Chapter Text
Leon ran. Ran like he’d never run before. Ran despite the intrusive thoughts nagging at him, the stab wounds, the gunshots, the claw marks drawing blood with each hurried step. No time to stop. He had to make it out alive, to make sure that Claire got out alive—
“Over there! Coming out of the train!”
Like a deer caught in headlights, Leon came to an abrupt stop. He reached for the pistol stashed at his hip and aimed at the fatigue-clad man standing about twenty feet ahead of him. How many bullets did he even have left?
Enough to kill yourse—
He shook the thought out of his head.
No!
I’ll go down fighting. I’ve never run away from my problems, and I’m not about to start, cornered or not!
The military forces circled around him, vultures ready to end his life and reap the profit of his corpse. Still, Leon slowly turned around, facing each of his opponents. Outnumbered, scared, already bleeding and nearly ammo-less, he squarely refused to back down; he’d find a way to make it work. I pulled off far worse stunts—
Something sharp embedded itself in his shoulder, then his neck. The vultures closed down on him as the world blurred into hues of brown, blue and black.
~
“Target tranqued. We’re bringing him back to the Colonel. FOXTROT out.”
~
The sharp sound of boots on cement echoed right through the door. Right through his eardrum, his head, his brain. He winced with each step and curled up on the floor, then brought his hands to his ears to blot out the noise. Gunshots on the firing range on a hangover day with no sound protection had nothing on this. Then again, hangovers rarely came with open wounds and soreness in muscles he didn’t even know he had.
The door flung open in a cacophony of steel against steel, and Leon cried out in pain.
“Ahh. There he is,” the deep voice resonated. “The survivor.” A thick, foreign accent he couldn’t quite identify, not with the remains of footsteps and the horrible, high-pitched grating of metal on metal.
“Congratulations, officer Leon Scott Kennedy. I cannot wait to watch all the footage of your glorious stands against our bio-organic weapons — as well as your upcoming reactions to many, many others.”
Too weak to voice his thoughts, Leon balled himself tighter and closed his eyes shut. Even in the darkness, the world spun. His stomach churned, threatening to empty its meager contents on the cold, hard floor.
Fuck off. Leave me alone. Everything hurts.
A hand pressed to his hip as the man kneeled next to him.
“Do not worry, l’venok,” the baritone purred. “You will be given plenty of time to recover before you meet them. After all—”
Leon gasped as a needle pierced his skin.
“Daddy will take good care of his malysh.”
As the liquid flowed through his veins, dissipating the pain and replacing it with an odd, comfortable warmth, Leon floated upwards.
“His little one.”
He only caught bits of neon blue lights, steel greys and leather blacks before sleep claimed him.
~
Bright lights flashed right into his eyes. Around him, indecipherable voices bounced on the walls, only to cut out and resume moments after. No matter how hard he tried to keep his blue eyes open, Leon always spun back into the darkness. A sour, unpleasant taste lingered in his mouth, somewhere between salty and metallic, overwhelming his already upset stomach. Groaning, wincing, highly uncomfortable, he tried to curl up in a fetal position, but his limbs didn’t follow through.
“Shh, little one,” the accented baritone cooed. “It’s almost over.”
Massive fingers tangled in his sandy blond hair, offering gentle strokes and pats. The touch brought in some minor comfort, but not enough to stop everything going around him. His head still spun wildly, his stomach on the cusp of making him throw up, his skin covered in goosebumps.
“No one is here to hurt you. They’re all making sure Daddy’s little boy is healthy after his big trip in Raccoon City.”
Raccoon City.
Leon balled his fists, his nails digging into his palms, drawing blood.
The man tutted. “No no no, l’venok. No hurting yourself either,” he shushed, prying Leon’s fingers away from his palms. “Daddy knows the weapons you fought were very dangerous. But you did well, baby boy. You showed us they weren’t ready.”
Not… ready?
“And soon, you will help Daddy and his friends test other functions. No more fighting for Daddy’s cute little malysh. Only fun time.”
His teeth dug right into his lower lip.
“Daddy will see that you get toys to bite in.”
The gentle touch stalled, and the same man spoke up in what he assumed was Russian.
“They offered to gag you,” he summarized back to him. “Daddy won’t do it if you’re a good boy and let these nice people finish. They just took care of the nasty boo-boo on your shoulder.”
Leon quirked a brow, unsure what the Russian talked about, until he tilted his head just a tad to his left and caught the blurry sight of a bandage.
