leon kisser

So, with these events replaying in your head over the course of dinner and his cocky “later” text sealing the deal, you committed yourself to making it happen. Tonight.

It starts on your ride back in the Porsche. You reach across and lay a hand on his thigh, a gesture that you picked up from him.

“You wanna come back to my place?” you ask innocently, setting your elbow on the center console and resting your chin on your palm. “Unless you’d prefer I come to yours?”

You don’t dislike Leon’s house. In fact, you love it. But he lives like a bachelor and it lacks the comfortability of home; outside of the boxes and his bedroom, it felt like camping in a model home when you stayed over. Perhaps, on another day, you could offer to help liven the place up. Make it feel more lived in.

“…Nah,” he answers, eyes doing a double take as he takes in your new position. “I like staying at yours.”

It’s unexpected, you think, to hear that.

On one hand, it suits him perfectly; a man very guarded, but once you start getting past his defenses? He’s clearly in tune with his own emotions. Leon is… a passionate guy, and not solely romantically. On the other, he has a multi-million dollar home, a Porsche, fancy furniture, and a Ducati. He seems to enjoy the finer things in life, and your townhouse is certainly not that.

But you’ll take the win. You like knowing that he feels comfortable at your place.

You slither your hand a little further up his thigh, bunching up the fabric. Leon tenses slightly underneath you, but doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t say anything, he simply keeps his eyes on the road, laser-focused.

You can tell it’s having an effect on him, but he’s forcing himself to be the responsible one and keep your drive safe. Since you apparently can’t be trusted to help with that.

So, nothing to do but worm your way further in, caressing his inner thigh over the thick pants, dangerously close to your target. It doesn’t take long for him to start getting hard… one long stroke from his thigh to the end of the inseam is all it takes for you to feel his bulge graze your hand.

You go straight to his belt and start working it through the buckle at a leisurely speed, delighting each time his dick prods you as he grows firmer, bigger, reacting to your every move.

“Gonna get us both killed,” Leon mutters.

As if you need more confirmation that he’s into this, given the tent of his pants in front of you, the rough, gravelly tone in his voice seals it.

“I won’t,” you say, coy. “You won’t let that happen.”

With his belt unbuckled, you move to your next target and unbutton his pants, then unzip him as far as you can.

Much as you love him with no clothes, there’s something special about his straining erection perfectly seated in the V of his partially undone pants that gets you wet and makes you clamp your thighs together. If you hadn’t slapped some pasties on, your nipples would poke a hole through your dress.

It’s a tight fit, seatbelt determined to get in your way no matter how you adjust it, but you manage to slip one hand in between his boxers and pants and start palming him lazily, finger pads gliding over the head on each swipe, gathering drops of precome and rubbing it over the tip.

You barely manage to catch him looking down at you, watching you. For how long, you don’t know.

“Eyes on the road, sir,” you order.

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds, having already averted his eyes as soon as you caught him red-handed. “Fourth time, by the way.”

Ah, so this is a thing now. Will he start counting your ‘Mr. Kennedy’s too?

You huff and return to your mission, slipping your hand beneath his boxers. Leon’s practically death gripping the steering wheel as you work him, his knuckles turning white.

“Shit…”

He’s so hard for you now that you imagine being trapped inside these pants must feel like torture, and if you could undress him properly you bet it’d fly out with such force he’d bruise his own stomach with it. 

“We’re almost there,” you note, giving him one last rub, smearing precome along his shaft before taking your hand back.

Leon takes a hard breath, caught between the loss of you satiating his desire and the relief of being able to drive normally. Safely. 

“Once we get inside, I’m gonna—”

“You’re not going to do anything,” you interject, smirking at him while you put his clothes and belt back how you found them. “Not unless I tell you to. Got it?”

“…Yes, ma’am,” Leon says in acceptance, echoing his earlier agreement in the car. 

He looks pissed. 

And maybe he is, a little bit. Maybe he had some grand post-date plans that you’ve crushed.

But you know him well enough now. If it was that important, he wouldn’t go along with this. He’s letting you take the lead, make your demands…

“Good.”

You get out of the car and leave him behind.

Okay, maybe he’s being a little too obedient. That, or he’s working on going soft, because when you start unlocking the door, you shoot a glance back and see him still sitting inside the Porsche. You laugh and beckon him over, then enter your home without checking to see if he’s following you. 

You don’t need to. You know he will.

The sound of the door creaking open again and closing shut isn’t long behind. His shadow practically radiates its presence, close behind you.

You set your purse on the side table and turn around, Leon right on your tail. You grab his arms and direct him between you and the sofa, then shove his chest to sit him down and you climb onto his lap, pulling your dress up to your thighs and spreading your legs to trap his. 

