Chapter Text
Leon had been staring at the same sentence for… God, he didn’t even know how long anymore. The corner of his monitor glared back at him with the accusing blink of a half-finished report, the cursor tapping its metaphorical foot. His tail lay still on the floor behind him, the tip twitching now and then in irritation as he tried to remember whether the damn form was supposed to list locations chronologically or by containment priority.
Paperwork was his personal hell.
He’d almost rather face down fifty bioweapons with a plastic fork and a hangover than keep slogging through this shit. He was trained to fight, to run, to push his body past its limits; he was not built to agonize over report formatting. The DSO could pretend all it wanted that he was the agency’s golden boy, but golden boys shouldn’t have to fill out three different versions of the same mission summary because someone upstairs couldn’t agree on a template.
His ears flicked in annoyance. At least it was quiet. After returning from Racoon City, quiet wasn’t something he took for granted. The Elpis cure had done something strange to him, too. He didn’t feel twenty, but he sure as hell didn’t feel forty-nine. His joints weren’t screaming. His back wasn’t on fire. It was almost unsettling how good he felt.
Almost.
Still didn’t make the paperwork better.
He exhaled, long and slow, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he typed out the beginning of another sentence.
Knock knock.
“Come in,” he called automatically, already bracing himself for whoever thought now was a good time to interrupt him.
The moment your scent slipped through the cracked door, soft and sweet and warm like sunlight through curtains, every muscle in his shoulders loosened. He didn’t even bother looking up. He didn’t need to. His ears perked before he could stop them, giving him away instantly.
Your footsteps padded closer, light and careful, that natural feline grace making it impossible for you to ever catch him off guard. His tail flicked once behind him, betraying more than he wanted it to.
“Hey, Leon,” you greeted, your voice a melody his body responded to before his brain did.
He hated how much he liked hearing you talk. Or laugh. Or breathe in his vicinity at all.
He tightened his grip on his mouse to ground himself, because if he didn’t, he might do something incredibly stupid, like look directly at you and melt the way he always did.
You came to a stop at his desk, only then did he lift his eyes.
You were holding a stack of folders. Great. More work for him. Another avalanche added to the mountain swallowing his desk whole.
The apologetic expression on your face somehow erased the irritation that should’ve followed.
“Before you say anything,” you started, placing the folders gently on the only clear surface he had left, “I know. I’m sorry. I tried to convince them to wait until tomorrow, but they said it was ‘time-sensitive.’”
Leon huffed out a laugh because if he didn’t laugh, he’d probably growl.
“Time-sensitive,” he repeated flatly. “Yeah. That’s what they always say when they realize they’ve screwed something up and want me to fix it.”
Your lips twitched. There it was, that smile he’d sell his soul twice over to see. His ears flicked again at the sound of your laugh, and he cursed them internally. Stupid canine instincts. Stupid crush he refused to acknowledge.
You leaned a hip against his desk, arms crossing loosely. “For what it’s worth… I can help you with them. After I finish compiling the comm logs from your last mission.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Leon said automatically, even though he never meant it. He secretly loved when you helped him. Although, he’d have to admit that hearing you in his earpiece during missions was the one thing he looked forward to most.
You tilted your head, ears twitching in a way that made something warm curl in his stomach. “I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”
He looked away before he could give himself away. He was too old to be flustered by a pretty girl with a soft voice and a scent that wrapped around him like a damn blanket. His mouth moved before his brain could stop it.
“You’re gonna spoil me, y’know,” he drawled. “Then I’ll start expecting you to handle all my reports. Next thing you know, I’ll forget how to read.”
You snorted. “You already barely read. I’ve seen the way you skim.”
“Hey,” Leon chided, pointing at you with his pen, “I’ll have you know I can read exceptionally well when properly motivated.”
Your eyes sparkled. “Is that so?”
“Mm-hm. But mission reports? Not exactly stimulating literature.”
You laughed brightly, exactly the way he liked it. His tail wagged once before he caught himself and forced it still.
“Alright,” he sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair, “let’s see what fresh hell they sent me this time.”
Leon kept his gaze glued to the first page in the stack—some mind-numbing logistics report—but his eyes weren’t tracking a damn word. Not when he could hear you moving across the room.
Your scent drifted when you passed behind him, subtle but impossible for him not to zero in on. His ears twitched, and he clamped down on the impulse to turn and follow you with his whole head like some lovesick mutt.
You stopped near the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights casting cool blue over your silhouette. Leon’s eyes slid up from the file in his hands without his permission.
