Chapter 1: Hairs on End
He was tired. His legs burned with agony from the endless walking and occasional full sprints, his head was swimming–lost in a typhoon of new information, creeping fear, and confusion–and he was absurdly, inexplicably aroused. It wasn’t as though he were briskly walking around with even more strained, constricting trousers, no. In fact he wasn’t the slightest bit erect. But his mind was wandering places. Unconsciously, he scanned every single room he entered, analyzing the likeliness of his safety if he needed to relieve himself. Thought about it–along with that other thing –constantly. Because frankly he refused to do such a thing in the main hall, out of pure respect for Marvin. He’d found two rooms so far. One was a dark, secluded room in the West office–he’d failed to get the door open before finding its key somewhere else in his travels–and the other was, well, the dimly lit shower room on the second floor.
Leon sighed heavily, lowering his head as he shuffled his way back into the main hall. He holstered Matilda once he saw Marvin’s shuddering form on the sofa, and slowly approached him. He sat on the chair directly across from the Lieutenant, watching with furrowed eyebrows as he twitched and muttered frantically in his unconscious state. One particularly undead groan had Leon on his feet again, hand on his gun in less than a heartbeat. “Marvin?” He said, reaching out and tapping one of the man’s legs. No response. The noises continued. Leon’s eyes narrowed. He grabbed Branagh’s shoe and shook it roughly, eliciting a somewhat more human grumble. Leon shook it again, and the wounded officer’s eyes snapped open. “Hey.” Leon greeted warily. Marvin tried to flash him a welcome smile, but his face was quickly overcome with a grimace. Leon’s chest tightened upon looking at him, worrisome. “Feeling alright?” He asked, nodding to Branagh’s nasty wound. The other man simply didn’t answer, only drawing in short, pained breaths through his slightly ajar mouth. Leon took that as a heavy ‘no’ and looked away.
Leaden footsteps from god-knows-where echoed in the distance. Leon nearly jumped out of his skin. Marvin let out a raspy chuckle riddled with despair. “That thing still on your tail?” He wheezed out. His breaths sounded watery, unstable, as if his lungs were ready to give way. Leon only nodded, then sifted a gloved hand through his dirty, blood-soaked hair. The thing . His heart began to rapidly pulse in his chest, blood rushed through his ears with the likeliness of a train. Leon had been all over the station by now, reading bits and pieces of reports and desperately scribbled notes from fellow officers who were unlucky enough to be around when everything went down. Thankfully, he’d read about the lickers–skinless, sightless, crawling creatures with tongues longer than their own bodies–before encountering them, but the thing ? Unfortunately, he had no access to information on it before it found itself in Leon’s way. Or rather, Leon in its. The memory of the creature– Tyrant , the papers he found later had called it–peeling back the wrecked helicopter from its resting place in the wall with only one arm, cold, hard gaze boring into Leon, flashed through his mind. His skin broke out into savage goosebumps. He tensed his legs and lowered his head, shaking it. He remembered the way it immediately started for him, rushing forwards with a firm, almost robotic gait; its eyes glowed in the dim light like headlights, like a machine . Leon swore he could hear the creak of metal joints and rotating gears as it lurched for him, nearly taking his entire head into its enormous gloved palm. “Jesus Christ!” Leon had exclaimed.
He remembered turning sharply and forcing his way out of the door he’d just come through, then stopping to see if this creature, unlike the others, was capable of opening them. It was. And only when it did, and had to stoop to clamber through the doorway much too small for its frame, did Leon fully realize the absolute immensity of the beast.
A spark began deep within Leon’s stomach.
It stared at him with a blank expression, but Leon could see something he couldn’t quite place in its eyes, glinting treacherously. It eyed him like he was some sort of target, an obstacle it needed to overcome. It eyed him as if he were… prey. It abruptly began to stomp towards him; Leon couldn’t move, his body simply wouldn’t, so he stayed in place. The creature reached him in four seconds, flat. It glowered down at him, and he gawked up at it. Everything was frozen. Icy blue light filtered in through the window and illuminated the giant’s form. Its face was interesting to say the least. He knew he should’ve been repulsed by its wrinkled, somewhat gauged appearance. Its dark, bluish-gray skin tone. Its interesting but intimidating choice of attire of an all black, leather outfit complete with a trench-coat and hat. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from it, yet alone turn tail and run. His mouth was open a bit, a shocked but awed expression on his face. Leon was aware that his throat had tightened, but not out of fear. His face was hot, and his legs trembled slightly. Leon found that he was unable to bring himself to run from this complete behemoth because he didn’t want to. Until a colossal hand made another grab for him and Leon was forced to throw himself backwards, stumbling into a fearful sprint.
Suddenly he was on fire, burning from head to toe.
Presently, Leon’s eyes snapped open. He wasn’t aware he’d even closed them, so caught up in his recollection of his encounter with the beast. He looked up, back to Marvin, who he found to be unconscious again. Leon let out a low and heavy sigh, heart pounding painfully in his chest. His body ached, mind cloudy with urgent yearning. Leon swore, clenching his eyes shut before forcing out a shaking, unsteady breath. The blood in his ears thrummed; there was a dull but unrelenting pulsing that rested heavily in his gut, seeping into his groin. Leon was unbelievably excited, memories of the Tyrant near sending him into a rut. He couldn’t help but snicker, astounded and horrified, as he stood from the love-seat. Thoughts quickly flickering between the two rooms, Leon chose the shower room as the better option. There had been less corpses there, and more than likely he could also clean up when he was done. He couldn’t run around like this anymore.
With that, he was off.
Leon made his way upstairs quickly, unable to wait for what was to come. With all that had happened tonight, he knew that this would greatly benefit him, allowing him to recollect his thoughts and move forward with more ease. He made a note that after he was finished, he’d immediately move on to finding Claire. He wouldn’t be meddling in the affairs of the Tyrant. Swearing this, Leon maneuvered his way around a somewhat intact undead officer that was scraping its forehead against the wall, moaning and scratching along the wooden paneling as if it were trying to enter a room. Leon wanted to laugh at the sight, but had much, much more important issues that required his attention. His entire body shook with nervousness, anxious to address the way that the creature, the Tyrant , made him feel with those terrifying eyes and impossibly large build.
Leon swiftly crept through the dark hallway, careful not to step on conveniently placed objects that would attract any of the nearby monstrosities that roamed the station. He approached the door, a solid piece of metal with a small, grated window at the top, and silently pushed it open. Once he closed it behind himself, Leon began to search for something that he could temporarily block the door with. He could only manage to find a few pieces of wood, from the a he’d broken open earlier. Leon sighed. There were no heavy, movable objects in the room. Was he really willing to risk his life just to remedy the utter havoc in his pants? He thought for a moment. Several. He glanced at the door, then the dark corner of the room, before his eyes settled on the bench located not too far from the door itself. Absolutely . Leon neared the door and crouched down, heart pounding in his chest, hands shaking with excitement. He tried to jam a few of the small planks between the floor and the bottom of the door, but it was too well sealed. The best he could manage simply wouldn’t be enough to stop a curious intruder, and Leon knew he wouldn’t be too quiet.
He was growing impatient. His body practically buzzed with unreleased tension. Leon shook his head, “Fuck it.” He whispered, frustrated. Standing, he tossed the useless hunks of wood aside and began to unbuckle and remove his belt, along with his hip pouches. His breath hitched when he saw that the front of his pants was indeed strained, bulging. He hadn’t just imagined the tightness from sheer shock from his attraction to that man, that creature . Leon only hoped that he wasn’t running around this hard the entire time it chased him–regardless of its understanding of humans and biology, that was just awkward. Leon would probably never directly look at it again without thinking about what he was about to do in this shower room. Unashamed, he sat his belt down on the long bench that sat in the middle of the room, facing the door. Directly behind it sat a row of lockers, which Leon assumed used to hold officers’ belongings or clothing. Pushing his pants and underwear down just past his thighs, Leon sat down on the bench and leaned against the locker. There was a new determination to his movements; he yanked his restricting clothing down further–silently debating with himself on whether or not it’d be worth his time to undo his vest and remove his shirt–and set to work.
