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“I want to go out,” Luis says in the aftermath of tumbling into bed with Ada Wong, fucked stupid and alcohol-brave. He exhales a cloud of gray toward the ceiling and waits for an answer.
“To do what?” Ada asks, sounding amused and much more coherent than he is.
She’s sprawled next to him, smugly content, as she should be. This was her idea, and Luis had nearly tripped over himself to take her up on the invitation. He’d have been a fool not to. There’s something about several shots of liquor that makes Luis abnormally brave.
Luis feels like his bones are jelly, and he’s not moving anytime in the next several hours, but Ada sounds barely sated, and honestly, it’s an insult. Or an invitation? Luis isn’t sure. His brain left his skull to take residence in his cock, which is only interested in the dangerous mercenary lying naked beside him.
“See an old friend,” Luis says, his heart doing that squeezy-want thing it does whenever he lets his mind wander toward Leon Kennedy with his square jaw and his thick arms and his dogged determination to save the lady fair.
Ada hums a quiet laugh. “All your friends are dead.”
“Ouch,” Luis says and turns his head, offering her the cigarette. She takes it and steals a puff before giving it back. “Also, not true. This one’s a bit more tenacious than most.”
“Is that so?”
Luis tilts his head back to the ceiling. “I don’t think he knows the meaning of the word ‘surrender’.” He takes the last drag of the cigarette before grinding it out on the nearby ashtray – already clogged with the filters from his last stress-smoke. “He’s definitely alive.”
“Hm.”
Ada sits up and slides over, perching on his waist with languid grace, her cunt sitting wet on his hips. She looks elegantly rumpled, and is probably one of the few ladies who can pull it off, her lips bruised from kissing, one bra strap dangling off a shoulder, her nylons still in place from mid-thigh to toe.
She’s gorgeous, and Luis knows better than to touch her without explicit invitation. She, of course, has no such restrictions. She flattens her hands on his ribs, slides them up, up, up and Luis’ breath hitches. His dick stirs.
“And you’re sure he’ll want to see you?” Ada asks. Her thumbs glide over his nipples, nails scratching the sensitive nubs, and Luis swallows over a need in his throat.
“I, uh, certainly hope he does,” Luis says, not sure where to put his hands, so he folds them under his head, under the pillow. He’s completely naked, while she’s partially clothed, and he’s pretty sure she prefers it that way. “I mean, he thinks I’m dead.”
Ada hums again, and her hands slide up further, one around his throat, the other scrubbing a thumb across his lower lip. “Well, depending on where this friend is located, I believe we can come to an arrangement.”
Luis’ heart thunders in his ears, and he desperately wants to touch her. He fists his hands beneath the pillow. “I don’t know where he is.”
“That is a problem easily rectified,” Ada says as she slides her whole body forward, cunt leaving a smear of slick on Luis’ belly, the smell of her sex thick in the air. “I found you, didn’t I?” Her thumb slides into his mouth, across his tongue.
He can’t speak, so he nods.
Ada smiles, like a predator who has cornered their prey, and her thumb goes back to his bottom lip, smearing it with his own spit. “Then I’m confident I can find this friend of yours.”
“And you’ll let me see him?” Luis asks.
Ada’s other hand is still on his throat, not squeezing, just a gentle weight, but now her thumb has found the divot beneath his jaw, and is lightly tapping over it. “You’re not a prisoner, Luis.” She sounds amused.
“Not in so many words,” Luis points out. Though, in Ada’s defense, Luis has been largely bed-bound for the majority of his time in her service. Shaking off a stab wound to the lung is no easy task.
“Fair enough. I would rather keep an eye on any valuable assets rather than let them wander as they pleased.” She’s smiling again, her eyes going liquid dark. “As I said, we can come to an agreement, I’m sure.”
“I’m already contracted to you,” Luis says, which makes what they are doing right now a different kind of inappropriate, but Luis isn’t about to complain. He still isn’t sure how he got so lucky as to get on his knees for her.
