sturdier than your waking breaths, with a jagged undertone. You smelled different when asleep. Were you having a nightmare? Your breaths became ragged, sweat collected on your brow. He nervously put a hand on your arm, the part covered by his shirt. God, the way you looked in his shirt, the way your smells blended... No. You are in trouble. No time to admire you. He gently shakes your arm. You stir quickly, waking with a panicked breath.

“Are you okay?” Leon asks.

“Fuck.” You say, in lieu of an answer.

“Not tonight, dear.” He smirks at you. You merely look at him. You look uncomfortable, put on the spot. Leon regretted waking you up until you asked your question.

“Can- Can we hold hands again?” Your voice sounded so small. And despite his better judgment, he allowed your hand to press into his. He didn’t need sleep anyway. Your hand felt perfect in his. Like they were meant to go together.

“What was your dream about?” He asked.

“Nothing good. Thanks for waking me.” You responded.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Leon said, voice soft.

“It wasn’t the type of dream I’d like to relive. You were dead.” Leon was no stranger to losing people in his dreams. The amount of times he had woken up with the urge to call you, hold you, make sure you were alive, likely outnumbered yours. But you’ve been through hell in your own right.

”I’m here.” He said dumbly. “And I’m not going anywhere. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the service.”

”You’ll stay here?” You ask, eyes wide, “With me?” He nods. He desperately wants to stay close to you. You had been the air bubbles escaping his mouth to show which way is up, which way to swim in an ocean of sadness, how to drown while holding your breath.

”I’m here now, aren’t I?” He asks. “Here, listen to my heartbeat again.” But instead of putting your hand on his chest like he expected, you pulled your entire body over top of his, letting your ear listen to his heartbeat. Leon tried to monitor his heart rate and breathing. You lay over top of him like you belonged there- and you did. He ran a hand over your hair, feeling the softness of the strands, feeling the shape of your head.

Your breathing evened out after a few minutes. He wondered how you could be so peaceful with him, with his hands in your hair like this. Don’t you know what these hands have done?

Your head was on his chest, leg strewn across his hip, as you rested completely unaware of his predicament.

This predicament was the pressing need between his legs. He adjusted you slightly so your leg wouldn’t make contact with his hip- almost groaning as it backfired on him, and you rubbed a leg directly over his crotch. The friction was a horrible sweetness. You were full of them, your hair was soft, you smelled so good, and you laid over top of him like you trusted him.

He desperately tried to suppress the images flashing through his mind- you riding his dick as you moan above him, kissing you goodnight as you lay tangled and naked together, moaning in your ear as you raked your nails down his back. His pulse quickened as he thought about his cock going into your tight, wet hole, made just for him… Fuck. He breathed hard, then stilled, worried about waking you. You merely kept sleeping, oblivious and gorgeous. He imagined his hand going down to his waistband, slipping it in, stroking himself while you lay asleep on top of him. He felt disgusting at the thought of violating you like that. Think, Leon… You’re underneath your best friend, the horniest you’ve been in years, and they have no idea. You can’t touch yourself without waking them up, and you can’t move them because you’re a selfish asshole that wants to memorize the feeling of their skin on yours. He cursed. Telling himself what a creep he is wasn’t helping, if anything it’s making the problem worse. You flexed your hand over his chest, wanting to feel the rise and fall of his breathing, even while asleep. Your hand moved along his nipple, and he whimpered like a bitch.

He had to move you.

Your hand stilled over his other nipple, breast, his brain supplied unhelpfully. How could you possibly lay closer to him? He should have made a pillow wall. Not that he had enough pillows to make one. But it seemed like the kind of thing you would have done if you hadn’t wanted his closeness last night… fuck. Was he taking advantage of you? Was there a chance you would wake up the next morning regretting the feel of his skin on yours? He cursed again, more determined to switch your position without waking you. You had finally gone back to sleep, quicker than usual for you, and he didn’t want to disturb that. Cautiously, he took your hand and moved it to the side. Then he slid your body closer to your side, and further from him. You were now on your side. His body missed you. He wanted physical closeness with you again.

He sat up, planting his feet firmly on the floor. He looked in the pockets of his sweatpants absentmindedly, before remembering he didn’t want you to take his flask out of it when you were already too drunk. So it was still in his jacket, in the living room.

