Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Credit to the absolutely wonderful killercardiagn

Hands.

Hands gripping Leon’s arms with unrelenting brutality.

Nails. Nails digging into his toned biceps, imprinting crescent moon divots into the warm skin of his arms. The breaths of men chanting like fire alarms in his ears and their boots clamoring like a stampede across hardwood flooring. Their digits heaving his arms out of bed and a hard fist in his hair clawing, then wrenching his blond locks upward. 

“Get the hell off of me!” That’s the first thing Leon manages to vocalize when his eyes finally part. 

At least six men surround his bed, all in dark clothing. Most have at least three inches on him. Their eyes are dark, determined. He’s unable to see much in the dark room, but he does see enough to notice the loaded gun holsters on their matching belts. It’s a daunting sight.

His vision finally straightens, but they’ve already maneuvered him halfway out of bed. They’re forcing him to his feet and straining against the muscles resisting their might. He deters all his energy from panicking into writhing against their force. Fighting and fleeing are the only two options he has through his blind panic and fleeing is not a choice. 

He jerks the men from him with all his power, but with each claw that disappears, two more replace it. It’s a failing battle; his attempts to defend himself are fruitless. This speculation is only confirmed when they effortlessly thrust him back in the mattress, onto his stomach.

“What the fuck are you-” Leon tries loudly the instant he finds his voice buried in his larynx. He attempts to kick a man off him when he redeems control of one of his legs. However, it isn’t enough. Hell, he can’t even finish his sentence. A hand meets his lips, clamping so tight it tears at his skin. The salty taste of flesh fills his mouth as he attempts to bite. The hand doesn’t last more than three seconds, though. 

The flesh is followed by the claustrophobic air under a black cloth sack, obstructing all sight of the attacking militants. The third crash of panic forces him to kick and shout at whoever the hell has their hands on him like this, but no matter how well trained he’s been, he doesn’t have the strength to overpower six people at once. Especially not people as well fit as them.

He’s pinned down to his bed once more, four hands trapping his arms against his back, four more seize his legs forcing them into the bed, and another two on each shoulder. He struggles so hard, yelling at them to stop, demanding who they’re working for. He’s immobilized and overwhelmed by how strong these people are compared to him.

On top of it all, he’s blind, so when one man announces he’s, “administering sedative,” Leon can’t even see what his words mean until he senses the prick in his neck and cool liquid penetrates his veins. He tries to wiggle the needle from his neck, shoves his shoulder up to knock it loose, but a hand from his shoulder forces his face into the bed, muffling his resistance.

“Just relax, rookie. You’ll be out in no time,” One voice chuckles. Leon despises the tone of his voice, then again, he doesn’t like any of this situation. A little while later as his struggle becomes weaker he realizes something; the man wasn’t lying. It becomes impossible to struggle with the strength he had. Impossible to move at all. Impossible to think.

He isn’t conscious long enough to feel them carry him out of the room.

~

“Need him… for… hasn’t… sedative… off yet…?”

“Should… please be...”

“Want him… now…”

Leon scarcely hears the footsteps approaching, can hardly see the light radiating down on his eyelids. He barely even comprehends the words spoken in his presence but when a hand collides with his cheek, his senses snap crystal clear. Pain sears his face, causing him to grunt on command, eyes snapping open.

The strong stench of disinfectant and cleaner sifts through his nose, recalling a deep flashback of every doctors’ office he’s ever been to. Bright strip lights above him, flickering with unstable, yellow light. It bounces off the walls, into Leon’s eyes, irritating his rapidly squinting eyelids. Through his blurry vision, he observes a figure looming to his side. At first, it’s nothing more than a dark blob, but the person leans down closer, seemingly inspecting Leon’s inebriated state. Slicked blond hair framing a strong jaw and dark glasses. Dark trench coat, black shirt, black belt, black gloves. He’s taller than Leon, looms over him intimidatingly.

“Who are you?” Leon pauses, watching with intent eyes as the man straightens up again. In a state of dismay, unsure what the man’s next move is, he forces himself upon weary arms. “What the hell do you want from me?” 

“Restrain him.” His voice is deep like gravel. Professional, serious, almost uninterested. Leon doesn’t know this man. He’s never met him in his life and has no clue what sort of vendetta he has against Leon. He continues to stare, even as hands force him back down to the table with the same unrelenting brutality. The man shifts his gaze from Leon to something to his left Leon can’t quite spot. 

Who the hell has it out for Leon? Birkin, Irons, Krauser, Javier, Mendez, Saddler, Salazar… they’re all dead . Perhaps their subordinates sent someone after him? Seems a little late for that, now. 

Then it hits. Krauser is dead. The man who sent Krauser is not. 

“ Wesker ?”

He’s clueless as to what grudge Wesker has on him to kidnap him from his bed at 5 in the morning. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve whatever my Wesker has in store for him. Ada killed Krauser, not him, so why would he be the one to pay for it? 

“What do you want from me?” Leon repeats, alarm growing in his chest. It’s only amplified by his weak attempts to stop the men from holding him. They greatly overpower him, though it isn’t the greatest feat considering the anesthetic from earlier still hasn’t subsided. His muscles are feeble. Even when balling his fist in frustration, he’s unable to close it. 

“It would be much more effective if we’d gotten a table with restraints, Sir,” One of the men grumbles pessimistically. His hands, gloved and frigid, trapping Leon’s arm to the table. 

“Once we give him the paralytic, it won’t matter.” Wesker turns his eyes back to Leon, surveying in piqued interest as the boy struggles against the men. “Doctor, are you ready?”

Leon darts his eyes from where they rest on Wesker to another figure, jaunting toward him in lax strides. 

“Just about,” The man murmurs, tugging his gloves down his wrists. He stops promptly above Leon’s head but pays the man no consideration as he serves out orders to the men surrounding him, “I want at least a pint of blood out of him for testing, spinal tap, blood pressure, EKG, heart rate. We need to measure everything we can to monitor his progress.”

“My progress?” Leon starts, beginning another struggle against the two men holding his arms at his sides. He’s barely a budge on their strength, it’s a claustrophobic feeling. Loss of control. There is nothing he’s able to do to stop the inevitable, and the thought of the inevitable terrifies him. It’s the fear of the unknown. He doesn’t know what Wesker has planned for him. He dislikes being unaware. 

“What about the paralytic, doctor?” A female voice echoes from his feet. Paralytic?

“Before the bloodwork. And,” The doctor pauses above him. Leon observes him casting a judgemental eye across his body, splayed out on the hospital table. There’s a moment of discomfort between the two of them. He continues, “Someone get his fucking clothes off, I can’t work with him like this.” 

“What the hell are you doing to me?” Leon says it with a power he doesn’t have as if he could force the answer from his lips. He doesn’t know what will be done to him. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive to see the night. 

A female nurse rolls an IV drip to his side, she wears long brown hair and fine features well. Lab coat, gloves, and a needle in hand. Had Leon not been in the situation, she seems like the type he’d buy a drink for. But considering the situation, instead, bugs crawl under his skin. 

Above the hands holding his right arm down, another doctor wraps a teal tourniquet around his forearm, knotting it taut. He knows he’s about to be injected with something, he’s still fighting as hard as he’s able to but even with the added adrenaline, he’s too frail to do anything about it. 

Then, she breaks skin. A sharp prick of ice in the underside of his elbow. He’s never been terrible with needles. He used to be mortified of them as a child, but with age came tolerance. He wishes he had the same strength at the moment because when the cold metal sticks from his skin, covered with a small piece of tape, he’s as terrified as he was when he was a child.

“Relax, Leon,” The doctor above him starts, eyes glued to the nurse on his right. He must have noticed the subconscious panting Leon had started. “You’re not going anywhere. Might as well make yourself comfy.” 

If those were supposed to be comforting words, they had done quite the opposite. Through his panicked state, he finds the words to quip, “Seems a little hard in this position, don’t you think?”

“Has quite a mouth on him, doesn’t he?” The doctor sneers. Wesker remains quiet. It had almost distracted Leon from the next words that ring through the room.

“Administering paralytic,” The female voice reports from Leon’s lower right. It sounds bubbly. Miles away through the lightheadedness of Leon’s anxiety. Something pumps through the IV. Cold in comparison to Leon’s warm blood. 

“Hooking up the ventilator.” This time it’s a man at the top of the table. It’s dizzying trying to keep track of all the people surrounding him. He ponders on the ventilator part. Why the hell would he need a ventilator? Are they fucking with his lungs? He’s unable to ponder too long before the man begins pressing something long and plastic to his lips. He instantly bites down, refusing to take whatever the hell they’re trying to shove down his throat. 

“Fucking hell,” One man on his left grumbles. Leon still refuses, even when a strong hand clamps down hard on the sides of his jaw. He squeezes hard, but Leon won’t budge, refusing to give himself up easily. He refuses to unabashedly give them access without a fight. 

“You’re doing it wrong, Todd,” The nurse to his right chimes, “Here.”

She presses two fingers on either side of his jaw tucked between the bone and his skull and adds pressure, forcing his teeth open. Leon tries to fight, thrashes himself back and forth, but to no avail. The ventilator tube enters his mouth and soon, down his throat. 

He gags, his chest rising against the cold, metal scissors cutting the shirt from his frame. He tries to fight back, pulls his arms up, but they’re swiftly and harshly brought back down to his sides as whatever tube they’re shoving down his throat reaches the end of its descent. An oxygen mask is pulled over his lips and nose. He tries to speak, but each time his throat opens to do so, he’s encapsulated by the extreme discomfort of the ventilator forcing his lungs open for him. It’s one of the worst feelings he thinks he’s experienced. It’s repugnant. 

Through his thrashing and writhing against the doctors, it’s no surprise whatever drug they’d injected him with would work briskly. His heart pounds in his chest, rushing blood from his veins to his heart and brain. His energy fades at an alarming rate to the point where struggling against the men tires him. When they finally release their grip on him a minute later, he realizes lifting a finger is a chore. And then breathing is a chore. He has to admit he’s grateful for them at least letting him breathe. He’s sure he’d be suffocating on his muscles if they hadn’t pushed the ventilator down his throat.

He can’t move. They shut his eyes for him because he can’t even blink. The paralytic. That’s right. He doesn’t like it in the least.

It’s an alien feeling, he’s never felt so trapped before. He knows he’d be crying if his body would allow it. He tries to move, tries to fight with every cell in his body, but he can’t . He’s never experienced anything like it and that’s probably why it’s so harrowing. Leon’s never been so defenseless. He’s at the mercy of whatever experiments they want to run on him. He’s incapable of defending himself. He strains his ears and tries to listen through his blindness.

The liquid which had been flowing through his veins stops abruptly, he feels but doesn’t see the fumbling of tubes as something else is attached and this time, he assumes, blood is being pulled from him.

The man who had scissors and finished with his shirt has begun with his pants, unbuttoning them then yanking them down Leon’s legs. The second pair of hands pull his limp legs up from the table for ease of access. He despises the idea of not only being susceptible to the drugs they’ve pumped him with but also from the sudden nakedness they’ve forced on him. The crisp air of the room brushes his entire body. It’s a constant, nightmarish reminder of what’s happening.

Leon tries to move his mouth, tries to cry for help from anyone, anything. He wants so badly for someone to save him, to get out of this situation. It’s surreal, it doesn’t even feel like it’s happening to him. At the same time, he’s ruthlessly aware of everything that’s happening. His body is waging a war against itself.

Leon’s brain tells him to fight, to run, to kick, to scream. It tells him to get out . It tells him to panic, it tells him he’s going to die. It tells him to be afraid. All of those signals heap together into one large mass hysteria. It’s his fight or flight, every instinct he was born with screaming at him to do something . The more adrenaline produces, the more restless he becomes.

Then, his muscles are unresponsive. No matter how many signals his brain tries to jolt through his spine, nothing gets through. It’s as if they don’t even exist.

And his heart: it pounds in fear. It pulls blood through his body so quickly every drug they pump him with merely affects him faster. It’s a natural reaction that, ironically, only sides his body with the enemy.

Leon tries to focus on anything else besides the sheer trepidation coursing through his body. He embraces the cold pads from the EKG monitor to keep him grounded and calm. They press to his chest: two on either side of his heart, the rest on the left side of his chest. They’re so freezing, inhuman, unnatural. He’s a lab rat. His body doesn’t belong to himself anymore.

Then two more sensations. First, a cold fabric wrapping around his arm with velcro. He perceives it by the ripping fabric. It’s ice on his already freezing body. He isn’t entirely sure what it is, but when it begins to squeeze, he realizes. Blood pressure sleeve. The doctor had mentioned it earlier.

The second sensation is a gloved hand. Not latex, but leather. It presses against his slack jaw gently, almost lovingly. He swears he senses the eyes of the man it belongs to boring into his eyelids. It’s uncomfortable. He doesn’t like this side of Wesker.

“He’s still conscious?” The man asks the doctor. Its source is above his left. Then a hum of confirmation.

“Only gave him the paralytic. Makes it much easier to do our job,” The doctor replies with a rather dull tone. Something fiddles with his IV again, Leon assumes his blood is no longer being drawn and instead being replaced with something else. “Is that water?”

“Yes, I got the pint we needed,” The nurse informs.

“We’ll get started on the spinal tap and from there we can inject him.” The doctor continues, directed back at Wesker, “I want to get a reading to compare to after-”

“I don’t care. Just finish with him. I want to see him once it’s done.” He replies, then pauses. The room congests with the sound of the blood pressure sleeve loosening and the ventilator. Then, he resumes, “Make sure he hurts.”

“Will do.”

Leon loathes the sound of that, but he is unable to focus on it precisely with his brain simultaneously spacey and latching to every word spoken in his presence. Creaking of a door opening, then the slamming of it closing shut. He assumes Wesker leaves the room.

“125 over 76, EKG looks normal, heartrate is 95 BPM, though it’s probably elevated right now.” The female nurse reports directly, “He’s a perfect candidate. Should we continue with the lumbar puncture?”

“I’ll do it. You two–hold him up.” The doctor orders. Leon focuses on the sensation of pressure loosening as his sleeve is removed. Then, two pairs of arms grabbing each of his own, forcing him upright from the bed.

He can’t control when his head slumps forward painfully, nor when his hand slips limp on the shoulders of the men holding him up. He’s never had a lumbar puncture before, but as fingers prod at his lower back, inspecting his spine, he doesn’t have high hopes.

“Are we not numbing?” A man to his left comments, hoisting Leon’s arm tighter over his shoulder to bring his back up straighter.

“You heard Wesker. Why waste the time?” 

Leon’s nudged and pinched a bit more. He feels the gloves on him clearly and every little movement the doctor makes behind him, even when he retracts. Then his ears pick up the crinkling of plastic. It echoes uncomfortably throughout the static silence in the room. Leon’s trying to embrace the last drops of anesthesia that could still be in his system. 

The next sensation is like he’s being stabbed with a knife.

