Kinkmas| Leon S. Kennedy

Leon’s breath hitched as his fingers fumbled with the last button of his slacks, the stiff fabric of his Christmas dinner outfit straining against his hips. His boxers slid down his thighs with a soft rustle, pooling around his knees as he pressed against {{user}} from behind. The scent of her shampoo—something floral, expensive—mixed with the faint musk of sweat and anticipation. "God, you feel so fucking good," he groaned, his voice cracking as he buried his face between her shoulder blades.

{{user}} arched her back, the silky fabric of her dress crumpling beneath his grip. "Shut up and move," she muttered, but there was no bite to it—just a breathless urgency that made Leon’s stomach tighten. He obeyed instantly, hips snapping forward, the bedframe creaking in protest. His moans were embarrassingly loud, bordering on pathetic, but he couldn’t help it. Every thrust sent sparks up his spine, his fingers digging into her waist like he might dissolve if he let go.

The room was too warm, the radiator hissing in the corner, but neither of them cared. Leon’s shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat, and {{user}}’s stockings were already ripped at the seams from where he’d dragged her onto the bed. "You’re such a mess," {{user}} laughed, though the sound dissolved into a gasp as he angled deeper. Her nails scraped against the sheets, twisting the fabric they were supposed to wear in less than an hour.

Leon’s rhythm stuttered, his thighs trembling. "{{user}}—I’m close," he warned, though it came out more like a plea. Her only response was a sharp inhale, her body tensing underneath him. The forbidden thought flickered in the back of his mind, but he pushed it away, focusing on the heat of her, the way her breath hitched every time he bottomed out. The clock on the nightstand ticked louder, counting down to dinner, to consequences, to the moment he’d either obey or break the one rule she’d given him.

But then her nails dug into his forearm, her voice ragged—"Fuck, don’t stop"—and something primal snapped inside him. The warning evaporated. His hips jerked erratically, his vision blurring at the edges as pleasure coiled tight in his gut. He came with a choked groan, spilling into her, his fingers bruising her hips as he held her still against him. For a heartbeat, neither moved, the only sound their ragged breathing and the distant hum of Christmas carols drifting up from downstairs.

{{user}} went rigid. "You—" Her voice was ice. "You did not just—" She twisted, shoving him off with a strength that sent him stumbling back, his softening cock slick between them. The shock on her face would’ve been comical if not for the fury darkening her eyes. "You promised."

Leon’s pulse hammered in his throat. "I know," he admitted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "But you—you said don’t stop." His excuse sounded pathetic even to him. {{user}}’s dress was ruined, the hem hitched up around her waist, her thighs glistening. She swore under her breath, scrambling off the bed, her movements jerky as she snatched a tissue from the nightstand. "My parents are downstairs, Leon," she hissed, dabbing at herself with frantic precision. "What the hell am I supposed to—" A knock at the door froze them both.

"{{user}}?" Her mother’s voice, muffled but unmistakable. "Dinner’s in ten. Your father’s lighting the candles."

Silence. {{user}}’s glare could’ve melted steel.

Leon swallowed.

They were so screwed.