Archive of Our Own

twenty years to see new york reflected on subway trains /
twenty more and i’ll be forty-four head back to tampa bay /
i killed a man there in spite when he died / i took his place 

It’s a bitter, chilly night — the way that his fingertips were stiffening said that much. There was no time to lament, though, because Leon had a job to do, one where he was being closely watched no less. He can feel the gaze on him, the same way he can smell the salt in the air, the frigid humidity that wants to cling to his skin through his jacket and freeze him solid. He clenches his jaw, hard enough to feel the tension in the muscle, because he didn’t want his teeth to chatter. Leon breathes out, the cloud of his breath floating above as he tries not to shudder in the harbor, peeking out from behind the corner to see the target in question: a wiry man, with wispy, balding hair upon his head. In truth, he didn’t look much like someone affiliated with a gang: he lacked the posture, and the fashion — his clothes looked like they were pulled from a garbage bin more than bought. Still, it wasn’t Leon’s job to judge him, it was to rob him, so there was no time to spend examining the guy as a whole. 

“You ready?” Comes a deep, careful whisper from beside him. Leon’s neck tilts to get eyes on his companion: the crimson of her red dress stark against the industrial background, her dark hair flowing while she shares his stare. 

“I’m ready,” Leon responds, “come on, Ada. Let’s get this started.” 

Their steps are immediately in tune, after years of working together in harrowing circumstances, that does tend to happen – but they creep across the chilling harbor with measured steps, his sight never leaving their target who opens the trunk, and then frantically starts digging inside, murmuring something to himself that’s too far away to hear. When he leans back down to check deeper into the buggy, Leon makes his move, speeding up to close the distance and pulling his colt from where it rests in its hollister at his belt, pulling it up and pressing it to the spine of the man who goes ramrod straight, his hands lifting up in a sign of surrender. 

“Who are you?” The man asks, clearly panicked, “what do you want?” 

“We ask the questions,” Ada says cooly, coming to stand in Leon’s peripheral, her hands folded over her chest, “where’s the drop? Give us everything you got.” 

“Look,” the man starts, “I don’t got anything , so just leave me alone, alright?” 

“No can do pal,” Leon responds, his voice dropping in a deadly manner, “hand the shit over, or you can say your prayers while your head pops.” 

“Seriously, search the car – there isn’t anything here,” the man insists, and Ada moves unprompted to do just that. Her gloved hand opens the back seat first, and sure enough, it was empty – the trunk displayed in front of them also produced nothing – no guns, no money, all of which was promised to be here based on whispers that had been heard by their crew. Shit, the worst part of all this was the man was telling the truth , which did not bode well for the rest of his night. With an adequate amount of irritation, Leon sucks his teeth, pushing his gun harder into the spine of the man as a warning. 

“Where is it?” He presses, letting his unpleasant demeanor show completely. 

“I don’t know, it was — it was supposed to be here, but it was stolen,” For fuck’s sake, if that was really the case, this is the third time it’s happened in a month, and it was safe to say that they were out of luck for the night. Sensing that he wasn’t going to get what he wants, there’s no reason to hold the man at gunpoint, so Leon lowers the barrel intent to stick it back into his hollister. That was a mistake, however, because the man turns and attempts to get his hands around Leon’s neck , cold and calculated as a striking snake. The urge that Leon had first was to press his gun into the man’s abdomen and pull the trigger until the damn thing clicked empty, but it would be noisy so Leon reaches to the other side of his belt, where his knife was closely sheathed, pulling it from its holder and jabbing it deep into the man’s gut, his grunt explosive and wet in Leon’s ear canal. 

It didn’t feel like enough, so he removes the blade and pushes in again, deeper and twisting. A gasp of breath comes after, and the blood is hot and vibrantly red as it gushes out, which made Leon glad that he had the mind to wear gloves before coming out on this trip, because otherwise he would have looked more horribly obvious than he already did. Another beat passes and the man goes deadweight, slumping against Leon’s frame in an uncomfortable way that he wanted to rid himself of immediately, pushing the corpse into the openness of the trunk. Metal squeaks with the added weight, undoubtedly the frame, and Leon goes to close the lid before he’s stopped by the dainty, strong hold of Ada’s hand. 

“Hold on,” she reaches inside, pulling a piece of paper from the lid before presenting it to him, “look.” 

A symbol is drawn in sanguine, stark against the page and saturated with ink. It doesn’t cause any confusion for what just caused their major headache: it was a symbol, one that had been haunting the corners of their operations for months now. Los Illuminados. Leon shakes his head, sighing out an exasperated breath. 

“Jesus,” he mutters, his mood entirely soured, “them again ?” 

“Looks like it,” Ada returns, “big shot is going to be pissed .” 

Leon already knew that, but the images of platinum hair shimmering with eyes that were like blue on fire flash in his mind already, the harsh tone that would be taken like pins and needles, and he really did not want to deal with this tonight, but he’d have to anyway even if there was an urge to avoid the conversation all together. Instead of thinking more on it, Leon reaches into the man’s pockets to find the key to the car, pulling them free and then closing the trunk firmly in order to take care of cleanup, or what little he could do. Letting a dead body be found willingly was a bad look, and it was better to make sure all evidence was removed before leaving. 

Opening the driver’s door, he sticks the key into the ignition and turns, listening to the engine sputter to life before he puts his foot against the gas pedal, making the sound rear up in intensity. Then, with certain hands he swaps the gear and yanks himself out of the seat, watching as the car sputters off to the edge of the harbor before crashing over the edge into the ocean with a heavy thunk , sinking beneath the restless depths until it all looks like the same shade of dark. 

With that done, Leon and Ada share a knowing look, before heading across the harbor where they came from. There was nothing to say in regards to what would be coming, because getting out of the rest of the night without getting their faces chewed off was going to be unlikely. When they get back to the street, they stick to shadows – Brooklyn was pretty good at ignoring most horrible things, but even one stranger choosing to be too curious would prove to be disastrous, so Ada and Leon stay pressed tightly out of sight. Their car is a few blocks out, and every moment is spent scanning the street, both sides, just to ensure that nobody was giving them any unwelcome glances or attention. It seems their luck wasn’t total shit for the night because they make it to the car without a scene, and Leon opens the trunk first to fetch the change of clothes so that he’s not coated in someone else’s blood when he arrives. He’s retying his tie when he sits in the driver’s side, Ada waiting patiently in the passenger seat, and he starts up the engine to get going. 

The drive to Manhattan isn’t as long as it would be during rush hour, since the late hour keeps them from being intercepted, and they’d arrived at the harbor at just after one in the morning so it was likely ticking after two now, and frankly Leon was getting tired. It wasn’t over yet though, and he crawls along the streets until they finally reach their destination: the penthouse of their operations, hidden over a sandwich business that kept it well disguised. The shop is already closed, but Leon has the key on his car key ring, which jingles in his hand when he pulls them free from his pocket once they hit the pavement, clicking it in the lock and opening the door, holding it so Ada can go through first. It’s eerily quiet at this time of night, foreboding for what was about to come. They walked through the seating that had been put up for the night, around the counter and into the kitchen where there was a door that had steps leading directly upstairs. Ada ascends first, her heels clacking on the polished wood, followed by Leon’s dress shoes that tap absently on the ascending stairwell. 

When they make it to the top, there’s a shared breath of anticipation, before the door is open and they walk into the living room of the penthouse. There’s a record playing, a soft song that a woman sings over, and the smell of cigarettes bitter and smoky in Leon’s nose while they walk through the living room toward the dreaded office. Ada knocks once on the closed door, waiting for acknowledgement, which comes not a moment after they’ve announced their arrival. 

“Come in,” Jack Krauser requests, his voice gruff even through the wood grain. 

Ada turns the handle, walking into the office, Leon following close behind to stand in front of him like naughty children about to be scolded by their principal, and the same anxious shame that runs through Leon’s muscles said he felt like the misbehaving youth, too. Krauser’s eyes are cold as ice when he runs his gaze across them both, and Leon has never been more aware of arriving empty handed than he is at this moment. Krauser was not a man with many expressions, but the twitch of his brow said he was displeased – Leon had years to learn all of his absent behaviors to know how a conversation would fare, and this said that whatever was about to be said was not going to be pleasant. 

“Can’t help but notice that you don’t have any of the supplies we discussed,” he begins, his voice venomous and razor sharp. 

“There’s a simple explanation,” Ada replies, “it was stolen.” 

“That right?” Krauser prompts, “that’s only the third time you’ve let this happen.” 

“Not our fault that people are five steps ahead,” There’s irritation in that response, as Ada wasn’t as fond of being blamed for things, Leon could take the brunt of his frustration easily since he’d grown up under such expectations – his adulthood was just a string of Krauser’s wants for him strung together with bloody string. Producing the paper, Ada shows it in her hand, shaking it as if she were presenting a loyal dog with a treat, “as you can see, it’s the usual perpetrator.” 

“Hmph,” Krauser huffs, “ignoring their little faction isn’t proving as well as I thought it would.” 

“So, what’s the plan?” Leon offers, trying to navigate this messy conversation to the best of his ability, “you want us to track them down, see if we can get some of our supplies back?” 

“Getting to those supplies won’t be as easy as it sounds,” Krauser returns, dismissing his offer and folding his hands, “they’re a tight knit group, from what I hear. You’re either in with them or you’re an outsider, no inbetween.” 

“What, so you want us to have an in?” Ada asks, and in her tone it shows how ridiculous she thinks that is, because playing nice with the enemy brought certain risks that weren’t always worth it, and if they were discovered it was an instant death sentence. That alone had trepidation running through Leon’s nervous system, and Krauser raises an eyebrow, unmoving. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, our business is slowing down, and once it stops, we won’t be taken seriously. We need this handled, but I see you’re not willing,” With a wave, he gestures Ada toward the door, “if you’re going to have this attitude, then you can go home. I’ll deal with you later.” 

“Gladly,” Ada says icily before turning on her heels and leaving the room, slamming the door shut on her way, which left Leon alone with Krauser’s expectant eyes and domineering posture. 

“She’s clearly not willing to do as I ask,” He begins, standing from the table to cross the room, and Leon’s spine starts straightening in response, as if Krauser were a predator honing in on him for the kill, “that means I have to ask you , Leon.” 