Leon’s lower back stings sharply, so severely he wants to scream. The needle begins slow, but the further it punctures between his bones, the worse it gets. He wants to seize his muscles up, claw at the doctor behind him, sob. He’s nauseous the pain is so intense. But all he does is sit there, limp. All he does is take it and hope he doesn’t pass out.

Then pressure, so much uncomfortable pressure. He tries to scream but he’s too drugged up. All he’s able to do is endure, hope it’ll go away soon. His heart pounds in his chest but his lungs can’t even keep up with it. 

The needle sits there for so terribly long it must be hours. It pulls from Leon any energy he had left. It retrieves whatever fluid is needed from him. The men on either side of him pull him forward slightly while the needle pulls more fluid and finally, after an eternity, it exits. The wound is covered a moment later with some sort of bandage. Leon wants to let out a sigh of relief, especially more so with the doctor’s following words.

“We can give him the neostigmine; we’re almost done here.”

Leon’s gingerly lowered back down on the table. Alleviation finally fills his body, replacing the adrenaline and fear that encapsulated him. Almost done. This procedure’s felt like an hours-long ordeal, though he’s sure it’s only taken thirty minutes at most. “I want him sober when we give him D-00.”

The IV is changed once more and this time, Leon assumes the neostigmine is being injected. He’s been pumped full of so much fluid, had his blood taken, been tested and looked at and checked. A heavy weight of tiredness clings to his chest while the doctors finish up whatever work they need to do on him.

The EKG stickers peel from his chest and the needle exits his arm with a soft pinch, covered a moment later with a cotton ball and dressings. Leon’s next exhale is one of relief. He wants this to be over. Though, he’s still anxious for whatever D-00 the doctor was talking about.

For the next several minutes, Leon lays there. Nobody interacts with him. Instead, the room fills with the noises of wheels on the hard floor and the clattering of tools. Through the ambiance, Leon observes a conversation between a nurse and a doctor.

“When are we administering the drug?”

“Grab me as soon as he starts moving on his own. We’ll throw him in his room until morning and measure his progress then.” The doctor pauses for a long moment, Leon thinks he’ll say more, but instead his footsteps echo softer and softer until the door groans ajar.

With the imminent threat of the doctor and Wesker gone, Leon deems himself safe enough to begin moving his muscles again for the first time since the drugs were given to him. If the doctor says he should be able to move again soon, he’ll take his word for it. He doesn’t want to stay here long enough to try out their experimental drug.

He tries his eyelids, his legs, even something as small as his fingers. There’s nothing for the longest time, only empty efforts. The doors creak open several times more and–he assumes–the rest of the doctors leave. If he could get his muscles moving, he knows there’s at least a glimpse of hope for him. He could get up, fight his way out of here, leave . There’s only one nurse left in the room, she’ll be easy to get past, even at the strength he holds now. At least, he hopes.

He doesn’t know what drug they’ve been talking about, but considering the number of tests he’s gone through, it seems highly experimental. And considering Wesker’s grudge against him, Leon doesn’t trust he’s in good enough hands to want to find out. 

Just as Leon’s lost all hope, he’s never going to get out of this fucking place, his finger twitches the slightest. The tiny movement alone is enough to make his heart pound again. Shit, shit, shit, is it working?

He tries harder, manages to keep his finger up for a moment longer. Then he lets it go, allows it to fall limp again. If he could get his eyes open, he could orient himself enough to figure out how to get out of here. He tries and, to his surprise his eyelids flicker the slightest, then open.

The lights above him are so bright, it’s almost blinding. He hasn’t been used to this much light since before the tests, so he promptly squints in reply. He even finds the strength to raise an arm and block it out. The paralysis is wearing off much faster than Leon had anticipated. It’s exciting .

“Subject is reacting to stimuli again. Grab the doctor.”

Leon’s head whips around sluggishly and he sees not only the nurse there but another man. By the time he gets his eyes on them, the man is already making his way to Leon at an alarmingly nimble pace while the nurse departs the room in a rush. He has no chance to gather his bearings, he barely gets himself up on his arms before his cold gloves shove him back down. 

Leon tries to yell at him. Let me go! But the tubes are still down his throat, they gag any words he attempts. The moment he engages those muscles, his stomach lurches. He needs this thing out .

The doors behind him open with a bang and moments later, all hands are pressing him back down on the table despite his frail attempts to kick at them. Hands on his legs, his arms, his chest. He’s once again claustrophobic under the mass of arms. They crowd around him until all he sees through his blurry eyes is the blue of their masks and the white of their coats.

Someone, though he isn’t sure who pulls the oxygen mask from his lips, followed by the excruciatingly long tube. He gags, tearing at the eyes. It drags against his airways, threatening to irritate his stomach more than it already has. When Leon watches it escape his mouth, choking and spluttering, it’s coated in a thin layer of blood, spit, and bile. Just looking at it, he’s repulsed.

Leon is so miserable with everything that’s happening. He’s annoyed with the idea of being tested so extensively. He hates the hands holding him down and the fact he knows he could have the strength to fight back had they not drugged him. He hates that he knows he could , but he physically can’t . It’s a distressing feeling, one he’s experienced many times before, but with the added danger of this drug, it’s much worse.

Then, the doors open one last time. They creak slowly and with each following footstep on laminated flooring, Leon swears his heart rate increase. He turns his gaze up, eyeing the doctor’s approach, strolling across the ceiling. The suspense is terrible. He just observes in sheer anguish. 

He knows what comes next, and he’s frozen. He hopes the government will have a cure for whatever is about to happen to him because, in the doctor’s right hand, he sees a syringe of a clear liquid. Leon thinks he’ll implode with how his heart hastens.

“What the hell do you want from me?” Leon asks softly, it’s nothing more than a harsh whisper. His speech is hoarse, throat raw from the tube. He’s almost afraid the doctor doesn’t hear him. “What is that?”

“Turn him over, I need the back of his neck,” The doctor orders, dismissing Leon’s prying. The blond tries to fight back against the hands forcing him over to his stomach. Three on his back, two on each arm, and another three on his legs, forcing him to his stomach. They pin him there with such strength it bruises. He attempts to shove against the table under him, but it’s like shoving a brick wall. There is no give. Nothing.

“What are you-” Leon’s cut off before he can continue. Two fingers drag at his neck, spreading the skin thin for better access. He wants to cry, he’s so mortified. He wants to go home. “ Stop .”

His cries are only cut short as the needle plunges and warm liquid seeps into his veins. Leon cringes, eyebrows furrowing in response to the uncomfortable sensation. His eyes tear up, but he doesn’t dare let it show, hiding it in a harsh grimace. The needle only lasts maybe three seconds, but it feels like hours before it’s pulled out and disposed of. Leon’s shaken up terribly.

“Throw him in his room, we’ll pull him out tomorrow and see how he’s doing.” The doctor mumbles, disposing of his gloves. Leon doesn’t miss the careless expression he exhibits as if he meant nothing. 

Hands seizing him again, this time pulling him up from the table. He can’t struggle, can’t fight. He’s so weak even as they throw him down on the floor of the dark cell only lit by the door’s window, he barely catches his fall. He hisses when his wrist slams into concrete, cradling it as fast as he musters, which is much slower than he needs.

“Dumb fucking mutt,” The doctor jeers. Leon doesn’t see the smug grin crossing his lips, too focused on the sharp stab shocking his wrist. Someone throws his jeans on top of him, landing on his side from where he lays awkwardly on the floor. He’s mustering all his strength to push himself up from the concrete, so he’s not quite so uncomfortable. Or maybe, it’s the thought he could still fight back from this position as if the damage isn’t already done and he could make his way back out the room. 

He’s hardly on his knees before a large boot kicks him square in the gut. It hurls him back to the floor, grasping at the area and grimacing in pain. It’s a chore just to breathe. Someone laughs. Leon wishes they were dead.

The door seals, he tells by the clicking of a lock on the outside. It’s a sound Leon wishes didn’t scare him as much as it did. It means he’s trapped. It means he doesn’t know when he’ll be able to get back out of here on his own. If he can. He hopes someone will notice he’s missing. Prays. If Claire notices, tells Chris, maybe he could come. Or maybe Sherry will try to call and find it odd he doesn’t answer his phone. Maybe Ada will try to visit and get suspicious when he isn’t there. Leon knows it’s false hope letting him dream up these scenarios, he doesn’t know how he’ll get out of here if it doesn’t happen. If he’ll make it out alive.

He shivers, lifting himself from the ground, and gets a good look at the room he’s been imprisoned in. It’s dark, so much so he barely sees more than a few feet in front of him. He slowly allows his eyes to adjust as he regains his energy, trying to calm himself in the situation. Think logically.

A toilet sits on the far corner from the door, Leon can’t tell exactly how clean it is in the low dusk, but he identifies what it is. To his left, a stained mattress and one measly blanket Leon doubts will be enough for him, considering he’s already growing goosebumps on his exposed chest. These walls are cold and concrete. No source of heat or light to keep him sane. 

Through the door in front of him, he notices a small window, shining with the only light in the room. It’s tinted blue, turning the entire room a dull shade of moonlight. It’s somber lighting. One of hopelessness, misery, and fear. He thinks he may be a bit of a pessimist, though.

There are no signs of those doctors or nurses who had shoved him down minutes before. No shadows float past the window. No faces peer in at him. It’s all just the lighting from the outside. That damn medical room. When he crawls weakly to the door with aching muscles and turns the handle, it doesn’t budge more than a couple of inches and doesn’t push open more than a smidge. At least here, it no longer smells of cleaner. It smells of mildew and mold. It doesn’t irritate his nose as much as the other room, but it’s certainly no better. 

He finally recognizes his surroundings, doesn’t notice a camera in the room, but can’t be sure it’s not bugged. At least he can focus on himself in peace.

His back kills him, a tender soreness aches where the needle had punctured between bones not long before being shoved in here. His throat is dry, he feels the walls of flesh rubbing against each other with such friction, Leon’s afraid he’ll die of dehydration by morning. He hopes they plan on feeding him here.

This is the first time today he’s been able to breathe without hands holding him down, without needles puncturing him, without struggling against his own body. He’s so drained his hair sticks to his forehead and his eyes are heavy. He wants to sleep. 

Considering the door is locked, there is no food nor water, and his entire body pangs, he decides it’s the best thing for him to do. He’s tired. The only thing stopping him from wanting to sleep right away is the fact he doesn’t want to wake up to more hands on him. He doesn’t want to wake up and have to fight off six more grown men from holding him. It’s the thought of never quite being safe that makes him reluctant to allow himself to sleep. 

“Fuck…” Leon whispers under his breath, leaning back on his knees once again. He knows if he rises to his feet, he’ll surely fall. He isn’t confident in himself, yet. Instead, he crawls on his hands and knees turning to his left to investigate the mattress. There are a few more dark stains under the blanket that had been lazily thrown over the top, but it’s not nearly enough to drive him to refrain from resting. He knows he needs it. 

Before he crawls under the blankets, a thought crosses his mind. He hesitates, turns his eyes back to the pants on the floor, deciding quickly to dress. He doesn’t know what else the people here have planned for him, but the idea of being as dressed as possible comforts him. Hell, self-soothing is all he does for himself now. Until he finds out what he’s really here for.

Once his jeans, which he’d struggled with, fit his legs again, Leon finally pushes himself into bed. His eyes burn every time he shuts them, his muscles sear with a gentle ache, and as he finally lays on cushioning for the first time since waking up, he finds sleep claims him much faster than he expected it to.

~

Leon’s rest is short-lived. He doubts he’s gotten three hours of sleep before he’s roused by a faint ache reverberating through his skull. Every time blood rushes to his brain, it throbs harder, threatens to fracture his skull. It had started gradually. At first, Leon hadn’t noticed besides the soft twitch in his sleep, the momentary furrow of eyebrows, and a twitch of a finger. It had been the same bad dream on repeat. Nothing terrible.

Then he had switched sides of the bed, holding the blanket rigid against him to grapple with the crescendo of pain. When it had gone from moderate to severe, Leon finally woke, holding his cranium taut between two hands, eyes shut to hinder the scorching light beaming through the door. 

He grunts, trying to get it to stop. His head sears, it’s splitting open, sharp bristles of pain shock his nerves awake every time his brain throbs. Leon’s never had migraines too badly, only ever once or twice in the entirety of his adulthood. It’s strange, considering it came from what seemed like nowhere.

Leon doesn’t know why it happens, but his second guess besides general illness is whatever chemicals had been willed into his bloodstream. It’s the only logical answer. He hopes whatever it is, it isn’t a goddamn aneurysm. It isn’t pleasurable in the slightest.

The longer he sits there, grasping his head, massaging the top where it hurts the most, the worse the pain builds. At first, it hadn’t been more than a pinch, but as the minutes pass it only worsens. He’s nauseous, but he can’t stand to move his hands from himself for fear of his brain breaking through his skull. It’s as though his scalp is moving under his fingers. Though, it’s a laughable thought at best. One of insanity at worst. 

Another hour–or what seems like an hour–passes and the pain becomes so excruciating Leon’s begun panting, eyes wetting as he nearly begs it to stop. He doesn’t want to be seen like this, hyperventilating, sweating, a hot mess on the floor, eyes sealed taut, and his face soaking in a mixture of perspiration and tears. He doesn’t want to be seen, yet as every second brings another wave of agony, he’s tempted to scream through his door, beg for painkillers, for help, for anything to get him through whatever’s happening. He was clueless agony like this existed.

Leon values his dignity. He knows he could cry for help, someone would come. They wouldn’t want to see the doctor’s test subject die before examining the results, right? But, he doesn’t. He isn’t entirely sure if it’s fear of being tested on more or stubbornness. Either way, asking for help from the enemy sounds like the worst-case scenario. Maybe it’ll go away and he only needs to hold tight for another few minutes.

But a few minutes turns to fifteen. Sitting there, dry heaving, writhing through the convulsions of anguish, he still refuses to ask for help. Especially from the people who had decided to put him through this.

Leon’s breaking point doesn’t come until a wave sears through his body so harshly he genuinely screams . It’s like his skull and the flesh with it is being sliced open, knives are butchering his skull dreadfully. He doesn’t know how to describe a type of pain he’s never felt before. 

When he finally folds, it isn’t because he wanted to. No amount of pain would ever result in wanting help from the enemy. Instead, he submits because if he had to endure any longer, there’s no doubt in his mind his life would end bashing his head into the wall or drowning himself in the toilet water. He’s lived this long, he’s not giving up because Wesker decided to be particularly sadistic toward him. 

But God, when Leon breaks, he shatters. He’s glass, strewn throughout the room and his voice conveys the pain just as bona fide. He’s a stained glass mural cracking into a thousand miniature pieces, unable to hold itself collectively. He screams for help to anyone who may hear him. Even for Wesker, the man he’s never wanted to be at the mercy of. He holds his pain in his hands, fetal position on the floor, clasping his skull so tightly to keep whatever pain down .

