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Help Me, Leon

(Resident Evil: Post RE4, original or remake — Leon S. Kennedy/Ashley Graham)

NSFL — 6229 words. TW: Consensual non-consent, mentions of implied sexual assault, rough sex, vaginal sex, fingering, light dom/sub, light violence, light blood, knife play

Summary: One year out from the incident in Spain, Ashley and Leon meet at a seedy bar at her request. Unbeknownst to him, she requires unconventional help that she believes only he can provide.

Note: Please heed the trigger warnings and take charge of your eyeballs. This fic DOES contain consensual non-consent and could be triggering to those sensitive to such topics. You have been warned.

*****

Leon Scott Kennedy sat alone at a run-down bar on the outskirts of Washington, D.C., sipping a glass of cheap scotch on the rocks. The remainder sat within arms reach, having requested the entire bottle in anticipation of the guest he was expecting any second now.

Ray's Riviera 23:00 -A

He'd found the handwritten note taped to his front door that morning, the flowery script unforgettable. Not long after his return from Spain, he'd received several cards and letters in the same handwriting before they tapered off months ago. Now, one year later, he felt his chest tighten as he pulled the note from his breast pocket and reread it for what felt like the thousandth time.

Checking his watch, he noticed she was late. Only by a few minutes, but it was enough for his training to kick in, and his eyes scanned the nearly empty bar, wondering if she'd somehow slipped in under his radar. Just when he was about to approach a blonde woman he'd spotted in one of the shrouded corners, the front door blew open on a gust of frigid wind, snow and a darkly clad figure entering the bar before it slammed shut to the notice of no one but himself.

"Cold out there," he remarked as the figure approached, bundled from head to toe. But he recognized those green eyes. They'd haunted his dreams more than once over the past year — bloodshot, wild, feral.

"Call me Violet," she whispered, not nearly as inconspicuous as she attempted to appear, saddling up next to him on an empty stool.

"Okay. Violet." He took another sip of scotch, already watered down, but the warm bite helped calm his newly fledged nerves. "What can I help you with?"

"I almost expected you not to come," she said, voice low as she pulled down her scarf and stared at her gloved hands. In his peripheral vision, Leon watched the bartender approach and place an empty glass of ice in front of her, assuming she'd be sharing the bottle of scotch. He poured two fingers over the cubes and gently nudged it toward her.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked, finishing what remained in his glass. The clink of melting ice had become a comfort over the last 12 months. Maybe too much.

"You stopped replying to my letters." She pulled the hood of her black parka down, revealing a purple pixie cut wig. The color suited her. "Did I do something wrong?"

He sighed, deep and weary, unsure how to reply. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her feelings, but how could he say that keeping in touch only intensified the night terrors? How could he explain that he'd seen her die a hundred times in a hundred ways and that each ended with an ungodly parasite exploding from her skull?

"Ash —"

"Violet," she cut in, facing him fully with pleading eyes. She'd no doubt snuck out of the comfort of the White House, somehow evading Secret Service, and was paranoid that any of the semi-conscious patrons in this shitty bar would recognize her.

"It's complicated." He filled his glass to the brim this time, not bothering to pretend his tolerance wasn't much higher. "Tell me why we're here, Violet."

"I need your help," she stated matter-of-factly.

"With what?"

Slipping back into a whisper, she grasped his forearm and pulled him close enough for her warm breath to fan across the shell of his ear. "Can we go to your place? It's um… sensitive."

Shifting his gaze to the side, he caught a dusting of pink spread across her cheeks that had nothing to do with the wind chill. "You're sure you haven't been followed? The last thing I need is the Secret Service busting through my door at midnight because they think I've abducted the President's daughter."

She shushed him, digging her nails into his forearm hard enough to bite, even through her gloves. Leon scoffed, taking another sip from his glass as she hastily scanned the room.

"You're still a hero in his eyes, Leon. If anything, he'd rather me be with you than on my own."

"Fine," he relented, gulping the remainder of his drink. Warmth bloomed in his chest as the liquid slipped down his esophagus and settled in his empty stomach, glad he lived within walking distance.

The quarter of a mile trek was spent in silence as the wind whipped around them, snow smuggling in through the tiniest folds amid layers of clothing. Leon had heard a snowstorm was approaching, but it had come early, blanketing the capital in rolling plains of white. It would have been beautiful if he wasn't currently freezing his balls off.

