The safehouse was quiet, too quiet.

Leon leaned back against the headboard, laptop balanced on his thighs. He’d been scrolling for a while, navigating the usual thumbnails of tits, ass, and cocks: amateur uploads, studio sets, and ridiculous titles that made him smirk despite himself. He was twenty-seven, single, and perpetually alone in government apartments like this one. Sometimes a guy needed stress relief. And tonight, he did.

Another video loaded.

He paused.

The camera focused on a woman’s face as she laughed, hair slipping over her shoulders, breasts pressed against the fabric of a flimsy top. The site’s watermark glared in the corner: PornHub.

Leon’s brows shot up.

“…Wait. No way.”

He leaned closer, heart thumping. His pulse picked up as he noticed the tilt of her head, the way her lips moved, the unmistakable eyes… the way she carried herself.

You.

His fellow agent. Someone he had debriefed with, shared coffee with, trusted on missions. And here you were, tits pressed against the camera, clearly enjoying yourself in a way he had never seen. His throat went dry.

He ran a hand through his hair.

“This… this is real.”

The video played on. Your face, your body, the obvious nudity. The way your breasts bounced, the way your ass was framed. Leon’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t look away, but he also couldn’t believe this was happening.

Tomorrow morning, he was supposed to meet you for a joint briefing. He’d sit across from you, pretending like this mental image didn’t exist. Pretend he didn’t know what your PornHub page looked like.

He dragged a hand down his face, muttering under his breath.

“…Jesus Christ, you’re really on PornHub.”

Leon leaned back, heart hammering, eyes glued to the screen. Every instinct told him to close the laptop, yet he didn't.