He yells, cries, begs for help for God knows how long. He’s going to die if somebody doesn’t come to help now. He will surely pass out and his skull will explode. 

Just as he’s begun to lose hope, throat parched and voice hoarse, the gentle click of the lock on the door echoes. He doesn’t look, afraid if he moves his head he’ll be hit with another grotesque convulsion of pain, shocking his system into compliance once more. When her voice seeps through, it’s the first time in the night Leon feels intact.

“Oh shit,” the female nurse gasps above him. “Are you okay?”

Leon can hardly get the words out through the sobs racking through his body, can’t get his voice to work past the small whimpers stopping him from shrieking again. But as he forces a deep, shaky breath into his lungs and presses his hands harder down on himself, he finally manages a small, pathetic, “Head… hurts .”

When the air of the outside room sweeps past him–the door shutting–he can’t help but sob in reply, terrified they’re not coming back for him. Maybe it’s the heat of the moment that doesn’t allow him to think plainly, but as he lays there for a few moments longer, he seriously considers the toilet idea. He wants the pain to go away. It’s the only thing on his mind. He wouldn’t accept a billion dollars to experience this again. It’s overstimulating, it’s excruciating. It’s the worst agony Leon thinks he’s ever experienced.

Just as he’s about to crawl to the toilet, head still buried in his arms, the door’s lock repeats itself.

“His head hurts, any other symptoms?” The male doctor; the one who had injected him. 

“I’m not sure yet, I haven’t asked. He’s having trouble talking.” 

The rushed steps of boots on concrete flooring grow closer to his ears. Then hands gathering him from the floor by his arms. Leon’s eyes open, squinting in response to the agonizing lights above him, he notices blood on his arms where he’d been holding his skull tight. It seeps in red streaks across his skin as he’s pressed gently down on the table. He doesn’t know where it came from. Hell, maybe his brain is breaking his skull. That would certainly explain the pain.

“Are you having pain anywhere else, Leon?” A doctor asks, when Leon squints his eyes to identify him, he realizes it’s the team’s director.

“Just-” Leon gulps to keep the bile down, “Just my h-head.”

Gloves snap onto skin and a moment later, his hair is moved, stained a dark red as it falls in his face. There’s a long moment of silence, the doctor inspects the top of his cranium and Leon tries to keep his hands out of his face so he might be able to get help. Just to make it stop. 

One finger presses to a certain spot, right where it had hurt the most, and Leon hisses, recoiling. Whatever he’d touched is so sensitive even the gentlest direct brush makes Leon’s head retract into his neck. 

“ Fuck , gentle please -” Leon cries, gritting his teeth.

“These results are coming much sooner than I could have hoped,” The doctor notes, grotesque glee beams through his voice, “Leon, your ears are growing in perfectly .”

“My- What?” Leon doesn’t have much time to ponder before another searing wave of pain jolts his body. “Please, just give- give me painkillers, please. Something .”

“Nurse, is Wesker available?” The doctor above him requests. Leon doesn’t see him, but he has his voice down in his mind well enough. He’s used to being blind around the man.

“He’s on his-”

Before the nurse can even finish the sentence, the door above Leon swings open and from it emits the slow steps of Wesker. Leon’s in so much pain–hands in tight fists on his head, knees bent–but he doesn’t even have to look to know. Who else would it be?

“He’s asking for med-” The doctor starts.

“What’s happening to him?” Wesker immediately cuts, steps approaching Leon’s side. He peels one of Leon’s arms from their position, revealing the drying blood coating his arms and a better view of Leon’s contorted face.

“His ears are growing in, Sir. You can see the exposed nerves here, and-”

There’s silence, the blond isn’t sure why the doctor stops, but he’s in too much pain to care. He continues his struggle against Wesker’s iron fist, eyes still shut tight. He’s petrified the lighting above him will only make it worse.

“ Please!” Leon yells, engulfing the room. His brain burns so badly and with each passing second, it only seems to get worse, “Make it- Make it stop. I’ll do anything, fucking anything. ”

A hand touches him again, brushing his hair out of the way for Wesker to see whatever he wants.

“Is it supposed to look that… raw?” Wesker inquires.

“It’s highly experimental. I didn’t know what would happen to him. With time, I’m sure it’ll heal over. But the rate of growth is a breakthrough in my work.” 

Wesker hesitates, still holding Leon’s arm down from the pain.

“Give him something small to get him through the night,” Wesker mutters. He seems unhappy with the order, but Leon’s eternally grateful for the mercy shown, “We’ll see in the morning.”

“Yes, Sir.” 

Wesker’s hand releases its grip, allowing Leon to once more cup his ache, grunting as another sharp wave of pain encapsulates him. 

“Let’s give him a milligram of butorphanol,” The doctor orders, turning to the nurse at his side, ready to administer whatever drugs needed.

Leon thinks it’s funny how hours ago, he’d been dreading the drugs they’d given him. He’d fought so hard against the chemicals they injected and tried to deny anything they granted him. But, here he was, begging for whatever opioids he could get his hands on, pleading for some sort of generosity through drugs once again. This time, when the nurse sorts through a container beside the heaps of medical tools and pulls a small, brown bottle of liquid, Leon is excited to be shot up. This time, when she retrieves a small syringe and sucks the exact dosage out of the corner of Leon’s eye, he offers up his arm for the tourniquet.

It only takes maybe sixty seconds after the initial injection for Leon to begin to relax the slightest. At least enough, where he doesn’t have to clutch his head so hard. Enough so his eyes aren’t watering over.

The needle retracts and she unties the tourniquet, releasing the pressure built in Leon’s veins.

“Take him back to his room,” The doctor orders, “We’re done here.”

~

Leon sleeps better after that entire ordeal. He was dropped back into his room and almost immediately after, he’d crawled into his mattress and slept soundly. No dreams, only peaceful rest. Exhaustion had weighed on him like a blanket and after so terribly long, he was finally getting much-needed rest.

He’s still asleep when the door across from him creaks open. It’s gradual as if the man who enters doesn’t want Leon to wake. As if he wants to sneak in and take Leon by surprise. He shuts the door so softly it hardly makes a dent on the snores Leon exhibits. 

Leon doesn’t hear the soft tap, tap, tap of Wesker’s shoes on the floor. Nor, does he hear when he stops inches from the mattress, watching the man sleep with such calmness engraved in his exhausted features. It’s when a foot collides sharply into his gut that Leon’s eyes jolt open. He chokes, holds the bruised area from where he’d been kicked the day before. He’s lucky he hasn’t broken a rib yet. Or, he hopes he hasn’t. 

“Doctor was right. Your ears did grow in fast,” Wesker notes, humor slipping through his words. He kneels beside the weaker man, gets a little too close for his comfort. Then, continues in an almost condescending tone. He enjoys having power in these situations. Leon doesn’t know much about Wesker, but he knows that much. He needs to have the upper hand. “Have you seen what we’ve done to you, Leon?”

Leon grimaces, still holding his stomach as he shifts his gaze back up to Wesker. He’s heard so many mentions of them. From yesterday to today. He hasn’t had much of a chance to mull it over, either too distracted by his bursting head or by the restlessness weighing on his body. This is the first time he’s had a chance to contemplate it, really consider those words. “My–My ears?”

Wesker chuckles, a sideways grin etches into his face. He reaches a hand out to Leon’s head, receiving a quick flinch. However, when he simply rests his hand on his head, he calms the slightest. It’s what Wesker touches that causes Leon to freeze up. It touches skin and muscle above his skull. Exactly where the doctor had pressed yesterday. This time, it doesn’t hurt. This time it’s… good . 

“What is that?” Leon whispers. He knows. He knows what it is, he doesn’t want to believe it. His  eyes widen, he isn’t sure if he wants to know, but he needs to hear it. He needs answers. “What is that?”

Wesker seems pleased by the fearful expression crossing Leon’s features. He grins at the man. Smugness, power, control, and… corruption . 

“Your new ears, mutt. Would you like to see?”

“What the fuck did you do to me?” Leon snarls, despite the fact he feels like a wounded animal. Many emotions are running through him. Dread, sadness, fear… but above all else, there is anger. He’s pissed . If what he thinks is true, then the man who sits in front of him so casually, pulling his phone from his pocket has hell to pay for it.

A flash of light engulfs Leon, coaxing a squint from his eyes. It’s blinding in the dim room. Leon almost forgot how dark it was, considering he’d gotten used to it. But, he ignores the light flashing in his vision and focuses on Wesker as he turns the phone screen toward him. 

Two brown ears perch atop his head. They’re tall and coated in a short of fur, standing erect. They’re like the ears of a dog. Leon has never felt more degraded in his life.

As he stares at the photo, his hand shakily comes up to the wound where he does feel the soft patch of fuzz. The ears fold under his touch both through his hands and through the new flesh. His eyes widen, continuing to stare at the photo. He examines every detail, his baggy eyes, his bloody hair. But his eyes continue to drag back to the ears; back to the mutation.

He’s in shock. He doesn’t know what to say, how to react. Just looking at the picture and seeing the man who looks back? It’s not him. It nauseates him to think that picture was taken only a second ago. That’s what he looks like at the moment. Degraded to nothing but an animal. A pet. A dog .

“What did you do…?” Leon’s voice is quiet at first. His anger doesn’t shine through until the shock passes. Until the initial consumption dies down and all he has left is indignation. The new nerves manipulate as his ears flatten against his hair. Angry. Pissed. Blind rage . “What the fuck did you fucking do !?”

“Doctor says the rest of your transformation will start any day now,” Wesker grins, obviously proud of his work. He presses his phone into his pocket again, allowing Leon’s eyes to meet his with such anger he barely controls himself.

“The rest? What the fuck did you do to me? I-” Leon moves to his knees, quick to anchor his feet under him. He’s ready to fucking deck Wesker with as much power as he musters. He’s mad. He’s not mad, he’s goddamn furious with the man. He thinks he has the audacity to manipulate Leon in such a way… to turn him into a goddamn lab rat. To experiment on him to see what will happen. “I’m a fucking freak .”

Wesker rises back to his feet, meeting Leon’s stance a few inches taller. “Now, Leon, don’t say that. You’ll fit in fine under my service.”

“Fuck you,” Leon hisses, his ears turning back even more. His nails dig into his fists. He’s ready to strike, it’s about taking Wesker by surprise. He knows he doesn’t have the strength to down the taller man without an advantage. “Fuck you .”

Wesker moves at such speed Leon doesn’t even see the hand before it collides with Leon’s face. His head snaps to the side. He thought he’d get the advantage here, but he was wrong. Leon doesn’t think he’s ever seen such speed from a man before. He couldn’t even process it before it was happening. Then, he’s being pulled back to meet eyes with Wesker by his hair. Wesker’s hot breath sticks to Leon’s cheek, their faces are pressed so close together.

Wesker whispers in a harsh tone, a swift hammer to put an end to Leon’s resistance. “Say that again and you’ll regret it, Kennedy.” 

Leon knows he’s in no position to be making threats. He’s in no position to be trying to intimidate Wesker, but there’s so much hatred boiling inside him. They’re turning him into a fucking dog . Into a goddamned freak. He knows he should hold his tongue, he should swallow his pride and shut the fuck up right now, but the nails digging crescents into his palms tell him to do otherwise.

Miraculously, Leon doesn’t say a word. He physically has to bite his tongue to do so, involuntarily flicking an ear. He continues to stare at Wesker with as much animosity as he can muster, not daring to break eye contact.

“Good mutt,” Wesker mutters, a small grin cracking his stoic lips. Regaining power he had hardly lost for a second, if at all. “You want food, pup?”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Leon growls, digging his nails in deeper. He’s being degraded in the worst way. He’s being treated as sub-human. But, not in the way of not respecting his autonomy. It’s in a way of being treated as something different. It’s humiliating. He’s sick to his stomach whenever those titles slip through Wesker’s mouth.

“Do you want breakfast, dog ?” Wesker repeats sourly, “Or would you rather starve the rest of the day?”

Leon has to admit, he is hungry. He hasn’t eaten in at least a full day. The thought of food alone causes his gut to rumble the slightest. He curses his body for betraying himself when Wesker only chuckles. 

“I’ll have food brought in,” Wesker promises, moving a hand toward Leon’s face. Leon immediately swipes it away with a harsh hand, but Wesker’s strength far outmatches his own. He doesn’t have a chance when both his wrists are gathered in his opponent’s hands and pinned above him, harsh into the cold concrete. “Will I have to teach you some manners, pup?”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Leon repeats, gritting his teeth. He wants so badly to bite the man’s face off, but he knows it would only further enforce the role being forced upon him. Wesker ignores him as his spare hand drags across Leon’s exposed chest, eyes downturned. The shorter man doesn’t like the feeling of it. It makes him sick. It’s intimacy from the last man he wants that type of intimacy from. He avoids Wesker’s eyes, refusing to let him see the fear.

“Well, I’ll check on you tonight. We’ll see how you’re feeling then.”

Wesker steps back, releasing Leon’s wrists before he turns toward the door and exits, locking the bolt a moment later. Leon leans against the wall, arms crossing to cover himself for a while longer. He processes what had happened. Thinks about why Wesker decided to be so… soft at the end. It made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t move. Why didn’t he move?

He stands, stares at the door Wesker had exited from. He wonders if it would be worth it to try to rip the ears off and act as if they were never there. Maybe he could grow his hair out long enough so they’d be hidden in the locks. He thinks it over, lets the resentment brew deep inside him. He’s not letting Wesker get the best of him like this. He’s certainly not backing down without a fight.

Almost subconsciously–when he’s sure Wesker has left–he presses a hand to his ear again, rubbing the soft fur and the warm pinna. His ears are still angled back, but not nearly as much as when Wesker was standing inches from him. He tries for a moment but finds he isn’t able to quite control the new parts himself. They sort of just… move on their own. It’s an involuntary reaction. He can’t even try to hide them.

With tired eyes, Leon lowers his pupils to the ground, stares at his feet. As the first tear finally sheds, he whispers to himself. It’s the first sound to break the silence in a while. It comes out much more broken than Leon expected. Devastated. As if he’s lost all humanity in himself.

“What the fuck did they do to you?”

~

The day passes him slowly, occupied with constant napping and the occasional meal delivered to him. They don’t consist of much, but enough so he’s not frail getting through the day. Several hours pass before anything interesting happens, though, Leon supposes he should be grateful not much is happening. 

He’s been anxiously waiting for the rest of whatever transformation he’s supposed to go through. He doesn’t think his ears are the only thing. Maybe it’s a gut feeling, maybe someone mentioned it to him. Either way, he’s been on edge about it all day. He prays whatever it is, it’s nothing like his ears growing in, his skull is still raw from that process.