He slid his hands over his bare thighs first, slowly drawing circles into his skin as he continued to shake with anticipation, pure exhilaration. His legs quivered, and Leon quietly thanked himself for choosing to do this sitting down this time. After a moment of teasing himself, he went straight for the goods, wrapping a hand around himself as he tightly gripped the wooden bench below him with his other. He brought his hand up, gently stroking his head with his thumb, before gliding it back down to his base, movements slow and savory. Leon then let out a hiss, beginning a smooth rhythm of strokes. One of his legs began to bounce eagerly, and Leon tilted his head back; his jaw went slack and his mouth fell open, eyes closed. Time ceased to exist. It was all Leon for now. No Tyrant, no lickers, no Marvin, Claire, or even Raccoon City. It was all a stupid nightmare, and after this Leon would wake up in his bed, in the morning, waiting to start his first day as a police officer. The thought put a smile on his lips as he pleasured himself.
Until. Something thudded in the distance. Goosebumps broke out on his skin and the sensation immediately made him think of the Tyrant. Its eyes, cold, but burning with something distinct. Like hunger. Desire . Leon abruptly paused at that, listening for any footsteps outside. He could usually detect it even if it was on the floor above or below him, but right now he could only pick up the forceful beat of his own heart.
Ba- thunk .
Scared of your own heartbeat? Leon mused, releasing a raspy chortle. He continued, fervently.
Leon froze. He shut his mouth, frowned. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. A cold, heavy shiver threatened to force its way down his back. Something inside of him screamed to open his eyes. That something was watching him. He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head, eyes still screwed shut. Of course there was, this whole building was overrun with zombies. He'd seen them staring at unlocked doors in the hallway, too stupid to just open them themselves. Leon continued on, pushing aside his anxiety and proceeding with his strokes more firmly, gripping himself tighter to draw his thoughts away from fear. After the shit he'd seen tonight? He deserved this, goddamn it.
Angered by the fact that he'd let himself almost ruin his fun, Leon set a more aggressive pace. He twisted his hand as he brought it down each time, and slipped his thumb over his head as he brought it back up. He sagged against the locker behind him, a hushed but needy moan escaping his lips. Lips that soon drew into a grimace as he worked himself harder. A hot coil began to tighten in his gut. Leon slowly rocked with his movements, occasionally thrusting into his own hand. He was just starting to lose himself again when that feeling came back, this time stronger. An intense shudder wracked his body, and it wasn’t quite due to pleasure. Leon dismissed it, blaming it on the immense amount of stress he’d picked up throughout the night. He continued persistently, breaths coming out in short, unstable pants. His legs grew taut, shaking but still planted in their place. A specific stroke had him releasing a garbled groan, throwing his head back and slamming it against the locker behind him. Leon didn’t care. He kept going. He increased his speed near twofold, desperate and shivering at the sweet stimulation.
Still, he wouldn’t open his eyes. Wouldn’t ruin the moment by putting an end to his heightened senses. Unless something came limping, crawling, or stomping through that door, he wasn’t stopping. “ God ,” Leon whined, voice drawn tight and high pitched as he shifted closer and closer to the edge. He only took a few more moments before his entire body was tensing up, muscles so strained that they ached, and he lost it. He came with an almost deafening wail, painting both his hand and vest with a few ribbons of his pale seed. Leon followed up with a low hum, enjoying his brief afterglow. His eyes slipped open, blinked blearily, and that’s when he saw it.
The door, behind it, on the other side, was the unmistakable form of the beast, the thing, the Tyrant. Leon’s clear, blue eyes widened in disbelief. It was hunched over, from what he could tell, and peering inside. He felt tears prick at his eyes as he saw those glowing, silver irides rake over him, burning like gelid flames. It stared at him, even as Leon frantically began to pull his trousers back up and grab for his equipment. Even as Leon shakily took Matilda in his hands and aimed for the door, for its eyes that scanned over him so hungrily. Seconds passed by. Two, three four, five. It moved, then, away from the door, and began down the hallway.
The footsteps slowly faded; Leon lowered his weapon, wiping his hand off on his vest as he fought back tears. His eyebrows were so tightly drawn together that his head started to ache. He felt so dirty. Mortified, humiliated, disgusted. Violated . It had been watching him masturbate, and–God, had he been hearing its footsteps earlier? Not his own heartbeat?
He felt sick.
Chapter 2: Danced With the Devil; Lived to Tell the Tale
I'm super glad that the first chapter was well-received! This one's a tad more serious, but I threw in some humor because I couldn't help myself.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Leon had left the shower room as soon as possible, his skin tingling with unease and something else he didn’t quite want to name. Getting off had certainly put some pep back into his step, as he crept from the room with soft, timid movements, but at what cost? His pride? He’d holstered Matilda again but his fingers twitched at every ambient sound he’d grown used to, the Tyrant on his mind yet again. Leon’s face flushed as he briefly recalled the way it looked at him, so different from their first encounter. It absolutely debunked his machine theory; whatever it was classified as, it was a living creature. And it knew what Leon was doing on that bench. It chose to watch him without interrupting. Perhaps it even enjoyed it.
“Jesus Christ.” Leon murmured for the umpteenth time. He shook his head to free the thin, ashen blond bangs that were sticking to his forehead. Shortly after the Tyrant had left, Leon’d rinsed off his hair, and made an attempt at cleaning his vest. Now, out in the chilly hallway, he shivered regretfully. He took a left and headed back towards the Library, planning on returning to the main hall where he could hopefully regroup and think out his next moves. He knew he hadn’t paid much attention to the East wing’s first floor, that he’d spent too much time trying to comprehend the monsters roaming the hallways to actually enter most of the rooms. Could be some valuable things in there, Leon supposed, descending down the ladder into the open, well lit room.
He idly scanned some of the titles adorning the walls as he passed them by, wondering if it’d matter if he nabbed a few. Not that he wanted them. But seeing as how the city was in shambles, would anyone notice, or care? That was an existential question that he didn't have the energy to answer right now. He continued on, but stopped abruptly near the door when he saw something rather peculiar. To his right stood a desk, nothing fancy or out of the ordinary there. However, the lamp that sat on top of it shook furiously. Leon’s eyes narrowed as he reached out to touch it, and that’s when he felt it. Skin chilling, then crawling with unease. And then–
Leon’s head immediately snapped towards where the thunderous racket was coming from, already knowing the culprit. On the balcony that Leon had just descended from, stood the damned beast again, tall, dark, and electrifyingly terrifying. They looked at each other. The entire room was filled with a thick, almost breathable tension. Suddenly Leon felt hot again, his throat tightening when their eyes met. The steely, silver irides burned every place on his body that they roamed, leaving Leon with a blazing trail that began at his damp hair, trickled down to his throat, and ended discourteously at his crotch. He shuddered at the way those eyes hardened over in an instant, shifting to a more predatory gaze. He couldn’t bear it, not again. Not after the way it eyed him up in the shower room with his pants down. “What the hell are you staring at, you creep ?” Against his better judgement, he shouted at it, angered at its inconvenient timing. He quickly realized his error when a ferocious, abyssal rumble echoed throughout the room in response. Not willing to stick around long enough to see just how badly he’d messed up, Leon instantly fled, pushing through the door and hurrying downstairs through the main hall. Shit. Another crash. Then he could hear the earthshaking footsteps behind him, urging him to pick up his pace. Leon broke out into a full sprint, worried that he was leading this creature straight to–wait, fuck–Marvin. Leon pointedly avoided nearing the two sofas that the Lieutenant most likely still sat at; he rounded the narrow corner and burst into the West office, blood suddenly cold. He waited, but the footsteps were gone.
Leon wanted to peek through the door, to see if he’d accidentally given Branagh an early demise, but urgently advised himself not to do so. What if it was simply standing on the other side of the door, waiting to snatch him up? Waiting to haul him off to some dark, abandoned room where it would force him against the wall and–Leon coughed, shocked by his own thoughts. What? He shook his head and pushed the door back open, inch by inch, pressing his face against the door frame and peering into the hall as best he could. For a moment, he couldn’t see a thing, but as his eyes adjusted he noticed the distinct outline of the leather clad peeping tom. It was simply standing there, looking down at something, which according to its position, Leon knew to be Martin’s resting place. He didn’t think much after discovering that; he shoved the door open and dug deep into his pockets, looking for anything disposable that he could lug at the Tyrant’s massive dome. He had two dollars worth of change. Thinking back to that morning, it was probably for a quick snack from a vending machine. But now, it was for possibly saving a new friend. For possibly ending his own life.
