( this isn't exactly how he intended to spend his evening. when he'd scheduled his session, somehow the pumpkins and bats and Monster Mash playing on loop in every store had been lost on him. to be fair, he'd only landed about 48 hours ago. much of that had been spent in the catatonic sleep that making it out of a high stakes situation relatively unscathed. how he didn't notice it ahead of time... well... probably nihilistic depression, what do you want from him? all this to say, Halloween had really crept up on him out of nowhere.
and he could have ignored it. gotten laid, gotten drunk, passed out more. ignored the texts from Hunnigan about scheduling a debriefing. actually, he's still ignoring the texts from Hunnigan about scheduling a debriefing. but the rest of the night has turned out surprisingly well, considering he was completely unprepared.
there's something pretty pathetic about paying a prostitute to watch him hand out Halloween candy. he's aware, but he will add that to the pile of self loathing to drink about later. it is rare he is in a halfway decent mood, it'd be a shame to waste it. the normalcy of a stupid Halloween movie, a trickling parade of trick or treaters, a warm body next to him in the downtime. Mariette isn't bad company, either — it's lucky she doesn't know she could charge extra for that. )
Why do people like these movies? ( he says, expression unimpressed, as a scantily clad coed runs shrieking from a murderer without looking where she's going. he understands there is supposed to be appeal, but whatever capacity he had to enjoy a slasher flick must have been firmly exterminated after Raccoon City. it's been a solid ten minutes since the doorbell went off, which does make him wonder if they've seen the last of the slow hoard of children. which means he is contemplating the second part of the evening's entertainment, the hand he's kept on her thigh (like he needs to be physically attached to someone to truly believe there's somebody else there) rubbing a little higher, thumb dipping on the inside of her thigh. )
[ halloween candy is definitely a new one, but all things considered it is, like Leon, benign, which is funny, given that he isn't actually. he's been, for all intents and purposes, a perfect gentleman, hasn't whipped out any unexpected violence or otherwise done anything weird, but Mariette has some idea of what he's capable of. they don't tell her much, because it's all on a need to know basis, and she doesn't need to know much to do her job. she knows he's some kind of deadly government prop, and maybe there's some kind of fucked up kinship there, since she knows a thing or two about being a prop. exhibit a. she shows up on his doorstep with a bag of candy, the kind that'll prevent the neighborhood kids from referring to him as the raisin guy, her dress a little too short. no costume; she's not very festive.
when it becomes apparent that Leon is serious about handing out candy instead of getting right into it, Mariette relaxes into the couch, kind of comfortable in his space now. they've been meeting up for awhile now -- not long enough that he's started spilling secrets Umbrella might find pertinent, but long enough that there's a degree of familiarity between them. ]
It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown was always an option, [ she points out dryly, paying a lot more attention to the hand on her thigh than to the movie. the slasher films don't quite interest her either, although watching something that isn't straight up pornographic is fairly novel. sometimes Leon just fucks her and sends her on her way, but sometimes their hangouts feel like dates, and that part she doesn't quite get. there's nothing wrong with him that she can discern; and she's seen an entire gamut of personality disorders from her johns. he could get a date if he wanted. she definitely doesn't spend any time thinking about this outside of this place. ] Maybe you should turn your light out. Put the rest of the candy in a bowl outside.
[ and in case he's not getting the message, she spreads her legs a little wider, the dress riding higher up her pale thighs. ]
You really know how to set the mood, ( he notes wryly, though honestly, is watching some girl get sliced to ribbons in a spray of fake blood any better? not exactly. whoever decided fear is an aphrodisiac hasn't ever been in real danger. or, conversely, has never left it, been molded by it, to the point it is all they understand. he at least has that to help him get to sleep at night; he does not require blood or handcuffs or screams to feel alive enough to want to get his rocks off.
he does make a hum of contemplation at the suggestion. let the final call fight over the lackluster remnants. probably some asshole would just dump the whole bowl and go on their way. surely he's gotten his money's worth, pretending to be an average schmuck. he could throw in the towel now, if he wanted.
it's not that it isn't tempting. turns out, he does not need cat ears or a french maid costume. a too short dress does him just fine. not to mention the way her legs spread wider for him. his eyes linger on delicate white of her skin as he pushes his hand a little higher. as far as the sex goes, he tries to keep it to the point. getting sucked off, fucking her in whatever position seems fun at the time. he hasn't eaten her out. it seems against the spirit of things, to pay to go down on a call girl. would she even let him? he doesn't know the etiquette. but if he had to guess, it'd cost him more.
he's curious if she's wearing underwear — if she's spent 3/4ths of this stupid movie with her bare cunt twelve inches away. his thumb presses on the delicate flesh of her inner thigh, not hard but not exactly soft, his body turning toward hers as his hand is nearly there. if he just shifted his hand, moved just a breath higher. his knuckles would graze her and he'd know. he could press between her inviting thighs and fuck her right here on the couch. why not? that's a normal thing to do, too. ignore unaffiliated children and get laid instead.
and then the door bell rings. he does hesitate. contemplates giving in to the temptations of flesh over self imposed responsibility to greedy kids that probably don't need the sugar anyway. he doesn't. but he does groan as he pulls back and heads for the door.
the kids are cute. trick or treat from sticky smiles. one is dressed up like an inflatable dinosaur, can't navigate taking candy from the bowl and putting it in their bucket without dropping most of it on the floor, even with the night already mostly gone to practice. he honestly should just give them the lot of it and get back to the matter at hand. but when he returns and drops back onto his barely lived-in sofa, he demurs, ) Ten more minutes. There can't be that many left.
