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My name is Leon and I’m an alcoholic.
Leon has never actually been to rehab, surprisingly, nor has he participated in any Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. He’s never had any desire to, either. As long as he’s still a valuable asset — until his drinking gets in the way of his ability to carry out his job — he has no incentive to do so.
Well, until now, that is. He’s not entirely sure what’s discussed at AA meetings, but he’s sure he gets the general idea of it. Sob stories, how alcohol has affected their daily lives, as well as the people around them. Everyone solemnly nodding along as you talk, adding their own anecdotes once you finish so they can relate to you. You’re not alone. You can get through this. This is a safe space.
So, hypothetically, would it still be a safe space if Leon addressed his biggest issue with his alcoholism? Not the hangovers, not the health problems, not the constant nagging from others to do better. No, Leon’s problem is much more dire than any of that. This is serious. And, if he’s being honest, it might be the end of the world.
His dick has stopped working.
It’s been a gradual development. First, he was coming too quickly, which would have been embarrassing if not for Ada on top of him whispering that it was so sexy. Then, he couldn’t keep it up after a mere few minutes of foreplay. Not just when he was alone, trying to jerk out a stressful day at work, but also in bed with Ada (because he doesn’t have sex with anyone else, despite them not being exclusive — and after this, he isn’t sure he would even be able to).
He could get medication, right? That was a thing. Pop a pill to pop a boner. But when you’re as high up of an agent as Leon is, privacy is hard to come by. He would go to work and his superior officers would simply have that information filed away like it was just another piece of data; Oh, Agent Kennedy, I think I read that he recently turned in a prescription for Viagra yesterday morning. Because, yes, of course that’s important information, and Leon would get berated for questioning it. After all, nothing has truly been his own since he started to work for the government and directly under the President.
So, yeah, he’d rather his employers weren’t aware of his limp dick. If he can keep one thing to himself, he’d like for it to be that.
Currently, Leon is slouched over a bar top in some shady corner joint. His forehead is sticky from the spilt alcohol on the wood. He’s already at rock bottom, he may as well disregard any standard of hygiene, too. Fuck it. If he were any more desperate he could probably talk himself into licking the surface clean. Isn’t he a sweetheart? Lifting one more job off the poor, underpaid bartender. The bartender that is currently burning a hole into the top of Leon’s head, presumably unimpressed at his behaviour.
I’m funding your paycheck, man, Leon quips in his head, because he’s too lazy to open his mouth right now. Show some respect.
There’s a hand on his thigh then, rubbing circles into his jeans, and, wow, okay, this must be crossing some professional boundary, right? He’s drunk, but he’s not that drunk and he knows he hasn’t been a great customer but surely this is unnecessary. His head jerks up — he ignores the shooting pulse of pain at the sudden movement — to chew this guy out. But it’s not the bartender that he sees in front of him.
“Drinking all by yourself, handsome?” asks Ada coyly.
“When the fuck did you get here?” is what Leon manages to slur out, rather than the chorus of God, you look good playing in his head. He’s sure he’ll be voicing those thoughts soon enough, anyway. A few more drinks and he won’t even think before he speaks.
Ada’s gaze roams over him and it’s only then that Leon realises how pathetic he must look. His clothes are coated in wrinkles, hair slightly greasy, entirely reeking of alcohol. Overall, probably a lot more gaunt than the last time she saw him. If it were anyone else seeing him like this, he probably wouldn’t think twice. He’d ran out of shame a long time ago — probably some time around Chris finding him blacked out in a bar bathroom, surrounded by vomit; or some time around his dick deciding to go on strike — but this is Ada. Something about her seeing him like this is… wrong.
Right now, though, her usually sharp eyes aren’t so sharp. Or maybe Leon’s bleary vision is failing him. Her stare is more thoughtful, almost like she expected to find him in this state. Which might be the worst possibility, actually. He doesn’t want her to see him like this. She’s tried so hard to keep him alive, since Raccoon City, and this is how he’s living. He may as well slap her across the face and yell that her efforts were all for nothing; that she would have been better off leaving him to die. She never should have dressed his wound, draped her coat over him, made him so incredibly fucking fond of her, because look where that’s gotten him.