He did it before he could consider the consequences, pulling his arm back as far as he could to launch a measly quarter at the Tyrant. Unexpectedly, it smacked right into its hat, and together they plummeted to the floor. Leon took a breath, held it. The eyes were back on him in seconds. He felt a sick, satisfying warmth settle in his stomach knowing he had its attention again; that it wouldn’t dare touch Marvin, when it could touch him instead. Ah, there it was again, that reluctance to move his legs when the creature snatched its hat off the floor and marched towards him, eyes never leaving Leon’s form. Only when it was just over a meter away did Leon’s fight or flight response activate, overwhelmed by its size. He turned and ran back through the door, but stumbled over a recently reawakened corpse that he swore he’d put out for good last time. It clutched his ankle with its one hand, and though Leon didn’t fall, he struggled with it for a few seconds; ones that he simply didn’t have. “Come on!” He yelled pressingly, kicking at the monstrosity’s head. It took one, two, three solid stomps to even loosen its grip, painting the floor below them with dark, semi coagulated blood. Leon couldn’t get a fourth kick in. Couldn’t reach for his gun. He was interrupted when a foot much larger than his own, attached to a body much larger than his own, came down on the horror’s rotting upper torso, vanquishing it instantly. Obviously the newly deceased corpse let go of him, but before Leon could flee once more, he was knocked down.
He saw stars as he was sprawled out on his side; his left arm erupted into raw, excruciating pain. He clutched it immediately, crying out as his face contorted with anguish. It had struck him, that much Leon could tell, but wasn’t moving for him again. It only watched as he panted heavily through clenched teeth. It didn’t even move when Leon began to crawl towards the desks, desperate to hide from the behemoth. In fact, it shifted its position so that it could have a clearer view of the rookie while he cowered under the worthless protection of the old, rickety desks. Though he wasn’t facing it, he could feel its gaze still burning into his back, taking in the frightened shivers that had Leon’s body nearly vibrating. He hissed as he clutched at his arm, slowly reaching for Matilda–only to notice the gun wasn’t there. Leon froze. It must’ve gone flying when Leon was destroyed by the Tyrant’s halfhearted blow. Slowly turning his head, he locked eyes with the Tyrant once more. As unimaginable desires flickered in its eyes, it released a throaty rumble. The sound was almost human like. Leon realized, when sinister amusement briefly crossed its blank features, that it was laughing at him. Laughing at his pain, his fear .
“Yeah, you’re so fucking funny.” Leon gritted out while choking back tears. He was cut off when the Tyrant approached the desk so suddenly, reaching under and yanking him out by his injured arm. Leon keened, face screwing up. The creature held him by his upper arm, the rest of his body limply dangling in the air as it neared his face with its own. Something deep within Leon began to chant yes, yes, yes , but he turned away from it, squeezing his eyes shut. He wanted to kick out at it, wanted to bury his knife between its ribs and make a break for safety, but the pain radiating from his arm was enough to keep him stationary. Leon feared that the Tyrant was going to pull his arm out of socket, if that punch hadn’t already done the job. He grabbed onto the hand that was holding him hostage, barely able to grasp onto its colossal wrist. Its grip tightened and Leon’s eyes popped open, staring down the Tyrant as best he could while his stomach did backflips and his brain went haywire.
He blanked when it brought its other hand up to his face; he was prepared to have his head crushed, glaring at the giant defiantly. Its fingers tentatively brushed his jaw, slipping up to his cheek before swiping over his brow, as if it were mapping him out. Trembled as its firm hand stroked and prodded its way across his face. Leon swallowed a helpless whimper when its sizable thumb settled at his bottom lip, stroking it almost gently. But then–oh–it was pushing past . Pushing in. Leon tried to keep it out, tightening his lips into a firm, straight line, but it was futile. In a blink of an eye, the finger was in his mouth, a pronounced weight on his tongue. Leon’s eyes watered. What the hell was it doing? Why did it make him feel like this? He closed his eyes again, taking air in through his nose while the digit continued to explore the damp warmth of his mouth. It ghosted over in the insides of his cheeks, caressed his molars and canines, then pushed deeper. It hit the back of his throat and he groaned. He was almost content with this, taking a guilty pleasure in the way the Tyrant was having its way with him. The two of them locked eyes again; it took everything Leon had not to shatter under the Tyrant’s overpowering, smoldering stare. He should’ve detected something was up when it shifted.
The creature abruptly forced its index finger into Leon’s mouth as well, plunging it way deeper than it should’ve. Immediately, the human gagged and tried to rip his head away, but the Tyrant followed his movements and tried it again. And again. Each time ended with Leon painfully heaving, beginning to struggle viciously in its grasp. Spit poured from his mouth, painted his lower face as well as the gloved hand forcing itself down his throat. It played with his tongue, rolled it between its fingers, pinched it, stroked it. Leon soon began to choke on his own saliva as well. Eventually, after a few forceful attempts from the Tyrant, Leon’d had enough. Knowing damn well it could’ve been the last thing he did, he bit down on the Tyrant’s fingers as hard as he could. His heart stuttered when the goliath growled angrily; eyes widened when the beast tore its digits from his mouth. The air surrounding them turned frigid in an instant. Silver eyes hardened with rage. Leon waited for it to loosen its hold on him, full of baseless hope, desperation. To let him go, to let him live.
Slowly, it started to ease its grasp on Leon’s arm. But it didn’t let go, oh no . It quickly took him by the throat instead and turned, building a tremendous force, and crushed Leon into the wall. He gagged violently, all breath leaving his lungs almost immediately upon impact. The wood threatened to splinter behind him. Fuck , his back. Every part of him burned with pure, undiluted agony. There was no way he was leaving alive. Leon felt himself begin to hyperventilate, noticing that the look in its eyes had turned absolutely murderous. Suddenly Leon was a target again, not a toy. He wasn’t worth keeping alive. The Tyrant sneered at him, baring its massive teeth in a threatening display of its power over him. Leon tried to cough out a snarky “you win”, but was silenced as soon as he opened his mouth. It squeezed his throat and he gasped for air; he was unable to bring anything into his smothered windpipes. As it held him there, its leather clad hand being the only thing supporting him against the wall, Leon felt the heat rise in his cheeks again. He closed his eyes and, still, tried to breathe shakily through his nose to no avail. His body twitched, brows furrowed, he choked out a whine. Submission.
Maybe that was the key here, because the Tyrant’s grip once again went slack. Though still holding him firmly in place, it allowed him to urgently suck in gulp after gulp of air. Leon shivered as it idly stroked his throat with its thumb before pressing it assertively into his Adam's apple. Quietly, he gagged again. It was different now, peering at him with an unreadable expression. Leon couldn’t decipher what was in its eyes. It wasn’t anger, wasn’t curiosity, and a bit to Leon’s dismay, no hunger or desire either. Was this it? It only wanted to portray who was the boss? Leon began to rethink what exactly happened upstairs hardly twenty minutes ago. Perhaps this thing was more animal than human. He grimaced, unable to bring himself to look at it. Slowly, he repeated the noise he’d made, releasing a deep, pleading whimper from the depths of his throat.
The Tyrant seemed pleased, even after Leon tried to chomp its phalanges off. It seemed like it was ready to let bygones be bygones, or at least Leon hoped it did. As exciting as this situation had been he was hopelessly sore, everywhere. The Tyrant slowly released him, but not before leaning closer, lips touching the shell of his ear, and chuffing with approval. Praise for acknowledgement of just who was running the show around here.
When Leon’s feet hit the floor, he felt unadulterated elation surge through his body. He’d tangoed with the devil, and managed to not die. While Leon checked his arm for serious damage and tested his vocal chords, the Tyrant slipped from the office and disappeared further into the West wing.
me, writing this chapter: use your gun, idiot.
leon, dying: no.
Chapter 3: Mutual Suffocation
It hurt when I wrote this, that's how I know it's my favorite chapter yet.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The halls rattled with every footstep, furniture jostled and glass trembled as it passed by. With its abundance of abilities, sound was its only flaw. Too loud. Too alerting, detectable. Or that had been its only flaw until recently. The Tyrant couldn’t be perfect, of course, but this new defect could prove detrimental to its objective, its orders. Its purpose.