I got… shot? he asked himself, the fog ever so slowly lifting from his brain and sight. I think I did? At least, it doesn’t hurt right now.
“Good boy, Leon. You did well,” the man praised him along with a head pat. “Now Daddy will help his little boy get into his new clothes, then Daddy will bring him to his new room. It’s got a big, big bed, big enough for Daddy and his l’venok. It’s very, very comfortable, it’s warm, and Daddy will make sure his little one is all tuckered out at bedtime.”
I don’t understand this guy. What— what is he—
A powerful sense of dread submerged him as his captor stepped away. Eyes wide, vision still somewhat blurry, Leon could only watch as the Russian fiddled with items in the back of the room. But when the massive man turned around—
Head shaking and lips parted in disbelief, he thrashed against his binds.
No no no no no no. No way.
“Shh, l’venok, Daddy’s not going to hurt you. Little boys just need appropriate clothes,” the Russian cooed, slowly marching towards his hospital bed with—
Leon could scarce believe it. His thrashing intensified, bent on breaking his medical restraints and escaping his foreign, sterile surroundings. Not that it deterred the much bigger man by any means, no. Through the lifting fog, he watched the Russian’s face twist in a lopsided, amused grin, watched as he inched closer and closer to his bed—
A diaper. An adult diaper, for what he could see, but a diaper still.
He gulped. Hard.
No!
He shut his eyes and jerked his head away, every single of his muscles tensing against his binds, struggling, bucking and kicking to free himself.
And inadvertently making it easy for the Russian to slide it under him.
Ignoring Leon’s grunts, strangled, broken shouts and all-around lashing out, he took a moment to caress his inner thigh. “Shh, shh, calm down, l’venok,” he shushed, his baritone soft as silk. “Daddy’s here to help and make sure his little boy is ready for his first day. I know it looks scary—”
That’s not even the point! I—
Shocked by the gentle touch, Leon gasped. His thrashing came to a halt.
“—But it’s all for baby’s good.”
Until his captor had laid hands on his thigh, Leon hadn’t even noticed someone had undressed him, nor noticed his own half-erect cock. He averted his gaze as the Russian spread baby powder over his crotch; his cheeks flushed red, his fingers dug into his palms again. Of course, he had to make eye contact with one of the many lab coat-wearing people in the room, humiliation sinking deeper into his guts.
Out of all the emotions he could feel while being diapered by a strange Russian man calling himself ‘Daddy’, ‘aroused’ came as very, very unexpected. Abnormal.
What is wrong with me?!
If the white and blue diaper wasn’t enough, the man had to bring out a similarly colored onesie.
Good fucking luck putting this thing on me.
Leon resumed his tugging and thrashing as the far larger man moved towards his head, and the soft material slipped over him with ease. The Russian called out in his native tongue, harsh consonants echoing through the lab, followed by another assistant hurrying to his cot. He heard the clicks from the assistant removing his right restraint—
Tried to deck the massive Russian—
Failed, and by a long shot at that—
The assistant snapped the leather handcuff bracelet back to the bed—
And found himself half-dressed in a cutesy, powder blue onesie. By the time he even realized it, the assistant hooked his left arm back to the bed’s metal railing.
Please tell me that I’m hallucinating. That this is a nightmare and I’m going to wake up in my apartment. In my bed. Naked, and not wearing baby clothes. Please, he mentally begged, on the verge of tears, suddenly too weak to shout. Too weak to even grunt.
Except this time, Leon did not black out. The handcuffs fell off his wrists, and the massive Russian man lifted him up by his armpits. He couldn’t even punch him, even less kick. A 150lbs sack of potatoes would have put up more of a fight.
“Shhh. There, there, little one,” he cooed, voice immediately going to his loins in spite of his brain’s protests. “Daddy Sergei will take good care of his l’venok.”
Sergei. Fuck off, Sergei… he thought, his cheeks reddening even more as humiliation sank in further.
The silver-haired man tilted his head and offered him a soft smile. “Something tells me you’ll enjoy being Daddy’s little baby boy,” he teased, lowering his good eye to Leon’s padded crotch.
Good fucking lord, why am I hard?! I shouldn’t like this!
“Daddy Sergei will protect his little malysh.”
Protect me? Hey hey now, I survived whatever the fuckshit happened in Raccoon City. Put me off these goddamn drugs, give me a knife, and I can protect myself just fine!
Of course, none of these words made it out of his mouth.