Ada hums agreeably and tilts her head. “I am going to sit on your face,” she says, so matter of fact, as if it’s a given. She’s decided it, and so it will happen, and Luis’ dick goes from half-mast to full standard in the space of a couple heartbeats. “Any objections?”
Luis groans, and his hips rock up against nothing as he clutches the underside of the pillow. “Do I get to touch you?”
“Only with your mouth. For now.” Ada slides forward, until her thighs bracket his face and her knees pin his arms beneath the pillows. She’s holding herself away from his mouth, the heat and smell of her sex just out of tantalizing grasp. “But if you’re a good boy, I’m willing to renegotiate.”
Luis groans. “Dios mio carina, have mercy.” He licks his lips, mouth dry with want, need like a punch to the solar plexus.
“If you insist,” Ada purrs, and her weight settles over him, her cunt hot and wet against his face, a tart drip past his lips and onto his tongue.
Luis gets to work, first with slow, savoring licks along her folds and a brief dip into her core. She rocks against his mouth, not afraid to shift her hips to get him where she wants him, and there’s nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she wants. Luis wishes his hands weren’t trapped so he could pull her tighter, but there’s something delicious about the way she’s perched over him, handily keeping all the power.
And she’s delicious, too. Not sweet, but tart, like a tamarind. Luis licks into her, deeper and deeper, lapping up her slick before he backtracks and goes back to her clit, peeping from the apex of her folds.
She likes a firmer touch, he remembers, and he suckles at her clit, hearing her quick-drawn breath, a faint sigh of delight. Ada’s not vocal, but she is responsive, her hips dancing down against his tongue, her fingers carding through his hair, tilting him into the best angle. Luis moans against her cunt, and she grinds down against him, mashing his nose, her fingers tight in his hair.
“Good,” she groans, and Luis’ nerves light up like firecrackers, the praise singing through his veins, straight to his cock.
“Just like that,” she sighs, and Luis sucks at her harder, lets his teeth drag across her clit, curls his tongue deep into her, swallowing every pulse of slick that floods his mouth.
He wants to touch her, touch himself, but her weight keeps him pinned. His lower half squirms against nothing, and he’s shaking from want. But then she grinds down harder, mashing her sex over his mouth, and Luis flies high on her pleasure.
She’s making more noises now, hitched gasps, her thighs tensing around his ears in rhythmic pulses to match the clenching of her cunt around his tongue. He pays attention to her clit for a while, gives it a few hard sucks and a gentler follow-up lick. She shudders atop him, and Luis tilts his head a little, grinds his nose over her clit, curls his tongue to flick over her perineum before licking up the length of her.
Her fingernails scrape over his scalp. Luis tingles all over as she presses against his head, pressing him against her. She grinds down, less careful of herself now, her hips starting the dance of a lady who’s about to race over the edge. Luis braces himself for the ride, gulps a breath in between the grinds, dizzy with the taste of her on his tongue and in his lungs.
“Oh,” Ada breathes, dangerously close to a whimper, and she curls forward, hands tangled in his hair, her hips shoving down against him. “Yes. More.”
Luis’ jaw aches, but he’s not complaining. Not when she’s squirming and making those beautiful sounds, and there’s something utterly intoxicating about making a woman like Ada Wong tremble. Making her ride his mouth with single-minded determination, dribbling slick in tart pulses, her clit thick and swollen against his tongue.
“Oh, oh, oh.” There’s a bitten off cry, a muttered swear, and then she’s still, hips moving in the tiniest of hitches against his mouth, a sheer gush of her pleasure coating his lips and tongue.
Luis moans against her cunt, swallowing it down, licking her through every tremor and shake and clench until Ada abruptly lifts away, knees digging into the pillow. She shakes above him, audibly panting, and Luis drags in a desperate breath, licking his lips to savor every last drop of her. She hovers an inch above him, swollen and wet, and he already wants to taste her again. Luis loves eating a lady out, and there’s no shame in that at all.
Ada hums. “Good,” she says. “Very good boy.”