As soon as it had laid eyes on the officer, something had changed in its chemistry. Its biology, something that was intended to lay dormant unless activated by its commanders, was shifting drastically. This was its first mission and it was already proving to be a failure. The thought had its nostrils flaring, chest tight with something it knew to be called “anger”.
Its first mistake had been letting itself get distracted during their first meeting. It had been enraptured by the human’s eyes, alight with clear, cerulean terror as he beheld it. All of the human’s features, which the Tyrant took in greedily through its own proficient eyes, appealed to it significantly. It yearned to touch his hair most of all, curious at its seemingly soft, wispy texture. Before it had even attempted to harm the officer as per its orders, it reached out to simply touch and admire his hair instead. When the man avoided it– ran from it. Annoyance seeded into its heart and it had been growing steadily ever since. It had given chase. When he stopped, the Tyrant thought that he was offering himself to it. But then it grabbed for him again, and in the following pursuit, somehow lost him.
Its second mistake had been allowing itself to be the–what was it?–curious cat. It had been drawn to the room because of the distinctive voice of the man, but something sounded wrong. It sounded like he was in pain. It was concerned, worried even, that something had hurt him. Instead of bursting through the door, it chose to plan out its actions first. If the human had been injured, it would need to be cautious in order to avoid accidentally maiming him further, or worse, killing him. It simply peered through the window and observed as he… What was he doing? Were it capable of even basic facial expressions, it would have furrowed its brows in confusion at the obscene sounds falling from the officer’s lips. He wasn’t bleeding, but his eyes were screwed shut in absolute agony . What was he doing to himself? It was more interested than it should have been. It wanted to throw the door open and observe more closely, but something heavy and censurable kept it still. It could only watch.
Its third and final mistake was by far its most grievous. Even as it left the office with heavy steps, it evaluated its actions, livid. The Tyrant had let him go . He had hurt it, and still it chose to release him. By the time the Tyrant caught up to the human in the office, it had no moves left. Not a rational thought was left in its head. The bite was untimely. It took its anger out on him. The entire sequence of events felt incorrect. It wanted to keep the human for itself, succumb to its own wishes in wanting to–do what exactly? It didn’t know. Nothing in the vast database in its head could find a reason for its overbearing wish to touch and hold Leon Scott Kennedy of the Raccoon City Police Department.
Back in the office, just before Leon had bitten it, it felt the most alive it had in its entire life. It remembered something that it couldn’t place. The only word it could use to describe this feeling was ‘before’. Even through its gloves, it felt the heady, intoxicating warmth of the officer’s mouth and knew it needed more. The vocalizations that filled its ears were heavenly. It lost its control when it didn’t get what it wanted. Against the wall, it was prepared to annihilate him for taking those feelings away. That slightest bit of pain was enough for its mind to go blank; the Tyrant temporarily lost interest in the human himself–all that mattered were those sensations –and as a result almost killed him.
The noise he’d made was the only thing that brought it back to reality. It was a sound full of fear, of despair. Regret. Once more against its orders, it showed mercy for the third time, for it was overcome with–
That’s what it was. The Tyrant felt horribly guilty with its behaviors. For striking him out of pure instinct, relishing in his pain, and watching him struggle. It praised Leon for his strength, his ability to survive, and quickly left him to lick his wounds as well as wallow in its own shame.
Now, the Tyrant stalked the halls once more. It itched to return to Leon, but knew that to be an unwise choice at the moment. By now, it had completely abandoned its assignment. It knew of other things now, and knew it wanted them much, much more than the diminutive doses of dopamine offered to it each time it completed a task. The euphoria it felt when it finally had the officer in its grasp still had it incredulous. It was addicted.
The next time it saw Leon was in the jail room. At first, it didn’t bat an eye when it heard human voices on the other side of the wall. But then it paused; their volume raised, and he could make out the enchanting voice that was Leon’s. It sensed distress, but not from him. It listened closer, eyeing up the wall in front of it as it tried to pinpoint the sounds. When the other human began to shout, it struck blindly, barrelling through the wall with its powerful arm and grabbing onto what it believed to be a living creature. A shuttering gasp of “Jesus Christ” and earsplitting shrieking ensued. Spot on.
With a heave, it dragged the offending human further up the wall, pulling with great effort to bring him through where it could finish him. The wall, although most likely older than the Tyrant itself, wouldn’t budge, so it begrudgingly resorted to killing the man in front of Leon. It squeezed the head in its hands with as much strength as it could muster, which was much more than required. The result was the man’s head promptly exploding and, though it couldn’t see, showering the rookie in blood and brain matter through the cell bars. As the Tyrant released the corpse, it heard convulsive gagging on the other side of the wall. It hardly wasted time after that, forcing its body through the brick and mortar with unrestrained vigor. Dust coated its body.
A shot was fired; the Tyrant’s vision went partially black, but it marched forward. It crashed through the feeble bars. The human in front of it released a panicked shout before he turned around to run. It grabbed him up easily, wrapping its cloaked arms around his midsection. Its grip was tight, but not with aggression, or any other malicious sentiment. It simply wanted to feel him again. Hold him. To know he was still alive. “Fuck.” The officer whispered, immediately beginning to struggle. “Your eye, your fucking eye, and you still grabbed me?” The Tyrant didn’t respond, only pulled him closer to its hard, solid form. A few more moments of struggle, and then a clatter against the cold floor that signaled that the human had lost his weapon. Leon swore profusely, falling still.
“Look,” He began, wiggling just a bit. The Tyrant chuffed against his ear, a greeting. The officer shivered violently in response. His back arched against the beast. It gripped him harder. “I’m real sorry about what happened a while ago, but you just– you can’t go shoving things in my mouth without asking and expect a fun time.” The human let out a heavy, breathy laugh. The Tyrant took in the sound gluttonously. It felt a fast and steady pulsing emanating from the human’s body, heard it thrum forcefully in the tense air around them. The vibrations calmed the giant. It rested its head against Leon’s shoulders, using him as a sort of pillow. It noticed that, as it placed the side of its head on the officer, the noise got louder. Stronger. It closed its eyes and listened closer.
Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub .
So that was what a human heartbeat sounded like. The Tyrant was aware that most living creatures had hearts, that they were essential for many forms of life, and that when those heartbeats weren’t there, they were dead. But it had never heard one so closely before. It was a rhythmic, reposeful auditory sensation. Why didn’t it have one of its own? The Tyrant tightened its hold on its human, ignoring the pained wheeze he coughed out. “Trying to choke me in a different way?” Leon muttered, “Think I liked the other one better.” When he spoke, his voice drowned out the hum of his heart. The Tyrant growled for him to stay quiet. So he did. For several minutes.
The pace began to slow, which disturbed the Tyrant. Had it truly gone too far this time? It hadn’t even done anything. It greatly loosened its hold on him, but that didn’t help. The heartbeat was so slow, so quiet . Shifting Leon’s body between its arm and its side, it hurriedly shoved a gloved hand under the officer’s shirt and vest. He sputtered. The Tyrant’s mighty hand, still covered in blood, slipped up the expanse of Leon’s stomach before settling at his chest. It felt it there, just as powerfully as before. But it was still slow. The Tyrant shook Leon, who let out a confused grunt. He was alive. How? His heartbeat was so sluggish now. Its hand began to roam, testing for other areas it could feel his pulse.
“Stop.” The human said firmly. It ignored him. Up, down, this crevice and that, the Tyrant searched for a better spot to feel it. The officer started to struggle again, soon enough thrashing in its arms. “That fucking hurts, stop!” He demanded, voice tight with pain. Still, the Tyrant disregarded his concern. It needed to make sure he wasn’t dying. Leon’s frantic, anguished squirming was beginning to annoy it. Why wouldn’t he stay still? It was trying to make sure he was oka–
Something sharp. Sharp and thin and metal, in its side. Pain erupted there like a fire did from a lighter, buried deep in layers of hard muscle. The Tyrant roared, maddened by the unforeseen explosion of acute discomfort, and unceremoniously tossed Leon away. The human smacked into the nearby cell bars and groaned, terrified. He instantly tried to crawl away, but the Tyrant’s massive hands were on him again before he could even count the seconds he was free.