As he’d predicted, things do happen. The first change happens at his second meal of the day. He notices it when he tries to bite down on his lunch and a sharp pain resonates throughout his canines. They were sensitive to both temperature and pressure, forcing him to put down his food for a while. It’s not nearly as painful as his head had been, but it’s certainly not a comfortable sensation.

Leon tests the tooth softly. His gums are raw. He feels it as the salt of his finger touches the flesh. When he draws his finger back, his spit is traced with pink blood. It’s alarming, but not as terrible as he’d expected it to be. He tests the teeth with his tongue; they seem a little longer than usual. He blames it on some sort of placebo and tries to eat the rest of his food with his molars, leaving it be.

The second side effect of the drug comes in his lower back, right around his tailbone. Leon immediately has no doubts about what could possibly be growing there. Not because he’d been told, rather it had been on his mind since the night before with his ears. From what Wesker had begun calling him that morning with the ears, he’d concluded whatever the doctor’s trying to do is turn him into some sort of dog. 

Dogs have whiskers, ears, teeth, a different bone structure, paws, black nose. And, of course, a tail could be a possibility. 

Leon hasn’t quite accepted what’s happening to him. He certainly isn’t happy about the experiments Wesker deemed okay to perform on him. However, he knows there’s nothing he’s able to do about it until someone finds him. He wants to prepare for whatever else could happen to him here. God knows how long until someone finds him here.

Leon hopes when his friends see him like this, they won’t see what he sees. He’s anxious about what reputation he’ll get for it. A freak. Dog. Mutt . Maybe Wesker’s words are getting through his skin. All of these things run through his mind as he lays on his bed, his lower back covered with only his blanket, waiting for the growing ache to subside.

The pain doesn’t grow nearly as terrible as it had for his skull the night before. It’s a slow ache, rather than the stabbing shocks that had emitted from the nerves in his brain. It’s a gentle pressure. Even at its most intense, a few hours later, it’s never enough for Leon to scream or cry, only enough for his nails to grip the fabric of the mattress and calm himself through deep breaths. It’s the type of pain Leon can take. Nothing like the agony he’d experienced before.

A long time passes, Leon can’t sleep. The only thing he can do is squeeze the mattress and grit his teeth, his canines scratching against his bottom layer of gums. He lays there and thinks about what the future holds for him. Wearing hats out everywhere, never opening his lips too far, no more yawning, no more smiling, no more eating in front of others. And a tail. Fuck, how the hell would he hide a damn tail?

Leon buries his head into the mattress as another shock of pain reverberates, causing him to clench his muscles. He forces himself to relax, calming his breathing and instead focusing his energy on his fists. If he could take the worst pain in his life the night before and live to tell the tale, he’ll be able to take something as minuscule as this. And he does.

The episode doesn’t last quite as long as Leon had expected it to. It only takes two more hours (Leon assumes) before the bulk of his pain has subsided. In its place, when Leon turns his eyes to see, he notices a long tail. The same color as the ears which had grown a day before. A soft golden-brown, dressed in long fur. 

He was right. They are making him into a mutt. Leon isn’t sure whether to be distressed about the fact he’s growing body parts or relieved it’s not something worse. He wants it to be reversible in the future. He doesn’t care how. 

~

Leon doesn’t remember passing out again, but the past day had been a blur of meals, random aches, the inability to eat with anything besides his molars, and sleep. It made sense he had to sleep so much, considering the toll he’s sure D-00 had on him. He’s exhausted. His body is consuming all resources creating new body parts in the span of hours. 

When he wakes the next morning, he’s soaked in a sheen layer of sweat, soaking through his bedsheets and pants. His head is light, exhausted from experiencing so much even after hours of sleep. Not only that, but he’s sure he’s dehydrated from the amount of water he lost. Wetness spreads between his thighs as he comes to and at first he assumes it’s sweat like the rest of his body. His face is on fire, he’s panting, his heart seems to be beating irregularly fast, with his condition it would make sense. 

The thing is when he peels back the blanket the liquid soaks to his thighs. It’s not liquidy like sweat. It has more consistency of spit. When he parts his fingers, a string of the substance stretches out between them. It’s slick, hydrating. Nothing like the consistency of sweat. On top of that discovery, he finds he’s throbbing hard through his pants, precum pressing a dark stain into them.

“Jesus Christ,” Leon murmurs, unsure of what the hell is happening. He didn’t feel this way when he went to sleep. This is new. This is… different. And for some reason, he’s incredibly feverish. Sick, almost. He wants something bad and it is almost like a piece of himself is missing but he doesn’t know what it is. He’s never felt anything quite like it before. Leon tries to play it off as his body coping with new body parts and different chemicals in his system as he pulls his pants down and tries to clean the mess. With each stroke of the blanket, against his thighs and ass, a thick substance coats the blanket. It doesn’t soak into the blanket, instead, it leaves a shiny, clear residue.

“What the hell.”

Is this part of the drug? It’s never happened before, but sure enough some sort of… bodily fluid is leaking from his ass. And then there’s the part he tries to ignore. The terrible throbbing of his length as he tries to work, the thoughts inside his mind screaming at him for sex of all things. Hormones pump through his brain, affecting his thoughts, his desires, everything. Over his time here, he hasn’t once thought about sex. If anything, it’s the last thing on his mind. 

Leon stares at his cock for a moment when he finishes cleaning, wondering if it’s worth it to get a quickie over with. His tip is red, precum leaking steadily. He has the self-control–or he thinks he does. 

The biggest thing stopping him is the thought of this room. Wesker could protrude at any moment. Doctors could burst through to drug him again. It’s a massive risk, but on the other hand, his cock begs to be touched. It screams at him. He’s never felt the need to get off more than he does then. His body is sending alarms to touch and fuck and cum . It makes him pant when he snags his pants from the side of him to pull on, hoping it’ll curb at least some of his temptation.

Even as the fabric touches his sensitive shaft, he moans . It’s embarrassing how damn needy he is, even more humiliating is the tent he can’t hide when his sex is finally covered. He tries to readjust or tuck it where it’s not quite as obvious, but even the smallest touch makes his length impossibly more erect. He shudders as he pulls his hands from his jeans and grips the mattress, trying to control the urge to rip his own pants off and empty his aching balls.

“What the hell?” Leon repeats, asking the room more than himself. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him. He doesn’t know why he feels like a teen who just started puberty. His desires are strong. Nearly uncontrollable.

And, of course when Leon’s at his worst, Wesker is at his best. 

Footsteps echo through the door and Wesker’s face peers at the blue film window. Leon hastily snags the blanket from his side and shrouds his body. Wesker seeing him like this–knowing he’s this vulnerable–is the last thing Leon wants right now. He’s acutely aware as he throws the blanket over himself it’s still covered in his wetness, but he isn’t sure how else to hide it.

“What’s that fucking smell?” Wesker groans, shutting the door behind himself. Leon hadn’t noticed a smell. He raises his eyebrows, trying to remain calm despite the fact someone else being in the room with him had made his cock begin to twitch painfully. Even if that someone is Wesker and he should not be interested. 

“I don’t know.” Leon murmurs, avoiding Wesker’s gaze. He’s afraid if he stares too long, his guilt will peek through. He knows he’s not being slick about this. He works for the government, he should know how to be nonchalant about this. He just finds it difficult to focus when his senses are so receptive and his head spins so wildly.

Wesker stands there for a moment, a tense reticence falls between them. Leon doesn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t have to figure it out. The steps of Wesker’s feet echo closer until he’s standing directly above Leon. The shorter man stares at the floor; heart pounding, head throbbing.

“Get up,” Wesker speaks.

Leon’s face becomes even more flushed, as he continues to fix his gaze to his left, avoiding Wesker at all costs. He doesn’t want this man to see. He can’t imagine the embarrassment, the humiliation. He doesn’t want to be confronted about this. He’s so hot and every word escaping Wesker’s mouth, the dominance, the power . It drives Leon insane.

“Get. Up.” 

“I can’t.” Leon’s voice cracks. Get your shit together, Leon. He bites his cheek, drawing blood with his salient teeth. It’s taking every atom in his body trying to collect himself so Wesker doesn’t see how desperate he is.

A hand grabs him by the throat, each fingertip is flint and he is the steel. Just having Wesker’s hand on his skin, dragging him up the wall to his feet scalds him. His hips buck against air, trying to put out the fire with something, anything . He’s so hot and he doesn’t know if he’s able to take longer before he fucking explodes. 

The blanket falls and revealing the tent that’s built in his pants, Leon isn’t even embarrassed. His senses overload with Wesker’s touch, unable to comprehend anything besides the sultry fingers on his slick neck. Leon tries to push the overwhelming feeling down when Wesker releases his grip to admire the boy. Leon goes cold.

“In heat, now, are we? I could tell by your fucking stench,” Wesker comments, bringing his eyes back up to find Leon’s.

“H-Heat?” Leon grumbles feverishly, still avoiding Wesker’s eyes. God, he really is turning into a dog. It’s humiliating but not as devastating as it had been. He’s too bricked up to care.

“Is my pup really that desperate?” Leon can’t stop the groan from escaping him when two fingers barely brush over the outline of his cock. His hips buck forward and he can’t even stop himself. He wants to hold his dignity and try to fight back, but his senses are so raw, his need far outweighs the modesty he wants to display.

“Please… Don’t,” Leon pants. His words aren’t very convincing when his cock is cupped by a gentle hand and he jerks against it violently, begging to be touched. Any sort of stimulation, especially from someone other than himself, sounds blissful.

“Your teeth grew in, didn’t they?” The older man chuckles as he pulls his fingers from Leon, coaxing a distressed whimper from him. He inspects Leon for a moment, watching the panting man swallow down his pride. “Take off your pants.”

“W-What?” Leon stutters, pupils blown wide as they turn back to him. The sickest part is he wants to. 

“Take them off. Now.” Wesker orders, crossing his arm and staring down Leon. He only grows more flushed. He doesn’t want to give up his dignity like this but his nerves howl for him to do it, scream for him to come. There’s a long silence between them. Leon knows he isn’t getting out of this without doing it and it turns him on more. But the other half of him tells him this isn’t who he wants to fuck. Wesker? Of all people? This is the bottom of the barrel. 

Despite the last sober thought in his body telling him not to do it, his desire overrides it, and slowly, avoiding Wesker’s eyes, he begins to unbutton his trousers. The room is filled with nothing but the rustling of fabric falling down Leon’s legs. Almost immediately, Leon’s tail tucks between his thighs, that involuntarily symbol of submission. He only hides his face harder.

“You grew your tail in too, pup?”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Leon murmurs, crossing his hands over his chest. A string of precum begins to fall from the tip of his cock and he curses his body for betraying his words.

Wesker’s hand grips Leon’s cheek, forcing the shorter man to look at him, ears turned back in shame. He can’t yield the pathetic whimper from replying. Wesker speaks again. “What a damn mouth you’ve got on you. You better hold that tongue before I make you.”

Part of Leon wants to test Wesker. Wants to know what the hell he means by that. Maybe it’s wanting to see more of this dominant streak of Wesker’s, but he doesn’t let himself. Only stays quiet and shamefully hopes Wesker will touch his throbbing cock again. He doesn’t want to bite off more than he can chew.

Wesker digs through his pockets for a moment, eyes still stuck on Leon’s figure. Glued on his heaving, sweaty chest and his cock still twitching with each disgusting thought slipping through Leon’s mind. He shifts his gaze to the tail hung low between his legs, then to the ears flicking back against his hair. When Wesker finally finds what he wanted, he produces a black nylon… dog collar.

“I’m not fucking wearing that,” Leon barks, stepping back into the wall. There is no question about it. He’ll let Wesker call him whatever titles he wants, but this is a new low.  “I’m not your damn dog.”

“What did I say about holding that tongue,” The older man threatens, unclasping the collar, “You’ll be a good mutt. Won’t you?”

“Fuck you.” Leon hisses, refusing to give up his dignity this easily. 

Despite Leon’s resistance, there is no choice on his end. He finds out quickly when Wesker grabs both wrists like yesterday and despite Leon’s attempt to dodge, he’s got them pinned above Leon’s head before he speaks another word. The blonde tries to fight thrashes his head so Wesker doesn’t have a good view of his neck, kicks at him. He’s not willingly wearing this damn thing. Fuck that. He’s not being degraded like this, he’s already bad enough with the effects the drug has forced upon him. Wesker’s rubbing salt in the wound at this point.

No matter what he does, though, the taller man doesn’t budge. He forces the collar between Leon’s head and shoulder and clasps it together with one skilled hand, chuckling when it’s finally on.

“If you want me to touch your cock again, you won’t take that off,” Wesker threatens, before releasing Leon’s wrists. As much as Leon wants to fight against that, glaring at the man in front of him, his cock pleads otherwise. He’s desperate. He just wishes it wasn’t Wesker who got to see him like this.

 “And, you’ll wear this.”

Wesker pulls what looks like a goddamn muzzle from his pocket. A silicone bite gag trapped in a metal cage, the shape of a dog’s snout. Leon stares at it for a long moment. He’s pissed, seething in anger. But… Wesker’s promise of fulfilling Leon’s needs… It greatly outweighs the desire to make the man’s face bloody.

He turns his eyes back to Wesker, allowing the muzzle out of sight for a moment.

“You… swear you’ll touch me again…?” Leon inquires, growing abashed by the fact he’s genuinely thinking about doing it. His cock is still aching, it’s all he wants for hands to be on him again. It would be ecstasy. Even if those hands are Wesker’s, his cock is still drenched, begging for release. Anything.

“Promise,” Wesker replies, pressing a hand to Leon’s exposed cock. A desperate moan reverberates across the room, his hips pressing forward into Wesker’s hand as even more precum spills over his tip. So, when Wesker presses the stick of the muzzle between Leon’s teeth, exposing his sharp canines, Leon doesn’t argue. He’s so doped up on hormones he doesn’t even care–no matter how much he wants to. He wants to fucking cum. He’s desperate. 

Leon can’t kid himself. Having something to bite down on while he’s in this state almost feels… good. It gives him something to mindlessly do while he waits for Wesker’s touch. He clamps his teeth on the bar as the man in front of him clasps the back of the muzzle together. He’s so inebriated, he doesn’t care at this point. He’s only drawn from his dazed state when Wesker grips his cock in a harsh hand, spreading the precum across the tip. The touch alone shocks Leon’s brain back to comprehension. Hell, he doesn’t even object when Wesker pushes him down to his mattress on his knees, then to his hands as well.

“Such a good dog,” Wesker praises, dragging the tips of his fingers across Leon’s frame and hovering over the curve of his ass for a moment, only to pull his tail aside and admire his exposed hole. Leon whines, leaning down even more. He didn’t expect to have complied so quickly to Wesker’s dominance, but he blames it on the drug he was given. Whatever it was.

