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Air in Leon’s training cabin never stayed still, not with the two of you tearing it apart in sharp whistles of steel and rhythmic thud of boots striking the old hardwood floor.
Flashing silver arcs sliced past your vision as Leon came at you again with that precise, maddeningly calm aggression, contrasting brutally with the sweat dripping from his jawline.
His knife met yours in a fierce clink that shot vibrations up your arm as he pressed into the lock, pushing you back with strength that seemed to dig straight into your bones.
It was already hours into the training session, the both of you deep into that do-or-die headspace Leon insisted on teaching you to enter. If you were going to survive rural Spain with him and pull your weight while rescuing the president’s daughter, you needed to move like instinct itself, not panic.
Leon always said close-quarters work was where fights got personal and mistakes got fatal. Today, because you’d bet each other that the winner got anything he wanted from the loser, a wager that had made his smirk sharpen with wicked promise, Leon was pushing you twice as hard.
You ducked under his arm, blade singing past your ear and spun through the narrow gap between his torso and elbow. The motion was so tight you felt the heat coming off his compression shirt, sweat darkening the fabric around his pecs and shoulders.
Trying to match him was both exhilarating and stupid, but you were too far in to walk it back.
Leon didn’t even need to turn fully to block your counterstrike; he pivoted on the ball of his foot, lifted his left arm just enough to parry your swing with a controlled flick, clang of metal echoed through the cabin.
“Nice try.” His voice rode in after it, low and dry.
It further pushed you to go harder, catching him with a rapid flurry of slashes that forced him to shift into full defense. Each strike he deflected with a combination of perfect wrist rotation and fluid steps, movements impossibly smooth. Your blades collided again and again, spraying sparks that briefly lit the sweat on his neck. He leaned into one of your attacks with a grin that said you were getting under his skin in the best way.
“Still sloppy,” he asserted while parrying two strikes in a row so effortlessly it pissed you off.
You inhaled sharply and launched yourself forward, driving him back a step, a win so small and stupid but addicting. Leon’s eyebrows lifted, amused that you’d managed even that.
He rewarded your progress by raising the tempo, surging at you with a sudden burst of power, arm sweeping low while he lunged high. You blocked the first strike, barely dodged the second and found his boot already coming up for a kick aimed at your ribs. It forced you to spin back, knife flashing as you deflected the kick’s path just enough to avoid a cracked bone, later countering it with a slash toward his shoulder.
Leon caught your wrist mid-strike with his bare hand, grip hot and strong, tendons flexing like cables under his skin. He yanked you forward, forcing you chest-to-chest with him, breath stolen by the impact. He leaned his forehead briefly against yours like he was steadying both of you in the impetus, breath warm and almost calm despite the furnace of the fight.
“Come on,” he sighed. “Make me work for it.”
Snarling under your breath and twisting away to rip your arm free and circling to his flank. Leon followed instantly, boots whispering fast across the floor as he cut off your angle.
He slashed; you parried.
You struck; he dipped under it.
Blade met blade again, again and again, shock numbing your fingers until they felt welded to the handle.
The fight went on and on, a spiraling rhythm of deflections and feints, each of you diving and weaving through narrow openings while sweat poured down your spine, soaking the waistband of your shirt. Leon’s breathing grew heavier, low growls rumbling out of him as he blocked your knife with punishing force. Hair stuck to his forehead in damp blond strands, framing blue eyes that burned in focused excitement.
He drove you back with a ruthless sequence, knife slicing through the air in quick arcs that forced you into desperate blocks as he feinted left, hooked your wrist with brutal speed and swept his leg at you. You spun away, momentum carrying through your hips as you lifted your right leg, fueled by adrenaline and sheer stubborn rage, aiming a full powered kick straight toward his head.
It would have connected and turned the fight in your favor, but Leon lifted his hand and caught your ankle, fingers clamping around your leg, hard and calloused, the heat of his palm burning through your skin as he held you in that ridiculous suspended position.
Pitching forward and barely keeping yourself from collapsing by pressing your weight into the vise of his grip, eyes flicking up your leg, then to your face, a single eyebrow raised because he knew how screwed you were.
Your balance hung on him along with pride on a thread.
In one fluid twist, you flipped your knife to your right hand, movement silent and precise to aim straight for his wrist.
Leon saw the motion and he let go of your leg exactly as you hoped he would, swinging his arm up to catch your knife-hand in a tight grasp.
Your blade jumped back into your left hand with a practiced flick he taught you before surging so close you felt the heat pouring off his chest. You angled the knife upward, stopping the edge not even a centimeter from his neck, your own face nearly touching his.
