Chapter Text
By the time Leon reached the abandoned Umbrella facility, dusk had settled and rain drummed steadily against the overgrown ruins. Flickering emergency lights glowed through the downpour. He’d been briefed en route: a civilian researcher and her escort team had been sent to investigate reports of an infected sighting near the old lab. They missed their last check-in. Now he was here alone.
He pushed through the main entrance. The smell hit him immediately - thick, metallic death mixed with something sweeter, almost floral. It turned his stomach.
“Great,” he muttered, voice low. “I’ve got a pretty good idea why they stopped checking in.” He drew his pistol and moved deeper into the facility, boots echoing on the wet floor.
The research team had done their job before things went to hell. Power was back online. A generator hummed faintly somewhere in the distance like a weak heartbeat. Emergency lights buzzed overhead, throwing harsh shadows down the corridors.
The stench grew stronger. Leon followed it to a central room and stopped. Six agents lay piled in the middle of the floor in a single, grotesque heap. Blood, torn flesh, spent casings. He stepped closer, boots squelching in the congealed mess. Gunshot wounds, deep claw marks, bite tears. They hadn’t just fought - they’d torn into each other with mindless frenzy.
Leon’s jaw tightened. Not the first time I’ve seen people turn on their own. Won’t be the last. He scanned the room. “But where’s the researcher?”
A soft, ragged sound reached him - shallow, panicked breathing. It came from a supply closet about ten feet away, the door slightly ajar.
He raised his weapon and nudged the door open with his boot.
Inside, pressed against the far wall with your knees pulled tight to your chest, sat you. Your smog mask hung uselessly around your neck. Your lab coat was ripped open, shirt shredded, underwear exposed. Urine soaked through your pants and thighs, the sharp ammonia scent cutting through everything else. Your face was streaked with snot, tears, and grime. Eyes wide, pupils blown with raw terror. Your chest heaved in fast, shallow gasps.
Leon froze for half a second, then holstered his pistol in one smooth motion. No sudden moves. He’d done this too many times.
He crouched slowly, bringing himself to your eye level, hands open and visible. His voice came out low and steady. “Hey… easy. I’m not here to hurt you. Name’s Leon Kennedy, DSO. You’re safe now.”
You flinched hard, a small whimper escaping your throat. Your whole body trembled.
“I know you’re scared. You’ve been through hell. But I need you to breathe with me, alright? Slow in… slow out. Can you do that?”
He kept about three feet between you at first, giving you space while his eyes checked you for injuries. No obvious bites. Good. The mask around your neck already told part of the story.
For a long moment you just stared, hyperventilating. Then something broke. A sob tore out of you and you lunged forward, arms wrapping around his torso like a vise. You buried your face in his chest, clutching fistfuls of his tactical vest, body shaking violently. The stench of urine and fear hit him full force, but he didn’t pull away. He’d held worse.
Leon rested one hand lightly on your back - gentle, not restraining. “That’s it. I’ve got you. You’re not alone anymore.” His other hand stayed near his holster, ears tuned to the hallway. “We’re gonna get you cleaned up, figure out what happened, and get the hell out of here. But I need you to talk to me when you can. Think you can do that?”
You nodded against him, small and frantic, but didn’t let go for several long minutes.
When your grip finally loosened, Leon helped you to your feet and guided you to a nearby bathroom the team had brought back online. You were still trembling but could stand on your own.
“Wait here a second,” he said. He stepped into the adjacent supply area where the team’s duffels were stacked and dug through them quickly. He pulled out a clean towel, a faded blue-gray button-up shirt that looked like one of the male agents’ spares - soft and oversized - and a pair of your own simple gray lounge shorts.
He returned and set the pile on the counter beside the sink, then stepped back. “Here. Go ahead and get cleaned up.”
Your eyes darted between the clothes, Leon, and the floor. You hesitated, then sighed and started slipping off your ruined shirt.
Leon’s eyes widened slightly. He coughed and turned away fast. “I’ll be right outside. Holler if you need anything.” He stepped out and pulled the door closed behind him.
While you washed up, Leon cleared the immediate area. In one of the side rooms he found your tablet. He picked it up and started scrolling through your notes. The lab had been used for a breeding program. Umbrella had been trying to accelerate B.O.W. production by letting infected “breed” to create stronger mutants faster and cheaper.
He muttered under his breath, “A breeding program. How cute.”
The notes went on to explain that Umbrella had attempted to destroy all research and specimens when they evacuated in a hurry, but one containment pod showed clear signs of breach - an infected had escaped. That was almost certainly the one sighted in the area.