“It’s almost bedtime now. Daddy will take his baby to his room so he can get some sleep, hmm?”
Leon shook his head. Or tried to. He instead settled for a tired wince and allowed — strong word, given the drugs the nurse gave him — Sergei to carry him off.
How ironic that, like a baby, I don’t want to sleep even if I’m so, so goddamn tired. I hate everything about this.
I just wanna go home.
~
Even presented with a massive man bent on providing him with care and comfort; an equally comfortable bed to spend the night in, instead of that shitty cell he spent a handful of hours in; and, of course, the lack of zombies, monsters, blood and flesh…
Sleep wouldn’t come.
His eyelids might as well have had ten-pound weights attached to them, thanks to both the drugs running through his bloodstream and the sheer exhaustion of surviving a city-sized zombie apocalypse. Every time they closed on their own — and they shut for several minutes — he faced it all over again.
Lieutenant Branagh’s injuries aggravating until he turned into one of them. The zombies tugging at Elliot’s torso, splitting him in half. The Tyrants. The infected dogs.
Here, at least, no zombies roamed. No injured police officers. No loud footsteps chasing after him. None of that.
Sergei, whoever the man was, kept him pressed to his chest and cradled him. ‘Beyond awkward’ didn’t even scratch the surface. A strange, unexpected flavor of humiliation his drug-addled brain couldn’t quite identify. I’m not a baby, I’m a fucking cop! Of course, you don’t know about all the shit that just happened to me, but—
I just—
I wanna go home. Get drunk. I wanna forget about this.
And yet… he couldn’t deny the peace all of this brought him. Being tended to, especially after a night straight from hell. Sergei’s broad frame radiated warmth, a similar feeling he sought from his boyfriends and occasional one-night-stands.
Made him feel even weaker.
I’m a cop, I should be taking care of people. Not the opposite… and certainly not like this.
Adding to the humiliation and fueling his comfort: the diaper. Absolutely ridiculous. Ridiculous that he enjoyed the softness of its padding, the way it wrapped snug around his waist and brushed against his cock—
No no no no no. I don’t. No no no.
Fuck.
Leon barely managed to lightly ball his fists and let out a short, quiet whine, prompting the Russian to shush him and rub his back. Between the relief of having escaped Raccoon City, the slow yet crushing realization of an utterly inconceivable death toll he failed to prevent, monsters lashing out at him, the blood, the flesh… Anything more, and he’d fall apart.
So when Sergei brought his lips to his ear and sang a foreign lullaby, with his soothing, fatherly baritone…
He reached the tipping point.
Shaking, his breathing heavy and uneven, tears cascaded down his cheeks.
I wanna go home…
The lullaby came to a slow stop, replaced by more baby talk.
“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay now, little one. Daddy will keep you safe from harm.”
Safe from harm? Please, he innerly scoffed. All those doctors, nurses and the drugs they gave me are just for my safety, of course. I’m totally buying it. Fuck, I can’t even move right now. I wanna go home!
Comfort. Discomfort. Fear. Humiliation. Guilt. Feelings came in waves, always marred, somehow, by the comfort of being taken care of. Having someone cradle him, sing him lullabies, making unlikely promises of ‘keeping him safe’. Of ‘protecting him’.
I should’ve died like the others. Why are you keeping me around?
What do you want from me?!
Weary. So damn weary. His body yearned for sleep, but his brain demanded him to stay awake. He knew his body would win, that his eyes would close and reopen hours later.
With luck, he wouldn’t wake up here. Maybe somewhere far, far away. Maybe a knight in shining armor would barge in on his glorious mount and save him from whatever madness he landed in.
Won’t know if I don’t wake up, he mused, hopeful — for once tonight.
Exhausted beyond belief, Leon closed his eyes, and let sleep take him.
~
Falling asleep in a onesie and waking up in full-fledged footie pajamas took Leon by surprise. His cheeks flushed at the thought of Sergei undressing him in his sleep — had he changed his diaper as well?! — and dressing him back up in equally cute clothes.
Unbelievable.
He hated to admit that he had a good night of sleep. No nightmares — or even dreams — but he put it on account of the drugs Sergei and his team of creeps gave him. Nothing to tie him down to the bed either; only warm blankets and soft lights. Leon propped himself onto his elbows and looked around, taking in the dark greys and lighter accents of the bedroom, the large mirrors on the wall — and the fact Sergei left him on his own.