“Me?” Leon asks, appalled at the concept because it wasn’t in his usual lines of duties , “I’m horrible with that kind of thing.” 

“You’re the only person I can trust with this,” Krauser’s hand feels heavy as lead when it settles on Leon’s shoulder, warm and familiar, “you can figure out anything. I know that you’ll do well.” 

“I don’t know,” Leon blurts, feeling like a child again, unsure of himself. Their gang towered above the common man, but here he feels so small: so utterly powerless to the will of Krauser that only intended to crush him into the desired mold, even if Leon didn’t want to. 

“You’ve gotten much better than you used to be, rookie,” Krauser’s fingers squeeze , almost painfully, and there’s no way that Leon would be getting out of this as easily as he’d hoped. Without Ada to take on the duty, it was left to him , as second in command. Refusing Krauser was never an option for him as a boy, and it certainly wasn’t one now, so Leon sags a little. To his counterpart, it seems like relaxing, but to Leon it was one of defeat. 

“Okay,” he agrees, even though he has no context of what the hell he’d be even doing. 

“Good,” Krauser praises, and then all fondness is removed as if it’d never been given to begin with, “get out. You’re excused for the night.” 

It feels as chilly and unloving as the first words out of his mouth, and Leon isn’t even looked at again while he slinks back to the door, opening it up to slip out into the hallway, even more fucked than when he’d been when he’d come in. 

– 

Leon hadn’t always been this manmade killing machine. 

When he was younger, he had a family, and they’d lived happily enough for the most part. His younger childhood felt sparkling and pure, something that he’d never have again, because his parents died in a car crash when he was too young to understand that they would never be coming back. After that, he’d been left to his own devices in an orphanage, where the children attempted to pick on him for being a fresher face. He’d learned quickly that violence garnered results, because the kids never bothered him again after he punched one boy so hard that it’d knocked his teeth out. He remembers staring at the bloody enamel on the ground, shaking with adrenaline, and thinking that he’d never thought himself capable of such a thing before. 

A few years later, into his young adolescence, a young man appeared that took a certain interest in him. Leon would later find out that this was Krauser, and his intention in adopting him wasn’t to provide a loving home: instead, he saw the potential in Leon, as he called it, that he could provide great physical aid to his operations as an up and coming mob leader. The truth of that eluded Leon for many years, but the harshness didn’t – there was never a point that Krauser went easy on him as the adult, and frankly it was questionable to beat the snot out of a child, and at first Leon had felt similarly to how he’d felt when bullied by someone who thought they were bigger and more menacing than him. 

There was some softness, too, however – Krauser always took care of his wounds, reminded Leon that he had to be stronger , more fortified, so that other men didn’t do the same things to him when it mattered. By the time he was seventeen, he had learned to keep up rather well, and that was when he was introduced to the complicated web of their gang, and its other members – Ada had been the same age as him when they met, unlike the older folk who seemed to get along better with Krauser. They naturally stepped in time with one another, since they’d had some likeness in that regard, and her story was very similar to Leon’s, except that her family had died from sickness when traveling to the states, and had received no help due to being an immigrant family, which was harshly scrutinized. Krauser saved her from worse fates, since at best Ada could have made it working to pleasure men, and at worst she could have died on the street. 

It was why she could have some leeway in her attitude with him, where Leon was stuck being the dutiful follower, because anything else felt like a betrayal of the safety he was given. Such a luxury that came with ever higher prices, ending the lives of men that threatened Krauser’s position and his territory, and now at twenty-six, there was more blood on his hands than he’d ever dreamed of being as a child. It seemed tonight, there was an expectation that there would be more in the future, because Leon was wandering the side streets of the Upper East Side, looking for a hidden bar that Krauser had given him the directions to, with intention to get close to the members of Los Illuminados. 

Finding said space was no easy feat however, since alcohol was illegal in the current day, which could blow the rival gang’s whole operation if it was discovered. That was an interesting tidbit that he’d been chewing over for awhile, because it could give an easy out should anything go sideways. It wouldn’t help with the issue of lack of supplies though, so the chances of it all working out were unlikely, even if Leon’s temptation would be to just report it so that they could wipe their entire group off the map. Krauser didn’t take kindly to slights, and it’d have to be more painful than that, Leon would garner. So, with heavy feet, he continues to trudge along the sidewalk toward the address that he was provided. 

It was late October, and because of that, it was getting very cold at night in the city, helped along by the wind that brushed across the freezing ocean first before blowing between buildings and making Leon shudder with the chill. He speeds up his walking, intent on needing to get where he was going faster, but he pauses with confusion when he eventually arrives. It’s a bookstore, the hours etched into the glass, stating it stayed open until three in the morning. That seemed late for bookworms to be wandering about, but it seemed to not cause any suspicion else it would already be scanned over by police. He waits perhaps a moment too long before entering, a young blonde girl at the cashier’s table perking up at his arrival, giving him a cheery welcome. 

“Hi there,” she says, with a friendly smile, “how can I help you tonight? Looking for something specific?” 

“Um,” Leon starts, feeling rather stupid to even be trying this, but he recalls the information provided and parrots accordingly, “I’m looking for… Don Quixote?” 

“Oh, okay! This way,” she says with understanding, moving from behind the counter to lead him through a few aisles of books. From what he saw, it was for all intents and purposes, a real book shop: there were lots of titles that he didn’t recognize but plenty he did just from sheer popularity alone, every cover extravagant and embossed with shiny details, well made and clearly for actual sale. The girl leads him to the back of the store, to a shelf that’s enclosed, and she pauses to reach for an extravagant book on the third shelf and pulls it from its place. It doesn’t come out, just tilted, and there’s a click. 

The entire shelf swings out of the wall, opening a hidden door, and Leon blinks in surprise because he would have never expected it to be there. There’s a small staircase heading down, and he gives a curt thank you before creeping down the steps, unsure what to expect. When he reaches the bottom, there’s noise that can’t be heard from the storefront floor, people talking and clinking glasses and the flicking of flint as lighters are clicked on to smoke cigarettes. It’s so overwhelmingly lively that Leon takes a moment longer than usual to adjust: the walls are adorned with red velvet and gold accents, paintings that look rather expensive and sought after, and all kinds of decorum that gives the eye too many things to focus on. On the opposite end from where he’s standing, there was a crowded bar that was serving drinks and yep, it was definitely alcohol based on the smell. It’s accented with incense and smoke, which makes the room a little hazy but overall it doesn’t immediately clue in that it’s an illegal establishment. 

To be frank, Leon was surprised at the patronage, as if the entire city except their team were aware of this bar and traveling from every corner to get a seat. It was a little intimidating, all things considered, but it wasn’t the first or last time he’d dealt with things of the sort. With confident steps that don’t reflect his inner working, Leon steps across the lush, well polished floor up to the bar, beelining for an empty seat when his gaze falls upon it, sensing it wouldn’t be open for much longer. When he settles, he barely has a moment to breathe before the bartender walks over. He’d expected some macho guy to handle the drinks, but instead, it’s a woman: she’s slender and taller than average, with auburn hair slicked back into a neat ponytail. Her eyes are bluer than the sky when they meet his, and she gives him a half smile — not too friendly, not too harsh. 

“Hey there stranger,” she says, which makes Leon feel anxious that she’d noticed that he hadn’t been in here before, “what can I get you?” 

“Brandy,” Leon says, because it’s a good flavor he was fond of and didn’t risk him getting so shitfaced he couldn’t think. She nods with understanding, getting him a glass and pouring the liquor in it, and Leon hands her money before bothering to drink it. Once she takes it, she’s gone as if she’d never come, off to make sure her other customers were taken care of. It gave him a break to start surveying the space, as if a clue would jump out at him as quickly as a rival enemy looking to kill him. There was nothing that gave any indication that he was where he needed to be, other than the address given out of context, so he elected to just survey the space for a while. 

The place was busy though, an orchestra of live music, laughter, and men chatting amongst themselves. They all have their little groups at tables, conversing in a lively manner, helped along with the spirits contained in crystal glasses in overly excited hands. So many faces to analyze, so little to go on, and Leon was completely confused on where or how he should go about asking about Los Illuminados in a way that wasn’t suspicious. It was likely a good handful of people here were just patrons and not directly involved in the gang, so it was even riskier considering someone could have no idea what he was talking about, and it would set a bad precedent of being undetected. Dejected, Leon swirls his drink in his glass, notably less full than when the bartender had handed it over, and the smell of cologne and cigarettes was threatening to give him a headache. 

Then, movement happens at his side, someone brushing up against him to lean on the bar, and Leon waits for them to order for a beat but it never comes. Curious, he glances up to see what’s taking them so fucking long, and their gazes meet immediately, like magnets. In honesty, the stranger was probably the most well dressed and handsome man that Leon had ever seen: his skin is a deep tan, clearly not from New York in the way he carries himself, his eyes a deep, glistening amber as they look over Leon from beneath his perfectly tousled russet hair. There’s a lit cigarette between his lips that is politely removed, put out of the smoldering range where the smoke would travel directly up Leon’s nose. At least there was consideration, but the way he was staring was making the hair at the back of Leon’s neck stand up, so he squares his shoulders a bit to seem more menacing. 

“Hello,” the stranger says, voice warm and accented. 

“Hi,” Leon responds, blunt and irritable, letting his face naturally develop into a scowl, “can I help you?” 

That seems to be funny, because the man grins at him with teeth, taking another pull of his cigarette before ashing it into the glass dish that sat upon the bartop, “More than you know, amigo. ” 

“Excuse me?” Leon grumbles, unsure of what exactly that means , because the context is lost on him. 

“Claire,” the man ignores his statement, leaning over the bar to call, and that must be the bartender’s name because she circles back to him to pause in front of him, smiling in a conspiratory manner, like they’re swapping secrets. 

“What can I do for you, boss?” She prompts, the sapphire of her gaze darting between the two of them as if looking for something that Leon can’t see. 