“Just now,” Ada says calmly, not flinching at his hostility. Her voice is smooth, bringing Leon back down to reality. “Though I’m leaving shortly. And you’re leaving with me.”
“Why don’t you take me out to dinner first?” Leon jokes, but it comes out flat. Lifeless. “Or, in this case, buy me a drink first.”
Ada’s expression is still neutral. Not humouring him, she replies, “I won’t be doing that. You’ve had enough.”
It’s sort of a wake up call. Funny, considering how many people have tried to break through to him with lengthy speeches or heartfelt conversations and this is what gets through to him.
Leon’s whiskey glass is still half empty. Maybe if Ashley or Claire were here they’d correct him and say, Actually, the glass is half full! Maybe Leon at twenty-one would have said that, too.
He takes it in his hand and downs the rest of it. He’s not really in a situation where he can do anything besides blindly listen to Ada. He trusts her, stupidly, even after all this time. Her eyebrow ticks, most likely unamused, but she doesn’t say anything else. Leon stares into his empty glass. There’s a distorted version of his reflection at the bottom, he barely recognises himself.
Ada says nothing, leaving no room for Leon to argue. She’s already climbing off her stool, offering a hand for Leon to take. He pointedly ignores it, climbing off his chair himself. He watches grudgingly as Ada takes care of his bill, but is otherwise too drunk (or exhausted, or selfish) to protest. If he can manage to wake up before her in the morning, he can slip some cash into her pockets before she slips away. Because sober Leon will be remorseful. He’ll feel overwhelming guilt for being a burden, which is why he’ll have to bury himself in another bottle to drown out those feelings.
The drive back to Leon’s apartment is only slightly awkward. He doesn’t know what time it is, but there’s barely any traffic. It’s probably late, then. His cheek is smushed against the cold window, the glass fogging up under his nose with every breath he takes. He tries to focus on the low volume of the radio so he doesn’t throw up all over Ada’s nice, and no doubt expensive, car. Her fingers occasionally tap against the steering wheel. It’s a nice rhythm for Leon to listen to.
He wonders what Ada’s intention is here. Surely she’s not looking to play doting friend who’s just worried about him, wanting to make sure he gets home safely after finding him by coincidence. This is Ada and so that means nothing is really a coincidence. If she was simply looking to get him back home before he passed out, she would have done that a long time ago. He knows that she keeps an eye on him, or has someone else — some contact or other — do it for her. She doesn’t seem too keen on berating him for his terrible life choices either.
And, she’s the only other person to know about his… problem, considering his dick malfunctioned right in front of her. Surely she’s not here to have sex with him. He can’t imagine anybody being too thrilled by the thought of his flaccid penis.
Even after so many years, Ada continues to be a source of mystery for him. It’s impressive.
When they arrive at his apartment complex, he stumbles his way to the elevator and then his front door. He stubbornly refuses to acknowledge Ada’s silent offers of help. He fumbles in his pocket for his keys, practically patting himself down when he can’t feel them. His eyes flicker up at the clicking of his door, only to see Ada with his apartment key in hand. Of course. Being drunk really has lowered his inhibitions.
“You’re going to shower,” Ada states as she opens the door, stepping inside.
Leon follows in behind her. His apartment is nothing to write home about. It used to be bare; it’s still bare, just now it’s also exceptionally messy. Unwashed dishes, crushed beer cans, empty glass bottles. He has the decency to grimace, though Ada seems undeterred.
“What, and you’re still going to be here when I get out?” he asks skeptically. He still can’t help but keep his hopes up. Ada might be the only person whose company he actively finds himself yearning to be in.
Ada regards him. Simply, confidently, she just says, “Yes. Now, go shower. Unless you need me to help you?”
As tempting as that would have been a few months ago, Leon can’t bear any additional humiliation. Ada’s soft hands caressing his skin, dragging soap over him, her nails lightly scraping his hair as she massages shampoo into the strands. And, somehow, he’d stay soft the entire time. If Ada can’t get him hard, it’s feasible his dick has had its run. It’s handed in its notice; officially retired.
He dismisses her with a small shake of his head, trudging to the bathroom. He avoids the mirror above his sink and instead turns right to the shower. With a trembling hand, he turns on the water.