He slunk out of the room quietly, hoping you wouldn’t stir further. After closing the door, he breathed a sigh of relief and walked normally out to the living room. He spotted his leather jacket slung over the back of a chair, and rifled through the pockets, forgetting which he stuck the bottle in last night in his drunken haze. After locating it, he twisted the cap off and took a sip of whiskey. It felt buttery smooth in his mouth, a testament to how much he needed it. He was desperate for a drink after his rush of hormones and unpleasantness of having them. He was getting too old for crushes. He needed to fuck you and get it out of his system. But he couldn’t, because how could be content with one time? How could he be happy when you leave him with the taste of yourself on his lips and the cold shock of your absence?

His cock was still hard. No amount of whiskey could give him the limp dick he needed to communicate his feelings to you effectively. He could always show you, get his dick wet from your eager lips or desperate cunt… but talking should come first. Talking should always come before he does. He took another swig of whiskey. It burnt his throat as it filled his stomach with warmth. They say lonely people take hotter showers, to feel the warmth they lose from their solitude. He imagines drinking is the same, you replace the warmth of life with the burn of alcohol.

Leon’s mouth felt dry, his cock still achingly hard, heartbeat erratic. He needed to touch himself. Would you hear him if you woke up? He knew he had to be quiet. He leaned back on the couch, where you had drunkenly kissed him several hours before. It still smelled a bit like you. He wrapped his hand around his cock beneath his underwear, sighing. He took himself out fully, letting the cold air kiss his cock. He was desperate for you. Your cunt must have been so wet to ask him to fuck you… and he wishes he could have taken care of it. He imagines grabbing your hips instead, saying absolutely, you can have me. All of me. Saying I will make you scream so hard you’ll forget everything but my name.

He stroked himself harder, imagining a world with your cunt around his throbbing cock, wet and eager to be filled by him. He imagined you moaning his name, bouncing on his cock, taking what you wanted. He let out a stifled moan. He was always a loud one, letting his pleasure be known. But now was not the moment to be seen-or heard- by you. You were asleep just a few hundred feet away. Your mere presence in the building shouldn’t be enough to get him up, but it's happened multiple times before.

He brought a hand up to his mouth, silencing any further moans from slipping through. His other hand was busy with his cock, mind going through pictures of your body- from behind, from above, watching you bend over, and imagining you sucking his cock. He let out a loud moan, then cursed himself for it. Moaning loudly was not a desirable trait for most male partners to have. He hoped you liked it loud. Not that it should matter what you liked, because if he wakes you up and you come in here, he will never get to know. He imagined you walking in now, all sleepy and curious. Seeing him here working his cock, you say would you like some help? And he would say hey, I've got a job for you, babe. Or- something smoother. Damnit Leon, he thought, be cool.

“You look like you need a hand,” you say, licking your lips.

“Hey dollface,” Leon replies, smooth as a whistle. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” You shake your head. Then you look at his dick and come closer.

“Mind if I join in?” You ask. Leon nods. You come over and sit between his knees, mouth open and waiting. He feeds his cock into your mouth- no, you kiss the tip of his cock before asking:

“May I?” he nods, you slurp- no, you gently take it in- no, you-

“Ugh.” Leon was broken out of the spell with his own nervousness, unsure of what you would do or even want to do. He hated the shame of thinking of you like this. As if you were only for his pleasure, for him to use- God damnit.

It had been almost ten years since las plagas, and he hasn’t been the same since. He hasn't been the same since most of his missions. He takes the hand off his mouth and uses it to take another sip of whiskey. If you were here, he’d offer you a chaser. You hadn’t been the heavy drinker he is. It was only recently that you started getting further into it, not knowing where to stop, or ignoring your limits entirely, as if you were trying to drown something out. Leon knew that feeling well and didn’t want to pry- you would tell him on your own time.

He ran his hand absentmindedly down his length, imagining it was your hand. He moaned again, so small he was sure you wouldn’t hear. He let himself fall into his fantasies.

You’re wearing your customary all black ensemble, clothes hugging your body as you take a shot of whiskey, chasing it with a drag of your cigarette. You’re on the balcony, body heat pressing into him.

“Those things will kill you; you know.” He jokes, you roll your eyes to look up at the stars.

“That’s kind of the idea.” You reply. He looks past your sadness.

“Have you ever considered that there are people that want you to live?” He says. You scoff.

“It’s a little too late for that.” You say, a tinge of regret in your voice. You pass him the bottle. He thrusts it out to the moon.

“To being too late.” He cheers. You take out your cigarette and gesture it to the moon.

“To being too late,” You echo. He takes a large sip. You take a long drag. Your mouths are busy but not with each other.

Leon came three times that night imagining those lips wrapped around his dick. But the night he sat on the couch with his dick in hand as you slept in his bed, he merely palmed himself, frustrated.

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