His mind filled with plans of escape, the brunt of them ridiculous. No way the people associated with Sergei wouldn’t notice him exiting this room, especially in blue and white footie pajamas. No way he’d fit in the vents either, but the imagery of him crawling through them got an uneasy chuckle out of him. He could always steal a gun, or knock someone down and steal their clothes, as comical as it sounded.
With his newfound energy, Leon got out of the gigantic bed — just as Sergei walking into the bedroom, his silver hair wet, muscular, scarred body fully naked. Leon’s stunned, wary blue gaze inadvertently lowered to his crotch, eyes riveted on his large, girthy cock.
He took a step back — and another as he felt his own cock stir.
Hell.
No.
“My little boy is already awake,” Sergei cooed, pleased. “Dobroye utro, moy l’venok.” Good morning, my lion cub.
Unable to understand the language, Leon shook his head and bared his teeth. His rest enabled him to remember at least basic self-defense, and he adopted a lower stance, ready to unleash kicks and jabs.
None of this deterred the larger man. Sergei calmly walked towards him, hips in a gentle, manly sway. “Baby doesn’t want to greet Daddy?”
He bit his lower lip. “Fuck off, creep.”
Sergei softly tutted. He kept his slow pace, unbothered, until Leon backed into a wall. “Baby, baby. Daddy’s here to take care of you. Unless — unless moy l’venok wants to find out what the no-good American government has in store for him?”
Leon frowned. The government would help him, no? Surely they’d save him from—
“You know, Leon,” he started with a pout. “When your government has their hands on you, they will link you to the Raccoon City incident. They will interrogate you. Then they will say you know too much. That you are a threat to their existence, their money, their power. They will torture you until you confess things that you have not done.”
No way. They don’t do that—
“They will say they need to get rid of you.”
A pause. Then another step forward.
“They will kill you, little boy.”
Again, Leon shook his head with vehemence. “No fucking way!” he yelled out — a wounded, cornered pup barking at a predator. “Back off!”
Sergei dismissed it all with a wave.
“But, I? I will keep you safe, moy malen’kiy l’venok. Here, you’ll have many people who will keep you away from the Americans’ harm. And all you need to do is let your Daddy take care of you. You’ll be Daddy’s little boy. Well-fed, safe, comfortable, with plenty toys and a Daddy who loves you, very, very much.”
Tears stung at his eyes, but anger took over. No way his government would let him down like that.
Right?
“No responsibilities, no more training, no more people to protect. People will protect you. Daddy will protect you. Daddy will make sure you know you are loved. You like men, no?”
How does he know that?!
“Daddy does too. And Daddy thinks you’re a very, very cute little baby.”
He brought his gaze back to Sergei’s cock, now standing at full attention.
Oh my God, he’s huge!
What a great fucking time for this asshole to be my type.
The distraction did not last. His mind veered right back to the fact he had little to no say in this, that this Sergei man held him captive after one of the most brutal twelve hours of his life.
Which, in a way, being cared for might—
NO!
He looked away; an effort to hide the blush on his cheeks. “Listen, Sergei—”
“Daddy.”
“Sergei,” he spat back, before lowering his voice. “I’m a twenty-one-year-old cop, not— not some kinda baby you can keep around on a leash.”
Again, the Russian tutted, then stopped his slow march mere inches in front of Leon. “You are only half-right, little one. Twenty-one-year-old cop, you are, yes. But as of today, you are also my cute baby boy.”
Leon opened his mouth to argue back, but remained speechless, stupefied, as Sergei picked him up by his armpits and brought him to his chest. How badly he wanted to deck the man in his face. Shoot him. Kick him and scream.
Too bad his body refused to budge about it — and even worse that a part of him enjoyed it.
Stop thinking with your dick, Leon! Act! Act before he—
Sergei offered gentle squeezes to his padded ass, and Leon moaned, his hardening cock brushing against the soft front of his diaper.
How humiliating…
“Daddy will help.”
The massive man walked to his bed and sat down on the mattress, then fiddled with the zippers at the seat of Leon’s footie pajamas. He pulled them low enough to access the back of his diaper, taking the time to run his hands over the crinkly material. Made a big show out of it — Sergei grunted as he squeezed the younger man’s firm ass and purred in pleasure, his movements slow, careful, almost loving. Leon’s padded crotch ground against his naked abs, his member hardening further under all the sensations.
“See, little one? Daddy’s helping you,” he stated, nuzzling the sandy blond head just below his. “Baby needs relief, and Daddy is so happy to provide. Does Daddy’s little baby enjoy?”