The white blouse you wore today was tucked neatly into gray slacks that hugged your hips with an elegance that felt almost unfair. He preferred the skirts, if he was being honest with himself. Those pencil skirts made his imagination wander far too easily. But these slacks? They hugged your hips too well, outlining the curves that had haunted him far longer than he’d ever admit.
He swallowed, jaw tightening as heat crawled under his skin.
Elpis had given him back youth in all the ways he didn’t damn want. The stronger body and faster reflexes were fine, but his hybrid instincts? They were out of control. He’d thought he outgrew these urges years ago. His ruts had dulled with age, then faded almost entirely—a relief if he was being entirely honest with himself. They just got in the way of his work for the majority of his life.
But now? Now it felt like someone had scraped away the veneer age had given him.His instincts were back with a fucking vengeance and they flared any time you stepped into a room.
His gaze dragged down your legs before he jerked it back to the folder. He didn’t need to get caught staring like a starving animal. He already had too many moments like that had instinct surging too close to the surface. Moments where he felt the heat of wanting you erupt thoughts he had no business entertaining.
He was definitely not going to start panting over you like he hadn’t seen a woman in ten years.
You turned toward him, and Leon immediately dropped his eyes to the paperwork.
“How’re you feeling?” you asked.
Your voice had softened in a way that made something in his chest pull tight. You knew what he’d gone through, even though he had tried pathetically to keep it from you. Sherry had told you everything—how he’d nearly died, that his organs were shutting down while he was still fighting, that he didn’t bother to tell you a goddamn thing before walking into the fire again.
You’d cornered him in the locker room the moment he returned and yelled at him. Your ears had been pinned, tail puffed, hurt simmering under the words you spat at him.
You should’ve told me.
You should’ve trusted me.
You could’ve died, Leon.
He’d never felt guilt hit that hard. Not just because he’d hidden things from you to keep you from worrying, although that was part of it. The real gut punch had been the other reaction, the one he didn’t talk about and wished he didn’t have. The instinct to bow his head for you, to make it right, to bare his throat if he had to. He'd almost lost the loose grasp of control he had because some dark, stupid part of him had wanted you to stay angry just so he could press you against the lockers and show you just how sorry he was.
It was humiliating how fast it slammed into him, how hard he’d had to fight to keep his breathing steady, how quickly he’d had to avert his eyes so you wouldn’t see the way his pupils shifted.
He forced his voice steady. “I’m fine.”
A lie, partially. He was better than fine physically. But the part of him that reacted to you like you were the only scent, the only sound, the only damn thing in the room?
That part was a fucking mess.
He risked a quick glance up when you approached, and it nearly gutted him—the concern in your eyes, the softness that set every instinct in him howling to pull you close, nose into your neck, bury himself in you like some feral idiot.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” he added, aiming for nonchalant, landing closer to hoarse. “I’ve had worse.”
Your brow lifted, giving him the expression that always told him you didn’t buy a single word leaving his mouth. You crossed your arms, your tail flicking once at the tip.
“Sherry said your organs were failing.”
Leon almost winced. “She exaggerates.”
“She does not.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Even as he said it, he remembered the way you looked at him that day—frustrated, furious, but beneath it… fear. You looked at him like losing him had been a very real possibility you weren’t prepared to face. It had lodged itself somewhere deep, somewhere he didn’t know how to reach or soothe.
It terrified him how much power you had over him without even trying.
He forced a smirk, lifting the file like a shield. “If you’re gonna scold me again, at least let me finish this paperwork first. I’d rather die once than twice.”
Your lips twitched, and that hint of a smile hit him made something soft unfurl in his chest. He’d chase that expression if he were a younger man. Hell, even now, the instinct to go to you rose unbidden.
He tamped it down ruthlessly. He had to. None of what he felt came without risk. He’d seen hybrids of every kind date, mate, build lives together, sure. There was nothing strange about interspecies anything. That wasn’t the fear.
The fear was you.
How deeply he wanted you, in so many layered ways—physical, emotional, instinctual. It was losing what he already had with you because he couldn’t keep his damn body or instincts or heart in line.
Leon turned one of the pages in the file. It was blank. He didn’t even realize it until he’d stared at it for several seconds. He set the file down, looked up at you with a quiet exhale, and managed a crooked, exhausted smile.
“Really, I’m alright. Just… adjusting to feeling twenty again in a forty-nine-year-old body.”
You raised a brow at him, the corner of your mouth lifting. “That should be a good thing, right? Feeling twenty again?”
Leon huffed out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Not as much as you’d think.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He was revealing too much of his hand to you, and the curious look you gave him made his stomach flip. You were way too perceptive. Maybe it was your feline instincts, or maybe it was just you, but nothing slipped past your gaze.