Leon froze as he registered what had occurred before breathing out slow, warm air spilling across your lips.
The two of you panted against each other, breaths mixing and hearts hammering in sync as you stared down the most dangerous man you knew and finally had the advantage.
His ocean-blue eyes dropped to your mouth and stayed there, heavy and intent, like he was debating something that had nothing to do with knives.
Your grin crept across your face, small but victorious.
“Well?” you whispered, voice ragged, triumphant. “What do you think?”
Leon’s gaze flicked back up, jaw clenching, smirk of his own forming from a reluctant curve that told you he hated this and loved this in equal measure.
“Maybe...” he muttered, breath brushing your lips, “you’ll have a chance after all.”
He leaned a fraction closer, smirk sharpening.
“If all the enemies are already dead, that is.”
A laugh sputtered out of your throat, rough from exertion but genuine. “That’s progress then. Considering last time you said I’d be dead before any fight even started.”
Your victory lasted exactly half a heartbeat.
Leon took advantage of the looseness in your stance from the tiny burst of pride and breath wasted for laughing. He wrenched your wrist aside, spun behind you so fast the world blurred and you found yourself slammed firmly against his chest, back flush with him as those pecs pressed solid through the thin compression shirt stretched tight across them.
Heat radiated off him in waves, chest rising and falling against your spine.
His knife slid up under your jaw, close enough that you felt the cold edge without a cut. He rested his head on your shoulder, lips near your ear, breath humid and voice rumbling through you in a low vibration that felt like it started in his chest and spilled directly into your bones.
“Now look at this,” he murmured, tone husky, laced with sarcasm and something darker and fond beneath it. “Real situation? You’d be a damn nuisance. I’d have to rescue your ass too.”
Growling under your breath and tried to break free, muscles burning and body squirming against the thick, unyielding strength of his flexed biceps caging you in. His arm, wrapped around your torso, bulged as he held you, strength swallowing every attempt, chest firm against your back, heat pouring from him like a furnace, victory humming through the knife at your throat.
“Leon—” you hissed, struggling harder until your limbs felt like jelly, fatigue ripping control from your muscles before sagging in his hold.
“...fuck you,” you groaned, spent, exhausted, defeated in the most infuriatingly intimate way. “You love my ass though.”
His chuckle rumbled against your shoulder, deep and satisfied, chest pressed flush to your back that expanded in slow, heavy pulls, each inhale dragging hot air over the back of your neck in long, measured waves from the man who had you trapped exactly where he wanted.
That arm around your waist tightened gradually, the bulge of his bicep rising like a knot of heat against your ribs. The muscle shifted beneath your hands as it flexed to cage you fully, a thick and powerful band locking you in.
He dragged you tighter into his body, pelvis firm against your lower back and breath fanning down your skin in a molten trail as he lowered his lips to the side of your neck.
Then his mouth brushed purposefully against your flesh, the warmth of his lips pressing a claiming kiss as he spoke.
“Guess you’re right...” he murmured, voice low and thick with exertion. His breath seeped into your skin, lips grazing up along the curve of your throat. “Kind of a personal mission of mine... keeping that ass of yours intact.”
Your pulse hammered wildly against the blade, the cold kiss of steel under your jaw as you leaned forward slowly.
Until the knife pressed tighter against your throat with a chilling, delicious sting, a reminder of how easily he could slit your throat, how easily he never would.
The shift arched your body, pushing your hips back as that angle sent your ass pressing directly into the front of his dark jeans.
Thick and hard, unmistakably reacting to you.
Leon inhaled sharply through his nose, the sound a rough, heavy drag that stuttered at the end like you’d knocked the air out of him. His hips twitched just in a tiny, betraying jerk that let you know exactly how much you were affecting him.
“Really?” he muttered into the shell of your ear, voice dropping into a low, croaky growl that felt like it was scraping directly along your nerves. His lips brushed your earlobe every time he shaped a word. “This your grand plan? The enemy catches you and you're gonna provoke them?”
His tone was all sarcasm like he always did when he was this close to losing control.
You let out a breathy laugh, leaning back into the unforgiving bulge in his jeans, grinding so slowly it was cruel.
“Well...” you whispered back in a tone that matched his too perfectly, “it’s working right now, isn’t it?”
The pressure of his cock against your ass increased as you pushed into him, the denim stretching tight over the shape of him. Leon’s whole body responded before his voice did as a barely-contained groan rumbled in the very back of his throat.
Then his mouth was back on your neck, controlled bites began scattering along your throat, little snaps of teeth that drew shaky breaths from you, each one pressed between licks of heat and low growls. He traced the line from just under your jaw down to the place where your pulse thundered, teeth dragging, lips sealing over sensitive skin as he marked you entirely.