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Date: 2024-11-04 03:23 am (UTC)and he could have ignored it. gotten laid, gotten drunk, passed out more. ignored the texts from Hunnigan about scheduling a debriefing. actually, he's still ignoring the texts from Hunnigan about scheduling a debriefing. but the rest of the night has turned out surprisingly well, considering he was completely unprepared.
there's something pretty pathetic about paying a prostitute to watch him hand out Halloween candy. he's aware, but he will add that to the pile of self loathing to drink about later. it is rare he is in a halfway decent mood, it'd be a shame to waste it. the normalcy of a stupid Halloween movie, a trickling parade of trick or treaters, a warm body next to him in the downtime. Mariette isn't bad company, either — it's lucky she doesn't know she could charge extra for that. )
Why do people like these movies? ( he says, expression unimpressed, as a scantily clad coed runs shrieking from a murderer without looking where she's going. he understands there is supposed to be appeal, but whatever capacity he had to enjoy a slasher flick must have been firmly exterminated after Raccoon City. it's been a solid ten minutes since the doorbell went off, which does make him wonder if they've seen the last of the slow hoard of children. which means he is contemplating the second part of the evening's entertainment, the hand he's kept on her thigh (like he needs to be physically attached to someone to truly believe there's somebody else there) rubbing a little higher, thumb dipping on the inside of her thigh. )
no subject
Date: 2024-11-04 03:57 am (UTC)when it becomes apparent that Leon is serious about handing out candy instead of getting right into it, Mariette relaxes into the couch, kind of comfortable in his space now. they've been meeting up for awhile now -- not long enough that he's started spilling secrets Umbrella might find pertinent, but long enough that there's a degree of familiarity between them. ]
It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown was always an option, [ she points out dryly, paying a lot more attention to the hand on her thigh than to the movie. the slasher films don't quite interest her either, although watching something that isn't straight up pornographic is fairly novel. sometimes Leon just fucks her and sends her on her way, but sometimes their hangouts feel like dates, and that part she doesn't quite get. there's nothing wrong with him that she can discern; and she's seen an entire gamut of personality disorders from her johns. he could get a date if he wanted. she definitely doesn't spend any time thinking about this outside of this place. ] Maybe you should turn your light out. Put the rest of the candy in a bowl outside.
[ and in case he's not getting the message, she spreads her legs a little wider, the dress riding higher up her pale thighs. ]
no subject
Date: 2024-11-04 05:01 am (UTC)he does make a hum of contemplation at the suggestion. let the final call fight over the lackluster remnants. probably some asshole would just dump the whole bowl and go on their way. surely he's gotten his money's worth, pretending to be an average schmuck. he could throw in the towel now, if he wanted.
it's not that it isn't tempting. turns out, he does not need cat ears or a french maid costume. a too short dress does him just fine. not to mention the way her legs spread wider for him. his eyes linger on delicate white of her skin as he pushes his hand a little higher. as far as the sex goes, he tries to keep it to the point. getting sucked off, fucking her in whatever position seems fun at the time. he hasn't eaten her out. it seems against the spirit of things, to pay to go down on a call girl. would she even let him? he doesn't know the etiquette. but if he had to guess, it'd cost him more.
he's curious if she's wearing underwear — if she's spent 3/4ths of this stupid movie with her bare cunt twelve inches away. his thumb presses on the delicate flesh of her inner thigh, not hard but not exactly soft, his body turning toward hers as his hand is nearly there. if he just shifted his hand, moved just a breath higher. his knuckles would graze her and he'd know. he could press between her inviting thighs and fuck her right here on the couch. why not? that's a normal thing to do, too. ignore unaffiliated children and get laid instead.
and then the door bell rings. he does hesitate. contemplates giving in to the temptations of flesh over self imposed responsibility to greedy kids that probably don't need the sugar anyway. he doesn't. but he does groan as he pulls back and heads for the door.
the kids are cute. trick or treat from sticky smiles. one is dressed up like an inflatable dinosaur, can't navigate taking candy from the bowl and putting it in their bucket without dropping most of it on the floor, even with the night already mostly gone to practice. he honestly should just give them the lot of it and get back to the matter at hand. but when he returns and drops back onto his barely lived-in sofa, he demurs, ) Ten more minutes. There can't be that many left.