The water is hot and steam quickly fills the small space of his bathroom. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, not even having the energy to think, before he reaches for the shampoo. His head is still fuzzy, definitely still tipsy, and part of him just wants to slip down to the floor of the shower and sit there forever.
Leon finds his mind wandering back to more uncomfortable territory. His eyes drift downwards, taking a look down at himself, to his penis. Still completely unresponsive. He feels pent up just at the thought of Ada beyond this door, how she could be in here with him, their bodies sliding together against the tiled wall as water pelts onto them. It's a cruel joke, really. In better days, just the thought of Ada would've been enough to get him excited. And now, having her right within his grasp does nothing for him. It's like his body has turned on him; maybe even a bigger betrayal than finding out the woman he’d relied on, practically devoted himself to, in Raccoon City turned out to be using him as nothing more than a pawn for her own selfish gain. If Leon could think with his dick right now, he’d ignore the thoughts arising that Ada is obviously a symbol of betrayal in his life.
But Leon can think with the next best thing; a bottle of whiskey. His inebriated state doesn’t even consider kicking Ada out to be an option right now.
He’s a little surprised to find Ada on his bed when he leaves the bathroom, droplets of water from his hair dripping onto the floor, a towel lazily tied around his waist. If this were under normal circumstances, Leon probably wouldn’t have even bothered with the towel. There was a tiny inkling in the back of his mind, repeating that Ada would be gone. She just said she’d stay as an incentive.
“I’m surprised you’re still here,” he says, running a hand over his face. He’s still a little tipsy, evident from how he stumbles over to the bed.
Ada smiles, tilting her head. “I said I’d stay, didn’t I?”
“Right, sorry,” Leon slurs out, a little dramatically and a lot sarcastic. “I forgot, you always stick to your word.”
Ada dismisses his petty quip, choosing to ignore it in its entirety. Instead, she beckons him over to her with a hand gesture, curling her finger towards herself. Leon stands awkwardly for a moment, still only in his towel and still soaking wet. He must look dumb; blankly staring at Ada, probably — no, definitely — the most beautiful woman in the world, who is clearly being suggestive, like she wants to have sex, and he is doing absolutely nothing.
Through his drunken haze, his brain manages to kickstart. He steps forward, standing over Ada, feeling unusually nervous. One look in her eyes and his bravado just melts away. Embarrassing, but what about Leon’s life outside of work isn’t embarrassing at this point?
Ada’s hands reach out slowly, her fingers wrapping around his towel, moving tenderly to undo the tie. Leon freezes up. This is a bad idea. But Ada has already loosened his towel and it falls onto the floor in a puddle at his feet. Ada’s palms smooth over his chest, gently pulling him down onto the bed with her.
“Ada,” he breathes, nearly timid. He’s hovering over her now, bracketing her thighs. “You know I can’t—”
She interrupts him with a soft kiss, her lips moving against his slowly, like she has all the time in the world (to wait for him to get hard, maybe). When they part, his eyes flutter open and she’s already looking at him. Her hand cups his cheek, though it’s slightly firm, not as tender as the kiss.
“Get out of your own head for once,” she tells him. “Just feel.”
Leon has no time to protest before Ada is kissing him all over. He can feel the matte of her lipstick sticking to his skin with every press of her lips. She pushes him onto his back, hands on his hips, straddling his thighs. She starts at his neck, which is scratchy since he hasn’t shaved, then trails her lips all the way down his body, which is a little more lean since their last encounter. She draws muffled groans from Leon easily, the noises melting into whines as she reaches the inside of his thighs.
He’s not entirely soft, but he’s not exactly hard either. But, fuck, this still feels good, he isn’t even worrying over not being able to get it up. He tries to listen to Ada — to just feel — and, yeah, he does feel pretty fucking good. He’s been pent up for weeks.
“Oh,” Ada purrs teasingly, her hand squeezing at the base of Leon’s cock, earning her a twitch of his hips. “Did someone have too much to drink?”
“Ada,” Leon whines, his eyes squeezed shut and a shade of pink dusting his cheeks. His hands fumble before attempting to reach for Ada’s hair. It takes a few tries before he gets it in his hand. “Fuck, please.”
