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He was so geeked.
Or rather, that's what his younger co-workers would say about him whenever they'd catch him staring. But how could he not.?
Your foreign accent, jet dark hair.
The coloured tint of your skin, subtler slope of your nose.
Your soft features, wispy lashes, curvy hips and supple chest he wouldn't mind suffocating brutally in if it were his next mission.
You weren't from around here, no no. You were heaven-sent, a gift to be his new obsession.
At first he thought you were just his type, a sort of rebound after that incident with the spy he'd met those years ago, the one that left him hanging. Maybe I've got a thing for asian chicks.
But ever since you first entered the office, he found himself subconsciously taking note of the hourly toilet or snack breaks you'd have every shift, asking the other receptionist girl when your lunch break was, and purposely shifting meetings or training sessions around said breaks, just so he could walk by you in the cafeteria, say hi, and if he was lucky, maybe join you for a quick meal.
However, he really, really struck the gold mine when he found your secret (or not so secret) online account.
Low cut, skin tight dresses, and little micro shorts that would prove too 'scandalous' for office standards.
Glossy, pouty, kissable lips. Smudged eyeliner, glittery smokey-eyes. A style that so uniquely fits, you.
He'd seen you sport that similar aesthetic in the office (a far more office 'appropriate' look) but seeing it accentuated, raw, up-close on camera did things to him.
It became a regular, almost weekly occurrence. He'd pull out the laptop, frantically scrolling through the pages to find that one selfie of you hidden in a folder of many, just so he could try to emulate the feeling of your perfect, burning touch on his skin.
"F-fuck so g-good you feel so good-" "please f-faster please" "p-promise I'll be good so fuckin' good for you please.."
He'd whine out loud, hands grabbing at himself as he imagined that it was you in his bed instead of him all alone in that good for nothing, big fucking flat. It was almost pathetic really, being a DSO agent gave him the money, but took away the life he could've had. Oh well, at least he had you. Yeah, you.
You who'd smile at him shyly, yet wave at him excitedly whenever you see him on your lunch break. You who'd stare at him all starry eyed and cute, but go on and chat up some other guy like Redfield once he turns his back away.
You were a living, breathing, walking contradiction, but that's what made you all the more appealing. Leon loves a challenge. So naturally, he'd aim for victory.
Interrupting your conversations with other guys, offering to buy you a drink after a late night shift, then get drunk and squeeze your thigh, cup your cheek, and lean in for a kiss.
Okay, maybe this wasn't the way to go about confessing your crush to a co-worker, specifically one that's probably close to a decade younger than you.
But he really couldn't help it, your thighs battling against the fabric of your tights, your skin criminally soft and tender, and those lips, puckered and glossy, waiting for his own to sloppily land on yours.
He'd bring you home that night, his extravagantly large, penthouse like flat that overlooked the cityscape was a sort of surprise. The man who regularly swims in sewage and eats grass lives in a place like this ? Nevertheless, it all didn't matter to you as you spent that night showering him in endless praise, messying the sheets as he'd confess to you his love, his sins, and how badly he wanted you in his life. You'd smile softly, and upon finishing up, kiss him softly, letting your soft breaths lull him to sleep.He was lucky that night, and he knew damn well he was.
But he hoped that he'd be lucky enough to keep you around for longer than just that night.