Nearby, on the floor, were strips of shredded paper someone had tried to piece back together. Leon crouched and read the fragments. The document was formatted like a standard Umbrella lab report, clinical and detached:
U-Project Strain V-17 Exposure Trial - Human Subjects
Test Group: 12 males, 8 females
Exposure Method: Aerosolized spores
Subjects exhibited rapid onset of symptoms within 30-90 seconds of inhalation: elevated core body temperature, profuse sweating, generalized trembling, and extreme physiological arousal. One male subject (ID-047) described the sensation as “liquid magma had replaced the blood inside his veins” and reported feeling as though he were drowning in his own pulse.
In male subjects, symptoms subsided only after ejaculation. In female subjects, relief required insemination. Failure to achieve resolution led to progressive systemic shutdown - respiratory distress, cardiac arrhythmia, and eventual death within 4-6 hours. Autopsy findings suggest the strain hijacks primary reproductive drives at a neurological level, overriding higher cognitive function. Denial of the instinct appears to trigger fatal autonomic collapse.
Leon stood up and set the tablet down as he heard the bathroom door open. He stepped into the corridor.
When he laid eyes on you he stopped dead in his tracks. You looked cleaner now, dressed in the oversized button-up and your gray lounge shorts. The shirt was far too big, the hem falling to mid-thigh, but the damp fabric clung in places, hinting at the curves underneath. A few top buttons were undone, probably because the collar felt too tight. Your hair was still wet, a few strands sticking to your neck while the rest cascaded around your shoulders, leaving transparent spots on the thin fabric. You still shook slightly, arms pulled protectively against your chest. In the lamplight, the material was just sheer enough to hint at the outline of your body beneath. You looked smaller in the borrowed shirt - vulnerable, but undeniably attractive in a way that made his throat tighten. He rubbed the back of his neck and forced his gaze back to your face.
You caught him looking. For a moment your eyes held, a heavy silence stretching between you. You tugged self-consciously at the hem of the shirt, but didn’t look away. The air felt thicker than it should have.
Then he cleared his throat and nodded toward the room. “Come on. Let’s sit down for a minute.”
You followed him obediently. You took chairs opposite each other. Leon offered you his canteen. You took several large, messy gulps. Some water spilled down the front of the shirt, making the fabric cling and turn more transparent. Leon swallowed and looked away.
“So,” he said evenly. “Tell me what happened here.”
You lowered the canteen, eyes distant. “The infected… it appeared suddenly. The agents moved to engage. I was the only one with my mask on. The others… they inhaled the spores.” Your hands and voice started to tremble again. “Then they turned towards me.”
Leon’s breath caught, remembering your torn clothes and exposed underwear.
“They went feral. Started clawing at my clothes, trying to rip them off. When they realized they all wanted the same… prize… they turned on each other instead. I ran into the closet and hid. I didn’t dare come out, even after the screaming stopped.”
Leon nodded slowly. “You did the smart thing staying hidden. A lot of people wouldn’t have made it this far.”
He could see you getting more upset, so he didn’t push. But in the back of his mind he knew the nightmare wasn’t over. The infected was still somewhere in the facility.
As if on cue, you both heard it: distant wet footsteps and low, guttural breathing growing steadily closer.
Leon stood fast. Your mask was long gone. He couldn’t risk a fight while trying to protect you. He grabbed your arm and pulled you towards the nearest closet.
“Stay quiet,” he whispered.
The space was cramped. He positioned himself between you and the door, back to the door, arms wrapped around you protectively to keep you steady and shielded.
You trembled violently in his hold, small whimpers slipping out as the footsteps drew nearer. Leon clamped a hand gently over your mouth and pulled you tighter against him. The infected stopped right outside the closet. Leon’s heart hammered. He could feel your heart racing against his chest.
You both held your breath as best you could.
It was futile.
Even as the creature eventually moved on, Leon felt the change hit him like lightning. His blood turned to magma. Heat flooded his body. His breathing grew ragged. His arms started trembling. Suddenly he was painfully aware of every detail - the warmth of your body pressed against him, the scent of your damp hair and skin.
It felt like he was drowning. His blood burned hot, a deep ache sinking into his bones. Every instinct screamed that there was only one way to make it stop.
“Hey…” Leon breathed, the hand over your mouth gently turning your face towards him.
Your eyes had gone glassy with lust, lips parted, breathing fast and shallow. You trembled violently in his arms, knees buckling. In the tight closet he could smell your unmistakable arousal cutting through the lingering floral spores. His free hand slid down your waist, fingers tracing between your thighs. You were drenched. Slick ran down your skin in warm trails, soaking his fingertips. The sheer amount of it sent another violent wave of heat crashing through his body.
You whimpered at the contact, hips twitching helplessly. Every light touch seemed to set your nerves on fire.