“Please,” Leon groans through the gag, his consonants slurred. Head on the floor cradled in his hands as each touch Wesker presses on him lights him up red hot. “Please…”

.“Patience, pup.” Wesker’s gloved thumb drags across his soaked ass, begging for something, anything . Every subtle touch of Wesker against him is heaven, it drives the boy wild. The man continues to tease him for a while, dragging fingers over Leon’s hips, running fingers through his tail, dragging a thumb over his perineum. Each moment Wesker isn’t fucking him is another moment of tension building in Leon’s gut, ready to pop at any moment.

Just when Leon’s about to argue, there’s a moment of unzipping, then the press of Wesker’s heavy cock against Leon’s ass.

“ Shit , Wesker, please,” Leon whines, pressing himself back. He’s mortified about this entire situation, he’s humiliated, torn down to his last shred of dignity. Burying his face into his arms helps him hide at least some of his shame as if it isn’t happening. Despite that constant weight of guilt, he’s unable to stop himself, as much as he wants to. His self-control has reached an all-time low.

Wesker hums, pleased with the blond’s state as a finger presses gently under Leon’s tail. “Tell me you’re a dumb mutt, and I might think about fucking you.”

The moment those words sift through Leon’s mind, he denies them. He’s already been degraded with the collar, the muzzle, and the fucking tail, ears, and teeth. It’s reached the point where he can deal with Wesker calling him that. But the idea of him calling himself that? He’s not ready to accept it. 

Leon doesn’t reply to Wesker, refusing to let it get a reaction out of him. There’s a long silence, Wesker waiting eagerly for Leon. However, the moment continues to pass them and it becomes apparent Leon isn’t responding. Wesker has to take matters into his own hands; regain control over the man on his knees. If there’s one thing Leon’s learned about Wesker over his time here, it’s that he hates not having control.

He presses a finger to the ring of Leon’s ass, playing gently with the muscle, teasing him. Leon can’t help but push back against the touch, each small suggestion of the intimacy to come drives Leon wild. It pulls the part of his brain telling him to take as much cock he’s able to the front. He slowly succumbs to his pleasure, to the idea of finally getting what he wants. Even if it means giving up his last shred of decency.

“Don’t you want to be fucked like a good pet?” Wesker coaxes, leaning forward so the tip of his erection presses against Leon. He’s a stretch, even with whatever wetness is leaking from him. He realizes, then, it’s supposed to be a lubricant of sorts. He can’t help but blush at the thought. “I could always just leave and-“

“N-no,” Leon objects sharply, snapping his hand back to grip at Wesker’s wrist. He knows Wesker spots the fear shining through his eyes, “I…”

It takes him a moment to work up the courage to actually say it. He’s so embarrassed by the thought. He doesn’t want to fall into this identity for himself simply because Wesker decided to shove it on him. He’s ashamed, constantly conscious of his new parts. The tail that has become so hard to manage with clothing, his ears that now frame what he used to know of his face, and the teeth that bite a little too sharp for his comfort. 

The thing is, the thought of Wesker leaving now disturbs him more than any of those other ideas.

“I’m… I’m a dumb mutt…” Leon grumbles, so quietly he barely hears himself. He releases Wesker’s wrist, burying his face back into his arms. Though, he’s unable to hide for long. A hand grips his hair with such strength Leon cries. It burns so terribly, especially more so when he’s dragged back by it, forced up to his knees, ass and back pressed flush to Wesker’s cock and torso.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you, dog .” Wesker says it with such a sly demeanor. He knows he has all the power, it’s just about breaking Leon down into submission.

“I-I…” Leon whines through the gag. Saying it again is the last thing he wants to do, but he’s said it already. He can do it again. “I’m a dumb mutt…”

Wesker releases his grip, allowing Leon to fall back to his forearms. A small ‘ good boy ’ enters Leon’s ear, but he hardly has time to appreciate it before Wesker lines himself up. No fingers, no preparation, only the slick, clear lubricant leaking from Leon’s ass. Begging for what’s to come. 

Silence sits comfortably between them, the only friction stemming from Leon’s desperation. He lays there in front of Wesker, waiting restlessly. The taller man takes his sweet time, teasing Leon with such cruelty. He presses in the tip, then pulls out the slightest, allowing the lubricant to coat him generously.

“Wesker, please ,” Leon cries, pressing back desperately. He bites down on the muzzle, preparing himself for what he’s about to say. “I’ll be a good dog for you.”

As soon as those words transfer between the two of them, Wesker presses himself in. Hard . It’s rough, he’s thick, and Leon had no preparation. Yet, the burn doesn’t even bother him. It’s so numbed by his desperation it feels pleasurable . Leon’s desperate for any kind of sensation Wesker could give him, be it pain or pleasure. As long as he’s being filled, he doesn’t fucking care.

Leon’s other grips his hips so harshly that when the nails dig in, Leon cries out, shoving himself back to balance the sensations out. 

“Do you want me to fuck you, Leon?” It’s the stupidest question Leon thinks he’s heard all day from Wesker, but it’s one he’s goddamn eager to answer.

“God, yes.”

“ Beg .”

In any other situation, Leon would turn his head in disgust and shove Wesker away. In any other situation, being told to beg would be the last straw for Leon. He wouldn’t give in to that request no matter what he needed. This is different, though. There are so many factors to this situation changing Leon completely.

“Please, sir, I’ll be so good, I-” Leon’s not used to begging in the bedroom, even at his most submissive. Maybe it’s the heat changing every chemical in his body to allow the words to flow. “I’ll be a good dog, please, please, I need it just- breed me!”

Leon didn’t expect those last two words to escape his lips, but they’re enough to flip a switch in Wesker. Leon can’t even get another word out, Wesker pulls himself out, dragging his cock painfully against him, then shoves himself back in so deeply Leon gasps. 

He moans embarrassingly loud, biting down hard on the muzzle to cope with the extreme stimulation he’s receiving. He’s on fire. Every drag of Wesker’s cock resonates throughout Leon’s entire core, shaking his legs, hitching his breath, and pumping blood faster through his system. He cries, shakes, moans. Every little noise escaping his throat echoes through the room, hidden only by the harsh slapping of Wesker’s hips on Leon. 

“Fuck, you’re tight ,” Wesker grunts behind him, forcing himself harder into Leon, spreading his cheeks apart to close the distance. Leon leans his weight onto one arm instead of two, wrapping a tight fist around his cock. The immediate sensation along with Wesker’s pace quickly picking up is enough to begin to knot in his gut, his balls tightening, his ears flicking back. He’s surprised he’s nearing his orgasm so alarmingly fast, they’ve hardly even started.

“Ah, Wesker , I’m-” Leon can barely choke the words out before his vision blurs. Every muscle in his body tenses, his legs tremble under him, unable to keep up his weight. He’s so overstimulated, each movement of Wesker inside of him is so perfect. Each drag of his hand over his cock draws a shaky moan from Leon’s throat. It doesn’t take long at all for it to become too much for him.

And when he comes undone, he screams .

Leon’s voice bounces across the room, possibly the entire facility. It breaks with every little bit of ecstasy filling him. His cock spills thick white onto the mattress under him, twitching and throbbing with every thrust of Wesker. He hardly manages to keep his legs from slipping under him as it’s obvious Wesker isn’t finished with the man yet.

“You came fast, pup. You that desperate?” Wesker laughs, still using Leon.

“Too much, s- stop -” Leon tries, attempting to pull himself from Wesker. His weak attempts are in vain, though. Wesker’s fingers still dig into Leon’s hips, leaving harsh red, almost bloody imprints into the pale skin, pinning him against his body.

“It’s not my fault you decided to finish before I did, mutt. I thought you wanted to be bred.”

Leon didn’t think the idea of being bred in that way would turn him on as much as it did. But when Wesker tells him that, still using up his sore entrance, Leon can’t help but moan into the covers. His cock begins to twitch once more.

“P… please…” Leon murmurs, despite the fact his prostate is still so sensitive from coming and his cock hurts when it throbs again. He’s afraid he’ll run out of cum.

“Good pup.”

Leon shudders. Though, he had been averse to the idea… the more Wesker fucks him, the more he’s put into this place of submission. He can’t help but enjoy the idea of it. He can’t help but want to embrace it. He’s a goddamn freak and he loves it. He squeezes his cock, still pressed softly into his hand. 

Each thrust of Wesker inside of him forces him wide open, he’s setting a faster pace, one of blind desire. It forces him to stretch around the man. Wesker’s girth is larger than Leon’s used to, but it’s good being filled so full. It’s a comfortable feeling. Each slam of Wesker’s hips against Leon draws wanton moans from the bottom. His sex drags so perfectly against Leon’s prostate, stimulating him in the best and worst way possible. Leon’s fingers dig into the mattress, his teeth clamp on the muzzle, it’s all too much and enough at the same time.

“God, you’re such a good fucking dog for me, aren’t you?” Wesker purrs, leaning into Leon’s ear so the hot breath sticks in droplets to his skin. “I’m going to make you into an obedient little servant for me. Meant to take nothing but my cock all day. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

A full-body shiver echoes through Leon’s core, followed by another as Wesker slams into his prostate. The idea of it simmers in his brain, the thought of being locked up here, constantly in heat, waiting for Wesker to use him how he pleases. 

“My little bitch in heat, would you like that?” Wesker drawls deeply. Leon can’t stop the way his cock throbs. He does like the idea of that. A lot more than he thought he would.

“Y-yeah,” Leon groans, burying his face in his hands again. 

As Wesker continues his breakneck pace on the smaller man, his cock beginning to throb inside of Leon, he senses a change in his body language. One of Wesker’s hands moves from Leon’s hipbones to his collar, tugging him back sharply to his knees. 

Once again, Leon is flush against Wesker, his body warming Wesker’s own with such heat he’s afraid he’s running a fever. Leon’s tail sits pressed between the two of them, frozen beside the occasional twitch of pleasure, it’s a strange new sensation, but it isn’t unwelcome in the slightest. The collar tugs against Leon’s neck, restricting his lungs from opening, restricting the air from reaching his brain as Wesker fucks into him much deeper from this position.

“W-Wesker-” Leon chokes when Wesker’s spare hand curls around his cock, joining Leon’s as he strokes him to full mast once again, forcing another wave of arousal through him. “ Please .”

“Fuck, you’re…” Wesker trails off in a series of grunts, forcing himself deeper through Leon’s insides, “ Leon .”

When Wesker’s hips become unsteady, fucking into Leon frantically more than rhythmically this time. His grip closes impossibly tight around Leon’s cock, almost painfully. The fingers slipping between the collar and Leon’s hot skin pulls him back enough that he’s forced to lean his head back on Wesker’s shoulder, eyes glued on the ceiling above him through teary eyes. It’s so deep, far past his prostate but it’s almost better this way. It’s like he’s being impaled by Wesker, but it’s the only thing Leon wants or needs.

He gazes up with wide eyes at that dark gray sky, choking on himself as the man behind pulls him closer. Everything is so intense. His senses are magnified. Every thrust inside of him tightens his balls. Every breath on his shoulder is so cold. The collar is rope, burning against his skin. And as he bites down on the hard leather lining his mouth, his entire world comes undone once again.

Teeth dig painfully into Leon’s shoulder, drawing a sharp howl from deep in his throat and blood from deep under the surface. Everything becomes too much at once between the two of them. Wesker’s cock throbs, pumping him full of his seed, so deep inside it hurts . It’s euphoric. It’s all Leon wants or needs. It’s perfect . 

Wesker holds him there, emptying himself as deep as possible with gruff moans seeping directly through Leon’s ears.

“ My dog. ”

Leon whines, his cock twitching through the last of his orgasm, when Wesker pulls out. He slumps forward on the mattress, bathing in the puddle of cum he’s made for himself through both of his orgasms. He lays there for a while as wetness drips between his thighs, a mix of cum, lubricant, and possibly a little blood. Leon wouldn’t be surprised. He’s aching, but it’s in the best way imaginable.

The rustling of Wesker’s jeans climbing back up his thighs and zipping with a harsh rip resonates through Leon’s ears. It’s an unpleasant sound. It means he’s leaving and Leon isn’t ready for that yet. He doesn’t want to be abandoned to his cell again quite yet, at least he hopes that’s not what’s happening. Yet, despite his heavy emotions, he doesn’t have the energy to argue yet.

He lays there, recovering his stamina. Never in his life had he had sex that intense. The choking; His neck still burns from the tug of his collar, forcing him back against Wesker. The biting; His shoulder stings a bright red, the marks of his teeth imprint in his skin. The muzzle; Leon’s jaw hurts from biting so hard trying to contain his screams. Not to mention the soreness through his entire lower half from Wesker. It’s all he focuses on as his heart begins to slow to a normal pace.

Leon finally catches his breath, relaxing into the mattress, thinking it’s over. He feels satisfied, he came. He got fucked. What more could he want? But, despite the logical side of Leon, the hormonal side tells him otherwise. He knows he’s unable to finish here when another wave of arousal shocks his body, his cock twitching once more under him. His ass throbs, begging for more , and Leon grits his teeth against the muzzle as he realizes what that means. When is it going to go away?

“W-Wesker…?” The tone doesn’t sound like his own. It’s shaky, pathetic, small. He’s in the most degrading position he ever has been in his entire life. Wesker turns from where he’s standing by the door, a small glint of curiosity flashes in his eye.

“What do you want?” He almost sounds annoyed by Leon, as if he wasn’t balls deep in the man minutes before. As if Leon hadn’t just offered up his body to Wesker.

“I… I’m still…” Leon hesitates, unsure of how to say it. When he turns his body toward Wesker, exposing his already throbbing length, Wesker only laughs. 

“I’ll be back. You stay here.” 

Leon obliges, eyes glued to Wesker as he opens the door, locking it behind him. Even after fucking the poor boy, he doesn’t trust him enough not to leave. Leon can’t blame him. Though he doubts he could rise to his feet if he wanted to. His legs are far too weak to do much of anything, his eyes glazed and shut to the shape of crescent moons, barely peering past his lashes to see the rest of the dark room. He lays there, thoroughly used and fucked, chewing on his gag in anticipation for Wesker to return. Despite coming twice and getting wrecked , he somehow still wants more. This heat is a blessing and a curse.

His hand, as if it has a mind of its own, drags down his chest and wraps fingers around his throbbing member. He drags a thumb across the tip, testing the swollen flesh and shuddering when he experiences the sensitivity firsthand. Leon can’t help the soft groan escaping his lips, nor the second crying out when he begins a small rhythm on his used cock. He presses his fist to his base, feeling his balls under the side of his palm. They’re still somehow full despite the fact he’s already emptied them at least twice. He wonders if that’s a side effect of that damn drug, too.

Leon lays there, one hand around his collar, fingering it mindlessly while the other drags between the base of his cock and up to the tip. He swirls the precum around his thumb, spreading it across the head. With each drag of his hand, he gnaws harder on the bite, he grips the collar a bit harder admiring the texture, and he arches his back into the bed, but not before turning to his back. 

His shuddered breaths echo the room, filling what was once a cold concrete box with his body heat and the stench of sex. He hardly manages to get two more strokes in before the door clicks open and his eyes turn with a flash, releasing his collar.