“Get this lovely man some whiskey from the top shelf, por favor ,” the man requests, and the bartender, Claire, raises her eyebrow before moving to do the action – she pulls a fancy looking bottle from the highest place against the wall, the deep dark liquid sloshing in the bottle while she uncorks it, pouring it into Leon’s empty glass in front of him before giving him a halfhearted enjoy before moving onto another patron that calls at the other end of the bar. Turning his nose up, Leon stares at the glass in defiance, thinking that he will not be drinking that shit because who knows what was in it, and he did not want to pay for it. 

“Don’t like whiskey?” The man speaks from his side, reminding Leon that he was still there , and his stare moves from the sparkling glass back to the new face that was staying hard stuck in his vision, even though Leon desperately wanted to stand up and book it the hell out of here as fast as his legs would carry him. Sure, he’d told Krauser he’d investigate and he did , Leon completed his piece of the puzzle, that didn’t include entertaining some random asshole that decided that he was the amusement for the night. 

“I like whiskey,” Leon responds, though he felt a little nervous about disclosing that fact, “I just don’t want to pay for it.” 

With that, the man laughs out loud , like Leon is the one being ridiculous and not the very obvious other way around, “ Señor , I own this bar. That whiskey is on me , so don’t worry yourself or your pockets too much, hm?” 

That makes a prickle of acknowledgement process, and with an appropriate amount of shock and dread, Leon realizes that this was the person he was looking for: the man who owned the bar was the same man that lead Los Illuminados, as per the intel that Krauser had gathered up to this point. It would explain his very nice attire and carefree attitude in the space, because nobody would be able to bother him without suffering consequences, obviously, so it kept him well protected. Swallowing his nerves, Leon picks up the glass to drink from it to give his mouth something to do before he blurts something stupid. God, why did he agree to this, again? Leon was more suited to brawls and gunfights, not parading around and being someone he isn’t. When the liquid crosses his palette however, Leon is loath to admit he’s impressed: it’s deep and rich, burning more than the usual he’d drink when he swallows, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Immediately, his mouth waters for more, but he resists the urge to take another drink. 

“Good, isn’t it?” The stranger continues, intently watching his reaction, “I figured a man like yourself would enjoy that.” 

“Meaning?” Leon inquired, his voice deepened from the liquor and with adequate suspicion. 

“ Mierda. Prickly, aren’t you? What I mean to say is that it would suit your tastes ,” There’s another pull of smoke, followed by a glowing ember, before it's billowed to the ceiling, “men that look like you don’t walk through here very often.” 

“Men that look like me,” Leon echoes, tasting the words in his mouth as if they’d decipher anything, “and what do men that look like me usually act like?” 

“From what I see, that you might know how to throw a punch or two,” the man continues, which was true, but Leon wasn’t keen on letting him know that unless the guy himself was the one receiving them, “and that you’re particular with your enjoyments, because you don’t seem to get them often.” 

“Hmph,” Leon huffs, “sure, I guess.” 

“ Ya veo. From that response, it tells me I’m right .” 

“Just who are you, exactly?” 

“Isn’t that the question?” There’s another charming smile, the stranger’s eyes crinkling with the gesture, “it is impolite to not introduce myself, isn’t it? My name’s Luis. Encantado. And you are?” 

Lie, Krauser’s voice whispers in his mind, you should never be personal with an enemy – they will only exploit your weaknesses. 

“Leon,” he blurts instead, before he can think better of it and follow the hard ingrained advice. 

“Leon,” returns Luis, as if he’s savoring the word, and embarrassingly, it takes a great deal of thought to suppress shivering, “it’s nice to meet you. I’d love to stand and talk, but I have some prior engagements to get to. A shame, really.” 

“Right,” Leon mutters, unsure if this was a relief or not, though his mind is mostly leaning toward yes. A friendly hand follows the length of his shoulder blades, and he has to fight the urge to tense up, but Luis makes it easy by not noticing his hesitation or poor demeanor in general, actually. With that, his new acquaintance pulls away, starting his leave and letting Leon go back to toiling in his own devices. 

“I hope to see you again soon,” Luis says, a clear invitation to return, and even worse – Leon would have to in order to gain some semblance of his trust. Winking in a far too fond manner, Luis begins to disappear into the crowd, but not before he finishes his goodbye, “Leon.” 

Well, Leon thinks to himself, that just went fucking fantastic, didn’t it? 

There was no time to process, because the bartender returned, her eyes on him in an instant. Obviously, there was an expectation that he’d say something so Leon avoids that, taking another sip of alcohol instead to show that he wouldn’t be saying anything unless prompted. The signal was very received because her eyebrow raised, leaning casually against her side of the counter, as if to say I got all day. It looks like she did, because she reaches to adjust her ponytail, before clearing her throat pointedly. 

“You know,” Claire begins, “it’s not everyday that boss man comes out here to greet a stranger. You sure must be special .” 

“I’m not,” Leon refutes, because he’d tried so hard with this entire experience to not draw attention to himself, but it seems that’s what he ended up getting anyways despite his best effort. The whiskey burns extra when he takes another heavy gulp, much bigger than the sip he should be savoring it with, but perception was hurrying him along because she looked like she saw something about him — the same way Luis did, and that was unnerving and troubling in equal parts. 

“Okay, so not special,” she acknowledges, picking up a clean glass to start shining it with the towel she pulls from her shoulder, “just good looking.” 

“You flirting with me?” Leon presses, because he’s trying to get her to leave him be. Claire laughs under her breath, rolling her eyes with obvious exasperation. 

“Not even close , thank you very much ,” A hand flashes at the end of the bar and draws her attention after the snarky comment, and Leon thinks that he might be free, but just like Luis, Claire gets in the last word, “the boss might’ve been though. So take that as you will.” 

Yeah right, Leon thinks in defiance but his brain begins replaying the interaction anyway, to comb for what she said was trying to get at him. He takes an embarrassingly long moment to do it, but doesn’t really come up with any new conclusions, except that he happened to be in the right place at the right time. Whatever that meant was yet to be seen, so Leon listens to busied noise around him as a distraction. After killing the rest of the whiskey in his glass, a singer comes to the well decorated stage to perform a number, her hair a golden sheen and her voice high and pretty. The lights make her so radiant that it almost seems like she’s from somewhere else, far off and more beautiful than the human mind can imagine. Men cheer when the song finishes, with rounds of uproarious clapping, and Leon thinks that it’s a good time to make his leave. 

The house lights had dimmed when she began, which suited Leon perfectly fine because he was used to moving about in total darkness, weaving between tables and heading up the stairs he originally descended to get to the speakeasy to begin with. He counts each step up, the lush carpet muting his steps until he ultimately reaches the ordinary looking door, pushing it open and having to put a bit of strength into it since the other side was still a bookshelf, loaded with inconspicuous looking titles. Back on the other side, the store is still open , which Leon knew when walking in but wasn’t sure if he believed the late hours. The same girl still stands at the cashier desk, smiling in a friendly manner as he begins to take his walk out. 

“Be safe out there,” she says, young and vibrant, and Leon gives her a halfhearted wave before exiting back onto the street. It’s quieter in the night that surrounded him, the distant blares of horns the only reminder that people were still alive and out and about, since the shop was tucked into a corner of the city to not draw too much suspicion. At the end of the block, two men walk side by side chatting about work, and they pass in a blur as Leon starts thinking over what his next plan of action was. 

Well, obviously, it was to try to get into Luis’ circle even if that felt daunting and troublesome to consider fully – Claire’s statement is still lingering in his mind, and although it was an absolutely terrible idea, Luis being romantically interested in him in theory could carry him far, if Leon chose to pursue it. That didn’t mean he’d make it easy for the guy, but it would at least be the simplest means of remaining in proximity, for as long as possible. If tonight was any tell for the future, this would be one hell of a stresser, and Leon didn’t know if he was suave enough to carry himself through it without hitting major speedbumps. Maybe it would be more preferred to let Luis have the reins here, to steer him in the direction that he was desired to be in, but who knew what kind of situation that’d put him in. 

His head is pounding by the time he gets through that thought, so he heads underground to catch his train to head home. There are some men standing on the platform conversing, loudly might Leon add, which said they were likely intoxicated. He wished the liquor in his system was doing more favors, but all he could seem to feel was lingering confusion and bitter exhaustion, but his poor mood helped to carry him into the subway car, its screaming red paint a welcome distraction for his ride home. At least the train car is quieter than the outside, and the steady sounds of the tracks under the car keep him distracted, and when he gets off at his exit, it’s much quieter than before. Lower Manhattan gave him small favors, but they don’t stick as when he gets to the street, it’s somewhat busy again. He weaves between people seamlessly, in a hurry to get back to his apartment so he can be away from all of the stimulus that was starting to make his brain leak out of his ears. 

The air seems trapped in his lungs until he opens the door to the stairwell of his building, and he can breathe out evenly while heading up to the top floor, where his place of lodging is tucked at the end of the hall. It wasn’t anything special, it was mostly bare since Leon didn’t really have many hobbies outside devoting himself to the gang, so nothing took up any space. The only thing in there was furniture, but it was decorated or lived in, mostly plain and his coffee table in the living room was even coated with a thin layer of dust. Instead of wiping it the way he may have been tempted to, Leon wanders to his bedroom, yanking off his clothes on the way so he can toss them in his dirty laundry pile, falling into bed at the earliest opportunity. 

“Fuck me,” Leon groans, “today was a goddamn nightmare.” 

As if the world was waiting for his complaints, there’s a disruptive ringing noise, telling him that the phone on the hook was going off, waiting for his answer. Leon gives an appropriate groan, because it was so loud as he purposefully placed it in his bedroom, to wake him in the night if anything happened, and also because he didn’t spend much time dallying around his apartment in general. He reaches blindly until he feels the handle of the receiver, pulling it off the hook to press it to his ear where he’s laying down. 

“Hello?” Leon grumbles, bothered that he’s not asleep yet. 

“ Well hello to you, too, ” Ada replies, crackled with static and a matching attitude, “ Krauser wants an update, but I figured you wouldn’t be stopping by his place any time soon. ” 

“There’s not really much to say,” It is the truth, and he sighs it into the phone with notable stress, “I think I found the guy, but I’m not sure yet since I’m not in the know.” 

“ Really? What’s his name? ” 

“Luis,” Leon mumbles, fighting the urge to sleep even though his eyelids were drooping, “that’s about all I got so far. He owns the place that Krauser pointed me to, so I’m thinking it has to be him.” 