It seized him by his throat. Déjà vu washed over them, but it was snubbed as they made intense, unabated eye contact with each other for several moments. Leon could breathe, that’s all he was worried about; the Tyrant was conflicted and hurt again and, surprisingly, incredibly bereaved. Shock and grief flooded its eyes clear as day, even though its expression was as cold as stone. Leon’s own dropped, slowly. His brows furrowed deep, lips turned downward. The Tyrant analyzed him, tried to understand. It just couldn’t comprehend human expression in the slightest. It was brief and one-sided, but there had been a trust between them, and Leon had broken it. But the Tyrant had broken it first.
“Let go.” Leon said firmly. It was a command. His voice shook; the Tyrant refused to listen to him. He hadn’t the slightest authority over it. It let out a low, rumbling snarl as it held him, frustration weighing heavily on its simple mind. Why? Why was he treating it like this? Why was it treating him like this? Where had this all gone wrong? Angry and confused and frightened at these feelings, these questions it wasn’t supposed to ask, it squeezed down on the human’s throat. It applied that same pressure it had in the office, watching with despondency while Leon struggled for breath. He kicked at it over and over again, lodging his knife deeper into its side with each blow. Eventually there was simply nothing left to kick. Then, as his eyes widened, as he lost more air by the second, he tried to whine again. Tried to plead for mercy one last time.
The noise rattled in his throat and rang in the Tyrant’s ears, echoing repeatedly. It ignored the sound. It didn’t let go . Slowly, the Tyrant observed as Leon’s body stilled, arms falling at his sides, hanging weakly from the Tyrant’s hands. It stared at his sagging form for a second. Another, another . Jolting, it gracelessly dropped him. His body fell, slumped over, to the ground and failed to move again. The Tyrant couldn’t think, couldn’t feel. It stormed away.
Aha! A bit of perspective from our favorite hulking behemoth.
Chapter 4: Expect the Unexpected
Alright, so from what I've seen online, Leon's original height was roughly around 5'8? Definitely went with that when I started writing this (never really got the impression of Leon being that big of a guy, anyway). I always get curious when writing pairs with large height differences, so I often use height comparison sites to get a feel for what I'm working with and jesusfuckingchrist Leon's tiny in this fic compared to the Tyrant. He barely comes up to the top of its biceps brachii.
Also, I've definitely steered away from the canon story/routes at this point. Probably will add that in the tags. Took a day to think things out, and it felt like this was going to go nowhere if I hadn't adjusted and stretched things here and there. Tried to make it at least somewhat believable though.
One last thing– L. Douglass is just a random name I came up with on the spot, no real significance there.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Its eyes. A haunting grey shade that he thought about often. They conveyed so much, cut Leon back just as deep as he had it. He remembered the way they stared into him before he lost consciousness–or died. The pain, the yearning, the confusion. He recognized all of it and it settled deep in his memory. When he closed his eyes, he saw the echo of raw, unbridled emotion that stared him down.
He couldn’t tell if he was still alive anymore. Even after coming to in the cell room, feeling his muscles ache from abuse, he just couldn’t tell. Most of him wished that this whole night hadn’t even happened. Hell, it was fair to say all of himself wanted it to be a dream aside from his guilty conscience and his dick. Admittedly, Leon regretted his actions. He shook his head and sighed; he regretted for hurting a monster. A monster who had hurt him first, and then, while feeling him up or whatever the hell it was doing, put him through excruciating pain. He had every right to defend himself.
He felt disappointed in himself. All of his reasoning was valid, he wasn’t in the wrong here, but what if he was? Maybe the Tyrant was more human than he thought. However, everything about it screamed “creature” and “thing”, not “he” or “they”. Leon, like most humans ought to, knew what a person behaved like, and that was not it. Or at least, not a decent person. It wasn’t quite like those once-human things that lumbered through the walls, or the skinless fuckers. It seemed like it thought about things sometimes, but others it didn’t
Then there was the fact that it’d tried to kill him, twice. Arguably both times it was provoked. Though the whole station was a hellscape, how was he supposed to just let an 8-foot-tall behemoth stick its fingers down his throat? Or poke and prod at his probably dislocated arm?
Currently, Leon was in the main hall once again. Against his better judgement, he wanted to see a friendly face amongst all of the terrifying ones. And the terrifyingly attractive ones. Not too far away from the sofas lay Marvin’s corpse, still as the moment two bullets took root between its eyes. When Leon had returned from the West office, seeking advice and possibly first aid, the lack of humanity was the first thing he’d noticed about Marvin. Two seconds was all it took for Leon to understand that Lieutenant Branagh had turned. Maybe, Leon had thought, that’s why the Tyrant was staring at him. It was staring at his freshly turned body.
Leon would’ve been cautious to approach the officer, but at the moment he just needed to be next to someone he knew, even if he was dead. Leon sat down on one of the seats heavily, feeling defeated. That overwhelming feeling of remorse was crushing him almost as badly as the Tyrant had. He wanted to apologize to it, but doubted it would even understand what he was saying. It would probably attack him again.
He sat there for several minutes, boredom, anxiety, and guilt weighing on his mind. Eventually he turned to reorganizing his pouches to take his mind off of things. It worked, for a while. When his pouches were neatly organized, useless items were discarded, and weapons cleaned and inspected, he turned to something else. He’d collected a fair amount of notes in his journey. At the bottom of one of his bags, he noticed a few crumpled up pieces of paper that weren’t quite like the others in terms of composition. Curious, he straightened one of them out and briefly glanced over its contents. Oh.
This was the paper he told himself to take note of a few hours ago, unfortunately found right after his first encounter with the Tyrant. It looked suspicious, but official. Almost as if it wasn’t supposed to be here , in the police station. At the very top right of the page was the small, but recognizable Umbrella Corp. logo. He was skeptical, but decided to read it anyway. Leon squinted eyes and focused on the first line of text, struggling against the deep wrinkles in the page.
Chief Brian Irons,
We thank you humbly for aiding us in this endeavor. Here at the Umbrella Corporation, we take willing participation in our experiments incredibly seriously.
As per your questions regarding the T-00, there is a limited amount of information I can offer you, as I am not yet authorized to divulge too far into its mechanics.
Firstly, as you questioned, yes. The Tyrant is controllable. I cannot tell you how exactly, but it does not act on its own free will and –
Leon called bullshit on that. He shook his head in complete disbelief, but read further.
its orders are directly input by authorized Umbrella staff. As stated, it is designed to kill with efficiency, and it is well equipped for handling the growing number of infected. It can recognize those in early and late infection stages, and tell them apart from those who are not infected whatsoever.
Again I apologize, but I can neither confirm nor deny the Tyrant’s biological origins as you requested. Despite its human appearance, you would do best not to refer to it as a man. It is no different from a device, please remember that when it arrives.
It is capable of deciphering basic human speech and body language. I would advise avoiding the usage of colloquialisms when speaking to it, as that only confuses it. That being said, you must also understand that it will not deviate from its commands to listen to you, or your officers. It is not a servant. It has one purpose there, and once it is finished, it will know where to go.
Don’t worry about supplying it with food, applying first aid to any injuries, or anything else of the like. It will take care of itself.
It should arrive early morning on September 29th at the aforementioned location. Then, you can find the answers to the rest of your questions for yourself.
Leon read it over and over again, scanning each and every sentence. Considering he hadn’t even found this in the Chief’s office–hadn’t even been there in the first place–he had several questions. This seemed like a formal email, a letter. Discussing the Tyrant? The Chief had been aware of its arrival? And what experiment ? The whole damn thing was confusing. It was sketchy and scandalous, and Leon felt uneasy just thinking about it.
Picking through the piece of text once more, his eyes lingered on the signature at the bottom of the page. Douglass; he had no idea who that was. Could only assume from the context that it was some Umbrella employee. He was fairly certain that Umbrella didn’t do monsters. Unless they’d changed markets. From the way the writer spoke, they seemed like they didn’t have too much power, but they weren’t completely at the bottom of the totem pole, either. It made Leon wonder if this had been formally set up in the first place.
How long had this been going on for, if they were sending in a “device” specialized in killing infected people? And that brought another question to the overflowing pile of inquiries; why had it attacked him? Had it killed other officers? Was it defective, or had this been the plan all along? Leon had trouble believing that this was all some big oopsie on anyone’s behalf, be it Irons’ or Douglass’–whoever the hell they were.