Wesker is the first to enter, hands in pockets, eyes immediately glued to Leon whose palm still hasn’t left his leaking cock. Then, enters a face he hasn’t seen in a while. The last person he expected to see here.

“Jack?” 

The man is taller than Leon remembers, though it may be the time passing since they’d last seen each other. His face remains scarred, expression stone-cold as his eyes turn to Leon, back pressed against the door to shut it. Leon’s suddenly much more exposed under two sets of eyes rather than only Wesker’s. He shuts his legs, tail tucking quickly between.

“Don’t be shy now, it wasn’t even five minutes ago you were begging for me to fuck you. What happened to that?” Wesker sneers.

“I-” Leon isn’t sure what to say as both Jack and Wesker crowd in closer to him. They’re so tall above him, daunting. Jack’s eyes are all over him, jumping from the muzzle on his mouth restricting his words to the ears on his head to the tail between his legs and his cock which has grown even further in size. He curses his body once again for betraying him.

“He’s a cute little mutt,” Jack comments, crouching down on his knees to scratch the top of Leon’s head. Leon can’t help but whine, leaning into the pleasant touch. For some reason, he likes the idea of Jack talking about him as if he isn’t even in the room. “And responsive. How well does he take cock?”

Wesker’s fingers meet Krauser’s for a moment as they delve into the back of Leon’s head, unclasping the muzzle from his face. The leather is peeled from his face, and he can’t help but groan in response to the sudden soreness resonating through his jaw. He hadn’t realized how bad it got until he closes his jaw.

“I suppose we’ll have to see,” Wesker replies. He turns his eyes back to Leon, downturned, “On your knees. Let’s see if you can suck cock with those teeth.”

Leon begins to argue, barely spouting out half a word, but he’s quickly cut off by Jack’s hand on his collar, forcing him up to his knees. Leon can’t argue, the thick fingers tucked between his collar and his neck mute him. All he does is wish they were inside of him instead.

“Open up. And tuck those damn teeth,” Wesker orders, unbuttoning his pants and allowing them to slink down to his thighs with his underwear. Leon hesitates at first. He isn’t afraid of sucking cock, per se, but rather the punishment if he accidentally drags a tooth too sharply. He isn’t sure how it’ll go, but he tries to tuck his lip under his upper row of teeth and sticks out his tongue, eager to please.

“Aww, look at his pathetic little cock, he’s fucking soaking,” Krauser comments as he pulls out his own, much larger and thicker than Wesker’s. The sight alone causes Leon’s jaw to fall open further, giving Wesker a chance to work himself in.

Wesker’s head almost immediately hits the back of his throat, forcing Leon’s throat open to accommodate even more length. He tastes salty, his precum flavoring his tongue. Leon doesn’t mind, only shuts his eyes and tries to focus on not gagging. It’s been a long while since he last sucked cock and he’s never been used to sucking cock as large as Wesker. He hopes Jack doesn’t expect to fit wholly.

Wesker’s fingers knot in Leon’s locks, drawing him in closer until his nose brushes the hair at the man’s base. The length isn’t only long, but also thick . His fangs dig into his lip, threatening to break precious skin. He has to force his throat open to take it all, it’s uncomfortable, but the thought of the payoff is enough for Leon to continue to endure.

“Big throat for a bitch.” Krauser comments. Leon opens his lids for a moment, turning his teary eyes to the side to watch Krauser stroking himself, a hand on his pants. The large man’s view is enough for Leon’s cock to twitch uncontrollably under him. “Like what you see, Leon?”

Leon chokes, both from the comment and his faltering gag reflex, forcing him off of Wesker’s cock to collect himself. He pants for a moment, head hung to the floor. His jaw had already ached from the muzzle, but now having to suck off a cock with such bulk? He whines.

Two fingers fit under his chin, forcing his eyes up to stare at Krauser’s figure looming over him. He’s tall, Leon can hardly make him out in the darkness of the room, but he certainly sees the massive length hovering over him, twitching.

“I don’t know if I can…” Leon trails off, starting to pull away, frankly afraid of choking to death on such length. He doesn’t want to disappoint, but he genuinely doesn’t want to die. He imagines, for a moment, his death certificate imprinted with Cause of death: Suffocation by dick . 

“You can take it, pup,” Krauser mumbles, a sweeter tone consuming his voice this time. Leon appreciates every bit of praise he gets, especially considering Wesker’s lack of sympathy for Leon’s situation. “Can’t you?”

The man on his knees hesitates for a moment before he slowly nods, his breathing shaky from the anxiety building up. Jack whispers out a small, good boy , before he grabs his length by the base and lines it up with Leon’s lips, helping the boy out. Leon opens up, tucking his lip once again cautiously. Krauser works him slowly, starting with just the tip, testing the waters. Leon sucks gently on him, eyes shut. The fingers which had tucked under his chin now press against the top of his neck. The man doesn’t apply pressure to Leon, instead keeps him there, so he can’t necessarily leave, but he can continue to take more as he pleases. 

Krauser is gentler on him, he doesn’t force himself down Leon’s throat. Instead, he allows the blond to work at his own pace, sucking eagerly on the textured head. He presses two hands against the backs of Jack’s thighs, begging for some sort of give besides thin air. He can’t help but admire the rough skin under his soft fingers. It’s erotic, though, Leon isn’t sure why or how.

He continues to suck, licking across the tip, dipping into his slit. Under his fingers, he kneads what once were Krauser’s stable legs giving in to a gentle shakiness. It only encourages Leon, only makes him want it more . He finds he wants to get vulnerability from Krauser.

The first time Leon had met Krauser, he’d been stone cold. It took work to open him up. He was closed off, stern, and kept a high reputation for himself. The second time, he had killed the man–or so he thought. He’d had that same demeanor, that same concrete skin. This, though, was entirely different. Maybe it’s the high of Leon’s heat encouraging him to work through Krauser, or perhaps it’s genuine desire. Either way, Leon wants to watch Krauser break in front of him. He wants to make him vulnerable. He wants to see him shake.

Leon presses himself further, putting more skill into sucking rather than licking, earning a sharp twitch of Jack’s hips. Leon gags at first when the head of his cock delves far too deep in his throat for comfort. He quickly realizes even when it reaches the back of his throat, he’s hardly a quarter of the way down on him.

“You can take it deeper than that, can’t you, Leon?” Wesker purrs. Leon parts his eyes. He hadn’t realized tears were streaming down his cheeks until his vision open blurred. Jack pulls him off of his cock, allowing him to take a short break.

“I don’t want to push him too far,” Jack mumbles, taking cock in hand. 

“He can take it. We’ll put him on his back so he will take it. Force his pretty throat open.” 

Leon whimpers, it’s probably the most pathetic thing that’s come from his mouth all day. He knows he won’t be able to take Krauser’s full length down his throat. There’s no way Wesker could expect that from him, especially not while simultaneously trying to control his teeth.

“I don’t know if-”

Wesker cuts him off. “You’re going to take it. Otherwise, you’re not getting anything in that cunt of yours and I’ll inject you with another fucking dose of that drug. Understand, dog?”

Leon turns his eyes from Wesker, refusing to stare at the man who’s become so harsh on him. He knows he has to fucking try, even if he’s afraid his damn jaw will pop. It’s bad enough not ending up getting fucked, but drugged again? Off the table.

“I understand,” Leon murmurs reluctantly. Almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Wesker is grabbing him harshly by the collar, shoving him down into the mattress. Leon falls to his back, hardly managing to get his elbows under him before he’s landing. Krauser and Wesker exchange a glance. Krauser is hesitant; Wesker is adamant.

The taller man, though adverse to the idea, follows Leon’s lead into the head of the mattress. Leaning to his knees, he tucks a hand under Leon’s neck, pulling the boy up further to match Krauser’s height. A cool, gloved hand rests on his thigh and he shivers under the sudden touch.

Leon was hesitant at first, but as Krauser’s finger strokes the underside of Leon’s neck, he opens his jaw wide. He’s eager to please.

Leon’s ears brush against the taller man’s knees, flicking, as his mouth begins to fill. Even with the extra inches Krauser gives him holding his neck, it’s still an awkward position. Krauser’s cock sinks into the back of Leon’s throat, brushing the soft palate as it passes in and bending the slightest. Still, he continues deeper. At first Leon gags, not used to something pushing so far, but he forces himself to relax–quite a feat considering the length he’s taking.

He continues. At the angle, Krauser has to bend uncomfortably to fit more in. Tears begin to form in Leon’s eyes, dropping when his eyes close. The further Krauser pushes, the more uncomfortable he feels. He’s still a good three or four inches from the man’s base when Leon’s stomach lurches. Leon immediately swipes at the man’s thigh, allowing Krauser to pull out.

“This isn’t working,” Krauser warns, turning his eyes from a heaving, gagging Leon to Wesker. “We need a different position.”

“Patience.” Leon doesn’t know what Wesker’s doing, but as a hand presses his legs up, he quickly realizes. He doesn’t lie, he’s glad Krauser pulled out, if he’d had to endure this while still stuffed full of cock, he’s afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop his clamping jaw.

The leather hand of Wesker’s pulls his flesh apart, nudging his swollen cock to Leon’s entrance much quicker than he’d anticipated. It’s a slow burn at first, Wesker inches his way in without too much resistance, thanks to Leon’s wetness. However, after the first couple of inches, he gives no mercy. Wesker slams himself in, forcing Leon’s walls open painfully. 

The cry erupting is broken, Leon can’t stop his nails from digging into Krauser’s flesh as he tries not to cry. No preparation, no forgiveness. Leon wonders why Wesker’s become so damn cruel over the past few minutes.

“Sorry,” Leon chokes to Jack, eyes watering up. The man doesn’t seem to mind, only takes one of the submissive’s hands in his own, allowing him to squeeze as Wesker ensures he’s bottomed out. He sits there for a moment, trailing fingers over Leon’s thighs, still hoisted in the air to allow Wesker access. The hands move from Leon’s thighs to his calves as he presses one over each shoulder, then grabs Leon by his lower back.

“You said you needed a better angle, Krauser? Lift him up.” 

Leon and Jack both turn their eyes to Wesker, unsure of the request. However, Jack figures it out quicker than Leon does, anchoring himself to Leon’s upper back from under his arms so Leon can still hold on to Krauser as needed.

When they lift, it’s much easier than Leon anticipated. His weight is no sweat on their combined strength. They have no issue rising to their feet with Leon strung between the two of them. It’s kinda… hot knowing he could be handled so easily. Leon’s cock twitches in clear view of Wesker and Jack.

“You ready to try again?” Jack asks Leon, his cock still throbbing hard right in front of Leon’s face, reaching to the base of Leon’s neck. His cheeks burn at the idea, knowing when he’s penetrated to his base, that’s how far Jack is going to reach. It’s intimidating. Leon hopes he doesn’t make a fool of himself. He needs to keep his throat under control.

He widens his jaw once again, clamping his eyes shut and exhaling deeply to prepare himself and his gag reflex. As Krauser works his way in–so large Leon is afraid his jaw will dislocate–he realizes this angle is much better than he anticipated. Krauser can raise or lower him as needed and there is no awkward bend of the member as it presses deeper, finally reaching the top of Leon’s throat.

When Leon is far enough down the massive length, Wesker deems himself ready to take more. Leon hadn’t anticipated the draw of Wesker’s hips pulling away, nor the sharp thrust of him shoving Leon down. The movement shoves Jack to the base of Leon’s neck, his nose nuzzling his balls. The action alone draws tears to Leon’s eyes and drool to fill his mouth. His stomach flips. He ignores it.

“ Fuck ,” Jack grunts, embracing Leon closer as his cock is finally fully sheathed inside of the boy.

“He’s a good dog, isn’t he?” Wesker chuckles, withdrawing his chiseled hips. Leon is allowed the slightest amount of oxygen from Jack as he’s dragged toward Wesker, but it hardly lasts long when another sharp thrust crashes through Leon’s system, forcing the cock deeper once more.

“His fucking throat .” The man can barely get more than those words out. 

When Wesker thrusts once again, Leon gags again sharply, stomach churning, threatening to give out. He’s being filled so full, not only from Wesker in his ass, hips flushed to cheek. Also, from Krauser so deep in his throat it hurts . Leon wants to take more, wants to watch Krauser unfold in front of him, but his body can only endure so much and his patience dissipates. He taps against the blond’s thigh frantically.

Jack unsheathes himself, allowing Leon a moment to bring air to his lungs through labored pants and soft groans. When their eyes meet for a moment, Leon pulling his chin down from where it had been limp staring at the far wall, Jack notices snot drowning his nose. He sees the tears that have dripped into Leon’s eyebrows. He sees the drool that’s begun to leak up the corners of his lips. His eyes are glazed, cheeks hot and feverish. Leon’s a broken masterpiece.

“Are you okay?”

“F-” Leon’s cut off by another harsh thrust of Wesker, crying out in pleasure when his prostate is perfectly slammed against, “ Fuck, more, please.”

Jack is happy to oblige, forcing himself back down Leon’s throat as more thrusts rack through his body. Wesker is going wild on him. Each snap of his hips forces Leon’s mouth deeper around Krauser’s cock. Each withdrawal allows him a second of relief before he’s shoved back down. Together, they work up a moderate pace–not gentle nor violent–still enough to make Leon’s senses overload.

Drool continues to drip down his face or up to be more precise. He’s forced to shut his eyes, afraid if he leaves them open it’ll cloud his vision. His throat tightens around Jack every time Wesker throws himself forward, disturbing his throat. Miraculously, Leon manages to hold it together, focusing on Wesker. He’s pushing himself so deeply, but every time he thrusts, he slams into his sweet spot even if he works himself past it seconds later. Their hands under him grip him tightly and with ease, their digits are cold in comparison to Leon’s scorching skin.

Krauser squeezes Leon a little tighter as Wesker works up haste, transforming their pace from moderate to fast . Leon’s choking on Krauser now, hardly getting any time to pull off for breath before his throat is being stuffed once again. He can feel the flesh stretch–nearly tearing, and when he curiously brushes a hand across the area, he feels the man’s cock through his skin. It’s opening him up so far he’s sure his throat will rip. Leon’s cock twitches dangerously.

Jack’s hands grip into claws as he tenses up. His cock twitches inside his throat. It’s all Leon’s able to do to shut his eyes and pray his stomach doesn’t flip again. He's afraid he won't make it to the man’s orgasm. When he thrusts in once more, Leon’s throat tightens frighteningly fast. The poor boy is forced to grip Jack’s thigh, squeezing, begging to be let up. Despite his silent pleas, no mercy nor empathy is given. Jack groans in response to Leon’s throat receding around him and moments later, there’s the flood of cum, forced so deep Leon is afraid he’ll suffocate on it.

