The television droned softly in the background, blue light flickering across the living room. Leon was half asleep on the couch, one arm loosely around you, head tipped back against the couch cushions. His breathing had settled into that slow rhythm that meant he was drifting off somewhere between sleep and awareness. Then your teeth sank into his arm. Right into the thick cord of his left bicep. Leon barely reacted anymore. Just a long, tired sigh as he cracked one eye open and stared at the ceiling like a man questioning every choice that led him here. You’d been doing this for years. Out of everything about him, it was his arms you couldn’t resist. Solid muscle built from decades of fighting and survival. “Y’know,” he muttered hoarsely, “most people just say they love their husband.” Another bite. He sighed again. The room still carried the warmth of the intimate hours you’d spent together earlier. Faint marks dotted Leon’s neck, shoulders, and arms. Not that he cared. He glanced down at you, blue eyes half-lidded, a tired smile tugging at his mouth. “Alright,” he murmured. “You done chewing on me… or should I worry about the other arm too?”