Ada raises a completely faux innocent eyebrow. “Please, what?”
Leon whimpers at that. He’s silent for a moment, nothing but the sound of his panting in the room. Then, so quiet, “Please, suck me off. I need it, Ada, please.”
She languidly strokes up and down Leon’s cock, as if contemplating his request. Really, she knows she can’t drag this out any longer. Even she knows she doesn’t have the self control for that; not when Leon — drunk and pliant and begging — is writhing under her, asking so politely and saying please. It’s a harsh contrast to his previous brute attitude. Ada finds that she much prefers him like this, coated in embarrassment and pleasure.
“Since you asked so nicely,” Ada says, like she’s granting him a privilege. He groans at her words, eagerly jerking his hips for more.
Ada complies. She takes Leon — still mostly soft — in her mouth, eliciting a pleased sound from him. This could honestly be enough; just the feeling of Ada’s hot mouth on his dick, however soft it may be, feels heavenly. His hand in her hair tightens its grasp ever so slightly, but not tugging. Not yet, anyway.
Her eyes met his as she worked her mouth over him. A whimper slips past Leon’s lips, his head tipping back of its own volition. Eye contact any longer would have him coming in an instant, so he tore his eyes away, squeezing them shut. His arms shake under his weight mixed with the effort of keeping himself in check.
When he does come, it’s in small, pathetic spurts down Ada’s throat. His eyes are bright and glistening, voice strangled as he chokes out a moan. His body is practically putty as he melts into the bedding beneath him, breathing deeply as if he’d just gotten off a treadmill, needing to catch his breath. He’d come shamefully quick, but he really can’t bring himself to care about that right now, watching as Ada slides her mouth off of him, a trail of spit still connecting her to his cock.
“Good boy,” she murmurs, adjusting her dress as she climbs to cage his thighs again. He huffs out a whine at that, unable to look away when Ada’s hand holds his chin. “See, didn’t that feel good?”
“So good,” Leon agrees, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Fuck.”
“Poor thing,” she coos, turning his head in her hand, inspecting his rising blush. “You must have been so pent up.”
That’s an understatement. “You have no fucking idea.”
“Well, aren’t you lucky to have me?” Ada asks with a smirk.
Leon stares up at her like she hung the moon and the stars for him. His gaze is reverant. With a kiss to her thumb, which she had started absently swiping over his bottom lip, his hands reach out to push her dress up, resting at her hips. Hungrily he stares at the wet patch on her underwear.
“So lucky,” he breathes out. “So fucking lucky.”
He wastes no more time. When his mouth latches onto her, greedy but still so attentive, Ada can barely think. Her hand fists itself into Leon’s hair, bringing his face closer. He moans around her as she tugs on his hair. He’s incredibly easy.
As Ada is about to coo out another praise about how well Leon is doing, his tongue finds her clit and the words become nothing more than a fleeting thought. She groans, grinding down against his face. Leon only responds with an eager hum, Ada’s reactions acting as an incentive for him to keep going.
If Ada didn’t know Leon had been drinking earlier, she’d have assumed that he’s utterly fuck drunk. His tongue is sloppy — still efficient, definitely, but sloppy — and he’s chasing Ada like he needs her to live. Sex with Leon never fails to boost her ego; he’s so devoted. He’s not dissimilar to a stray dog you feed once and latches onto you.
“Oh, Leon,” Ada gasps. His hands move down her thighs, his dull nails digging into her skin. It feels incredible. “Right there, baby, yeah. You’re doing such a good job.”
Leon lets out a needy, high pitched noise. He desperately wants to please her, wants her to know how grateful he is for everything that she’s done for him. His eyes flutter, and the corners of his lips twitch. The praise only encourages him to try harder, the need to hear her approval consuming him more than anything else. His hands — still slightly uncoordinated from the alcohol — tighten around her hips, urging her to ride his face harder.
"Fuck," she gasps, nails digging into his scalp. "Such a good boy. Don’t even need your cock to make me come.”
Leon responds by sucking lightly on just the right spot while groaning against her core, the vibration making Ada twitch above him. He pulls back, panting, then whispers, “Wish I could fuck you.”