There’s so much . It keeps coming, spilling out of Leon’s mouth to mix with his spit and tears. It tastes so salty, but through Leon’s heat, it isn’t repulsive. It’s honey, dripping so gorgeously into Leon with a barbaric display of force. Leon chokes, splutters, cries around Jack, begging for him to pull out. 

“ Fuck , good boy,” Jack grunts, finally releasing Leon to catch his breath and swallow what he can. His head bobs limp, fatigued. Wesker continues to rack through his body, abusing his hole so perfectly. All of his senses alight, he’s so full and used, and his cock erects throbbing and soaking so intensely he’s afraid he’ll come untouched. He doesn't have time to recover from one sex before the other is abusing him just as deeply.

“I-” Leon stutters when he speaks, he isn’t able to get a single word out. His head is so light, his brain has been scrambled and he can’t comprehend a single thought entering. All he focuses on is the heat of his orgasm burning and knotting in his chest. “To- Touch me, please, I-”

“You’ll come when I fucking decide you will,” Wesker hisses, his voice strained as his orgasm approaches closer, “Shit.”

Jack holds him steadily as Wesker finishes up, the sound of skin against skin joined by Leon’s small parade of pathetic whimpers. His entire body breaks into convulsions, his cock throbbing impossibly harder. He’s so close, so fucking close. Every thrust against him blooms another wave of pleasure, the water is getting rougher, and he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to keep his head above water.

Wesker growls with one last thrust and empties his load so deeply into Leon he swears it mixes with the last time Wesker had fucked him barely twenty minutes before. He tenses up, shuts his eyes tight, and takes it. It’s all he’s able to do. Despite the final few thrusts, his orgasm escapes. 

He can’t lie, he’s disappointed he couldn’t get release. It’s all he wanted in the first place. He fucking hopes Wesker will let him get more. He can’t deny he was close, considering the fact he hadn’t been touched once. Too distracted not vomiting on Jack and trying to take the absolute mass of Wesker.

With one final grunt, Wesker pulls out, lowering Leon back to the floor and untucking his knees from the man. His muscles ache terribly, but he’s sure Jack and Wesker feel much worse than he does. 

“Fuck.” Krauser comments, cracking his knuckles and stretching after holding Leon for so long. Leon doesn’t doubt his muscles ache after that long. He hopes either of them will have the stamina for more, considering how his cock still hasn’t stopped throbbing. The denial was brutal. “Dog still hasn’t cum yet.”

Wesker turns his stern eyes from his cock where he’s shaking off the last droplets of cum to Leon, then Krauser. “Who said we’re done here?”

Both Krauser and Kennedy’s eyebrows raise, neither of them expecting that comment from Wesker. Especially not after the amount of stamina they’d both used. The fur between Leon’s legs picks up from the floor the slightest, waving to and fro. He’d never admit how excited it made him.

“I need a minute to recover first,” Pants Jack as he lowers himself down to the floor, Leon’s head in front of his lap.

“Don’t worry, we’re not starting up quite yet.” The man in black replies, “Stay here, I’ll be back.”

Leon’s eyes glue to the door as it opens with a low creak, then shuts behind him with a soft click.

The silence between them settles like static. It’s uncomfortable, it’s a knife to Leon’s throat. Krauser sits there, stoic and unmoving. Leon’s cock still throbs. If he’d not been in the middle of heat, he’s sure it would be uninterested. 

“It’s good to see you again, Kennedy.” 

Jack is the first to break. Leon’s surprised he broke so damn early, too. He doesn’t care much for the small talk, much more interested in what happened after the entire Los Illuminados ordeal.

“I thought you were dead.” Leon grits his teeth after the words escape his lips, unsure if it’s the most polite question to be asking. But, he wants answers. It only took a matter of months for what Leon thought was the beginnings of some sort of alliance to turn into Krauser getting paid enough to try to kill him. Then being defeated and dropping off the face of the earth until now. 

“Me, too,” Krauser replies. He doesn’t elaborate, only turns his eyes away from Kennedy and swallows. He doesn’t want to talk about it, so Leon doesn’t push any harder. 

“I’m glad you’re not.” 

They sit for a while. At some point, Leon asks if he’s allowed to rest his head in Krauser’s lap, to which he’s approved. Krauser runs fingers through Leon’s hair. They hesitate on his ears for a moment, Leon’s first thought is disgust, but when he speaks up, his anxiety is eased.

“Do they hurt?”

“Only when they were growing in. Not any-” Leon cuts off when a wave of arousal crosses his body as Jack touches him again. He clears his throat, trying to ignore it as he continues with a cracking voice, “Not anymore.”

Jack’s eyes turn from Leon to his cock which has begun to grow interested again with the new touch. Leon swallows back a lump in his throat, contempt, and arousal fogging his brain. He tries to discount it, shuts his legs together, but it’s already caught Krauser’s attention.

“Sit?” Krauser spreads his legs, allowing room for Leon. The blond wets his lips, hesitating for a moment. He wants to, sure, but he isn’t sure how to act around the man. He doesn’t have an established relationship like Wesker, and Jack isn’t nearly as demanding of him as his other is. He asks instead of orders. He’s the first person here who has shown Leon a shred of sympathy or empathy or anything . 

Leon wants to follow through, but he still hasn’t lost his dignity alone with him. Like it makes much of a difference. Still, despite his nervousness, he leans himself up and scoots back, his tail curling to the left as it rests between the two of them. Krauser tucks his chin on Leon’s shoulder so the small, hot breaths on his neck cloud up in heaps of moisture. 

Feeling Krauser against him like this, his crown barely reaches the base of the taller man’s neck, and his hand brushing from the top of Leon’s chest downward is colossal in comparison. He’s reminded, disturbingly, of Mr. X chasing him down the Raccoon Police Station’s halls years before. How he’d felt so small in the brute’s presence.

Krauser’s hands dance on Leon’s chest for a moment, flicking over Leon’s sensitive nipples and earning a sharp mewl from the smaller boy. The longer Jack teases him like this, the quicker Leon’s patience dwindles.

“Do you want help?”

Leon’s cheeks flush harshly. He shifts uncomfortably at first, Jack’s hands continue to roam his chiseled chest and torso. However, when they turn to his thighs, admiring the soft skin under his rough palms, Leon nods lightly. He leans back into Krauser further until he’s pressed flush against the larger man. Krauser’s legs adjust so his feet pull against the underside of Leon’s knees and his legs are forcibly spread so far there is no hiding. Leon whimpers, presses his hands to Krauser’s thighs, unsure of what to do with them.

“Good dog.”

When Wesker had given him that same type of praise, Leon had cringed. He felt his skin crawl, knowing that was the man who had made him into the fucking freak he is. Nausea had bubbled in his throat and clawed at his insides. However, when those same words leave Jack’s lips, goosebumps form on Leon’s skin. Jack is ice and warmth at the same time as his hand wraps around Leon’s length diligently, like a damn giant in comparison to Leon’s small frame.

“Th-Thank you,” Leon replies breathily, whining a moment later as Jack begins a gentle pace on him. He curls his fist over the top, his thumb flicks across his slit which is already soaking from the precum that’s been leaking for the past several minutes. When he presses back down, Leon can finally breathe, releasing the pressure from the intense sensation.

Jack is gentle with him. Ginger in the way he strokes Leon. He doesn’t want to hurt the smaller man, and Leon appreciates it. It’s the first chaste experience he’s had since getting kidnapped.

Krauser’s other hand explores Leon’s chest again, fingers brushing against Leon’s left nipple first. Leon whines surprised at the sudden sensation, but after a moment, he embraces it. He enjoys the sensation while his cock is also being touched, especially more so when the fingers pinch softly around the nub.

“Do you like that?” Jack’s voice is deep, gruff. Much more mature than Leon’s. It sends shivers up Kennedy’s spine.

“Yeah… M-Maybe a bit harder?”

Jack obliges, pinches a bit harder as his right hand continues to work on Leon’s cock. Leon wants it harder, though, he’s sensitive, sure, but for some reason, the idea of being in Jack’s throes excites him. He’s craving intensity. He craves the same pain that had racked his body when Wesker had crashed into him. He craves the same pain Leon felt when his throat tensed up around Jack. He wants to be hurt. But, he wants to be hurt by Jack .

“More,” Leon whispers, almost afraid to ask. To his joy, Krauser complies, and he presses with a force Leon had no clue he was holding back. Leon’s head swings back into Jack’s shoulder, trying to cope with the sudden intense pain. “ Fuck .”

“Too much or-” Krauser tries to get the words out but letting go is the last thing Leon wants.

“It’s good.” The words barely form as more than a whisper; Leon’s mildly surprised by it considering the fact he’s holding back a scream. Jack’s pace grows faster, his palm tightens on Leon’s cock, and they sit like that for a while. Leon’s panting, his forehead is slick, his eyes hazy and his body writhing now and then whenever Jack does something to him that’s especially pleasurable.

It’s a delightful feeling, Jack doesn’t necessarily focus on making Leon cum, but rather focuses on allowing him to embrace the pleasure he feels. At one point he switches nipples when Leon becomes especially sensitive. He uses the same hand, though, so his forearm braces against the smaller man’s chest, pulling him closer until Jack’s breaths dwell on his ear and Leon swears he hears Jack’s chest thudding.

“Jack…” Leon breathes, digging his nails in slightly harder to Krauser’s thighs.

“This okay?” The older man questions, pressing a soft kiss to the area below Leon’s ear.

“God, yes , I-” Leon cuts himself off when Jack’s hand focuses a little too long on the head of his cock. “ Thank you, fuck.”

Jack chuckles, deep and hearty. Leon can feel the smile against his skin and hopes, he goddamn prays the intimacy doesn’t end. Though, he knew Wesker had to return sooner or later.

When the door swings ajar and Wesker enters with three bottles of water, Leon’s heart sinks. It isn’t necessarily because another man is being involved in this, but rather because it’s someone as harsh as Wesker.

He seems a little irritated at the sight of Jack and Leon. Leon’s tucked into Jack’s lap, legs spread, head thrown against the taller’s shoulder, squirming and panting. He’s so worked up he’d give his life to get fucked again. 

“My apologies for taking so long.” Wesker shuts the door and throws a bottle to Jack, then sets another in front of Leon. He eyes the two of them for a moment, Jack takes a swig of his water with one hand, still stimulating Leon with the other and holding the smaller man’s shaking legs securely with his own. 

“I had an idea if Leon thinks he can take it,” Krauser says. Leon turns his eyes from the ceiling to Krauser, eyeing the side of his face as he continues to focus on Leon’s cock. “Do you think you could take both of us at once?”

Leon’s first thought is he already did, didn’t he? One in his mouth and the other in his ass. Of course, he can. But, then he thinks about it for a moment more and realizes. Leon bites his tongue sharply as he ponders for a moment, considering it. It would hurt, but he’d be lying if he said the idea was a turn-off in the slightest.

“He’ll take whatever we need him to. I like the way you think, though.” Wesker replies, setting his water in the corner with Leon’s, noticing he’s not drinking. 

“I don’t want to hurt the kid.” Leon can’t lie, he shudders when Jack calls him kid. It awakens something in him he doesn’t want to think about. “What do you think, could you take that, pup?”

The goddamn pet names are driving him insane.

“I can… try,” Leon breathes, a small moan follows when Jack rewards him with a tighter grip.

“That’s a good mutt.” Wesker kneels in front of Leon and cups his jaw, admiring his half-shut eyelids and the haziness pulling him from reality into a pleasant dream. “You think we could hold him in this position? By the legs?”

“Easily.” A deviant grin twitches up the corners of Jack’s mouth. Leon whines when he finally releases his grip on Leon’s cock and untangles their legs. All of Jack’s warmth vanishes, it’s a much more disturbing feeling than Leon anticipated it would be. However, it’s only moments later, after both Wesker has unzipped his jeans and pulled the bottom half of his clothing down to his knees when Leon doesn’t have to cope anymore.

Wesker crouches behind him and hoists him up with ease, one hand under each knee, forcing his legs so far apart there’s a stretch in his thighs. But, his cock remains exposed to Jack, leaking so much it drips down the underside of his cock. Seeing Jack in front of him like this, blond hair slicked back, hard eyes, scarred lip, massive frame, and then his bulging cock. Leon quickly regrets saying he could take it. He doesn’t know if he could take Krauser alone, much less Krauser and Wesker.

“I don’t know if…” Leon starts as Jack comes closer. His eyes are wide, hands shaking the slightest. He’s started to go dizzy from fear, but he knows he can’t back out now. Especially not if Wesker’s here to ensure it. He knows at any second he could threaten another dose of that drug, threaten to leave, and not give Leon the orgasm he’s been chasing for the past half hour.

“We’ll take it slow, don’t worry,” Jack mumbles, coming close to Leon to help line up Wesker’s cock. It’s easy enough, slides in with ease. When he bottoms out as far as possible, Leon sighs in relief. It’s a good feeling, being full like that. Not overbearing, but enough where he’s comfortable in it. 

“Good,” Wesker confirms, adjusting his grip on Leon the slightest so he’s low enough to fit Krauser, next.

Jack must have seen the fear in Leon’s eyes as he began to line up because when his tip begins to poke at his entrance, he presses a hand to Leon’s head and strokes his hair. His hand is calloused but gentle as it touches Leon and brushes over the tufts of fur on his head.

“Let me in, Leon.” Jack purrs, trying to press himself in further. Leon hadn’t even realized he was clenching, out of fear alone, and he forces himself to relax. 

Finally, Jack’s tip penetrates, and already, Leon’s too full. The initial stretch alone causes Leon’s fingers to knot in the fabric of Jack’s shirt. His head falls back on Wesker’s shoulder as he’s stretched out impossibly more. At least a couple of fingers to prep him would certainly be nice .

But suddenly, Jack is pressing in with more force. “Shit, shit, shit -”

Leon’s on fire, he’s trying to relax but every nudge of Jack against him is like hell. He’s so full . He doesn’t think he’s able to physically stretch far enough to not only take Krauser but also Wesker. But, Jack seems as if he’s going through with it. With each inch pressing in, more tears grow in Leon’s eyes. With each gentle slide, the harder Leon bites down onto nothing but his own teeth. It’s so intense . 

“Almost done,” Jack reassures, pulling his hand from Leon’s hair to, instead, cup his cheek. Wesker doesn’t seem entirely happy with the softness Krauser displays, but he doesn’t say anything. He continues to hold Leon up, occasionally grinding to keep himself hard.

When Jack slides in particularly fast, Leon cries out with a soft, “ Ah ,” and tenses up roughly, causing Wesker to hiss and Jack to grip Leon’s face a little too firm.

“Relax, kid, we’ve got you.” Krauser murmurs with gritted teeth, “Just a little more and you can relax.”

“It fucking hurts , couldn’t at least give me some fingers or something first?” Leon snarls back, a little meaner than he anticipated. 