When they finally arrived at his front door, he performed a visual scan of the area, just in case. No matter how slick Ashley Graham thought she was, she was still one of the world's most important public figures, and Leon's deep-seated sense of duty demanded that he kept her safe at all costs. Finding the coast clear — at least from the limited visibility afforded to him — he pulled his keys from his coat pocket, unlocked the door, and ushered her inside.

"You can take the wig off," he remarked, helping her out of her parka and hanging it on a nearby coat rack.

"You don't like it?" she asked. Her tone was playful as she did a little twirl. Leon rolled his eyes, but a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Actually, I do." The blush that had flushed her cheeks in the bar returned, and she cupped both of them in her hands bashfully while Leon shrugged out of his own coat and hung it beside hers. "How about you tell me what you need help with," he suggested while gesturing for her to sit on the couch.

"Oh, um —" she stammered but followed his lead, taking a seat and tracking him with her eyes as he did the same. An entire cushion separated them, but Leon was close enough for comfort after the proximity they'd been forced into a year prior. "Leon, have you been seeing someone since Spain?"

"Uh, yeah. I was issued a psychiatrist, and I've been seeing him as mandated," he replied, raking a hand through his hair, unsure why she asked such a question.

"No, I mean…" she trailed off, scooting a bit closer to him. Slowly, as if he were a timid bird that would take flight if she made any sudden movements. "The woman you spoke about. Are you two together?"

He stiffened and leaned back unconsciously, nonplussed and slightly frustrated that visions of Ada were being thrust into his mental sphere so suddenly. "What? No. I haven't seen her since Spain," he replied, thoroughly confused.

"Good," she sighed, her face visibly relaxing as she shook out her hands. "At least I won't feel guilty on top of being humiliated."

"What are you talking about, Ashley?" Ire crept into his tone at her cryptic ramblings, and he caught himself clenching his jaw in response.

"Well, I've been seeing a psychiatrist, too," she began, scooting even closer. Leon stiffened further, muscles as tense and unyielding as marble. "She's been really great in helping me work through and interpret my trauma. But I still have these dreams. All the time."

"Yeah," Leon supplied, relaxing only slightly. "Me too."

Ashley nodded, features soft, empathy radiating from her in waves as she closed the remaining gap between them. A spark of electricity snapped and traveled up his thigh where they connected, making him realize he hadn't experienced any form of intimate contact in well over a year.

"Mine are — I don't know how to explain it without sounding deranged," she said, pinching her brow. A lock of purple hair hung low, brushing one of her eyelashes, and Leon had the overwhelming urge to tuck it behind her ear.

"I'm not going to judge you." He wasn't exactly sure why he was encouraging her to elaborate when his heart was galloping a mile a minute, visions of his own nightmares flashing behind his eyes like a stuttering film reel.

"Okay." She took a deep breath and balled her hands into fists, obviously curating her words carefully before speaking them aloud. "When I was held captive before you showed up, the threat of being raped was there, constantly. So many of those men pawed at me…"

She trailed off, squinting her eyes shut, expression pained. Leon reached for one of her hands and carefully unfurled it, noticing the crescent grooves her nails had indented in her palm. His heart ached, unable to fully comprehend the absolute terror she'd suffered but trying his best, regardless.

"Anyway," she began again, curling her fingers around his, visibly relaxed by such a simple gesture. "My dreams — they always shift to that 'what if' scenario. Instead of you finding me, one of those filthy men barges into the church and takes me with a knife to my throat. I can't fight him off. I can't even struggle; he's too strong. And it hurts. Whoever says you can't feel pain in dreams is a fucking liar."

The curse left her mouth with so much venom that Leon squeezed her fingers in a weak attempt to soothe, suddenly feeling inadequate in a way that bewildered him. Saving her, whisking her away from danger, making sure no physical harm came to her — he was well-skilled. But this? He was utterly powerless to battle the demons plaguing her psyche. Or so he thought.

"I'm sorry, Ashley, I really am. But I'm ill-equipped here." Releasing her hand, he scrubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, unsure of what else to say. "I can only imagine how hard all that was for you."

"No, please listen," she pleaded, looking him square in the eye as she planted a firm hand on his knee. Another bolt of electricity shocked him, especially when it traveled directly toward his crotch. "I wouldn't have asked you for help if I didn't think you could, Leon. You're the only person I trust with this."