You took a step closer. The second your eyes began traveling over his features, Leon had to force himself not to fidget. Anyone else, he could stare down without blinking but not with you.
“Well… you do look kind of younger.”
His brows shot up. “Yeah?”
You nodded, lips curling at the edges. “Mm-hm. The bags under your eyes aren’t as dramatic. And your crow’s feet? Definitely less pronounced.”
Leon scoffed and swiveled his chair toward you, pretending your proximity didn’t hit him in a place that made heat crawl under his collar. If he leaned an inch closer, your knees would brush his. The thought nearly ruined him.
Get a fucking grip, man.
“I don’t look that old,” he shot back, pointing at you with mock offense.
You only grinned wider. “Are you sure about that? Before you left you looked like you were… I don’t know, months away from a retirement home?”
He almost growled at that.
His ears flattened a fraction and a twist of something dark and possessive rolled through him. Retirement home? Christ. He knew he was older than you, sure, but you didn’t actually think he was ancient… right? He wasn’t some washed-up relic. The idea of you seeing him that way—
No. He hated it.
He didn’t want to be some harmless older guy in your eyes. He didn’t want to be respectable or endearing or “Leon, the dependable senior agent.” He wanted you to want him.
Wanted you to look at him and feel that biting hybrid hunger he felt for you. Wanted the heat of your breath at his neck, your canines grazing his skin, claiming him in ways that would make his whole body shudder. Wanted those manicured nails digging into his shoulders as he pushed you down onto his desk, showing you just how fucking “old” he was.
The thought alone made his pulse throb in his neck.
He forced all of that back, tightening his jaw. “For the record,” he said, voice dipping into something dry and teasing, “I was, and am not, anywhere near a retirement home.”
“Oh yeah?” you challenged. “Because that’s not what your face was saying.”
Leon leaned back just slightly, giving you a narrow-eyed look that was more playful than annoyed.
“My face looks fine,” he insisted.
“Debatable,” you teased.
Another laugh slipped out of you, soft and sweet. He would never get enough of that sound. He wanted to be the only one who got to hear it like that.
He smirked, but under the surface, everything in him hummed hot and restless, tuned entirely to the fact that you were standing so close he could feel your body brushing the air between the two of you.
You leaned in slightly, eyes flicking up toward the top of his head. “I’ve also noticed your ears and tail have definitely been more reactive lately.”
Before he could brace himself, your fingers grazed the edge of one ear.
Leon’s whole body betrayed him.
His ear perked instantly, the other following a heartbeat later. His tail gave a sharp, traitorous wag behind him, brushing against the side of his chair. Heat shot through him, quick and dizzying, lighting up every nerve along his spine.
He tried for composure and failed spectacularly.
“You’re just imagining things.”
You smirked. “Am I?”
You gave his ear another light touch, this time more intentional. Your fingertips brushed the velvet-soft edge, tracing the line where fur met skin.
Leon inhaled sharply.
Fuck.
His instincts roared awake, that primal part of him surging up in a wave of overwhelming arousal. Ear touches for a dog hybrid weren’t casual. They were intimate and down right addictive. The innocent way you touched him made a suppressed noise that was suspiciously close to a whine curl in his throat before he swallowed it back down.
He needed to stop this. He absolutely did.
Instead, he tipped his head just slightly into your hand, trying to make the motion look casual. It wasn’t.
“See?” you teased.
Leon forced a dry laugh. “Those are sensitive, you know.”
“Oh, I’m very much aware, Kennedy.”
You stepped closer, your body sliding into the space between his knees. His thighs parted instinctively to make room for you, hands twitching at his sides when your hips brushed the inside of his legs. The scent of you swept over him, rich and maddening.
Your fingers slid over the curve of his ear again, playing with the soft fur, stroking in a slow, exploratory rhythm.
Leon’s eyes fluttered half-shut. His tail thumped once against the chair leg, hard enough to give him away.
“It’s probably just… the Elpis aftereffects.”
“Oh?” Your knuckles skimmed the base of his ear. “Does touching them help with the symptoms?”
Leon swallowed, pulse stuttering. “Could… y’know… maybe. A little.”
It was the worst lie he’d ever told, and the smile you were giving him told him you saw right through it.
“You want me to keep going then?”
His breath hitched. There was no point denying it, not when his body was already leaning forward and every instinct he had was buzzing with approval and need and yes, yes, yes.
He managed a quiet, strained, “Wouldn’t complain.”
That was all you needed.
You slid both hands up, cupping his ears gently, thumb stroking along their edges as you stood fully between his legs. His thighs tensed around you, breath going shallow. The dog inside him was suddenly front and center, tail giving another involuntary wag as pleasure rippled through him in a low, pulsing wave.