Luis thinks he says something very flirtatious, but all that comes out is ‘guh’ because the praise burns through his veins like fire, and his dick is so very hard.
He manages, “please,” and Ada oh-so-kindly shifts her weight, allowing him to free at least one of his arms. If she’s not going to touch him, then he’ll do it himself.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Ada says, breathless. “You’re never leaving the warehouse. I’m going to keep you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment rather than the utterly terrifying thought that it is,” Luis says, and wraps a hand around himself, smearing his own slick around the taut heat. He’s so hard it almost hurts, and she can participate or not, but he’s got to come.
There’s a breathy laugh before the mattress shifts, and Ada’s upright, straddling his thigh, her delicate fingers cupping his scrotum, rolling them almost experimentally. Luis bites his bottom lip and strokes faster.
“It’s a compliment,” she says, half-conversational, despite the flush of post-orgasm on her face and spreading rosy across her skin. “Do you want my help?”
“Depends,” Luis pants as he strokes himself a little faster, spreading his thighs to encourage her hands to wander.
“On what?” Ada asks, coy, her lips curved into a mysterious smile that both terrifies and intrigues him.
Luis groans and squeezes his dick, pre seeping liberally from the tip. “No games,” he bites out.
“Not this time,” Ada promises, delicately tugging on his scrotum and making his toes curl. But then she lets him go, and Luis whines his disapproval.
Ada clicks her tongue. “So impatient,” she hums, and then there’s a pressure beneath his balls, against his hole, and Luis jolts with an abrupt, desperate need.
Oh, god bless a woman who’s not afraid to put her fingers to good use. Luis makes an unintelligible sound and strokes himself faster, drawing up his heels, digging them into the mattress, opening himself up for the steady rub-rub-rub of her fingers. Not penetrating, just grinding against his hole, teasing him with the prospect.
“Interesting,” Ada says, and three fingers start to rub over his hole, the tip of one briefly wriggling into him before it’s gone again, and Luis mourns the loss. “Next time, I think I’ll get out my harness.”
“Hnn,” Luis says, biting his fist as he strokes himself harder, grip tight, squeezing out burbles of pre with every jerk of his fist.
Ada hums, like she’s giving it great thought. “I have a dick that’s perfect for you to ride,” she says, casual-as-you-please, and it’s like she reached inside him and yanked out the orgasm.
Luis jerks and comes, just like that, pushing down toward her fingers, hips arching, spill coming out of him in heavy spurts that paint his knuckles, splash on his thighs, on the comforter, making a goddamn mess. One he’s going to have to sleep in because of course it’s his bed, not hers, that they’re dirtying up.
He collapses back into the bed, panting, heart beating a mile a minute. His hands drop to his sides, smearing his spend all over the place, but he can’t be arsed to care. Not when he came hard enough to see stars for the second time in less than ten minutes. Being with Ada Wong can’t be good for his health.
Fuck, his back aches. Too much too soon maybe, but oh, what a way to celebrate one’s recovery.
Ada wipes her hand on his thigh, looking smug, but then, she has right to look that way. Luis can’t remember the last time he had sex this good. If ever. Wild years of experimentation in college, a handful of half-assed relationships during his time with Umbrella, and the company of his own hand in the years after. That’s it.
Fuck.
Ada rolls over to rifle in his nightstand, thieving herself a cigarette and the cheap pack of matches he’s been using since he was allowed to smoke again. Those ten days of no-nicotine, no-alcohol, no-anything but rest and fluids were agony.
“Thief,” Luis says with half-hearted sincerity.
Ada arches a brow at him and lounges against the headboard, one knee drawn up to serve as a perch for her arm. And well, fair enough. It’s not like Luis doesn’t know she steals things for the right price. Or “acquires them unlawfully”.
“So,” she says around a drag and exhale of hazy grey. “What’s your friend’s name?”
A mix of anxiety and anticipation squirms in Luis’ belly like butterflies. He feels like an idiot for even entertaining the notion of walking back into Leon’s life, but at the very least, Leon deserves not to carry any guilt for Luis’ death. If he’s even spared Luis a second thought after escaping from Valdelobos with the president’s daughter.