“Maybe you should have asked .” When he says the last word, he eases in a couple more inches, hoping the distraction of speech is enough to divert Leon from the pain. Sure enough, he manages to bottom out with those last words, even if Leon does cry out in displeasure.

“Is that it?” Wesker asks. Leon isn’t sure how he tells, but he’s far too gone to care. His eyes gaze blankly to the ceiling, spacing out. He barely processes his surroundings. He’s so full . He swears Krauser’s in his intestines. It’s overstimulating even when nothing is happening. It’s painful, it burns so badly, but as Leon is held there, neither Krauser nor Wesker moving, he slowly, slowly adjusts, and begins to manage the pain.

“How are you holding up? Think we can start soon?” Krauser asks a few seconds later. Leon still isn’t fully placed in reality, but he manages to shake his head gently.

“Just…” He pauses, panting through the sensation, “Just a minute. Please.”

He’s grateful for Wesker’s patience through it, even if he does indulge himself with the occasional grinding. Wesker’s been pushing him since the start. First with the muzzle and collar, then with taking Jack down his throat, and now with both of them pressed hotly inside of him. He feels the way they slide against each other every time they breathe or shake a little too much. Every little movement is pain, except Krauser who is suffocated right against his prostate, brushing against it like he’s teasing Leon. 

At some point, perhaps in an attempt to hurry the process along, Jack wraps a fist around Leon’s cock. It’s the first time in minutes it’s been touched, and it had begun to lose its interest. Leon’s mildly surprised, considering he’s been hard for at least the past hour between waking up to it, then Wesker fucking him, to the spitroast, him and Jack alone, and finally this. 

Despite the fact he’d begun to grow soft when Jack’s hand wraps around his length, his interest immediately peaks right back up. Leon swears the blood rushes from his brain to his cock. He’d been light-headed before, but with Jack now stroking his length, he’s brainless. He’s a system of nerves and nothing else. All he knows is the sensation in his cock, the fullness in his ass, and Wesker’s hands holding his knees apart.

“Ah…” Leon thinks he wanted it to come out as more of an I , but his mouth is playdoh. “Ready.”

He tells Krauser’s gotten impatient by the way he immediately begins to slide out, rather fast for Leon’s comfort, but he pulls through. He focuses on the rough fingers wrapping around his length, and he fixates on the drag of Jack’s cock against his prostate. He concentrates on pleasure rather than the pressure building up inside him.

Jack leans back into Leon when he’s pulled out to his tip, but it isn’t a thrust as much as a slow rocking. He’s gentle with the boy, especially starting. Leon feels every agonizing movement, the pressure build, and release. Every thrust in brings tension, building up in his core, causing him to clench up, hiss as he inhales, push back into Wesker. Every gentle pull out releases the tension, relaxes his muscles, exhales in relief, and brings Leon closer to Jack. It’s a harsh cycle, but he can’t lie every time Jack presses in, pleasure blossoms. More pressure on his prostate, especially intense by his massive girth.

“How are you feeling, puppy?” Jack purrs, still keeping the same pace on him, hand working his cock.

Leon isn’t sure how to reply, he’s still staring at the ceiling, tearing at the edges of his eyes. It’s not as bad as it had been, and with each familiar thrust, he grows accustomed to the sensation. The longer Jack continues, the easier it is to indulge in Jack’s words and hands and cock .

“I’m… fu…” Leon isn’t sure if he was trying to say full or fuck. “ Good .”

“That’s a good mutt,” Wesker grins directly into his ear. Leon had almost forgotten about Wesker. Maybe not his cock, but certainly the man holding him. With his brain so long gone, every bit of praise penetrating his ear only encourages his cock.

“Th… thank y…” Leon can’t get another word out when Jack thrusts a little harder and a pathetic whimper escapes Leon. His eyes are still teary, running down his cheeks, but it isn’t necessarily painful as much as it is intense . Even though the larger man has hardly sped up, the tightness alongside the new speed is enough to drive Leon crazy.

“Dumb little pet can’t even get the words out,” Krauser chuckles between thrusts, slowly working up his speed even faster. Leon’s cock throbs, knowing Jack isn’t lying. He’s an absolute slut and it’s not necessarily a bad thing. 

While the pace picks up, Jack’s work on Leon’s cock becomes sloppy, the rhythm loses its momentum a few times as he focuses more on his hips rather than his hands. Leon doesn’t mind taking over, though, brushing away the man’s hand to work himself. 

Leon leans into the sensations, each thrust becomes less of a wave and more of a rhythm, quick and steady. He’s being fucked and it’s almost too much. Between Wesker’s labored breaths on Leon’s neck, ghosting heatwaves into his skin, the continued abuse against his prostate like an instant jumpstart to his nerves. Every time Jack thrusts in Leon tenses up in the best way possible. His legs shake, he releases a mindless moan of pleasure, and his brain is injected with another dose of serotonin with each slam of the man’s hips against Leon’s. 

He’s a toy between the two men like he’s nothing but a fleshlight for them to manhandle and fuck and breed and it’s an amazing feeling. He wants to be filled by both of them. He wants to feel the burn. He wants his own needs to be disregarded. It’s an urge he knows he wouldn’t be enamored with if his hormones weren’t on overdrive.

Each touch is fire, each thrust is heaven, Leon’s in purgatory. Leon swears the entire experience is goddamn spiritual, like a trip so intense his brain will never be the same. His mind is dead, but he doesn’t mind. He’s so encapsulated by the pleasure racking through his body, mixing with the pain of the stretch. It’s the perfect combination and Leon wants nothing different.

“You still with us, pup?” Jack pats the side of Leon’s face, his head hasn’t moved since they began, stuck with his eyes shut facing the ceiling in a haze of bliss.

“Yessirrrr…” Leon slurs, eyes rolling into the back of his skull. He doesn’t even have to think for his next words. “M-More pleeease…?”

He doesn’t see the devilish exchange of glances between Krauser and Wesker through his shut eyes, but he feels it moments later when, he assumes, Jack gives him everything he has. If Leon thought the man had been jackhammering before, then this was a different concept of speed. His hips slap against Leon’s with such vigor the only thing Leon can do to cope with the intensity is to outright scream .

His howl travels across not only the room but probably the entire facility. It’s a mix of pleasure and pain, it’s the intensity of all the sensations tugging through him. The first scream is bloodcurdling, it’s broken in the best way possible. Reality is shifting around him and he barely comprehends the hand covering his mouth, only tastes saltiness when he sobs into it moments later. Hot tears boil over red eyes.

His fist speeds up on his abused cock, he’d been so focused on the slamming of length inside of him he hadn’t even noticed the storm stirring in his gut, begging to conjure up enough static to burst. Rain pours down his cheeks, soaking his face. All he’s able to do is nuzzle into Wesker’s neck and cope with the wind threatening to knock him over.

“‘M gunna- I-” Leon’s words are muffled through Jack’s hand, he hardly even has the chance to ask for permission before he snaps. He clenches down hard on both of them, pulling pleased noises from both of them. He can’t apologize or say anything as he shakes in Wesker’s arms, legs seizing up, every muscle in his body tenses. He comes with another sharp scream, muffled through the hand clasped over his lips.

His cock twitches under him as he spills over his hand, coating his torso and fist in a goddamn mountain of cum. He feels each spurt so deeply it shakes him to his core. It’s in his guts, every single muscle and nerve in his body. He feels it as Jack’s thrusts begin to grow uneven, fueled by adrenaline. 

The next few thrusts are excruciating. His prostate is already sensitive from coming and it’s only abused rougher. Wesker also begins rolling his hips against him, for the first time since starting this position. Leon can tell he’s getting close by the hands under his knees squeezing a little too tightly. It’s all too much as the men he’s pressed against both come undone, one after the other.

Wesker is first, spilling himself deeply with one final thrust. He bites down hard on Leon’s neck for the second time today, drawing a cry from the poor boy. Leon swears he feels him puncture a vein or at the very least his skin. 

His cum fills him deeply, coating Jack in it as well. It spills out of him because his ass is already so full there’s no way it could take more. Wesker’s cock throbs in powerful spasms. It expands and contracts several times over a few seconds as every last drop is pumped inside him. Leon’s never felt prettier.

Krauser is next, only delayed a few seconds after Wesker, and his load is what really hurts. Leon’s already so full and with how deep Krauser is inside of him, he’s already aching. However, when his cum is added to the mix, it only grows worse, drawing pained vocals from him. He’s bloated from the sensation, the bulge of cum is a bump in his abdomen when he presses a hand to his stomach. 

Krauser cusses as he climaxes, his hands have long since turned to Leon’s hips, gripping him so close he’s only forced deeper. Leon stays frozen still, embracing the feeling of Krauser twitching and leaking inside of him. It spills out, drenching his thighs and ass in a goddamn layer of cum, lube, and the slightest twinge of blood. 

Wesker and Jack sit inside of him for a moment longer, ensuring he’s overflowing with their cum. It’s like the pose at the end of a performance, a mental image he promises himself he’ll never forget. He savors the sensation of his soaking hole, his tail tucked between his back and Wesker’s stomach, his ears pulled back in submission, and his throat sore from the screams which had erupted moments before.

“Fuck,” Jack breathes a second before he slowly, gingerly, pulls himself from Leon. The boy is so far gone, he doesn’t even notice when he’s set down on the mattress, legs twitching, fingers clawing at the cushioning, covered in cum. Not only Krauser and Wesker’s, but his own, stuck to his torso. His face is still dried with drool and snot and tears. Every time he shuts his eyes, they burn from tiredness. 

Despite everything, Leon wouldn’t ask for anything different. He’s satisfied. He’s happy. He’s been thoroughly bred and used. He’s already asleep by the time Krauser covers him with a blanket and both he and Wesker leave, chuckling between each other.

~

Leon awakens to gunshots.

It’s not the first time something like this has happened, he’s used to it considering the fact he’s been doing military work for the past few years. He’s been on many missions, dealt with many different threats, and has had to hear the sound of gunshots at least hundreds of times in his life. 

However, this time is different. Not due to the gunshots themselves, but because of his situation, and what those gunshots represent. 

Enemies of Wesker. People who could help Leon get the hell out of here.

Leon’s lethargic, though, as he wakes from his sleep. His mind is there, but his muscles are not. His thighs and knees ache, his lower half even more so. His throat is scratchy as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper and he hasn’t been bathed in several days, which would be fine if he wasn’t covered in blood, spit, tears, and cum. He’s disgusting. 

More gunshots ring out. He wonders who it could be. Maybe the government sent people to find him, worried about his lack of communication over the past few days. Perhaps, Ada had worried for him enough to seek him out. Though, the thought’s more humorous than anything else. 

Leon rubs the sleep from his eyes and stares intently toward the door’s window, watching as the flashes of gunpowder blink through the blue film.

“ Chris, check that door.”

Chris. Jill. The last people Leon would have expected. And… the last people he wanted. He’s at least grateful someone managed to find him here. That is if it’s him they’re looking for.

Leon pulls the blanket tighter around him, too weak to reach for his jeans which sit on the far side of the room. He wants to desperately. He doesn’t want Chris to see him this weak, he doesn’t want anyone close to him to see what Wesker did to him. What he allowed Wesker to do to him. He doesn’t want them to see the freak of nature he’s turned into. 

He stays there for a moment, wide-eyed, panicking as the lock of the door fumbles for a second before bursting open. Leon barely manages to get the blanket over his head before his eyes are meeting Chris’s across the room. Chris’s are overcome with relief and a sense of worry. Leon doesn’t know how his own reflect, he feels like a deer in headlights.

“He’s in here, Jill!” Chris calls out the door for a second before hurriedly walking toward Leon. “We’re gonna get you out of here. Are you hurt?”

“I-” Leon doesn’t know what to say. Chris is offering a hand to help him up off the floor, but Leon doesn’t know if he has the strength to take it. His legs feel weak, everything aches, and even the action of moving his hand to take Chris’s seems to peel him of all his energy.

“Shit, Leon.” Leon unfocuses from Chris to turn his eyes to Jill behind him. “We need to get out of here. Now .”

“I don’t know-” Leon starts. He barely gets those words out before Chris is scooping him up in his arms. The blanket falls from Leon’s head, exposing the ears which have since grown from his head. Almost immediately, the boy’s face goes bright red, and he avoids Chris’s eyes at all cost.

He doesn’t see Chris and Jill both stare at him for a long, shocking moment, but he does hear the soft, “What the hell…” Echoing from Jill’s lips. It’s the longest moment of Leon’s life.

The boy’s afraid he’ll cry from shame, but he forces it down with the lump in his throat. He can’t focus on it now. He needs to get out of here. Find somewhere safe. That’s what Chris and Jill are here for.

Chris follows Jill out of the room. All Leon can do is tuck his face into Chris’s shoulder and pray he’ll make it out safe.

Leon feels the thumping of Chris’s boots on the concrete with the way his body jolts downward on each step. The sound of gunshots ringing through his ears as Jill takes the lead and clears the way out for them. He shuts his eyes, tries to focus on Chris’s warmth, and clears his mind. He has to make it until they get outside. Until they can get him somewhere safe.

“Extraction vehicle is right outside, I’ll hold them off. Just get him somewhere safe ,” Jill orders. Leon opens his eyes again, watches over Chris’s shoulder as she guards the door behind them to ensure they’re not followed.

“Who…” Leon’s voice croaks as he tries to speak over the growing sound of the helicopter blades. “Who told you?”

“Anonymous tip. Initials J.K.” Chris yells. He sets Leon down in a seat and retrieves his gun from his holster to watch Jill’s back while she makes her way to the helicopter. “You know them?”

Jack Krauser. Who the hell else would have told on him? None of the doctors had shown him an ounce of guilt. Nobody else had shown him sympathy, empathy, or even an ounce of compassion. And, considering their past, Leon isn’t surprised. He’s just…thankful.

“Yeah…” Leon murmurs, pulling the blanket closer around himself in the cool night air as Jill jumps onto the helicopter. With a knock against the pilot’s door, they lift off. “How- How did you get the ride?”

“I pulled a few strings,” Jill announces, holstering her gun, “Are you doing alright? Are you injured?”

“I…” Leon trails off. He’s so shaken up not only from before his rest but also from the fact he’s been rescued so quickly. The fact in a matter of minutes he managed to escape something he’s sure will haunt him for years to come. He hadn’t once considered thinking about himself in this situation. Only how others would react to what had been done. Only if Chris and Jill would still consider him a friend after it all. 

He turns his eyes up from the floor for a moment, matching eyes with Jill who sits across from him, and embracing the soft hand of Chris’s on his back, pulling him from his head. He notices the concern on their faces, notices how, despite the fact he’s turned into Wesker’s lab rat, they still ask.

He catches one last glance at the building he’d been saved from, ponders for a moment if Wesker will find out who snitched on him. He wonders if, perhaps, Jack will ever see him again. He hopes so. 

Finally, Leon parts his lips one more time, takes a deep breath, and replies.

“I think I’ll be okay.”