The way he looks up at her, eyes half-lidded, mouth wet with her slick, is almost enough to drive her insane.
"I know, baby,” she sympathises, “but you don’t have to worry about that tonight.”
Leon lets out a whine, his head falling forwards to rest against her stomach. "But…"
He's pouting. She can tell without even looking at his face. Ada lets out a sigh, fingers loosening in his hair, now gently combing through the soft, brunette strands.
“You’re so good with your mouth,” she says lowly. “Show me.”
At the command, Leon doesn't hesitate to bury his face back between her legs, his tongue flicking in long, wide strokes. He wants to be good for her, to please her, and so he pours all of what’s left of his focus and effort into doing just that.
She's already close, thanks to the way he'd been worshiping her earlier, but as he starts to eagerly work at her clit, she can't help but shiver. She's not used to feeling this sensitive, this overwhelmed, it's like a fire’s burning under her skin, every nerve on edge with a need to touch and be touched. Leon always does have a way of surprising her.
"Leon…” Her voice cracks, sharp and desperate. His name is a plea on her lips as she spills over his tongue in hot waves, hips jerking against him helplessly.
Leon laps up everything that he can, before pulling back. He smiles dopily up at Ada, as if her climax was the last proof he needed to confirm he really had been doing a good job. She moves down his chest, turning so that they’re both lying on their sides, face to face, so that she can connect their lips in a searing kiss.
He practically collapses on top of Ada once she ends the kiss. She grins down at him, though it softens into an almost fond smile when Leon tiredly curls into her side, resting his head in his chest. She doesn’t say anything else, knowing he’s probably too exhausted and, most likely, fuzzy from the alcohol to speak. She soothes him with a light scratch at his scalp, trailing her nails slowly through his hair. He sighs, seemingly relaxed.
They stay like that for a long while, to the point that Ada thinks Leon has fallen asleep.
“Thank you,” he says quietly, sounding completely out of it. He blinks up at her dazedly, eyes somewhat gone.
Ada lets out a considerate hum, pressing a kiss to the top of his hair. “Of course.”
“You’re…” Leon starts, then swallows. He looks like he might cry. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Mm. And you’re sweet,” she returns, not lingering on how the words make warmth bloom in her chest.
Leon shakes his head. He corrects, “I’m a mess.” He pauses thoughtfully before adding, “And I have the worst dick on the planet.”
Ada can’t help but laugh at that, smoothing Leon’s hair with her palm. “I’m sure you can make it up to me sometime soon.”
Leon dares to look hopeful. Sometime soon. Man, maybe he just needs to swallow his pride and call in for that Viagra prescription. He looks so desperate that Ada wants to swallow him in a kiss. She does.
My name is Leon Kennedy and I’m an alcoholic. An alcoholic with erectile dysfunction, sure, but I still get to have sex with the hottest woman you’ve ever seen.
“You should sleep,” Ada tells him.
“Ugh, I’m going to have the worst hangover,” Leon complains theatrically, though he obediently tucks himself further into Ada’s side, letting his eyes fall shut.
Ada watches him, amused. “I’m sure you’ve had worse. I stopped you pretty early.”
“Alright, stalker,” Leon mumbles, already half asleep.
When Leon wakes in the morning, he knows the bed is empty of anyone else. Ada is probably long gone by now. He knows better than to expect her to stay the night. She never has; he’s always the first asleep.
He groans as he opens his eyes. It’s a strenuous task, with how they seem insistent on remaining closed. The light seeping into his room isn’t as harsh as it normally is, because the curtain has been drawn closed. He doesn’t remember doing that.
He turns over in bed, ignoring the roll of his stomach. He’s facing his bedside table now, which has some new additions since he fell asleep. Other than the lamp he hasn’t bothered to plug in and the book he bought forever ago but hasn’t even opened, there’s some Aspirin and a glass of water. More importantly, though, is the container of Viagra, painted with a lipstick stain. Next to it is a note, reading ‘For next time.’
Leon laughs, because otherwise he’s convinced he’ll die of embarrassment. He stares at it for a second, before picking it up and shaking it.
Next time. He might pop a pill right now just to jerk off thinking about it. That’s one way to cure his raging headache.
To himself, humorously, he says, “Women.”