Leon leaned back on the sofa, a frustrated groan falling from his lips. He read it again. Then, for good measure, one final time. Those last lines were incredibly suspicious, in fact they were foreboding, in a way. Perhaps Irons had asked too many questions, and this was the result. There was a heavy dread nestling in Leon’s stomach.
He sat up upon hearing a familiar, distant thumping. Right now, Leon was giving himself two options. Either A, seek out the Tyrant and formally apologize, try to establish some firm, common ground between them, or B, put extra effort into avoiding it. Immediately after considering them both, Leon knew the second option was shot. With his injuries, there was no way he’d be able to escape it again. He could barely lift his gun without wanting to bite his hand and scream from the pain. It would find him, eventually. Somehow.
“Alright, Officer Kennedy,” He muttered to himself sarcastically. Worst things worst, the Tyrant choked him out one last time and that was the end of it. But if things went well, he’d have a hell of a lot less guilty conscious, and maybe even a new friend. Bodyguard. Thing. He stuffed the letter back into one of his pouches before nodding to himself, trying to draw up some confidence to face the Tyrant again. Their last interaction had really shaken him up, somehow even more than the office had.
He felt like he was about to see it for the first time again, only this time he knew it would most likely have it out for him. That knife had gone in pretty far. Through its coat, even, which looked like it was a damn thick material. Must’ve hurt like hell, especially after–shit. He shot it in the eye, on top of that. Remembering that, Leon felt his jaw drop open. It never flinched, never faltered, when it took a bullet to the eye, but apparently a flimsy pocket knife had hurt it. He pursed his lips, brows furrowed. That made no sense, but whatever.
Leon stood, tried to roll his shoulders to ready himself, and groaned when hot pain shot up the entire left side of his body. He rubbed at his bruised throat and listened for the heavy footsteps he’d heard a moment or so ago. For a second, it seemed like they were completely gone.
Ah, there it was. Soft and obviously somewhere in the East wing. Steeling himself and rechecking his pockets, he set off for the door. There was a brief nagging somewhere in his mind, before he silenced it.
There was something off about the Eastern hallways that Leon was sure he wouldn’t have missed before. They were empty. There he was, Matilda drawn and at his side, but there was nothing to shoot. At least nothing “alive”. Everything around was dead, dead. Laying in crushed lumps on the ground, strung from the ceiling somehow, or in the case of an unfortunate licker, crammed through the take-out port of a vending machine.
It was surreal and unnerving, seeing the violent and patternless positions and wounds these things had ended up with. Leon almost felt sorry for them, but he was more concerned with how this would play out for him. He was no detective, but if any of these corpses were something to go by, the Tyrant had to be pissed .
“Finally doing your job, I see.” Leon snarked, slowly deciding to holster Matilda as he peered further down the hall. He was nearing the Press room. The footsteps were louder now, but slow and– they were behind him. Leon froze. The footsteps stopped. Goosebumps more fierce than ever before broke out all over his skin. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled like a rabid dog’s. How . How had it gotten behind him without him noticing.
Everything, every single thing he planned to say and do, fled his mind when another singular crushing, leaden footstep sounded behind him. He didn’t bother looking back, he simply ran. He heard the steps behind him immediately, but they were so much slower than they usually were. As Leon took a right and turned a corner, he felt his left leg buckle and he let out a choked gasp as he fought to stay upright. He kept moving, occasionally pushing himself further with the aid of the wall as he kept tightly to it. There was no way he was outrunning the Tyrant. Unless it had some sort of secret weak spot in its side and it was also not in best condition, Leon was certain it was toying with him again . And this time, Leon had nowhere to go. He stopped abruptly when he reached the end of the hall. He was literally staring out of a window. He could jump out if he wanted to. But surely, it would be into the hands of some undead bastard.
When Leon stopped, the footsteps did too. They were only a few feet away. He could feel the Tyrant’s looming presence behind him, towering over him indefinitely. Leon could see the faint outline of its shadow on the wall in front of him, fully engulfing his own. Why wasn’t it moving. Why the fuck wasn’t it moving? Maybe it was trying to scare him to death, get back at him for all of the nonsense Leon had put it through. Or, just maybe... Leon’s heart stuttered.
There was no going back now, not with the wall of a creature right behind him, nearly touching him, and the literal wall right in front of him; Leon slowly turned to face the Tyrant, cold fear written all over his face. His breaths were shallow, quiet, tight with anticipation. For a moment, he refused to meet its gaze. Kept his eyes trained on its shoes, its coat. Anything but its face, its eyes . He avoided them as if they’d turn him to stone, kill him without even touching him this time. The gruff rumble it released was the only thing made him look up at them. He regretted it immediately, as he knew he couldn’t look away now. Just like the countless other times, he was trapped in its web of a stare. The vivid flicker of emotions was there, just like the last time he’d seen its daunting eyes. ‘No different from a device ’ his ass. Last time he checked, televisions didn’t gawk at you like this.
Leon had the urge to kiss it then, when he noticed the regretful way it stared at him. It regarded him woefully, like a long lost lover. He furrowed his eyebrows at that, bit the inside of his cheek. He wanted it to take him, so badly wanted to feel its touch again. He’d taken it for granted. He wanted to see anger, hunger in its eyes again, not this sorrow. He wanted the thrill of it having its way with him, forcing things into places they just couldn't fit. Most of all, Leon didn’t want to want it. He scowled at himself, taken aback by such a fiendish lust. A needy whimper caught in his throat. Leon refused to release it.
Instead of massacring him with one blow like Leon had been anticipating, the Tyrant gripped his head with both of its gloved hands, lowered itself just slightly, and stared down at him even more intently. As if it were trying to say something. “I’m sorry.” Leon whispered breathlessly, eyes wide with fear, disarray, and a hint of understanding. They were on mutual grounds, then. They were sorry. They were sorry and they wanted each other, and that much was evident in the different kind of tension that was growing rapidly in the small amount of space between them. The Tyrant descended upon him in an instant. It pressed their lips together with unpredicted fervor.
An awkward four seconds passed by, and then a tongue was at Leon’s lips, pressing urgently between them. He was surprised. Confused, and excited. This was happening. His lips trembled. Leon you idiot, you dolt. His eyes shut tight. You absolute fucking buffoon. He let it in, sighing under the pressure of its massive hands on the sides of his face. It could crush his head in a millisecond, but Leon chose to ignore that. He chose to focus on the fact that its scratchy, marred lips were against his own, and its monstrous tongue was creeping into his mouth–how classy.
It quickly made itself known again that the Tyrant wasn’t designed for this, with the clumsy, unplanned movements of its tongue, the stiff positioning of its head. It was clearly acting on primitive instinct. It was doing what it thought it should do, and that wasn’t quite enough to cut it. Leon tentatively reached up to take its jaw in his hands, subtly angling its face to the side so that their noses weren’t completely crunched up against each other. It allowed him, despite the fact that it was leagues stronger than he was. Leon left his hands there, gently ghosting his fingertips along the undersides of its jaw, taking in that bizarre texture of its skin. Almost as leathery as its gloves were.
He was more content with this now, suddenly more aware of the fact that this thing kissed like he did when he was in high school. When he was a virgin. Heat fully enveloped Leon’s face at that. Did this thing have any sort of experience? Probably not. Most likely not. Oh, Christ.
He would’ve dwelled on that more, if he wasn’t so caught off guard by the fact that its hands were now around his throat again. His body tensed, but slowly he realized that it wasn’t gripping him. Those colossal hands were just resting there, keeping him in place. Keeping him from running . As if Leon would run from this.
The officer took action. Gripping the sides of the giant’s head, he firmly pulled its face down, closer to his own. Leon brushed his smaller, warmer tongue up against the Tyrant’s, promptly gaining its attention. It released a long, throaty growl against Leon’s lips. Satisfaction. Approval. Leon almost giggled at the feeling. He did it again, this time unwavering in his actions. Their tongues glided against each other’s again, and again, the Tyrant’s on top of his own in a dominant, pressuring manner. It was obvious that the Tyrant wanted to be the one commandeering here, the captain of this ship. Leon wasn’t willing to give in to it so effortlessly, despite his dark desire. He wasn’t that easy.