"With what? "

He was quickly growing impatient, and it made him feel like shit. Here she was, confiding in him, confessing her trust in him, and all he wanted to do was remove her warm hand from his knee before he went totally insane.

"The dreams… they're horrible while I have them. But I always wake up in a cold sweat and — shit." She paused for a beat, flexing the fingers on his knee as if she were unconsciously massaging it. Leon suppressed a frustrated groan and forced himself to relax. "I wake up from them aroused. Like, more than I've ever been in my life. That's fucked up, right?"

Her voice cracked at the inflection of her question as if she were on the verge of tears, seeking confirmation that she, in fact, was not fucked up.

"I —" he stammered while attempting to break eye contact. She placed her free hand on his cheek, holding him fast. "Ashley, you need to get to the point. Please."

"Leon…" Her brow pinched again as she studied his face, scrutinizing him as if she could see directly into his mind and pinpoint the salacious thoughts betraying him. He felt ashamed and huffed a breath through his nose in an attempt to erase the dark edges floating on the outskirts of his vision.

"My psychiatrist said the dreams are my brain's way of processing my innate fears of sexual assault. Apparently, it's normal? I don't know. I just want them to stop." She paused again and brushed his hair from his forehead in the same manner he'd desired to do just moments earlier. The gesture felt far too intimate, and he quelled the knee-jerk reaction to slap her hand away. "I think the only way to do that is to act them out. With someone I trust." She tilted her head to the side as if anticipating a response, but Leon was literally stupefied, eyes wide as her words fell into place like pieces filling in the last bits of a jigsaw puzzle. After what felt like centuries, she sucked in a deep breath and finally clarified — "With you."

This IS fucked. SHE is fucked up! he thought as he abruptly stood and paced several steps backward. Ashley's expression morphed into something ugly and pained, tears threatening to spill from her already brimming eyes.

"Ashley — what!?" He realized too late that he'd taken a defensive stance as if this young woman was seconds away from attacking him with a deadly weapon. "I know you didn't just ask me… Please tell me you're not… Fuck!" He took several additional steps backward; the more distance he put between them, the better. "You want me to rape you?" The sentence scrambled his brain, incomprehensible. But he had no other way to interpret what she'd just said.

"Well, no," she began, shaking her head. Two fat tears rolled down her crimson-stained cheeks and pooled in each corner of her lips, the bottom quivering as she gathered her thoughts. "I mean, not exactly."

"That's not enough," he said, gesturing wildly to get his point across. "I need way more of an explanation than that, Ashley. Because it feels like you're backing me into a corner here."

"I'm trying!" She hitched a breath and sobbed, finally hiding her face in her hands. Leon felt like he'd been kicked by a horse as he watched her body tremble, tears dripping between her fingers like drops of rain soaking her blue jeans. "I'm sorry. This was a terrible idea. I don't know what I was thinking."

She rose quickly and paused, swaying a bit as if she were about to topple over on a light breeze. Leon recognized the vacant expression that fell across her face, pupils dilated, mouth slack. He swooped in just in time to hook his hands under each armpit the second her knees buckled, hiking her toward his chest and guiding her to lay back on the sofa.

"God damn it," he mumbled, admonishing himself for being such a calloused asshole. When he lightly tapped her clammy cheek with his palm to rouse her, he sighed in relief when she groaned, and her eyelids began to flutter in response. "Hey there, baby eagle. You still with me?" She wrinkled her nose at the old code name, and Leon smirked, glad he wouldn't have to call an ambulance and then explain why the President's daughter had fainted in his home in the middle of the night. "I'm going to get you some water. Don't get up."

The pair spent the next several minutes in silence as Ashley gulped every ounce as if Leon had just handed her the last drops from a desert oasis. At one point, she'd ripped off the purple pixie wig and haphazardly tossed it on a nearby end table, blonde locks spilling loose down her back and shoulders.

"Your hair got long," he remarked, guilt assaulting him again at the visual cue that it had been quite a long time since they'd last seen one another in person.

"Oh. Yeah." She raked her fingers through the edges, hands trembling as she avoided his gaze.

"Ashley, listen — I can't pretend to know what's going on here," he said, gesturing between them, "but I'm willing to hear you out. I'm sorry about before. I'm an insensitive jerk."