Leon instinctually wraps his arms around your waist, but you reach out quick to grip his wrists and stop him. You keep them at his sides and the motion brings you closer, leaning over him, your faces inches apart.

“Don’t touch,” you command in your best assertive tone. “Not unless I say you can.”

“Knew you were up to somethin’,” Leon mutters, his tight-lipped grin and wide pupils giving up the feigned frustration in his tone. “Could see it in your eyes at dinner.” Without any attempt to conceal it, he glances down at your breasts threatening to jump out of your dress, and adds, “Like to see this side of you come out. Wanna touch you, though.”

“Later,” you say, dismissive.

“You’re gonna make me work real hard for it, aren’t you?”

“All I want is for you to sit back and relax.” You let go of his wrists, watching carefully to see if he’ll disobey. “But you can’t ever resist unless you’re under strict orders. Always such a giver.”

“That what this is about?”

“Sure is,” you smirk. “Now, keep your hands to yourself. I’ll let you know when you can use them. Let me take care of you.”

You settle fully onto his thighs, pressing your ass down on him as you lift your arms and push out your chest to let your jacket slide over your shoulders and shrug it off. 

Leon’s got a pretty good poker face, but you’ll break him soon enough.

You lay one hand on his shoulder and the other on his cheek, sliding a thumb under his chin, coarse texture of his scattered grey-brown grown out stubble on your finger pads. You guide him in your palm, brushing your lips together; Leon purses his lips in expectance, but you dodge it, turning his head again and kissing the opposite side of his cheek, then down his neck.

There’s a bump below you, his cock prodding against the confines of his clothing. You indulge him, gently grinding into him with your hips as you leave a mark under his ear that’ll be well hidden by his hair.

“Y-you think not bein’ able to touch you while… your mouth’s on me like this is relaxing?” he chokes out, swallowing hard; you feel it on your thumb.

“No. We’re not to the relaxing part yet. This is to make sure you can stay in line.”

Leon exhales, gritting his teeth as you suck harder. His hands reach up, but he catches himself and reluctantly tucks them behind his back.

“Good boy,” you whisper, humming in satisfaction when his length reacts to that, practically jumping in desperation to be reunited with your dripping cunt. “You like it? Not being allowed to fight back while I mark you and make you mine…”

“Been takin’ orders my whole life,” he sighs, glaring at you, “but yours are my favorite.”

Leon has to actively fight himself to get what he wants, has to fight the giver inside him that wants to turn you upside down and clean you with his tongue until you scream. Has to battle his nature to touch you all over because that’s what it takes to let you exert control, to submit to you. He’s balancing a fine line. You can see it written all over him, body strained with the effort it must require.

“Take off your jacket.”

You slide little further back, moving both of your hands to tug his shirt neckline down as you kiss lower and lower, then grab the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head impatiently after he drops the navy blue jacket to the floor.

Your touch lingers on and spreads over his arms as you pull those through, admiring and palming his muscles knowing he can’t do a thing about it.

Your lips continue their path until you’re unable to go any further in this position; then, you start crawling backwards and set your feet on the floor, lowering yourself, positioned inside his knees.

“Sweetheart, you don’t gotta—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you immediately retort, watching him with an intense stare as you take your place between his legs, your knees reaching the floor. “I know I don’t have to. I want to. Let me, Leon.”

“…Shit,” he mutters under his breath.

You continue right where you left off—your mouth below his pecs, kissing a line down, soft hands exploring every part of him that you can reach. You roll your fingers over each nipple, lightly scrape your nails in every dip of his ab muscles, trace the sharp edges of the v-shaped lines of his Adonis belt, and gently tug at the patch of hair right above his pants.

“Come on, help me get them off.” Another order.

Leon immediately slips his fingers through both waistbands and starts lifting himself to undress.

“Nope. Just your pants.”

He almost looks guilty, like he knew you’d set this limit but thought he could get away with it anyway. He’s messing with you, pushing back in small ways. It’s fun for him—his expression isn’t guilty, it looks more like someone pretending to feel guilty. 

He never had a chance at Hollywood.

He follows your orders, releasing the band of his boxers.

You slide your hands in next to his, and poor Leon—he gasps simply from your fingers briefly brushing over his as you help drag the pants over his legs. His cock twitches as you pass it, too, activated to the point that such a simple touch is searing hot. 

You lower your head, mouth close to his aching length, warm breath almost on him… so close, maybe he’d be able to feel it on his cock if only you’d remove this barrier between you. Your hands run along his leg, from above his knee up to his thigh, playfully massaging and letting your thumbs move inwards, slinking beneath the fabric keeping you apart.