“ Good to know. What’s he like?” 

“He’s…” He takes a pause, thinking over the events in the bar, the charming grin adorning Luis’ face, the brush of his hand against the line of Leon’s shoulders. What could he say about him, here? It felt very strange to think back on again and again, since he never cared to examine his relationships with other people before, but he’s forced to in this circumstance, “...interesting.” 

“ Interesting, ” Ada echoes, unimpressed, “ very descriptive. ” 

“Hey, fuck off, I’ve only met him one time ,” Leon grumbles, “sorry I haven’t psychoanalyzed him already. If you wanted that, you should have done it.” 

“ Point taken, ” Ada responds, not appreciating the jab at not being the one to take this whole operation over, “ I’ll let Krauser know. Seems like you sound tired, so I’ll let you sleep. ” 

“Gee, thanks,” Leon says, although the statement was true, he was still peeved at being bothered before he could even process the day in general. He can practically see Ada rolling her eyes on the other end of the phone before she gives her goodbye. 

“ Goodnight Leon, ” she breathes, then the line goes dead and there’s an annoying beeping in her wake, so Leon reaches to put the phone back on the hook, taking a deep, very weighted breath. There was nothing to do about any of the events that played out tonight, so he brushes the thoughts away, turning over on his side to curl up against his pillow, trying to find some semblance of relaxation. 

His brain is filled with images of bright lights, amber liquid in a glass, and eyes the shade of warm mahogany until he’s finally able to fall asleep, dropped into the recesses of his own mind. 

– 

It took Leon an entire week to get the courage to go back to the bookstore again. 

The entire time, he was debating whether or not he wanted to see Luis again, even though it would be best if he did. He needed the information that Luis’ hopefully willing mouth would provide, but the idea of being under his scrutiny again was daunting. Every night since, Leon would see a hyper-realistic memory of his gaze, the curve of his smile, not at all muddied since the last time he was here. It wasn’t like he wanted to think of the man, in fact it was quite the opposite, but the entanglement of his personal life and professional life required him to spend more time pondering than strictly necessary. It was already complicated, and he wasn’t even friends with Luis yet. 

He took too long making sure he looked appropriate in the mirror before leaving, that his vest was ironed straight and his tie was perfectly put around his throat, that the slate gray of his button up wasn’t the least bit wrinkled. All of that effort, just to make sure he doesn’t look out of place, and that he might be lucky enough to draw Luis’ attention twice. It felt like being some blushing girl fussing over her outfit for a first date, adolescent and childish. What difference did it make, how he looked? It wasn’t like he needed to really care much on most days, but now here he was, walking along the street and trying to think of what the night would entail, even though he had no idea what was waiting for him behind the shelf. 

This is not a fucking date, Leon thinks to himself, don’t be an idiot. 

He steels himself before entering the store, watching his reflection pass in the glass with sharp focus to make sure nothing is out of place, but even if it was – this was as good as he was getting. The bell chimes as he walks through and the same girl is working the counter, her eyes crinkling with recognition when her gaze finally lays on him. 

“It’s you again,” she says, moving away from the counter immediately, “I wondered if you’d be coming back. Here to get Don Quixote again?” 

“Yeah,” Leon returns, feeling oddly timid under her stare, following her in the same direction as last time so she can open the door. The familiar smell of cigarettes wafts up and Leon breathes heavily through his nose, nodding at the girl as she steps away to let him through. 

“Have fun,” she calls, and Leon thinks that this will be the opposite of fun for him, but he supposed it was the thought that counted. Nothing has changed in his absence, the bar is just as lively and active as the last time he was there, which said that it didn’t have down days. There’s a bigger group at one of the tables, all smooshing together to fit in the space. On the other end, there were some dancers sharing a smoke before their next number, hair done up in pretty curls. So many people, and so little time to analyze. Alas, Leon had been hoping there’d be less, but now he realizes quickly that he’s out of luck. Deciding that it was best to retrace his steps, he heads toward where Claire was making drinks and engaging in some lively conversation with a man sitting to the side: he was rather large in the sense that his body was broad, and his hair was a muddy brown — was that Claire’s type? It was interesting, considering he didn’t imagine that she’d let any of the patrons flirt with her. Though, the way she rolls her eyes at him makes him wonder if they’re actually doing that and not just talking. The seat that he sat in last time is taken, so he chooses one near the edge of the bar, settling down and tapping his fingers on the bartop because otherwise they might shake with nerves. 

There’s a loud laugh from his right that makes Leon want to cringe out of the stool, but he resists the urge, patiently waiting his turn to keep from stressing Claire out while she was already busy. He tosses a glance her way, and almost immediately regrets it, because her eyes turn to Leon in that exact moment and they make eye contact. Fuck. That’s not what he wanted to do, but it was too late to act like it didn’t happen, because she sauntered over to greet him, her mouth already turned up into a smirk. 

Here we fucking go, Leon thinks, mortified. 

“Well, hello there again, stranger,” Claire begins, leaning toward him so her voice carries, “brandy?” 

“Sure,” He almost stumbles over the word, because her immediate recognition makes him feel one step away from curling under one of the tables and pretending that he never came in. She makes quick work of his drink, but instead of wandering off, she pauses to look him over. 

“You look nicer than the last time you came in,” she points out, and Leon desperately takes a heavy drink of his glass, because his face threatens to blush. 

“Whatever,” Leon passes off, “I can clean up nice.” 

“You don’t say,” Claire’s voice is humored, “hoping to get noticed?” 

He absolutely fucking was, but that wasn’t something for Claire to know, and he wasn’t going to disclose it. Leon makes sure she knows as he takes a drink from his glass, giving her a blank stare, not giving anything away at all. She shakes her head, chuckling a little, as if she were being fondly exasperated of him. Or maybe, that’s what it would be if they were closer, but instead it reads as her making fun of him and it takes everything in Leon not to give her some snippy response about how rude that was. 

“Here I thought you didn’t want unwarranted attention,” Claire continues, ignoring his look, “I see I’ve been corrected.” 

“I don’t,” Leon mumbles, though welcomed attention might be different, and he guessed that right now, Luis’ attention was wanted because it made his life easier if the man came to him and not the other way around. 

“It looks like you do,” she says, putting away the brandy for a half a second before turning back to him, “careful, one of the girls might put her eyes on you and fall in love.” 

“Spare me,” he grumbles and that makes Claire laugh openly, because it’s quite obvious that his irritation entertained her to some degree, which only proved to make Leon’s attitude even worse. 

“Aw, and here I thought you were going to be a heartbreaker when I first saw you.” 

“Hell no. I want no part in that,” Leon sips at his drink to try to ease the bitterness from his tone, and Claire quirks her brow, her stare hardening. 

“So, what are you here for, then?” There was something pointed in her voice that said that she’d picked up on his sudden appearance out of nowhere, and her lack of familiarity with him, which makes Leon’s shoulders square a little, paranoid about her asking. 

“I—“ Whatever excuse he was about to come up with is crudely interrupted by a cry from the side of the buildings where he saw the dancers leisurely resting. Hardwired to notice disturbances, his head whips around to see what caused it, and there’s a very drunk man that’s towering over one of them. Leon recognizes after stealing glances as the girl that sung the first night he sat in here, and her eyes are alight with fear as the man grasps onto her arm tightly. There’s no thought in Leon’s mind, it all disappears because he just moves , getting up from the bar with the intention of crossing over. His steps are heavy and quick, but there’s no noise to it, he’d gotten to the point of being able to be mostly silent when he moves with as much efficiency as a blade through the dark of night. 

“She should display herself if she’s not for taking,” the man says, his voice booming and grating over the music, speaking with someone that Leon can’t get eyes on yet because of everyone making a scene because of the spectacle. 

“My dancers aren’t for your entertainment,” That was Luis’ voice, suave and smooth, but deadly serious in a way that Leon hadn’t heard when they’d spoken the last time he was here, “let her go. Ahora. ” 

“Don’t speak to me in your bullshit language, leech,” the man spits, and Leon finally has an angle to see : Luis stands in front of him, the length of his spine straight as an arrow, and his body language said he was royally pissed. Understandably, as the man’s grasp had to be bruising the girl by now, and that wasn’t a good look for business, nor did it inspire protection, and Luis was obviously attempting to ward him off. Leon had dealt with this kind of shitface before, there was no way he was going to just take it gracefully, and knowing that Luis wasn’t from here only made things even worse. 

“This is my bar, I suggest you watch how you talk to me,” That was an open threat, no other way to construe that statement, and the man finally lets go of the dancer to take a step toward Luis . The movement is like a bolt of pure electricity to Leon’s muscles, and he watches in slow motion as the man’s hand raises to grasp Luis’ shoulder roughly , far harder than is appropriate, and the entire room seems to freeze. Leon can’t stand idle, he simply acts, finally making it to Luis’ side and yanking the hand away as quickly as he’s able, feeling the flex of his forearm as he pushes the flushed, stinking man back with all his strength, feeling euphoric at watching him stumble. 

“Hands off, pal,” Leon says, his voice deepening into anger , because this guy was seriously ruining his night. 

“And who the fuck are you?” The mans’ breath is hot as he stands up, almost nose to nose with Leon because he stepped forward in an absent gesture to shield Luis, a habit that he picked up from running dangerous errands with Ada and having to keep slimeballs in check. His face has ugly boils growing from it, and his flush is patchy and vibrant, and the sight of him makes Leon’s face turn up into a grimace. What was up with assholes always being so ugly, and why did they seem to have so much fucking nerve ? 

“A concerned citizen,” Leon deadpans, “and you are being an unwelcome guest. ” 

“Stay out of this,” the man snarls, his spit wet on Leon’s face, which he immediately reaches up to wipe off out of reflex. 

“Yeah? Why don’t you try making me , buddy?” 

The man reers up, intent on challenging him, and Leon feels his heart stutter into a faster rhythm with a pulse of adrenaline. He was ready when the man swung, putting his arm up to block the hit, feeling vindicated when his arm shakes while trying to fight against the grasp. Their eyes meet, the stranger’s eyes beady and wide at the realization, and Leon gives him a coy smile before pulling his leg up to smash his foot down with full force onto the man’s shoe, watching him howl in pain as he bends over to weakly hit at Leon’s leg, which only makes him dig his heel in more. For good measure, he uses his elbow to smash into the back of the guy’s skull, which sends him toppling to the floor in a great heap. 