"No, you aren't. What I said to you is insane. I know it is. I just wish…" She trailed off with a shaky sigh, and Leon wondered if she was too afraid to finish her thought, considering his previous reaction. "I don't have anyone else I can go to. Not a boyfriend or anything like that. Besides, I don't think they'd understand. You were there with me. I wouldn't be here now if it weren't for you, Leon. I think you're one of the only people I truly trust."

Leon had never considered himself emotional or easily rattled. In fact, he'd been certain nothing could shake him after surviving Raccoon City and Spain, his very soul becoming more calloused than the coal mining hands of his father. But Ashley's confession, husky with unshed tears, seemed to mold him like warm clay, manipulating him into the shape of a man who would do anything she asked if only to erase the anguish twisting her pretty features.

"Tell me exactly what you need," he said, finally relenting and coming to terms with it simultaneously. Maybe he was the crazy one, after all.

"I need you to fuck me like those men in my dreams." Another tear escaped her swollen and red-rimmed eyes, and she swiped it away quickly, refusing to acknowledge the reality of what she'd just said. "You have a knife, right? A big one."

"I could hurt you," he replied, even as the scenario unfolded in his mind. His combat knife, which he'd used in Spain, was safely tucked away in a dresser drawer. It would only take him a matter of seconds to retrieve it.

"I want you to."

Her large green eyes — bloodshot, wild, feral — penetrated his skull with the force of an auger, boring a hole directly into the yielding soil of his brain tissue. Something irrevocably shifted between them the second the words rolled from her tongue, saturating the atmosphere with tension so thick, Leon felt he would choke.

"If anyone finds out about this —"

"They won't," she said, tone absolutely assured. "I'll take it to my grave."

"You're sure?" he asked once more, needing full consent even when the act looming ahead of them was dubious, at best. "We can't go back from this, Ashley. You could hate me afterward."

"I know," she answered, unwavering. "And yes, I'm sure."

He stood, towering over her like a monster in a fairytale, ready to snatch her from the world she viewed with rose-colored glasses and tint them pitch black. Somehow, even as every fiber of his being rebelled against his decision to help a friend in need, he felt oddly at peace. If he could do this one thing for her — chase away the demons that plagued her — perhaps it would lay his own rest. Perhaps he could sleep through the night for the first time in years.

"Alright. Follow me."

The steps from the living room toward his bedroom remained hazy in Leon's memory, along with how he manhandled Ashley onto his bed and out of her clothing. She struggled, as he expected, but it was weak, her dainty hands slapping at his while he snatched and practically ripped her blouse from her body, buttons flying like projectiles across the room. Her jeans were next as he pinned her wrists above her head on the mattress, using his free hand to roughly poke the metal disk through the hole and jerk the zipper down. She screamed and attempted to sit up, kicking at him wildly when he grasped the waistband and yanked, denim peeling from her thighs like shedding a second skin.

"Shut up," he growled, covering her mouth with one of his massive hands. For a moment, he squinted, noticing how it blanketed most of her face; only her terror-stricken eyes could be seen peeking from above his index finger. She sobbed, the sound muffled as he pressed harder, her head sinking into the comforter. "If you want me to stop — really want me to — say condor, got it? Otherwise, I won't."

Ashley nodded in acknowledgment, muscles growing lax beneath him. When he was sure she understood, he released his hand from her mouth and waited. Ragged breaths and strained whimpers were all that greeted him alongside a fresh wave of tears that pooled and slipped down the sides of her face. Golden hair fanned around her head like a halo, and her chest heaved, painting a classic portrait of a damsel in distress. Only this time, Leon wasn't the hero.

"Good. Now that we're on the same page —" He rose from the bed and pointed a stern finger in her direction, pinning her in place as if still physically restraining her. "Don't move."

She nodded again through bouts of pitiful sniffles, but her eyes tracked him as he moved toward his dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer. Shoving a thin layer of t-shirts to one side, Leon hooked a finger into an almost imperceptible groove, lifting the false bottom to reveal a compartment where he kept his SG-09R handgun and combat knife. For a brief moment, he considered removing the gun along with the knife but shoved it to the back of his mind, filing it away for next time.

Next time? he thought, removing the knife from its resting place and sliding it from the leather sheath. He turned the weapon in his hand, lightly scraping the pad of his thumb across its razor's edge, so sharp that he could feel the drag over each groove of his thumbprint. He'd had the knife professionally cleaned and repaired not long after returning from Spain and hadn't used it since. Why are you thinking of next time when there's a strong possibility Ashley will never speak to you again after this? Why would you even consider it?