Leon probably got a hero’s welcome and handfuls of medals and all kinds of promotions and esteem for the brave rescue against all odds. No doubt he’s forgotten about the scrawny, former Umbrella bastard who’s half-responsible for what happened to him and Ashley in the first place. They’d only known each other for a handful of hours. Leon’s probably forgotten his name.
“Well?” Ada prompts around her stolen cigarette. “I need a name if I’m going to find them.”
“He was on Valdelobos,” Luis says, hesitating.
Ada snorts. “And you think he’s still alive? Just who is this Superman?”
Luis closes his eyes and thumps his head against the pillow. “Leon Kennedy,” he admits, the name itself conjuring up the same images that have been haunting his dreams for days. With nothing to do but rest and think, he’s had his mind full of one All-American Hero.
“And I know he’s alive,” Luis adds with a grump and a sidelong look at Ada. “You’re the one who told me so when you said Ashley Graham made it home.”
He expects Ada to retort with something sarcastic and sharp. He’s not prepared for the look on her face. Or more accurately, the not-look on her face. Her expression is carefully blank as she reaches over to scrub out the cigarette.
“I know who he is,” she says.
“And where to find him?” Luis asks, immediately suspicious. Ada had been lurking around Valdelobos at the same time as Luis, after all. She must have seen or encountered Leon at some point.
Ada slides off the bed, retrieving her panties and slipping back into them. “And that.” She shimmies into her dress, carding her fingers through her hair to restore it to a semblance of order.
Luis sits up, exhaustion forgotten. “Seriously?”
“He’s not hard to find,” she says, and for a moment, her wry playfulness is back before it vanishes behind the mask. “He’s based out of DC.”
DC. As in the same city where Luis currently resides courtesy of one Ada Wong? That’s some coincidence.
“That’s great!” Luis pushes himself to the edge of the bed, but before he can stand, Ada holds out a hand, keeping him in place. One knee lands on the bed beside his hip, effectively caging him in place.
“Leon Kennedy is of particular interest to me,” she says, and now there’s danger in her voice, a hardness to her eyes that replaces all of Luis’ excitement with reluctant caution. “I find him useful, and I’m not going to risk losing that.”
“I don’t want to hurt him,” Luis says, indignant. Or as indignant as he can be with Ada’s hand inches from his throat.
She may look delicate, but Luis is very sure she’s capable of killing him with her bare hands. And just might, honestly, if she thinks Luis is going to hurt Leon. Which, uh, that is very interesting, and something Luis is going to have to put into a box for later consideration. When he’s not staring up at a very dangerous mercenary.
“He thought I died. I figured it’d be nice to let him know I’m alive,” Luis says. If that little revelation leads to Leon smiling at him, or hugging him, or kissing him, well, Luis isn’t going to complain one bit.
He doesn’t think the last is likely at all, given that Leon’s Leon and probably as straight as an iron bar, but Luis can dream.
“Hm,” Ada says, but some of the violence in her eyes dies down to a simmer, and she lifts her hand from his chest. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Is that a yes?”
“I don’t make promises I may not be able to keep.” Ada steps back from the bed, poised and in control, like she hasn’t spent the past twenty minutes fucking Luis half-senseless. “I’ll let you know. In the meantime…”
Luis flops back into the bed. “I know. I start work first thing in the morning.”
“Precisely.” Ada sweeps her heels from the floor and dangles them over one shoulder. “I’d like to see a return on my investment, if you please.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Luis says, because it never hurts to be polite.
Ada pauses at the top of the stairs, that half-smile back on her lips. “Good boy,” she says, and then she’s gone, stepping down into the other half of the space Luis calls home. Less than a minute later, the exterior door clicks shut behind her.
Luis throws his arm over his eyes and sighs. The bed smells like sex, he can still taste Ada on his tongue, and Leon Kennedy is in DC.
He guesses there really are rewards for good behavior. He ought to try it more often.
***