”Didn’t go quite as you expected, huh? Better luck next time,” Leon says, “now, I’d personally leave here before you make even more of a goddamn fool out of yourself.” 

“I agree,” Luis says from behind him, “Leon, can you show this lovely man to the door?” 

“Gladly,” The response is almost too easy, grabbing the back of the man’s collar to hoist him up, even as the man groans and whimpers at the movement. 

“We’ll take him out back, boss,” Claire says, and Leon hadn’t even realized she approached, and she hooks her thumb behind her in a telling way, “come on. I’ll show you the way.” 

It’s a bit of a disjointed affair, but Claire takes him to a door to the left of the bar, opening it up and holding it so that Leon can make it through, followed by a few steps similar to the ones that lead down to the establishment. All but pushing, they clamber up to the door and with the help of the redhead, it’s once again open, and with all his pent up frustration, Leon tosses the guy into the alleyway outside where the door leads, between buildings where nobody can hear him let out a loud oof. 

“I swear to god, I’ll report you all!” The man calls, attempting to get up shakily, “the police will break down that disgusting immigrant’s door.” 

Something about the wording needles under Leon’s skin and stays there. That wouldn’t do, and even if it would be beneficial for Leon to let it happen, for some reason it just makes him even more angry than before. Walking out into the alley, he shoves the man into the brick of the adorning building, and there’s another topple, even more brutal and painful than the one inside. Crouching down to make eye contact, Leon makes his gaze sharp and cruel, making sure his voice sounds as menacing as possible. It reminded him of the one he uses when interrogating, and in this lowlight, he was essentially doing the same work he would be doing then. 

“Even if you did, you’d have to explain how you know it exists. How do you think you’ll do that?” Leon asks, rhetorical and deadly, “but let’s say you do, I’d personally say you shouldn’t, because then I’ll have to come find you. And I got a perfect memory . You understand what I’m saying?” 

“Yes,” the man wheezes. 

“Great, because I’d hate to have to come find your family,” Leon points helpfully to the ring he’d noticed a moment ago, wrapped around the man’s left finger, “it’d be a real shame for you to have to watch what I’d do to them. So as long as you never show your face around here again, or say anything, we’re square. Got it?” 

There’s only a desperate nod, the man scrambling up to run to the end of the alley, around the corner and out of sight. Well, shit, that wasn’t what he was planning to do when showing up this evening, but it looks like awful people came in all different shades: skimming around like cockroaches, trying to hide out of sight. Leon wasn’t a good person himself, but he’d squash all of those beneath him, just for the sake of showing that not every evil had to be endured. 

“So I was right,” a voice comes from behind, and Leon shoots up to full height, turning back toward the door to see Luis casually leaning against it, a cigarette already in his mouth, “you do know how to throw a punch.” 

“Uh,” Leon starts, eloquently, the reality of what just happened catching up now and he realizes that he definitely made a terrible show of things in the bar. Swallowing, he tries to make his brain click back into place, to have a proper conversation, “look, I’m um, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you trouble.” 

“Easy there, amigo. I’m not here to chastise you,” Luis replies, entirely relaxed, back to being all charming and friendly, “in fact, I came up here to thank you for handling that, and say that it’s good to see you again so soon.” 

“Sure,” Leon mumbles, “nice to… see you, too?” 

Luis laughs, pulling the cigarette from his mouth, “I’ll admit, I’m rather taken with you. You handle yourself far better than I assumed.” 

“I guess so.” 

“ Coño. You guess, as if you didn’t just walk that man like a dog,” There’s amusement there, and the light sparkles in Luis’ eye, aided by the burning ember of his cigarette that makes the amber of his gaze seem to be on fire. Stepping out of the doorway, Luis walks around him in a circle, as if Leon was being appraised, to see what he was worth. Unable to help it, he cranes his head to follow the tracking movement, watching as Luis finally stops back in front of him, their gazes meeting with more boldness than Leon usually found from other men, “you know, I like you, Leon. You’re a man who acts, and I have a lot of admiration for that quality.” 

“This going somewhere?” Leon prompts, wishing he’d get to the point so that his heart can stop beating so fucking hard, because it’s making his tongue throb and go thick . 

“ Chico listo. What would you say if I offered for you to work for me?” Luis prompts, and oh god, this was it. An in that was desperately needed for Leon’s own purposes, ones that were operating unawares, but it fit his needs perfectly. Agreeing to this would be spreading his time rather thin, but if this was his option, then it was best to take it, because refusing would look rather bad, “I think I’d like to have you around.” 

“You sure?” Leon asks, just to play along, “don’t you got other men for that kind of thing?” 

“I do,” Luis responds, “but you made it there faster than any of them, and took care of things rather quickly, I’d say. Who better than you, hm?” 

“Who am I to tell such a nice guy no?” Leon jokes, but it makes Luis grin brighter than the sun, with teeth and all. It forces Leon to have to really look at him: dressed in expensive fabric with reds and black, with a scruffy jaw that always seemed to have a cigarette, and with eyes so warm and focused that it felt like being subjected to a house fire. Luis fit the part of leader perfectly, without needing to parade himself around or have a show of strength, and spoke so smoothly that Leon wondered if he intended to make his voice audible velvet. Yes, Leon needed to be close to kill him, but something else in his mind said that he’d like to figure him out more, and there wouldn’t be a more perfect opportunity to do it. He was ensnared now, even if the idea would be troublesome later, Leon found himself oddly at peace with the concept. 

“ Bueno. Then we’ve come to an agreement,” Luis offers his hand, shimmering with the rings on his fingers, waiting for Leon to take it. He does, and the palm is warm and firm as they shake, Luis’ fingers squeezing tight to test his grip before letting go, “you’ll be my personal bodyguard from here on out, which means you’ll have to come home with me. To keep me safe, si? Any objections?” 

There are several, but instead of voicing them Leon just gives a firm, unwavering, “No.” 

— 

Luis’ space of living was far different than Leon’s, or even Krauser’s. 

In the week that Leon had been staying with him, he’d gotten to know a fair bit of it: beside the bookstore, the entire apartment building was bought out to house workers and members alike, but the top floor was entirely cut off and all of it was Luis’, the walls having been torn down to make proper rooms, and it acted as an extravagant penthouse. Unlike Krauser’s, which was essentially furnishing an old attic, it was custom suited to Luis’ tastes, which were quite interesting for a man that spent his day taking the front of organized crime. There was half a library in his living room, with so many books that Leon wondered how on earth he could have read them all, and there was a card room which Luis stated was for socializing , and a large bathroom with a shower and a bathtub, in case he wanted to choose which to do. Finally, that left the master bedroom, which Leon hadn’t really seen except in obscured glances, nor did he want to, so that was perfectly fine. 

Leon himself was posted up in the guest bedroom, which was very clean and tidy, which told him that it hadn’t been used in a long while. The first night, after the fight at the bar, Luis helped him wash his hands and clean a cut that he hadn’t realized he had from being so rough, and then let him into the additional bedroom before leaving him there to settle. 

You can relax, Luis had said, turning toward his own bedroom, giving him a devious smile, I don’t bite.

It’d been one hell of a nightmare to convince himself to sleep, to not slip out in the middle of the night and go back to his own space, where he knew nothing would jump out at him. It would prove suspicious though, and Leon didn’t want to lose Luis’ trust so soon after gaining it. In the end, he’d confined himself to the bed and rolled over with a huff, squeezing his eyes shut so hard there were sparks of color in his vision, and thinking about what a bitch it was going to be to convince himself to fall into unconsciousness. It turned out to be easier than he thought, the bed was far nicer than his own mattress, and after the adrenaline fueled night prior, he’d actually taken to rest rather quickly. 

The same happened again the next day, then again, and by the time a week had passed, Leon felt borderline comfortable with considering the room as his , at least for now. This morning he wakes up and finds Luis in the living room, sitting reading a book, already dressed for the day in his nice clothing, prim and perfect like a painting. His gaze raises from the pages the moment that Leon is in his peripheral vision, a soft smile appearing as a greeting. Luis is slightly different within his home than how he is when he’s inside his business, here he’s got less cunning edges and is more docile than Leon was expecting he’d be. Alone with Krauser, it felt like standing in the room with a live bomb, but in comparison, Luis’ presence felt more like a warm fire in a hearth: beckoning, inviting, and not too terribly dangerous unless it becomes uncontained. 

“ Buenos dias, sleepyhead. You seemed tired after last night in the bar, so I let you sleep,” Luis says, standing up from the couch to put the book back on the shelf, mindlessly, as if the entire thing was memorized and he knew exactly where it went without looking. Then, Luis crosses the room to stand a couple paces away from Leon, giving him an expectant look, “are you hungry? Ven. We should eat. Claire dropped off food a little while ago.” 

“Okay,” Leon says, following him toward the kitchen. The tiles were black and red marble, a little chilly beneath his bare feet, but there were fresh flowers cut on the table, spreading their petals in wait. Luis walks to the fridge and opens it casually, reaching inside for a platter that he puts on the dining table, extending his arm in invitation for Leon to sit down. When Leon was first invited to do this, he hesitated before heading to the table, but now his stomach grumbles and he feels far more confident to cross the tile and seat himself down. The food for this breakfast was sliced meat, cheese, and some bread – there was fruit, too, some grapes and strawberries that Leon picks up to put in his mouth, perfectly ripe. 

“You get good rest, amigo ?” Luis asks, making a tiny sandwich with the bread, cheese and meat while Leon thinks the question over. 

“Yeah,” he responds, “great, actually.” 

“ Bien, because I intend to have some acquaintances over for cards in a bit,” Luis says, “mind sitting in?” 

“If you want me to,” Leon says around a bite of bread. 

“As it happens, I do want you to,” Luis replies, “they’ll be here in an hour or so. You’re free to do as you please until then. Though, you’ll probably want to be dressed in something else other than that.” 

“Well, I don’t really have any clothes , do I?” 