“Leon… please…” you begged, voice breaking as you pressed back against him, your ass grinding against the rigid line of his cock still trapped in his pants.
There was no time for hesitation. Give in or die trying to fight it.
“No other way…” he gritted out through clenched teeth.
He tore the oversized button-up open with one sharp yank, buttons scattering across the floor with soft clicks. The shirt fell apart, exposing you fully from the waist up. Your lounge shorts came next - he shoved them down your legs until they pooled at your ankles. He realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath. He hadn’t given you any underwear earlier. Leon stayed behind you, his taller frame looming as he looked down over your shoulder at your bare breasts. Jesus… pull it together, Kennedy. She’s terrified. This isn’t me. But the spores didn’t care. Heat pulsed behind his eyes, and he couldn’t stop staring.
His hand moved before he could stop it, sliding up your stomach and cupping one breast from behind. His palm was rough from years of calluses, the contrast making you gasp. He squeezed gently at first, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened under his touch. Your head fell back against his chest, a broken moan slipping out. The spores made every nerve feel raw. His hand felt scalding and perfect at the same time. You had found him attractive the moment you laid your eyes on him - that quiet, weathered confidence, the gray in his hair, the low gravel of his voice - but now it was unbearable. He looked so solid, so capable, so real in the middle of this nightmare. You needed him closer, needed him to keep touching you.
Leon’s jaw tightened. She’s shaking. She was already half-naked and terrified when I found her. Now I’m… He pushed the thought down and leaned down, twisting your upper body slightly toward him so he could reach your chest more easily. His mouth closed over your breast, tongue dragging slow and heavy across your nipple before sucking it in. Your hands grabbed hold of his tactical vest, pulling him closer. The wet heat of his mouth sent sparks straight between your legs. You could feel yourself getting even wetter, slick dripping down your thighs in earnest. “Leon…” you whimpered, the name coming out like a prayer. He was so much bigger than you, older, stronger - the kind of man who had survived everything the world could throw at him. Under the spores that fact made you ache even harder.
He switched sides, sucking your other nipple into his mouth while his hand continued working the first, pinching and rolling until you were panting openly. His free hand stayed between your legs, two fingers sliding through your folds without entering you yet, spreading the slick around your clit in lazy strokes. Every pass made your hips jerk. You could smell him - gun oil, sweat, that faint metallic edge from the fight - and it only made the need worse. He was right there, solid and warm and him, the same man who had crouched down and spoken so softly to calm you earlier. Now that same low voice was breathing hot against your skin.
“Easy…” he muttered against your breast, more to himself than to you. Focus. Keep her quiet. Keep her safe. But his cock was throbbing painfully against the zipper of his pants, leaking steadily. He had never been this hard, not even in his twenties. The ache in his bones was turning into fire.
Your mind was fracturing under the strain. Every touch felt magnified. His calloused hands, the scratch of his stubble against your skin, the gravel in his voice when he groaned - it all hit you like a drug. You had noticed how attractive he was the second he opened the closet door, that tired, rugged face and steady eyes. Now the spores twisted it into something desperate. You wanted him inside you, wanted him to fill you, wanted the weight of him to pin you down and make the burning stop.
Leon pulled back just enough to shove his pants and underwear down far enough to free his cock. It sprang out heavy and leaking, the head flushed dark. He lined up from behind, one hand still steadying your hip.
The moment the tip pressed against your entrance, your overwhelming wetness let him sink in with one long, smooth thrust. You cried out at the way his large cock stretched you out. You’d never felt so full. Leon clamped his hand back over your mouth, muffling the sound.
“Sorry…” he groaned against the back of your shoulder, voice wrecked. “Didn’t mean to go that deep… you’re so fucking wet it just… slipped in.”
He forced himself to hold completely still, letting you adjust to his size. It was pure torture. He could feel every flutter and clench of your walls around him, your slick coating every inch, dripping down. One hand stayed firmly over your mouth while the other returned to your chest, kneading your breast as he fought the urge to move.
Your eyes fluttered shut. The fullness was overwhelming, almost too much, but the spores turned the stretch into liquid pleasure. You could feel every bump and ridge of his cock inside you - the thick veins pulsing, the slight upward curve that pressed right against a spot that made your toes curl. He was so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach. You had wanted this man even before the spores hit - wanted the quiet strength, the gravelly voice, the way he looked at you like you were something worth protecting. Now you needed him like air.
When your breathing started to even out, he began to move - slow, shallow thrusts that barely pulled him out before sliding back in.
Even those small motions dragged throaty moans from you, the sounds vibrating against his hand. Your volume kept rising, dangerously loud. Suddenly your walls clamped down hard, pulsing around him as your first orgasm ripped through you. Your whole body shook. Leon shifted his hand from your mouth to your jaw, letting you gasp desperately for air while you rode it out.