He should push you away or say something, anything that’d help him regain some semblance of control, but he couldn’t. He didn’t dare admit that part of him really didn’t want to either.
“Good boy,” you murmured jokingly as you smoothed your hand over one ear.
His fingers dug into the armrests. Every muscle in his body went hot and tight and dangerously close to reacting in a way he wasn’t ready to explain. Your praise sent a thrill through him that other parts of his body reacting embarrassingly fast.
Leon felt the main problem in his pants before he could stop it. Heat rushed down, tightening his pants uncomfortably. Your fingers kept brushing over his ears in slow, gentle passes, and every stroke made his pulse trip over itself. He could barely swallow past how dry his mouth felt.
You caught something in his expression, your eyes dropping briefly to the side before a teasing smile tugged at your lips.
“For an old dog, you’re awfully eager.”
It took him a second to understand what you meant. When he glanced beside him, he saw his damn tail swishing steadily, full of unrestrained enthusiasm. He hadn’t even realized it was moving.
“Oh, come on,” he muttered. “I-It’s just a reflex.”
“Mm-hm,” you hummed, clearly unconvinced.
He opened his mouth to add some dry remark, but then your fingers slid through his hair again, nails grazing the sensitive fur at the base of his ear, and all rational thought left his brain.
When you laughed softly and ruffled his hair, calling him cute, he nearly made a noise he’d never recover from. He relaxed his grip on the armrest, his hand drifting toward you, brushing the soft fur of your tail.
Your reaction was instant. You pulled back, tense and quick, ears flattening as your eyes narrowed on him.
Leon froze. “Shit, sorry.”
He cursed himself immediately. He knew better. Cat hybrids didn’t have the same instincts he did. Touch meant something different for you, something personal and guarded. He’d gotten carried away.
Your posture eased slightly. “It’s okay,” you sighed, the irritation fading from your eyes. “I’m just… not used to people touching me like that. The last guy who tried it has claw-mark scars across his face.”
Leon grimaced, picturing what kind of asshole thought he could get that close to you. A low, irritated rumble built in his chest before he could swallow it back.
“He should’ve gotten worse,” he muttered, tail hitting the floor in a heavy thump.
You blinked, taken aback for just a moment, then your mouth softened into a warm, amused smile.
“Down, boy,” you teased gently.
His ears twitched, and he ducked his head, more flustered than he wanted to be. “Don’t treat me like a dog,” he grumbled.
Your smile widened, knowing and far too pleased.
Your fingers brushed over his ears one last time, almost affectionate. When your hand slipped away, the absence hit him hard enough to make his ears flick in protest.
“I should probably quit distracting you from your work,” you said, stepping back.
Leon cleared his throat and turned toward his desk with a stiffness he hoped you didn’t notice. “Yeah. Right. Work.”
As if he gave a damn about paperwork right now.
You started toward the door, offering him a soft smile over your shoulder. “I’ll stop by later to check on your progress. See if you need any help.”
He was halfway to protesting when the thought of you returning and the chance to watch you smile at him one more time shut the protest down quickly. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, smirking.
“If you want to spend more time with me, gorgeous, all you have to do was ask.”
You rolled your eyes, but it didn’t hide the faint flush spreading across your cheeks. Satisfaction surged so strongly in his chest, he had to hold his tail under the desk to keep it from wagging excitedly. You looked so damn pretty when you blushed for him. It made something primal inside him sit up, pleased, wanting more.
“As much as I’d love to spend my Friday night sitting in your office watching you fight with classified paperwork…”
He chuckled under his breath, waiting for the punchline.
“I’ve got a date tonight.”
The warmth in him shattered. A sharp, ugly spike of irritation shot up his spine—something territorial, and entirely unwelcome. His fur prickled faintly along the back of his neck.
“A… date?” he repeated.
You nodded casually, oblivious to the way his whole body had gone rigid. “Yeah. Some guy in tech. Cute bunny hybrid. He was actually really nervous when he asked me out, which I thought was kind of endearing.”
The words landed like physical blows.
He imagined another man sitting across from you, making you laugh, watching your ears twitch the way they did when you were amused. Imagined some stranger’s scent on your skin and their hands on your hips. Imagined you leaning into another body, purring for someone else, inviting someone else into your space.
His stomach twisted sharply.
The thought of another man’s mouth on you—tasting you, claiming space that Leon’s instincts had already carved out as his territory—sent a dangerous heat through him. His nails dug into his palm. His ears pinned back.
He felt sick and furious. Worst of all, he felt… scared, in a way he didn’t have words for.