He pulled away sharply when it took his throat in one hand and fully backed him up against the wall, the back of his head bumping the window. His eyes opened, briefly, to see the raging want in its silver irides–Jesus, it didn’t realize it needed to close its eyes when kissing someone–burning down into him with the same exact ferocity as they had the first time they met. Contrary to the playful struggle he had planned for the beast, Leon was left powerless as it forcefully took his mouth again.
Leon hooked one of his arms around its thick, powerful neck, his hand smacking into its hat in the process and sending the stupid thing toppling to the floor. The Tyrant shoved its body against him and suddenly Leon was overwhelmed with its unfathomable mass. It somehow felt even bigger than in the cell room or the office, pressing against him so earnestly. There was no space between them now; they were pressed so tightly together that Leon swore he could suffocate. But fuck it, if that’s how he went out, it was a damn good way to die.
He broke away again to moan lasciviously; one of the Tyrant's hands was now working its way down his body, gripping and squeezing and feeling every part of him it could. Just like in between the cells, it pushed its hand under his shirt and vest–he wondered why they were still on –and lightly made its way to his chest. It rested there a moment, right against his pounding heart, before it pulled away again. Nipping and lapping at the side of his throat, the Tyrant grabbed onto the bottom of his vest and insistently began to yank on it.
“Wait.” The officer blurted, trying to muster a stern voice. “Don’t do that, I can just–” Leon couldn’t utter another word. The Tyrant swiftly took the thick, sturdy Kevlar covering his chest and tore it in two. “What the fuck.” Leon breathed, stunned.
*sigh* You try and add some angst to spice things up, but these lads just can't keep their hands off each other.
Chapter 5: Thrill Seeker
I wrote this TWICE, because the original version was plainer than a burlap bed sheet.
I'm incredibly satisfied with the way it turned out, though. This chapter was going to be another tease-y cliffhanger, just like the last one, but I found myself getting frustrated when I planned it all out. So hey, here's a throw back to chapter one, but a bit more involvement on X's part.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Leon wanted to be angry with the Tyrant, but couldn’t quite bring himself to ruin the heat of the moment. Not with the way it was pressing him securely against the wall with its rigid body, tearing the remnants of his vest from him. He quickly grabbed onto one of its hands and tried to lean away from it, tried to put some space between them, when it took the hem of his shirt next.
“Honestly, that’s really not necessary. I swear.” Leon offered, gently pushing at its hand to emphasize how he didn’t want it to destroy his clothes. It growled at him, its grip tightening on the fabric. Heart pounding in his chest, Leon squirmed and continued to push at it, despite its displeased, almost aggressive chain of noises. Once again, it didn’t listen to him–Leon was getting very tired of that–and prepared to carry on as it wished. At the first tell tale tug, Leon unwrapped his arm that had previously been hooked around the Tyrant’s neck and grabbed the bottom of his shirt with both hands. Before the Tyrant could even think to tear it open, he yanked it over his head himself and let it go.
The Tyrant’s hand, which had never left the article of clothing in the first place, held the shirt even after Leon released it. With slow, unsure movements, it brought the navy material to its face and curiously inhaled. Deep, reveling. Its eyelids flickered. Leon flushed hot. “You creep.” The rookie said through a surprised, timid whisper. He wrapped his arms around himself in defense from the chilly air, all the while watching the Tyrant take in his scent. “First you watch me jack off, now you’re– Jesus .”
He interrupted himself when the Tyrant took what Leon could only describe as the deepest breath he’d ever heard. The inhale itself must have taken twice as long as any human would’ve. Considering how he’d never even heard the beast breathe normally, he was caught off guard. And then, a moment later, even more so when it released a low, gravelly groan. Leon was shocked as he tried to process just how human it had sounded there. The unmistakable arousal in its voice, the fluttering of its eyes, the way it sank against him, clutching at his hip with its free hand.
Leon bit his lip, stared up at it with furrowed brows. “Having fun there?” He muttered. He slowly reached out to grab onto his shirt, then hesitantly pulled on it. The Tyrant’s eyes were on him immediately. It refused to let go. When Leon tugged at it again, its nostrils flared. The officer snorted then, unable to hold back any of his amusement. Only then did the Tyrant bring the piece of apparel away from its face; it seemed to know what laughter was, but was thoroughly concerned as to why Leon found this even the slightest bit humorous.
Leon brought a shaking hand up to stroke the side of its face, brushed his thumb under a sunken eye. Gradually, it let Leon’s shirt fall to the floor. They stared into each others’ eyes. The tension between the two had eased away into a heated, hazy anticipation. What they had now was soft, maybe even sweet. Or at least, that’s what Leon thought. As he looked into the Tyrant’s eyes, he saw many, many conflicting things. He saw want, frustration, and disappointment, and that was only to name a few. Thoughts flickering back to the letter, Leon frowned a bit.
It is capable of deciphering basic human speech and body language .
That didn’t mean it could fully comprehend it. Hell, Leon doubted it understood what it itself was even feeling . What this connection, their actions, meant.
But it did understand what it wanted.
The Tyrant suddenly moved in once more before Leon could lose himself in his thoughts, brushed their noses together, and dragged its tongue across Leon’s bottom lip. The man’s reaction was instantaneous, lips separating to allow the inquisitive giant access to his mouth for the second time. Within seconds they were immersed in each other again, completely oblivious to the world around them. Like teenagers. As the ambient noise all began to blur together, Leon noticed that the Tyrant was becoming progressively bolder and more frequent with its vocalizations, which had previously been few and far between.
Experimentally, he mustered a guttural moan. The Tyrant, though more focused on swallowing the sound, repeated it with its own thundery tone. A ha . Leon couldn’t help but grin at that. While they settled back into their prior pace, Leon’s hands fell into their previous position. They rested on each side of the giant’s face as they clashed tongues languidly. The Tyrant held him in place by gripping him just below his arm with one hand, and firmly placing the other against his bare chest.
Seconds turned to minutes, proving that the Tyrant either had a much superior lung capacity, or no need for oxygen at all. Leon could not relate. Their lips separated with a fierce smack when his lungs began to scream for air, forcing him away. As he caught his breath, he stroked the Tyrant’s face and took the time to memorize the feel of its facial details in the nearly completely blacked out hall. The moonlight was steadily filtering in through the window behind them, though, and it caught on the edges of its features. By now, he was slightly used to its skin’s bizarre texture, the grooves and dips and gauges all over. What the officer hadn’t noticed, however, was that the Tyrant had surprisingly large eyes, especially in comparison to its irides and pupils, which were dwarfed. Leon didn’t quite want to describe its eyes as ‘beady’, but they were damn near close. And now that he thought about it, almost comically so. Amidst his inspection their eyes met for a mere second and Leon shuddered vehemently under the intensity of its stare. God, he’d never get used to it.
He sharply looked away from it, but noticed the way it continued to stare right into him, as if it saw something no human could. Again, it made Leon wonder if there indeed was something mechanical to it and its behaviors. Like some sort of blip or marker had the officer standing out against everything else. It would certainly make sense, considering how easily the beast had been able to find him over the course of the night.
Having caught his breath by now, Leon tentatively smoothed his fingers up and back, inspecting the areas that otherwise would have been hidden by its hat. When his left index finger tapped something that distinctly wasn’t fleshy, the both of them stilled.
This was understandable for Leon, fearing he made a grave mistake. However the Tyrant also seemed to be completely frozen. Disconnected, deactivated even. In some sort of stasis. “What the–” Squinting, he took advantage of the situation and turned the momentarily inoperative Tyrant’s head just to the side. He also shifted himself so that the moonlight could flood past him and illuminate its face. After a few seconds of adjustment to the light, Leon definitely saw it. A small, black, cylindrical piece of metal that was just barely buried into the side of its temple. He wrinkled his nose with distaste when he recalled another phrase from the letter.
It does not act on its own free will and its orders are directly input by authorized Umbrella staff.
Input. Like it was some sort of device . “This your power button?” He touched it again, carefully avoiding the place where the metal met with the Tyrant’s skin. It wasn’t as if Leon expected a response in the first place, but actually not getting one didn’t settle well with him. On the side of the tiny gadget sat another Umbrella logo, small but visible against the black metal. If it hadn’t made itself sure before, it was obvious that the Tyrant had come from Umbrella now. He began to wonder. Why ? How ? When the giant still showed no signs of movement, Leon sighed, “Factory reset, more like. Fuck .”