“That’s the problem...” he growled suddenly, words rumbling hard against your neck, tone dipping into something dark and possessive that slipped out only when he wasn’t guarding it. “I don’t like sharing.”
Teeth sank into your skin harder, enough to jolt your entire body forward into the knife.
Blade pressing sharper under your jaw, cold steel biting at the thrum of your pulse as your body arched from the shock of his bite. The sensation sent a gasp ripping out of you and your hands flew to his arm around your waist, gripping his bicep so hard you felt the muscle tighten further under your fingers. The more you squeezed, the more he flexed, a silent exchange of want layered over victory.
Leon held you perfectly still, perfectly his breath ragged against your skin all the while his cock pressed harder into your ass with each shallow inhale.
In a blur of motion, Leon's arm banded around your waist, bicep bulging out like boulders as he manhandled and lifted you off your feet with ease. Your front slammed into the wall with a breath-stealing impact that drove a groan from your throat.
Your palms flattened against the cool surface, fingers splaying wide in a desperate attempt to maintain your balance as your head was wrenched back, away from the knife still clutched in Leon's hand.
One large palm gripped tightly your jaw to turn it sideways, allowing his lips on yours in a fierce, demanding kiss that stole your thoughts and words.
His hand cupped your cheek, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you in place as his tongue delved into your mouth, a wild, untamed thing that sought to claim and conquer. You kissed him back, tongue clashing with his in a dance of dominance and desire.
Leon was having none of it. He pressed the knife to your throat to silently confirm the unyielding reminder of who was in control. You leaned back, body arching into his and mouth opening to his invasion as he took what he wanted, his tongue plundering and lips devouring.
Your hands roamed over his arms, tracing the bulging veins that snaked beneath his skin, feeling the solid mass of his biceps, the raw power that lay beneath the surface. Your ass pressed against him, feeling the thick, hard length of him straining against his jeans in an insistent pressure that made him hiss into your mouth, kiss turning feral and hips grinding against you.
He pulled back, mouth leaving yours as his breath came in hot, ragged pants. You watched, mesmerized, as he shifted the knife in his hand, the blade glinting in the sunlight streaming through the window.
He took it by the handle, knuckles white with the force of his grip as he let it trail down your body, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. It sliced through the fabric of your pants in a precise cut that left you exposed and vulnerable, body laid bare for him.
A low sound, part moan, part sigh, escaped your lips as you felt the cool air against your skin, the hot, hungry look in Leon's eyes as he took in the sight of you. He cupped your ass, fingers squeezing as the cold metal of the knife handle pressed into your flesh, leaving an imprint of his name from the handle on your skin.
He sighed, a sound of satisfaction as warm breath washed over the back of your head in a humid caress.
"I wouldn't blame the enemy if they fell for this. Hell, I might even join them." He murmured, voice a dangerous growl.
Breathlessly emitting noises that should have been laughter but resembling more aroused sound, your body pressed back against his. "Only if you give me the okay, big boy," you teased, voice a sultry purr. "I wouldn't want to steal your thunder."
A rumble of laughter echoed from his chest, hands already moving and working to free himself.
You felt the blunt head of his cock press against you, in a hot and insistent pressure that made you gasp, body arching into his. He entered you slowly, a deliberate, torturous invasion that had you biting your lip to hold back a moan, feeling every inch of him, thick and hard, stretching and filling you until he bottomed out, hips pressing flush against your ass in a grunt of satisfaction hot against your neck.
He started to move, hips pulling back, cock sliding out only to slam back in, a hard, deep thrust that had you crying out, fingers scrabbling at the wall for purchase. He set a relentless pace, hips pistoning as that thick dick slid in and out of you.
His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh and holding you in place as he pounded into your ass, body slapping against yours as the sound of flesh meeting flesh a rhythmic beat.
You could feel the tension building in him, the coiled spring of his body ready to release. His breath came in hot, ragged pants against your neck, grunts and groans a harsh, animalistic soundtrack to your shared pleasure all the while his big and warm grip clamped your cock and stroked it strong and steady.
He came with a low, guttural growl, cock pulsing inside and filling you with his seed, body pressing flush against yours, hand gripping you tightly as your own release wettened his thick palm.
He rested his forehead on your shoulder, breath coming in hot, ragged pants and body trembling with the force of his release.
He gave you a quick peck on the cheek, lips curving into a grin as he pulled out of you, hands already moving to clean himself up. "You know, I might like to have you around. Even if I’ll have to save you as well." He said, voice a low, teasing drawl that made you laugh.