"Is this what you wanted?" he asked, pointedly ignoring his pesky conscience. Before Ashley could reply, he planted a knee on the side of the mattress, the dip causing her to roll toward him like a helpless infant. Her eyes widened, and Leon watched in rapt attention as her teeth sank into her bottom lip. "When I ask you a direct question, you answer."

"No. I mean… yes?" she replied. A grimace contorted her face as an apparent war waged within her. Leon softened, realizing for the first time that this was all brand new to her. Hell, it was brand new to him, too, but since she'd put him in a position of power, he felt responsible for her comfort.

"Ashley." She looked up at him, vulnerable in only a pair of lacy undergarments that she'd clearly chosen on purpose. "You know the word. Say it if you want me to stop, and I'll stop. Until then, no means yes. Yes means yes. Everything means yes. Understand?"

She nodded again before choking out a strangled "I do," recalling his earlier demand.

"This is all for you. Just remember that," he clarified while pretending he wouldn't also benefit from the exercise. "Now, I'll ask you again —" he crawled fully onto the bed, straddled Ashley's hips, and pressed the blunt side of the blade against the soft swell of her abdomen, just below her navel, "— is this what you wanted, baby eagle?"

Quicker than he anticipated, Ashley's hands flew from her sides and latched on his forearm, her nails sinking into his flesh deep enough to carve angry gashes he'd have to clean with antiseptic later on.

"No!" she spat, wiggling beneath him, using her other hand for leverage to prop herself up. Leon chuckled, adrenaline coursing through his veins with each pound of his heart, dulling any pain he may have felt from her feeble attack.

"You always did have spunk," he growled, using his free hand to capture her throat and effortlessly pin her back down. "But you're weak." Hovering over her, he eclipsed the light from the ceiling bulb, casting her in shadow as he brought the knife up from her stomach and pressed the flat of the blade against her forehead. "I don't even need this knife. But I know it makes you wet. Isn't that right?"

Ashley's delicate throat expanded and contracted within the cage of his hand, sweat-soaked skin pressing against his palm. Her pulse fluttered rapidly like a hummingbird's heartbeat as her eyes rolled upward, attempting to catch a glimpse of the weapon he teased her with. Exhaling a deep breath from her nose, she furrowed her brow and shook her head, denying what Leon knew to be true.

"You're also a liar," he challenged, swiftly positioning the blade between his teeth before snaking his hand downward, fingers probing past the impractical lace of her panties, gliding through slick pubic hair. When his middle digit pressed between her lips, she gasped and squirmed, squinting her eyes shut.

Leon stilled, finding her impossibly soaked, his finger coated in her slick as he slid it between her folds. He'd assumed playing out such a traumatic fantasy would be purely therapeutic for the young woman. But this unlikely development altered his brain chemistry, lighting up dormant pleasure centers one by one like stars winking to life in the night sky. Experimentally, he located her swollen clit with the tip of his finger and stroked, eyes glued to her face as she twitched and attempted to tilt her hips upward. His jaw clenched at her reaction, teeth seeming to crack along the blade.

Turning his head to the side, he spat the knife onto the mattress, out of her reach. With one hand still restraining her throat, she was practically a butterfly pinned to a corkboard, but he'd rather not take chances.

"How long have you been planning this, Ashley?"

"I didn't." Another lie, and she struggled, her nails once again gnawing at the forearm holding her captive.

"You trimmed for me. I can feel it," he commented, smirking when a blush immediately splotched her pale cheeks. He pressed his finger between her lips again, brushing past her clit, and she moaned. Leon wondered if he'd ever heard a sluttier sound in all his life. "These underwear are pretty but not expensive. You expected them to be ruined, didn't you?"

"Shut up!" she screamed, struggling harder, fruitlessly dragging her nails over unyielding muscle.

"Don't worry, baby eagle, I won't disappoint you." Abruptly pulling his hand from her panties, he shoved his middle finger between her lips, pushing past her teeth. "Suck," he demanded, and she did, swirling her tongue around the digit, a sob bubbling from her chest in sharp contrast to the performance she displayed with her mouth.

Leon yanked his hand back when he felt the scrape of teeth on his knuckles, surprised she hadn't tried to chomp down sooner.

"You're disgusting!" she cried, another round of dramatic tears streaming from her eyes.