Leon eyed it for a few more moments, slowly becoming irritated with what he suspected its purpose was. He moved to grip the sleek piece of metal between his index and thumb, but was taken aback when the Tyrant simultaneously lurched away from him and grabbed his forearm with bone-shattering force. A clear warning made itself known through the animalistic growl that reverberated in the small space between them, amplified by their close proximity. A deep line drawn in the sand.
DO NOT TOUCH IT.
Leon’s eyes snapped up to meet the Tyrant’s. Its mouth was clamped shut as tightly as it always was. Brows drawn together tightly, Leon tried to discern whether or not that had been his thoughts echoing the message within his own head, or if the Tyrant had really spoken to him, yelled at him. The letter had never stated if the Tyrant was capable of speech itself, but the suspicious sender had also admitted that there was information not included in the text that they simply couldn’t share. Surely, if the Tyrant understood basic speech, and could make human-like noises itself, it could speak as well? Or at least learn?
Leon didn’t like it. That hunk of metal in its head. He considered the idea of distracting the behemoth and ripping it out. Problem was, if he failed, he’d be crushed before he had time to even begin to apologize for his actions. And if he succeeded, it would no longer trust him, or possibly die. Leon genuinely had no idea if that thing was connected to its brain, but he knew it was controlling it somehow. Even if it no longer had full control over the Tyrant, he was sure it was keeping it from living like it could’ve been. Just had to be. Leon let out a quiet huff and allowed his gaze to fall from the Tyrant’s face. Eyebrows raising, Leon thought of something. The bolt cutters. He hadn’t used them in a long time–was fairly certain he’d never use them again–but held onto them out of reluctance to discard such a tool. He remembered that, when he took the time to reorganize earlier, they were shoved deep into the pouch located on his right hip.
He slowly reached down with the hand that hadn’t been snatched by the creature to sift through his pouches and find the tool, only to have his head yanked up and wrenched back when the Tyrant’s other hand twisted deep into his hair. “Okay.” Leon said breathlessly, limply putting up his hands in a submissive position, as if held at gunpoint. Obviously it didn’t want him to do that , regardless of whether or not it knew exactly what he was going to try and do.
The giant, knowing Leon’s gesture to be a meek one, calmly let go of his arm and released his hair to instead take his lower jaw into its hand. Heart crashing against his ribcage, Leon was a willing participant when the Tyrant tilted his head back to expose his throat. He grinned nervously, shivering just a bit, as he felt it shift, lean in close, and press its lips against his Adam’s apple. He hummed low in his throat. Then, the Tyrant licked a stripe from his clavicle to the underside of his chin and he just about jumped out of his skin. So apparently he hadn’t ruined the mood with his curiosity.
Letting out a sultry mixture of a hiss and a sigh, Leon allowed his eyes to flutter closed and his body to relax. He gripped onto the overwhelming darkness that was the Tyrant’s coat and relished the way it licked, bit, and suckled at his throat. He could tell, by way his skin was rippled with goosebumps, that its eyes were still open. That it was taking in just as much through its eyes as it was with its mouth.
While this was nice, admittedly it was getting stale for Leon. Though he supposed he couldn’t have expected the Tyrant to take it much further than this. He doubted it fully realized what they were doing in the first place. Anything more was up to him.
Leon grunted, wiggled under the Tyrant's mass to indicate his restlessness. "Is this really all you want to do?" He wondered aloud; his voice came out rougher than he’d intended, heavier with need that simply wasn’t there a moment or so ago. Its answer was, unsurprising and disappointingly, silence. He huffed, held back an aggravated eye roll, and tried to find satisfaction. It didn’t come–at this rate, he didn’t think he would, either. But then–
Then there was a hand–unmistakably, it was a gigantic, gloved hand–palming him through his pants. He choked in surprise, felt his breath leave him. “Wait, what?” Leon jolted under the Tyrant’s touch, suddenly aware of his own blood roaring through his ears, rushing south in a panicked frenzy that the sensation of being touched by someone else. “Wait, can you understand me? I need to know.” It didn’t say anything of course, and that’s when Leon grabbed onto its face and pried its head up so they were once again at eye level.
“Blink once. If you. Can understand me.” The officer said hurriedly, voice clear. His hips rolled against his will, pressing against the savior that was the Tyrant’s palm. Leon nearly slumped against the window, awaiting any sort of response. He almost missed it, but the Tyrant blinked. “Okay.” He said, entire body alight with renewed excitement. Holy shit, holy shit .
“Okay,” He repeated, slowly releasing the giant’s face and gripping its coat again instead. “How about–do you know what we’re doing? Blink once, I mean, if you do.” He watched its face for any change of expression, any blink or twitch of an eye, but nothing changed. Leon’s heart sank. He wasn’t quite sure he'd be able to do this, if the Tyrant wasn’t aware of what was happening. Violent, hulking goliath it was, it just didn’t feel alright to take advantage of it like this–that didn’t necessarily apply when reversing the roles, however. Leon still had lingering thoughts of a darker way this whole affair could have turned out for him.
Slowly, as if it had taken some time to analyze his words, the Tyrant blinked again. It blinked twice. It understood. It understood very clearly. Its hand pushed at Leon’s belt, fumbled with the front of his trousers. Fearing that they’d meet the same fate of his vest, Leon was quick to undo the restrictions keeping this from moving faster. Despite his own being cast down into the dark oblivion between them as he hurriedly freed himself, Leon could feel the Tyrant’s eyes burning into him again.
Every single part of him burned desperately. He was sure things hadn’t been so fervent before, but here they were. Here he was, with the front of his pants open, his belt laying on the floor along with his torn vest and forgotten shirt. Here he was, his shaft in his hand for the second time that night, hips twitching every single time the beast in front of him even moved. “Here.” His voice was sharp, commanding. The Tyrant’s obedience was instant; it followed him this time, without a second thought. It covered Leon’s hand with its own, pure inexperience evident in the awkward way it gripped the human’s cock.
“Move it–your hand–like this.” He couldn’t believe he was coaching a giant monster with a pen sticking out of its head on how to jerk him off properly. He couldn’t believe that it was picking up how he liked to be stroked, worked slowly but steadfast, like a second nature. Soon enough, Leon withdrew his hand and opted to fully cling to the behemoth, shuddering against its form. He was getting off on this. The lewd thought had his heart skipping a few beats and landing with a heavy thud in his stomach. He groaned, tilted his head back, and mouthed his way along the Tyrant’s jawline.
“Kiss me.” He hissed, shamelessly lapping at the side of its mouth. It turned on him immediately, crashed their lips together so forcefully that Leon’s head slammed against the window and threatened to break it. The glass rattled and the frame creaked, but the salacious sounds–the mixture of keens, thunderous growls, slick smacking of thrashing tongues, and distinct clatter of teeth against each other–drowned out any other possible noise in the immediate vicinity. Leon tried not to think about how absolutely disgusting the two of them had to look at the moment, as the very idea had him sitting on the edge of an orgasm.
The Tyrant quickened its pace, gripped him tighter–fuck, he hadn’t told it to do that. He tapped its shoulder urgently, managing a smothered “don’t” between furious collisions of their mouths. The Tyrant only responded by taking the man’s throat in its free hand and pressing until Leon’s prior noises were replaced with startled chokes and spluttering. He could barely breathe, and he didn’t want it any other way.
It seemed what Leon really needed was that hand choking him out again, as he failed to last more than another twenty seconds. He screamed in his own muffled, gagging way, eyes shut tight, face plastered with an expression that conveyed his climax as agonizing. The intensity of it had his shoulders tensing, back arching painfully, hands scrambling for a better purchase on the Tyrant. His breath caught in his throat, lodged directly under its massive hand. He twisted his face away from the beast’s and wailed a scratchy, high-pitched “fuck!” as he sank against the wall. He shook with the aftershock of such an intense experience. The only reason he was still standing was their grip on each other.
Leon needed time to recover from that. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if he never did. He needed time to recollect, to face the Tyrant again. But he wasn’t given that time. With ferocity, it slung him over its shoulder and sharply turned away from the window, marching down the hall. “No, I need my shit.” The officer complained weakly, unable to even attempt to defend himself in any way. His body was heavy, his mind was completely blank. He was only capable of breathing and blinking at the moment. He groaned to himself and let his mind run wild, trying to prepare for whatever was to come.
Just you wait, this fic is finishing with a BANG.