“We’re about the same size. You can wear mine,” Luis says, as if it were natural continuity, and Leon’s next swallow feels particularly tight. This was becoming enmeshment, and shockingly fast, because now Leon was essentially living with the man that he’d have to find a way to dismantle in the future and wearing his clothes. Still, there wasn’t an alternative, so Leon was stuck doing it, getting up from the table once he was satisfied with eating to rummage Luis’ closet for something that wasn’t too flashy. That was actually quite a challenge, because a lot of it was very intricate, with gold embroidery, or flaming reds, but he ended up settling for a stark black vest and gray pants, with a white button up underneath. Plain, but that’s how Leon liked it, and he happens upon a blue tie that suits his tastes more than the red. When he finishes, he wanders back out into the living room, finding Luis back in his place on the couch. 

 “Ah, I see you’ve raided my closet,” Luis says, “that suits you.” 

“Thanks,” Leon says, flatly, because he wasn’t sure what the compliment meant, nor was he subjected to such kind sentiments often. He wasn’t good at taking them, but Luis seems to not mind, stretching out further on the couch and reaching to pick up a glass of something – definitely alcohol, and there’s an urge to make a comment about it being early, but he sensed it wouldn’t be appreciated so he bites his tongue. Luis reaches into his breast pocket to produce a tin, housing his cigarettes, which he flips open and grabs one with his mouth , letting it rest there before glancing around for what to light it with. Then he looks over the back of the velvet furniture, seeking Leon’s face. 

“Sancho,” he starts, an annoying nickname he’d picked up calling Leon for a minute now, despite the fact that he’d protested it several times already, “be a dear, won’t you, and light my cigarette for me?” 

“What, are your arms and legs painted on?” Leon grumbles, but finds himself moving to accommodate, settling on the couch on Luis’ left, grabbing the lighter from the table to flick it open and light the flame. When he brings it to the cigarette, it starts smoking, but Luis’ eyes aren’t focused on that, instead they’re on him , unwavering. Then, with gentle slowness, Luis’ gloved hand raises to frame under Leon’s jaw, and the touch is so jarring that Leon has half the mind to yank away, but can’t bring himself to when he’s subject to such direct attention . The slow, warm and syrupy gaze tracks all over his face before Luis’ ring finger strokes just under Leon’s cheek, softly. 

“You have a scar on your face,” Luis points out, which Leon knew he had but frequently forgot all about it, considering that he’d had it for many years now, “who gave it to you?” 

“Uh,” Leon mumbles, “I was fighting with a guy and he had a knife, so it cut me. It’s been there ever since.” 

That was actually a bit of a white lie, because it was Krauser who gave it to him. They were training with knife fighting, and it’d been a sunny day out in the heat, brutal and unforgiving. Their blades had clanged, and because of the sweat running down Leon’s palm his grip slipped, and when it did, Krauser’s knife had reared up, and barely had the mind to turn his face, otherwise he’d have lost an eye. It was an accident, and Krauser had dutifully cleaned it up afterwards, with limited lip about Leon not being prepared. Still, the mark remained, ingrained into Leon of what happens when he’s careless, but most days he didn’t spend time noticing it. Luis had made note of it though, and there’s a thought that circles and whispers with wonders of how long he’s been looking at it for, and how much he’d been waiting to place his hand on Leon the way he was now. 

“ Hostia. I would say it’s unfortunate, but it gives you a lot of character,” Luis says, and Leon can feel his face heating up, unable to stop the reaction. 

“What about you?” He asks instead, to deflect, “you have any scars?” 

“A few, but mostly from when I was a boy,” Luis says, his dark eyelashes fluttering as his eyes close and open again, his gaze so intense that it seemed like more of a trap than an expression. 

“Didn’t get them in New York then, I take it?” 

“No. I was still back in my home country. Españia. ” 

“Do you miss it?” 

“Sometimes. I like the life I have here more. I have no family to go back to, so I’ve built my own.” 

“I don’t have any family either,” Leon whispers, which is something about himself that was true , and it almost steals his voice all together. There’s a look returned, warm and – and what? Leon could only think fond , which made the warmth that was on his face start spreading everywhere : through his limbs to his fingertips, all the way to his toes. 

“ En serio? Well, now you do,” Luis returns, easy as breathing, and Leon thinks that technically his family should be Krauser, though he never felt that way with him. The closest he’s come up until now was Ada, who was sort of like his fucked up sibling, in some regards. Still, the idea of being safe and sleeping at night without one eye open was foreign, but so far, he hadn’t needed to when staying with Luis, and that was something he’d have to think on at a later time. 

“Claire part of your family, then? That why she brings you food?” 

“ Si ,” Luis confirms, “she and her brother used to be a part of another group of people, but came to me to offer their services. Her sibling is one of the men that keeps rowdy patrons in line, and I gave her the ability to have a job that didn’t look down upon her for being born a woman. In exchange, she gives me food.” 

“Like trading?” 

“A bit. It gives the people who work with me agency when both are gaining instead of losing.” 

“You do that for everyone who’s associated with you?” 

“For the most part. The girl who works the bookshop desk, for example: Ashley. Her father is a corrupt, bought out politician that she doesn’t want help from, so I provide her money for tuition in exchange for keeping up appearances. Small things like that create loyalty, no?” 

Leon is sorely aware that Luis hasn’t let go of him yet, but he’s even more reminded of the cradling when his thumb strokes over his jaw, appreciatively, as if touching Leon was some revered experience that the Spaniard was savoring. His nerves are threatening to spark out of control, and he’d never let a man be close to him like this, the only remote likeness was his dynamic with Krauser which had been ongoing since he was just a tiny child. Yet, he can’t bring himself to grasp Luis’ wrist to wrestle him away, the honeyed affection more than he’d ever gotten from anyone in his lonely life. 

“So,” Leon breathes, barely a sound, “what’s your trade with me?” 

“That depends,” Luis says, matching his hushed tone, “what would you like it to be?” 

He’s not given a chance to answer, because a knock comes at the door, and Luis glances toward the hall and drops his hand to go about answering. There’s an absence of warmth, and Leon feels remarkably cold in comparison to a few moments ago, standing up himself to go about posting up in the card room as he was asked earlier. When Luis returns, it’s with four other men, all roughly the same age: one of them has brown hair and a sour expression, and the next has nice clothing which said he was well off. The last of them is actually a woman with dark hair and bright red lipstick, and they all settle at the card table. The conversation is lively, and it seems Luis is very much a people person, opposite to Leon who didn’t exchange much pleasantries unless forced. None of them acknowledge him, which is what he preferred anyway, so he can be free to observe. 

They play a few games of blackjack and then poker, and Leon’s eye lingers on Luis in the soft light, and when the Spainard looks up and notices, he winks across his cards. They play another casual game before the conversation becomes more interesting, talking over gang movements in the New York area.

“You heard about the gang in Manhattan?” The man with tousled hair asks, and Leon feels his palms get damp with perspiration, because it sounded an awful lot like his people they were referring to. 

“I’ve had my run-ins,” Luis replies casually, adjusting the cards in his hand, “they’re at least aware of me.” 

More than you know, Leon thinks, unbidden. 

“Their sanction is pretty intense,” the woman says, putting more money in the middle to raise her bet, “I wouldn’t just casually interact if I were you.” 

“It’s not casual ,” Luis corrects, not unkindly, “I disagree with their methods. It’s too brutal for my liking.” 

Even if Leon could argue that without exposing himself, he wouldn’t , because he was raised under the same violence that Luis was criticizing. His way of life feels completely different, more mundane than Leon had ever been accustomed to — if he didn’t know his intel, he doesn’t think he’d assume Luis was the man capable of such elaborate scheming. He just seemed normal , which Leon supposed his perception was skewed, but far less iron fisted than Krauser. 

“I heard you’ve gotten some of their contraband,” tousled hair continues, “you shouldn’t go out of your way to make them an enemy.” 

“I’ll make that distinction myself, Patrick,” That statement had layers because the man balks a bit at the mention of his name, “though I know you are only saying this out of concern. Gracias. ” 

“I’m just saying,” Patrick continues, trading his card for one that’s in the pile, “but do as you see fit.” 

“I will,” Luis returns, “ anda : we ready?” 

“After you,” the woman insists, and Luis puts down his cards, followed by the rest of them, and there’s a splutter from Patrick as they read over the cards. There’s a prideful, charmed smile from Luis, reaching forward for what’s in the pile. 

“I win,” he states simply, starting to pull the cash to his side, but Patrick suddenly snaps to stop him, and Leon stands up straight , intent on crossing over if there was more hassle. Luis glances up, his face dropping the grin, giving a pointed stare as if to say, let me go. Yet, the hand didn’t remove, only tightening , and Leon takes a step forward from the corner of the room. 

“You cheated,” Patrick insists, and Luis raises his eyebrow, because assuming he’d do such a thing is a slight — Leon takes it as one anyway, but he can’t ask how it’s faring on the other end of the table, only watch as Luis uses his other hand to continue taking the funds, as if Patrick hadn’t spoken. 

“ No lo sè. I won fair and square, as usual,” He insists, attempting to take his arm back, “can I have my hand back, por favor ?” 

“Show that you don’t have cards.” 

“I won’t do that in my own home. Give me my hand back, now .” 

“Hey,” Leon finally says, stepping to the table and raising his own palm to smack Patrick’s off, finally announcing himself to the room, and he can sense all the gazes have snapped to him but he doesn’t acknowledge any of them. As long as there was a threat to Luis, that took priority, so he didn’t care much about if they found him rude or not, “back off.” 

“Tch,” Patrick makes a noise, pulling his hand back, “sticking your boy toy on me, Luis?” 

“Don’t talk to him that way,” Luis snips back, on complete defensive before Leon could even say anything, and he was somewhat offended that Patrick assumed the nature of their dynamic. It wasn’t even like that, but a voice in his mind whispers and asks if that’s actually the case, if they weren’t really involved . It makes all thought in Leon’s mind screech to a halt to examine it, because he’s confused as to why he thought it in the first place. Luis hadn’t so much as made a move on him, yet his mind was wandering with the implications, threatening to go at a thousand miles an hour, “I think I’m done with playing cards for the night. Adios. It’s about time you take your leave.” 