He remembered the shredded lab report. One release wouldn’t be enough for you - the strain demanded insemination to fully recede. For both your sakes, he had to finish inside you.
He gave you a few seconds to catch your breath, then carefully turned you around in the cramped space. He lifted you, your back against the wall for support, and slid back inside in one smooth motion. You wrapped your arms around his neck and moaned into his mouth as he kissed you, the sound mostly swallowed this time. The spores made everything feel sharper, more consuming - kissing him turned hazy and desperate, tongues sliding messily. When he was confident you’d stay quieter, he pulled back just enough, a thin string of saliva stretching between you before it broke.
He picked up the pace, hips snapping against yours with wet, obscene sounds that filled the tiny closet. The head of his cock bumped your cervix with every thrust. It should have been too much, too deep, but the virus twisted the pressure into pure, overwhelming pleasure for you. You could feel every ridge dragging along your inner walls, every vein pulsing against your most sensitive spots, the way his thickness stretched you open and made you clench helplessly around him.
His own mind was starting to fog at the edges. Part of him wanted to chase release as fast as possible and end the burning. Another part - the exhausted veteran who’d seen too many nightmares - never wanted this fevered intensity to stop. He couldn’t remember the last time anything had felt this raw.
Your gasps turned higher-pitched and frantic. You were close again already.
“Gonna come again?” he muttered, eyes fixed on your flushed, desperate face.
You couldn’t form words, you were too lost in the pleasure.
Your second orgasm hit even harder. You clenched and trembled violently in his arms. Leon kissed you through it, swallowing every cry, and kept thrusting steadily. As you started coming down he slowed to deep, grinding rolls of his hips, pressing as deep as the tight space allowed. He stayed there, barely moving, just rocking against you while your walls fluttered around his cock.
Your head was completely foggy now. The pleasure had melted your thoughts into a desperate, babbling mess. “Leon… Leon, please… I want you so bad… you’re so deep… I’ve wanted you since you opened that door… you’re so warm… fuck, I need you to come inside me… fill me up… I can’t take it anymore… please, Leon, I want you, I want you, I want you…”
Leon groaned low at your mindless babbling, the sound vibrating against your neck. He kept grinding slow and deep, teasing you right to the edge again without letting you tip over. His cock throbbed inside you, every ridge and vein still dragging against your walls with each tiny roll of his hips. “Hold on…” he rasped. “We should finish together. Make sure it takes.”
You nodded frantically, tears of overwhelming pleasure clinging to your lashes. One hand left his neck and wedged between your bodies. Your fingers rubbed your clit in tight, urgent circles, making your walls squeeze him even harder.
Leon finally thrust harder, the wet slap of skin echoing. He could feel the edge rushing up fast on both of you.
“Take it,” he growled. “Fucking take all of it.”
He came hard, spilling deep inside you in thick, pulsing waves. The sudden flood of heat and pressure sent you crashing into a third orgasm right after him. Your walls fluttered and milked him greedily, drawing every drop deeper. You kissed messily through it, muffling the sounds as best you could while your body shook against his.
When the intensity finally started to ebb, Leon felt the burning in his veins slowly cool. The magma-like heat receded to a manageable warmth. He wasn’t completely clear-headed yet, but the immediate, life-threatening edge had passed.
He eased out of you carefully and lowered you back to your feet. Your legs gave out almost immediately. You slid down the wall until you were sitting on the floor, chest still heaving.
You looked up at him with desperate eyes. “Where are you going?” you whispered, voice raw.
“Gonna finish this,” Leon said, pulling his clothes back into place. “Wait here.”
He slipped out of the closet, pistol drawn.
Alone, you tried to pull the ruined shirt back on. It barely covered anything. You heard gunshots echo through the facility and curled into a tight ball in the corner, heart hammering. Had he killed it? Or had the spores taken him again?
Footsteps approached. You braced for the worst.
The door opened. Leon stood there, eyes sharp and clear, breathing steady.
“Come on,” he said. “We’re getting out of here.”
He lifted you into his arms. You wrapped yourself around him instinctively, arms around his neck, face buried against his shoulder. Quiet sobs shook you for a few moments. When they eased, you whispered against his neck, voice still raw but carrying a hint of shy humor.
“Next time… we should do it on a bed.”
Leon paused mid-step, the words sinking in. The implication hit him - not just survival, but a next time. He let out a low, tired chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest.
“Yeah,” he said, voice gravelly but warm. “A bed sounds good.”
You tightened your hold, a small, shaky smile forming against his skin as he carried you towards the exit.