SAVEGUARD ⟼ leon s. kennedy

liii. do it again

He looks at me as the car slows down in traffic, coming to a stop. His grin has me weak. He's been smiling a whole lot more recently, but I still haven't gotten used to it, how his whole face changes like he's younger, more care-free.

"What?" I ask, feeling a little self-conscious.

"You, uh—you got a little mark, right here," he says, leaning closer to me and grabbing my neck, circling a little sore patch of skin right below my jaw.

My cheeks flame up as I scramble to look at myself in the sunshield's mirror. To my total embarrassment, he's right, a little red patch is showing up. It wasn't there this morning, which means it'll only get darker and more visible as the day goes by.

"Leon! I can't go into work like this!" I moan, hiding my face in my palms.

"Sure you can," he says, shifting around in his seat, spreading his legs a little to get more comfortable as the traffic is still halted. "The quicker we get it over with, the quicker I can give you more of those."

"Wow," I say, rubbing at the hickey furiously, trying to get the blood flowing. "You're going to pay for this."

Leon rolls his jaw like he wasn't expecting my answer. "If you don't keep that promise I'll be so disappointed in you, Clementine."

I rub the skin where it's sore, more occupied with the idea of walking into work demanding time off when I have a visible fucking hickey than I am with being shy around Leon right now. "I wouldn't dare dream of disappointing you, Leon." I check the mark in the mirror again—it's even redder now. "I'm going to make sure—"

"Make sure what?" He interjects, his voice all hungry, and I feel his hand on my neck again, rubbing my skin. "You need to massage it like this," he says, this time his voice softer, and rubs his fingers across it.

His fingers on my skin make me lose my train of thought. "You sure are knowledgable about hickeys."

"It's just a type of bruise," he says quietly, tearing his eyes away from me to check the traffic. "Dealt with a lot of bruises."

"And not hickeys?" I ask, feeling disgusted at the idea.

He smirks as he keeps massaging my skin with one hand, his other hand on the wheel, driving forward a bit before we're stuck again. "Maybe a few when I was like, sixteen. Don't tell me you're jealous?"

"I'm not," I say childishly, pulling away from him.

He lets me move away from him for a bit before he grabs my neck again, keeping me in place, an impish grin curling his lips. "That's hot," he breathes, massaging his fingers into my skin.

"Is it?" I close my eyes for a second, trying to erase the image of someone else giving him a hickey out of my thoughts. "Too bad. Because I'm not jealous."

"Sounds like something someone who's jealous might say," he says, the grin diminishing. "I made you come three times last night but you're jealous over something I did over a decade ago."

"Shut uuuuup," I moan, swatting his hand away, embarrassed about everything. "I'm not jealous! And can you stop bringing up the whole three times thing?"

"You mean my greatest accomplishment to date?" He turns his attention back onto the road and drives, covering his mouth with one hand to stop me from seeing his smile.

"Saved the world a handful of times but sure, a few orgasms are your greatest accomplishment," I mumble, checking the hickey in the mirror again.

"Dealing with all this bioterrorism bullshit is not something I actively dream about doing," he says. "Making you come, though..." he adds, as he bites his lip a little.