“Fine,” Patrick says, deflating and standing up first, not even giving Luis the chance to say goodbye before he books it out of there. At least the other guests are kind enough to give their statements of goodnight, before all taking their leave out of the card room. Leon feels a little peeved at the turn of events, and troubled by his mind, and he realizes that Luis is looking at him expectantly after a particularly long moment. 

“What was that guy’s deal?” Leon asks, before he can stop himself. 

“Patrick has a habit of being a sore loser. No hay que preocuparse . He’s like that from time to time,” Luis says, standing up from his chair, “are you feeling alright?” 

“Me?” Leon asks, “yeah, I’m uh, I’m good.” 

“You seem rather tired, since I asked you a question a moment ago and you didn’t respond,” Luis points out, and that realization makes Leon incredibly embarrassed, considering what he was thinking about. 

“Uh, guess I am,” Leon mumbles, and Luis nods affirmingly. 

“No worries, Sancho. You go rest for now. I’ll come get you once food arrives,” The offer of being away from Luis’ direct attention was too tempting to pass up, so he gives an awkward, I’ll see you later before returning to the spare room, only feeling somewhat calm once the door was shut. Still, the idea from earlier persisted, being called Luis’ boy toy, and what did that mean? What was that supposed to say about Leon? About how Luis saw Leon in the comfort of his home? Everything that crosses his mind only furthers his panicked confusion, and he lies down and presses his face into the pillow, desperate to hide away from it. 

His sleep is restless, and it’s interrupted by blaring images, bright lights and liquor and too friendly smiles. At one point his brain comes up with the image of Luis, his eyes glimmering and in far too close proximity. In his dream, Leon finds that he doesn’t mind at all, comforted by the way he doesn’t stray away or immediately give a bite of humiliation, the way Krauser would if Leon wanted to be close without having some kind of motive behind it. Fingers stroke at his jaw, the way they had on the couch, and Leon feels his face flushing but it only makes Luis’ grin grow wider. 

How about you let me be sweet on you, Sancho? Luis whispers, and there’s a desperate part of Leon that thinks yes, yes I want you to . His heartbeat is so uneven that it feels like it’s vibrating his ribs, and Luis comes even closer, and his breath brushes against Leon’s face, and he’s waiting but doesn’t know for what, and it makes him come to with a choked gasp, his chest heaving with his breath. 

What the fuck is wrong with me, Leon desperately wonders, staring at the ceiling and trying to will himself to calm down, his hand coming up to cover his flushed and hot face. It wasn’t like him to be like this, he’d never so much as considered someone like this before, and never a man. What was he even contemplating anyway? Nothing comes up in his mind, and after his body stops reacting so harshly, he gets up from his position, thinking that nap didn’t prove to do anything at all. When his door opens, the penthouse is mostly quiet, and he thinks for a fraction of a second that Luis got up and left. 

“In here,” Luis calls from his room , and Leon wanders in, feeling more nervous entering than he had when he’d gone to the closet. Now he has the chance to properly observe: there was a vanity that had books, cologne and jewelry strewn about it, saying that it was a high traffic area, and matching side tables around his bed, which had a crimson cover. Somehow that didn’t surprise Leon in the slightest: it matched the extravagant wallpaper, covered in charcoal florals, with a plush rug that felt nice under his feet when he steps on. Luis, meanwhile, is in the bed but he wasn’t under the cover, just laying there casually with his hat over his eyes, as if he were lazily getting some shut eye before Leon returned, “Claire just dropped off food a moment ago. I was going to come get you, but then I laid down and felt rather lazy.” 

“Oh, no worries,” Leon says, seeing the matching plates wrapped beside him, housing sandwiches and fries. A hand taps the bed on the opposite side, and that offer had Leon feeling wound tight and anxious, but he still chose to sit down to eat, Luis sitting up after a moment to enjoy his own plate in companionable silence. It was tasty: there was salami on the bread with salty ham that complimented each other, with sauteed vegetables that gave a soft, gushy crunch. After a single bite, Leon realizes that he was hungry, though he had no concept of how long he’d slept for. Inside his mind, it’s still buzzing from his uneasy sleep, but Luis seemed to have no idea it was happening, which Leon intended to keep that way, because it was frankly mortifying. Once they’re finished, Luis makes a show of looking over the plates, even though nothing is left. 

“No dessert?” He laments, with disappointment, “ oye, that’s cruel.”

“Guess there isn’t,” Leon returns, and Luis gives a heavy sigh, before their eyes lock and there’s an expression on Luis’ face that he doesn’t think he’s seen before, playful, like a particularly menacing stray cat, as if the whole world was deeply amusing in a way that Leon didn’t recognize. It makes Leon long to get up, and since he was done eating it was better he did, and he shifts in his spot to try to get the gumption to stand. 

“Sure there is,” Luis cuts him off before he can escape, and then wraps his arm around Leon’s shoulders, using the fact that Leon was halfway through standing up to his advantage so that he can fall into the bed in a heap, the Spaniard crawling atop him as if it was the most natural thing to do. 

“What are you doing?” Leon asks, horrified. 

“Having my dessert,” Luis explains, “can I kiss you?” 

Jesus Christ, Leon thinks, absolutely fucking not. 

The words just wouldn’t come out though, and the amber heat of Luis’ gaze seems to be melting, crystalizing him in place while he holds the eye contact, handsomer than the dream vision that Leon had not even an hour ago. Swallowing, he feels blood pooling under his skin, from his cheeks to his neck , and it didn’t help that Luis smelled particularly good: warm and spicy with musk, the influx of closeness making his stomach do somersaults. 

“Um,” Leon breathes, his voice cracking embarrassingly, “if… you want to.” 

Luis’ hand is gentle when it cradles his face, without his glove this time so Leon can feel the calluses of his fingers, stroking over his skin softly while he leans in and every second in suspension is almost too much. Their lips touch so featherlight that Leon wonders if he’s imaging it, but then Luis presses with more insistence and his eyes squeeze shut, his heart squeezing behind his ribs like a prisoner trapped in confinement. It feels awkward, and Leon doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and after a few more presses Luis hums a bit, placatingly. 

“Come now, cariño ,” That was obviously a term of endearment with how it was said, Luis’ free hand moving out of Leon’s vision to somewhere he can’t track with him so close, “won’t you make this easy for me?” 

Leon figures out where it went when it presses to the bed under his weight, then up the back of his shirt to the length of his spine, and the direct skin to skin contact is like a punch to the gut, his mouth opening in a gasp, and Luis takes the opening to kiss him again. This time, Luis’ tongue presses into his mouth , hot and impossibly wet, and the feeling makes Leon explode entirely. All he can do is try to kiss back with just as much fervor, each brush of Luis’ tongue against his mouth making the heat in his body burn , and a noise slips out of his mouth unintended: a tiny little whine, because frankly he was overwhelmed. Sure, he’d had intimacy before but that was years ago and with a woman, and Luis was domineering in this space and so hot that it felt like being held to an open flame. There’s an answering groan from Luis, vibrating against Leon’s teeth, and he shudders with the sound. His brain is offline, his body operates on autopilot, his hips shoving up and the feeling is so exquisite that Leon can’t help himself but do it again, before he can think to stop himself. 

“ Estas bien ,” Luis breathes between them, heated and deep, “you can do that. Here, let me.” 

Then Luis crassly shoves his own hips down , and Leon moans embarrassingly, the friction between them so addictively good that he loses all concept of staying contained. Their kisses are more desperate, especially since Leon has the mind to keep going now, his arms wrapping tight around Luis out of fear he’d pull away, and if he was destined to be completely fucking abashed after, then he wanted to put it off as long as possible. Luis pays it no mind, kissing him like he might disappear into thin air if they stop, and his hips shift a fraction and there’s a hardness that presses against Leon’s fly, and holy shit. Even if he was bad with this, his body is still forced to follow nature, and his cock is getting so painfully hard that he can feel himself leaking at just the slightest bit of attention. Luis turns his head too, and his stubble scrapes , and the next noise out of Leon’s lungs is so needy and depraved that he can feel himself flushing even worse. 

“What is it?” Luis asks as he pulls away, stamping kisses along Leon’s jaw in fiery, passionate pecks, “are you frustrated? You need more?” 

“Yes,” Leon blurts, even though doing anything else would be a horrible idea. With the permission, Luis’ hand finally moves from his face to settle between his thighs, pushing his palm over the hardness there and oh , Luis’ hand feels even better than just mindlessly grinding, stroking him through his pants with more intent, and Leon can feel his eyes roll back, pushing up desperately because the pleasure heightened any time he did. 

“Let me touch you, amor mio ,” Luis breathes, hot on Leon’s face, “I’ll make it so good for you. I promise.” 

“Okay,” Leon agrees, too excited and too sensitive. 

There’s quick work of his belt, and then his fly, and the release of pressure makes a pleased sigh exit Leon’s mouth. His vest and button up follows, and he shivers with the chilly air, only warmed again when Luis leans down to map his mouth down the length of Leon’s chest, pausing at every scar to ensure it’s kissed. There’s a little ngh that comes out of his mouth because it felt so tender that Leon doesn’t know what to do with it, running his fingers through Luis’ hair, which felt surprisingly soft and silky between his fingertips. Luis slips his pants off, and his briefs, and Leon is left to feel the way his cock is hot and heavy between his legs, hard and wanting. He’s too shy to look, but Luis hums appreciatively, which only makes his length twitch with interest. 

“You are so pretty,” Luis says, and there’s a surge of heat at being complimented in this position, and Leon can’t even respond because a hand wraps around his cock and gives a tight, squeezing pull that makes all the air deflate out of his body. Another movement repeats, and Leon desperately gasps, the sound exiting in a moan when Luis runs his thumb over the tip, pressing into the slit of his cock and rubbing – and Jesus, Leon was drooling , his hips rolling up with encouragement, “you’re sensitive, too. Precioso.” 

“Luis, oh god, just,” Leon doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, his back arching as Luis finds a proper pace, each twist of his wrist slicker and slicker, which showed that this kind of touching wasn’t familiar to Leon. His body liked it though, with how it twitches and trembles, the sweltering heat that was gathering between his legs only getting more intense with each passing moment, and it only amplified when Luis kissed along his neck, sucking at the skin just above his collarbone. All bets are off for being quiet because Leon is moaning like it’s the first time he’s ever had his cock touched, which is definitely not true, but the lines and calluses of Luis’ palm feel sinfully delicious, and all he can think is that he wants more , that he wants Luis to touch him until he comes so hard he can’t see straight. 