Leon winced at the words. Baby. Little. Sergei baby-talking him in his heavily accented baritone turned him on, as much as he denied it. Denied enjoying being nothing but a small diapered plaything. The larger man guided his movements, helped him grind against the front padding while paying much-needed attention to his ass.
His brain couldn’t settle on one emotion — his body quivered in horror and arousal all at once, with a hint of despair. No matter how pleasant — fuck, why?! — Sergei’s warm hands felt over his body, how quickly he grew to love being Daddy’s little baby boy in spite of everything, that Sergei held him captive in an undisclosed location, far away from friends and family.
“Such a good boy,” Sergei whispered in his ear, followed by an airy chuckle as Leon moaned again. “Daddy knows you like it.” He pushed the thick material away from Leon’s ass, enough to expose his puckered entrance, and playfully ran his fingers over it. The man wriggled on his lap — and while Sergei couldn’t tell if Leon sought to get away from his grasp or more of the treatment, by the tenor moans alone, Sergei assumed the latter.
He kept his whispers and praises as he withdrew from Leon’s ass in order to apply a generous coat of lube to his fingers. “Shh, don’t worry, little one. Daddy promises you’ll like this. Doesn’t it already feel good when Daddy plays with you like that?”
Leon’s back arched as Sergei went right back to teasing his sphincter; oh how he hated to admit to taking pleasure from this — from Sergei’s large fingertip prodding at his entrance to his hardened cock rubbing against the padding. How Sergei coaxed him into dry-humping while calling himself “Daddy”. His stomach lurched, his face contorted in discomfort, but his body required more.
“So good, little malysh, so good,” the massive Russian praised, pushing further inside Leon, finger hitting just the right spot for the younger man to let a loud, wanton cry. “There we go! Daddy found what makes his baby happy, no?”
His baby. Impossible, humiliating, but goddamnit, Leon couldn’t help but moan again. Couldn’t help but follow his Daddy’s movements and seek more pressure on his prostate, more of that accented baritone praising him.
Couldn’t help but love it.
“Good boy, Leon.”
Another digit prodded at his entrance; Leon winced as Sergei breached him again, the pain quickly subsiding for pleasure. He clung to the Russian, his cock twitched with each push, thrust and touch. Even the light, painful tingle triggered brief moans of pleasure.
Something much bigger pushed inside of him, pleasantly stretching him little by little until he was wide open. He sucked in sharp breaths, focused on how wonderful he’d feel with this girthy cock inside of him — about the only quote-unquote silver lining Leon could find in this whole situation.
The comfy footie pajamas, his hard dick rubbing in his diaper and the giant, sculpted man holding him to his chest didn’t count. Or so he believed.
Sergei purred in his ear. “You take cock so well, my little malysh. Daddy is so proud of you.”
Leon shivered at the voice and moaned once more as he clenched around the erection inside of him. How he loathed to admit the existence of that so-called silver lining. How it stretched and filled him, how the head had pressed against just the right spot, how Sergei gently bounced him, made him whine, made him—
He craned his neck and arched his back as the Russian increased his pace. Eyes wide, lips parted, he grasped at Sergei’s arms for stability, convinced the older man would toss him in the air with his thrusts alone. No matter how hard he tried to push the gravelly baritone away, to focus on something else, to picture himself somewhere far, far away, nothing worked.
“Good boy,” Sergei praised him, and he lost himself in the accented voice once more. “Good baby.” Each push inside of him pressed right onto his prostate, reducing him to a whiny, mewing mess.
“Good little malysh, moy l’venok.“
More foreign words, tinted with a sugary sweetness Leon couldn’t make heads or tail of. So close to his climax, yet so far. Closer with every pet name, every little touch, every thrust, every push hitting his prostate.
“Good boy.”
Torn apart between crying and letting go—
“Good little baby, Leon. So good for Daddy.”
—he finally took a decision.
Might as well enjoy it.
“Daddy’s so close, little one. So close—”
Leon’s eyes widened as Sergei’s massive cock shot an impressive load of cum deep inside of him. He moaned and whined, bliss coursed through his veins, his vision fading to white; he came hard in his diaper, ring of muscles tightly clenched around Sergei’s shaft.
“There. Good boy, Leon.”
Relaxing in the other man’s lap, Leon closed his eyes and, exhausted, his brain spinning in his head, let himself fall asleep in Sergei’s powerful arms.
~