"Maybe," Leon agreed, clicking his tongue. "But that doesn't change the fact you've wanted my dick since Spain. Did you think I forgot?"

The blush staining her cheeks morphed from rosy to crimson as she wiggled harder, an indignant wail ripping from her throat that Leon could feel vibrating against his palm.

"I don't want you or your filthy dick! I hope you rot in hell!"

Leaning completely over her prone form, he brought his nose a hair's breadth away from her own, sharing her breath as it puffed from her lungs and fanned across his face. Locking her eyes with his, he studied the tiny flecks in her irises, traced the thin veins, followed her pupils as they darted to and fro in abject panic. It was only then he realized just how rock hard he was, his cock painfully pressing the inseam of his pants.

"If I'm going to hell, I'll drag you down with me, baby eagle."

Without warning, he tightened his hold on her throat just long enough to retrieve the knife and then released her, sitting back on his haunches, her thighs still trapped beneath him. She sucked in a ragged breath and clasped at her throat, her small hands only slightly covering the red prints he'd left behind.

He gave her a moment to regroup. And then another, wondering if she'd say the word. Almost found himself hoping she would when his cock throbbed at the prospect of what he planned to do next. But she didn't. Instead, Ashley propped her upper body up with one arm and used the other to rear back and slap him briskly across the cheek, the resounding crack echoing within the confined space of his bedroom like a sonic boom.

The frenzy that followed in the seconds after Leon gathered his wits imprinted on his memory like the flash of a photography bulb — bright white followed by washed-out images seared to the back of his eyelids.

The combat knife between his teeth again. His hand around her throat. The other fumbling with the fly of his pants, frantically shoving them down until his aching cock sprang free. The knife back in his hand, slicing the offending bra down the middle, separating the fabric with ease. Ashley's tits exposed to his eyes for the first time, making him delirious and questioning his stupidity in ever turning her down.

"God, you're fucking beautiful," he rasped, releasing her throat to cup one of her perfect breasts, rolling her nipple between his fingers. She moaned again even as she weakly attempted to slap his hand away, and Leon's vision darkened around the edges like smudged charcoal on a stark white canvas.

"Leon, pleeease." Her voice cracked, dragging the last syllable out like a petulant child.

"That's right — beg me," he said, pinching her nipple harder as he brought the knife within her field of view. When she began to whimper, he pressed the point to the underside of her chin, her supple flesh dimpling around steel. "Beg me, or I'll shove this knife up through your skull."

He held his breath, again waiting for her to speak the word. His mind dwelled on it, chanting it repeatedly, preparing to toss the knife to the floor and pull her into his arms. All she had to do was say it, and he'd stop. But she didn't. Instead, Ashley grasped his fist and pressed the blade's tip harder into her chin, a drop of scarlet welling and sliding down the edge, settling on the hilt.

He ripped her panties off with relative ease, having been right about their quality. Ashley never intended for them to survive, and Leon found the scraps several days later, hiding under his bed like a macabre trophy.

Next, he rose just long enough to eradicate his pants and rip his shirt over his head, exposing his body and all its scars to her wandering, red-rimmed eyes. When he mounted the bed again, she scrambled to her knees and fought, slapping and scratching at his arms and chest, flailing her legs haphazardly when he slammed her back against the mattress. The knife was a looming threat, and he pressed the steel flat against her throat this time, preventing a cut while she struggled but easy enough to flip and slice through flesh, cartilage, and bone with minimal effort. Ashley, well aware of this, finally succumbed, her muscles softening as she went as limp as a rag doll below him.

"You want me to hurt you," he whispered against her ear while hiking one of her thighs up and over his hip. The tip of his cocked brushed her blonde curls and then nudged between her lips, slipping through with no resistance. "You're still so wet, but I'll do my best."

Even while compliant, Ashley whimpered, her face contorted into a permanent expression of agony and shame. But her body betrayed her, going through the motions by hiking her other thigh around his hip, opening herself up to the intrusion of his cock as he shoved inside, fast and unrelenting. The knife still pressed to her throat, she wrapped her arms around the muscled plains of his shoulders and anchored her nails there, determined to make it hurt for Leon too, if only just a little.

"You're so tight," he hissed, snapping his hips back and slamming into her with as much force as he could muster. Her body rocked beneath him, pained grunts forced from her lungs with each thrust, and she dug her nails deeper, dragging them stuttering across his shoulder blades. He knew she was probably drawing blood but was much too engrossed with how her cunt squeezed his cock as if trying to push him out by sheer force alone.