A bunny hybrid, huh? Some man who was sweet, timid, and probably skittish at loud noises. The kind of guy who said “sorry” before he sneezed.
That’s who you wanted to go on a date with?
The bitterness crawled up his throat like acid.
You deserved a partner who could keep up with you—someone who could handle your sharp wit, your stubborn streak, your attitude when you were stressed. Someone who wouldn’t fold the moment you raised your voice. Someone who wouldn’t wilt when you were pissed or crumble under the weight of your frustration.
Not a skittish little rabbit who’d probably faint if you hissed at him.
You mistook the tension in his jaw for something else entirely. “Leon,” you laughed softly, “you don’t have to look so concerned. I know my track record with men isn’t amazing, but this guy seems sweet.”
Leon nodded once, stiffly, but inside he felt something far uglier than concern. A few months ago, before Elpis rewired his entire fucking system, he might’ve managed to be mature about this. It would’ve hurt a little, sure, but he could’ve handled it. You going on a date would’ve stung, then faded.
But now?
Now his instincts were raw and loud and impossible to ignore. Everything was heightened. He felt possessive of you in ways he hadn’t felt about anyone in years, not because you belonged to him, but because you should. The instinctual part of him didn’t give a damn about logic or boundaries or whatever arrangement reality thought it had over his life.
You were the one who patched him up after missions when he refused to visit the med bay. You were the voice in his ear during firefights calling him out on his bullshit jokes. You were the one who came to his apartment on his worst days, knocking until he opened the door because you knew he wouldn’t let anyone else see him like that.
You were his.
The thought slammed into him hard enough to steal his breath for a second.
Leon forced a tight smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Well, hope he knows what he’s getting into.”
Leon knew immediately he’d screwed up when he saw your expression shifted. The faint wrinkle in your brow, the way your lips pressed together.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.
“Exactly what I said,” Leon muttered.
He knew he shouldn’t let his emotions get the better of him, he was trained better than that. In any other situation, he’d have let that composed mask he wore hundreds of times on missions fall into place. He should de-escalate the situation, say something dry and flat that’d make you roll your eyes and tell him he was an idiot.
Instead, he dug his own grave deeper.
“Didn’t think you’d go for someone like that. Guess your standards aren’t as high as I thought.”
He winced when he heard you scoff under your breath. You mumbled something under your breath, something you thought he probably couldn’t hear. Unfortunately, with his dog hearing, he did, and it made him feel even worse.
“Of course he has a problem with it. Fucking asshole.”
When you turned and left his office, you didn’t say goodbye.
Leon didn’t blame you.
The moment the door clicked shut, guilt crawled up his throat. He dug his fingers into the armrests, shutting his eyes as frustration pulsed under his skin. He shouldn’t have said anything. Not when you deserved someone who could just be happy for you.
Even if the thought repulsed him. He was barely holding back the instinct to rip the entire tech department apart until he figured out which rabbit thought he could touch you.
He decided he’d apologize the moment you came back. He’d give you some excuse with how he’s still adjusting to being back to work after that last mission. You’d be annoyed. He could already picture the flick of your tail and the hard stare you’d give him, but then he’d add some stupid, sweet joke that’d make you crumble instantly. It always did.
He kept glancing at the door every few minutes. He practiced the words and rehearsed how not to sound jealous in his head more times than he could count.
When the sun dipped behind the city skyline, and the lights outside shifted from gold to deep blue,he realized you weren’t coming back.
His shoulders slumped, the tension draining out of him in a slow, miserable collapse. His ears sagged visibly, drooping instead of their usual alert tilt. His tail lay limp behind him on the chair, barely moving.
He was actively pouting. If anyone else saw him right now, he’d deny it with his last breath. But alone in his office, in the empty, too-quiet space you’d left behind, he felt defeated.
He stared at the unfinished stack of files, the mountain of paperwork he was supposed to get through tonight. He didn’t touch a single one of them. Nobody was going to yell at him anyway, not after everything he’d just dragged himself back from. Even if they did, he didn’t have the energy to care.
What he cared about was the cold spot where your warmth had been.
He couldn’t blame anyone else but himself.
With a low sigh, he pushed up from his desk. If you weren’t coming back, there was no point staying. He could already feel the lonely shape of the night ahead. One of those nights where he’d sit on his couch with a half-empty bottle, waiting for the liquor to hit hard enough to hush the instincts clawing at his ribs.
One of those nights where he’d end up in bed with his hand wrapped around himself, his nose buried in his shirt where your scent lingered, thinking about you and hating himself the moment he came.
He locked his office behind him, already bracing for how shitty he was going to feel by morning.