"Consumed"

As the hours ticked by, Léon's battered body finally began to relax, his muscles easing their tense, cramped posture as he drifted into a fitful sleep. The pain and exhaustion had taken their toll, and for a brief moment, he was free from the torment of Wesker and Chris's relentless assault. But his reprieve was short-lived, as he was jolted awake by the sound of footsteps approaching. Wesker's figure loomed over him, a small pot and a cloth in hand. "Time for some TLC, Léon," he cooed, his voice dripping with syrupy sweetness. Léon's eyes widened as Wesker gently uncoverset him, revealing the ravaged landscape of his body. As their eyes met, Léon felt a shiver run down his spine, and he was suddenly entranced, his gaze locking onto Wesker's with an almost hypnotic intensity. Without a word, Wesker scooped Léon up in his arms, cradling him like a child as he strode through the ship's corridors. Léon's heart racing, he struggled to comprehend what was happening, his mind foggy and disoriented. Wesker finally deposited him in a well-equipped lab, surrounded by gleaming steel and surgical equipment. The stirrups that Wesker positioned him in seemed to close around him like a vice, and Léon let out a terrified whimper. Wesker soothed him with gentle words, stroking his hair and speaking softly into his ear. "Shh, Léon, it's going to be okay. I'm going to take care of you." Léon's fear began to recede, replaced by a sense of unease as Wesker lifted the blanket and gazed upon the ravaged entrance of his body. Wesker's eyes gleamed with an unnerving intensity as he reached for a small pot of salve, applying it with fingers that were feather-light and yet possessive. The touch sent shivers down Léon's spine, and he felt himself opening, responding to Wesker's ministrations. Wesker's gaze locked onto Léon's, and for a moment, they simply stared at each other, the air thick with tension. Then, with a fluid motion, Wesker lowered his head, his tongue tracing a path that was both familiar and yet, utterly alien. The sensation was intoxicating, a slow-building burn that seemed to ignite Léon's very core. Wesker tried to be gentle, his movements slow and deliberate, but as he tasted Léon's depths, he seemed to lose himself, his entire being focused on the act of consumption. The sounds that escaped him were primal, animalistic, as he devoured Léon's hole with a hunger that seemed to have no bounds. Léon's vision blurred, his mind reeling as Wesker's tongue danced and probed, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through his veins. The pain and discomfort of earlier seemed to melt away, replaced by a searing sense of desire, as if his body was crying out for more. Wesker's grip on him tightened, his fingers digging deep into Léon's thighs as he pulled him closer, taking him in a mouthful that seemed to go on forever. The colors around Léon began to bleed and merge, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the experience. His entire being seemed to dissolve into a sea of sensation, as Wesker ate him with a fervor that was both repellent and yet, impossibly alluring. Time lost all meaning as Léon was consumed, body and soul, by the all-encompassing hunger of Albert Wesker.