Luis’ weight shifts a little, and then his other hand presses between Leon’s legs as well, but beneath where his length was being stroked – behind, more like, and then there’s pressure at his entrance, Luis’ fingers teasing him with the idea and Leon almost makes himself light headed with the way he tries to sit up. 

“Wait,” Leon mumbles, and Luis looks at him, desire lingering there like a stuck match and only getting hotter. Oh god, he was unfairly handsome, now that Leon had the time to examine it: Luis was always good looking, but right now he looks so gorgeous that it leaves him breathless – everything about him was warm, like touching the sun directly, tan and comforting and alluring all at once. How did anyone ever tell him no? That little thought sticks because it seemed that Luis always knew how to go about getting his way, and Leon was not as immune to his charms as he thought he was. 

“Ever played with yourself here?” Luis purrs, and it makes Leon’s stomach flutter with nerves and excitement, and he’s certain that he’d punch a man that’d ask him that casually, but Luis makes it inviting and tempting, even if he’s completely out of the loop on what it would mean. 

“No,” Leon breathes out, airy with unevenness. 

“ Interesante. May I?” There’s more pressure, the kind that makes Leon feel like his body might make the choice for him and let Luis inside, even if he hadn’t given the word to let him. Yet, now that the idea was circling, his body was craving for something he’d never had before, that he might be able to consume Luis whole and his mind thinks yes, yes, I want to have him. 

“Yeah,” Leon’s tongue moves before his brain, but after he’s caught in the consequence, the cold feeling of slight terror threatens to ruin his experience but Luis’ other hand doesn’t stop stroking , keeping him so pent up that it’s forgotten almost as quickly as it was found. When the hand that was teasing returns, it’s wet and slicker than his length in Luis’ hand, and the pressure builds anew, except this time, the tip of Luis’ fingers sinks within , and everything in Leon’s apprehensive, hyperactive brain cuts to black. It’s strange, a tad uncomfortable, because he’s never imagined the sensation before and in practice it feels alien. Luis makes it easy by continuing to work his cock over, and even if Leon didn’t understand, he might start to be understanding the appeal because the pleasure feels deeper somehow. It takes up more room in his body, and he’s making breathy, overstimulated noises right into Luis’ ear, which clues the Spaniard into kissing him, wet and indulgent. Then, there’s a movement inside, Luis’ finger curling and his cock throbs so hard it’s painful, the spark of pleasure flowing from the inside through all of his limbs like a zap, and Leon moans into their kisses so loud that he’s happy he was muffled by Luis’ closeness. 

Luis’ fingertip begins to obsess over the spot, and Leon can feel his cock leaking with precome, gushing in filthy spurts on his belly, and his stomach is flexing so hard that he can see the line of his muscles when Luis pulls a way a bit to look at him. The cunning smile that’s pressed into Leon’s vision is so self-serving that he wants to be mad, but instead he can only whimper, because Luis was pressing harder while twisting his wrist at the end of his stroking, and Leon can only do so much in response. 

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” Luis prompts, and Leon desperately wants to say fuck you but it doesn’t come out, only a breathy gasp that gets cut off by a sound he lets out when desperately trying to get air, “you like this, don’t you, Sancho?” 

“Shit,” Leon can only say, because his brain is melting, nothing else is processing except that Luis’ touching is making him fucking insane. 

“I thought you might,” It’s too smug, and the fact that Luis has gotten his way with him makes it even worse, but perhaps Leon would like it if he had his way with him more often, if he was being entirely honest with himself. That was a hard truth to confront, but for now he’s content with it because Luis hasn’t stopped yet and Leon's getting dangerously close to the edge, “ mira, you’re getting looser. You can take more.” 

Two fingers enter this time and Leon’s back arches so hard that it cramps, because he can feel himself stretching , and accepting it without trying to push him out. He doesn’t understand what this side of himself is, he’s never traversed it in such a hedonistic way, but Luis is making the path very easy to walk, because his hips are now pushing up and down, forward into his grasp and then back onto his fingers that strikes the nerves so hard that it makes him dizzy. 

“Bet I could fuck you like this,” Luis whispers, sultry and right into Leon’s mind , and he moans with renewed want , because suddenly it sounded like the best suggestion he’s ever heard in his life. Why wasn’t Luis fucking him? Wasn’t that how this worked? Leon would very much like it to work that way, because every depraved, dirty thought he’s ever had starts flowing in his brain one after another, about how Luis might feel if he was so deep that it made Leon’s toes curl, “that’s right, Sancho. I’d do it so thoroughly you’d scream .  I could pull my fingers out right now, slip right in , you’d take me, wouldn’t you?” 

“Fuck, yes,” Leon agrees, “ yes .”

He’s almost tempted to plead, which was terrifying because Leon had never said please to anyone for fucking anything , not even Krauser, not even Ada, and it wasn’t a habit he wanted to start. His orgasm is starting to make his brain mush, though, because his gut was holding the tension, and every fevered, heated touch was making it worse, and at this point he thinks his body is going to wind so tight that it overloads. Luis leans in to kiss his face, then lets his tongue drag over the scar on his cheek, and fuck, fuck, Leon was going to come. He can feel it building from inside, starting to boil over, every wave clocking so high that he was going to drown any second now. 

“Look at me,” Luis commands, and Leon’s eyes snap to him, beautiful and glittering. With that done, the fingers against his prostate press hard, the hand around his cock speeding up impossibly fast, and the Spaniard continues with alarming potency, “you’d be so good for me.” 

That’s all it takes. Leon’s body erupts, this orgasm hot and sticky on his stomach, and he can’t even moan – only pant so hard that he thinks he might pass out, but Luis’ mouth evens out his breathing by force, giving him more lavish kisses and attention, whispering out all kinds of things in Spanish that Leon doesn’t understand, but the cadence brings him down into a haze that feels reassuring and safe. Luis makes a show of licking him clean, which frankly was a little bit gross, but Leon’s tongue is so heavy he can’t even say so. 

“You should sleep here with me tonight,” Luis suggests, and Leon just nods dazedly, letting himself be pampered for once. It’s so warm with the two of them sharing the same bed, curled together, and it’s dangerous how much he likes it, especially when there’s more kisses pressed against his face. 

He doesn’t even remember falling asleep. 

– 

Leon’s kept himself busy helping out the speakeasy lately. 

It’s been a handful of work, but Luis was putting him to it, and frankly it was better than dilly dallying around his penthouse all day until the next thing came. Tonight, he’s out back loading supplies through the alley door: it’s mostly just glasses, but they were heavy to make Claire lift on her own so he’s the one doing it, and he’s gotten most of them in already. There’s just two boxes left, and he’s in the cold night wondering if he should take them both and risk the heaviness and accident potential so that he doesn’t have to come back out. He’s leaning down to do it when there’s a sound behind him, making him shoot up straight to turn to examine what had made it. 

“Well, well,” Ada Wong says, “look who it is.” 

Oh fuck. Suddenly the two realities that he’d been ignoring for the last bit collide painfully, and he lets his gaze dart around to make sure nobody comes out to witness them talking , because that would prove very catastrophic and he wasn’t keen on doing damage control just now. 

“Ada?” He asks, his shock no doubt showing in his face as much as it was showing in his voice, “what the fuck are you doing here? You’re gonna blow my cover.” 

“I wouldn’t have to, if someone was home to answer his phone ,” she gripes, walking to him and looking him over, “what the hell happened to you? What’s with those clothes?” 

Luis’ clothes are on him now, and they feel as heavy as chainmail under her pointed, too observant gaze, “Blending in. What do you want?” 

“What do I want? Have you gotten so distracted playing house that you’ve forgotten why you’re here?” Ada’s not in the mood for this, he can tell just by her posture but the devastating words hit just as hard, and Leon realizes with sudden clarity that he somewhat had almost completely forgotten that he was supposed to be spying on Luis, not becoming… whatever he had with him lately. Too friendly, one could say, and now that Ada was here, he was now forced to come down from the cloud nine he’d been previously occupying, smashing into the earth with unforgiving clarity, “you’re needed at a meeting, next week. Krauser is fed up with you playing games. It’s time to get serious.” 

“I… I can’t,” There was no way that Luis would let him go, and having to try to come up with a lie felt slimy, even if Leon has been lying this entire time. He was now seated between a rock and a hard place, and he’d made a mistake getting so involved with Luis so quickly, but now that he was there, he didn’t know how to go about slipping away the way he had before. 

“You can’t, huh? Luis working you to the bone so bad you can’t find time to do what you’re supposed to ?” Ada’s dainty, swift fingers grab his shirt collar, moving it to the side to expose the mark that Luis had given him a little bit ago, mostly faded but still visible , and Leon immediately moves to push her hand away and replace the fabric to conceal it once more. 

“Don’t,” he says, pathetically desperate. 

“Or is it that he’s fucking you?” She asks, more sharp than a knife sinking into his stomach and twisting, “so he puts his cock in you one time and suddenly you’re forgetting about your family, going off to have a change of heart?” 

“Jesus, Ada, no ,” Although Luis had certainly tempted him with it, but Ada didn’t need to know that, so he kept it to himself. 

“The only reason you’re here is because Krauser did that for you,” Ada points out, which was horribly, blindingly true, and he realizes with sudden dread that there was no way he was getting out of this. He was expected, and if he didn’t show, who knows what might happen, “if you want to keep your little friend safe, I’d suggest coming, or else Krauser will murder him and you for betraying him.” 

With that, she turns to walk away, but before she goes, Ada gives him a look, “If you don’t want to die, I’d act accordingly. See you there.” 

Leon stands there for way too long than necessary, frozen in place with the reminders of what his true life was like, what he was beneath all of the luxuries and care that Luis was trying to wrap him in: a monster, aligned with other monsters, looking to snuff the warmth of the world out, one flame at a time. He breathes out, a puff of perspiration that floats to the sky, and the wind howls distantly and makes him shiver in place. 

It was really fucking cold.