"Leon…"

The sob that accompanied his name sent a wave of panic through him, and he slowed, listening intently to her gasping breaths, a light wheeze following each inhale. He rose on one elbow and searched her face, loosening his grip on the knife. A thin red line etched across her skin, but no blood flowed from the wound. At least, not yet.

Several seconds ticked by spanning the space of an entire year as he waited for the word. All she had to do was say the word. But she didn't. Instead, Ashley removed her nails from the holes she'd bore in his shoulders and flew her hands toward his hair, balling her fists on either side of his head, pulling and pulling and pulling.

Dislodging her from his scalp was simple enough when he reestablished his position with the blade, pressing it against the indent until her fingers grew slack and her arms flopped to her sides like limp noodles.

"Flip over," he demanded, removing the knife long enough to grab one of her biceps and force her onto her side.

"Leon, no, please —"

"Now!"

She flopped on her stomach and lay there, weeping into the comforter while he coaxed her ass upward onto her knees. Satisfied with her current position, he bowed over her body until his chest met her back, one hand planted on her thigh for leverage while the other pressed the knife to the nape of her neck.

"You put up a good fight, baby eagle, but now it's time to come all over my cock."

He was met with a muffled scream when he slammed into her once. Then twice. She screamed again, guttural and almost frightening, her fists twisting around his comforter.

"Fuck, you're close, aren't you?" He snapped his hips a third time, harder, the headboard slamming the plaster wall, and her entire body spasmed below him, knees giving out as she slumped into the mattress like a corpse. "Oh, that's it. That's a good girl," he praised as the walls of her pussy continued to contract around him.

"Leon, please. I can't…" she murmured after catching her breath.

"Shh. Yes, you can."

Snatching a handful of her golden hair in his fist, he pulled her head back until she rose on her elbows. Next, he cracked a hand across her round ass, admiring how it jiggled before she took the hint and situated herself back on her knees. Then, he placed the flat of the knife back under her chin, forcing her to keep her head tilted at an uncomfortable angle lest she lean forward too far and gut herself like a fish.

"You know the word," he rasped, reminding her once again that she held absolute control in the palm of her hand. All she had to do was say it. But she didn't. Instead, Ashley bucked back against him, impaling herself on his cock. Following her lead, he tightened his grip on her hair and remained still while she fucked herself open with the threat of death mere centimeters away.

"I hate you!" she cried, her cunt clenching harder than ever. Another climax was quickly approaching, and Leon felt his balls tighten in preparation of his own. "I fucking hate you so much! "

"I know," he growled in response, yanking her head farther as he began to thrust again, chasing his own release. "I hate me, too."

Ashley wailed when she came for the second time, sounding almost demonic with the force of it, and Leon wondered if he'd successfully exorcized the unwanted inhabitants tainting her soul. Only time would tell, but in the meanwhile, he flung the combat knife off to the side, altogether done with this part of the game, and fucked her with renewed vigor. Slow and rough, he rocked her body until she sank back on her stomach, slack and submissive; he took what he wanted from her. Grunts and lewd slaps filled the bedroom, humidity swirling in the air around them, the cloying stench of sex wafting up his nostrils with each passing second, bringing him closer and closer…

"I'm coming, fuck! Ashley!" Her name tore from Leon's throat with a hitching groan, and he pulled out, pumping his cock until white lightning ripped through him, landing on the small of her back in thick, hot ropes of undiluted shame.

"Condor," she whispered from what felt like miles away, and Leon collapsed beside her, his duty fulfilled once more.

-----

Leon Scott Kennedy awoke the following morning to an empty bed and a folded note strategically placed on the opposite pillow. The previous night's events assaulted him with sickening force the moment he recognized the handwriting.

I'll never be able to repay you. For Spain. For last night. For everything. Just know that I'm sorry and forever grateful. -A

After carefully refolding the note and placing it in his nightstand drawer, the discarded combat knife caught his eye, blade glinting in a splinter of sunlight that had slipped through a crack in the blinds. A scarlet stain smeared across steel that Leon knew would remain even after he sanitized the evidence of his depravity.

But for the first time in years, he'd slept. All through the night.

The End.

*****

End Note: Special thanks to my fellow degenerate friends in my Resident Evil: Infinite RP server for encouraging me every step of the way. <3

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