Leon near loses it, his face tight. In a thoughtless motion at a moment of weakness, he holds one of your wrists in his, longing to feel your skin in his hands.

“Nuh-uh,” you scold, shaking your hand until he withdraws. “Said no touching.”

“Baby, please, goin’ insane…”

“Hmmmm.” You think about it carefully, keeping him on the verge while you still have his hands. “You think you deserve it?”

“I’ve been good for you,” he pleads, “please lemme touch you. Just that. Won’t ask for anything else…”

You make him wait for it, making a show of considering whether he’s earned his request, even though you already made up your mind.

“Okay. You can touch,” you acquiesce. “But you can’t pull or pick me up. And no scratching… not yet. Got it?” You pause, giving him a chance to agree to your terms. At his silence, you push, “I said, got it?”

“Yes, fuck, I understand.”

“Next time I’m putting you in cuffs. And if you break the rules again…”

You almost feel pity for him as you let his hands free as you promised. A man starving, food in front of him, resisting because he enjoys the pain, long as it’s you. Immediately, he puts his palms on your face, making you look him square in the eyes as he caresses your cheeks.

He’s ruined. Crumbling under your provocations and aching need for you to finally touch him, but his eyes—his eyes on you tell a different story. That this is exactly where he wants to be.

He slides his fingers down and then behind your neck, resting his hands threaded among your hair.

Finally, you turn your attention downwards, gaze roaming over his length, thick and quivering under the fabric of his boxers. Your hand hovers over it for a few seconds, building the tension in him; he’s so fucking antsy for it that his dick practically jumps into your grip with the way it’s bobbing back and forth under you.

You take him in your hands and he grits his teeth, funneling his all into holding back his noises—another challenge that you happily accept. His head starts to tilt backwards, but he stops himself before going too far, refusing to let you out of his sight. Leon’s fixated on you as you start to stroke him over his boxers, your eyes darting between his trembling cock and his face.

It doesn’t take long at all for a wet spot to gather at the tip, and you swipe your thumb over it, pushing at the slit and then sliding over the rim of his cockhead, smearing as much of his precome as you can. Leon’s doing pretty well at keeping quiet for how energetic his dick under your hand is.

Until you lean in and lick, tongue flat, across the tip and then down the shaft; you coax out a low moan from Leon then, clearly slipping past his guard as his grip tightens at the back of your neck. To his credit, he behaves—he doesn’t scratch you.

You bring your tongue back up the side and, as best you can while hindered by the confines of his boxers, hold his cock towards you and put the tip between your lips. You gather what saliva you can and press your tongue to him, dampening the fabric and pushing the tip into his slit, getting a slight salty taste through the barrier.

“Torturin’ me…”

It feels fucking fantastic to be the one giving. Especially for him, someone actually worthy of it.

“Mmm,” you hum with your lips still around him, then withdraw and nuzzle his dick into your cheek. “That’s the point.”

You decide to show mercy anyway, caressing his length against your face before backing up to stare up at him and watch his eyebrows pinch together, his mouth parting as you slip your hands under his boxers and pull them over his cock. You take it slow and hold them taut, making his dick slap against his abdomen once you finally set it free and drag his boxers over his legs and discard them on the floor.

Leon’s picture perfect in front of you; cock weeping more than you’ve ever seen from him before, mouth contorted, a hint of teeth bared. 

You grip him in your hand again, flesh on flesh this time, and his whole body jerks from the touch, breaths fracturing. You take your time licking up the sides like he’s your favorite dessert, coating him in your spit, tracing over a bulging vein. 

He bucks his hips into you once—only once, and short, cutting himself off before you can admonish him.

“Good boy,” you praise his restraint instead, a reward for reeling himself back in.

An instant reaction to your words, more precome drips from his tip and you spread it over his head with your tongue before taking him into your mouth.

“Oh, fucking Christ—”

Leon starts letting slip quieted, broken moans as you push more of him into your mouth, taking it slow and adjusting to his size. Getting the thickest part of him past your teeth is a challenge when he’s rock hard like this, but you clear it, his cockhead nestled perfectly in the center of your tongue now.

You keep one hand on him as you start to move, stroking him with the top of your fist following the rhythm of your lips. Your free hand slips under the slit of your dress and beneath your soaked thong, coating your fingers in slick before pushing one inside you, then the other, your gaze on Leon all the while.

You wish it was his hand under your dress, his fingers inside your wet cunt—

But the view of him now, losing his shit as you suck him for the first time and finger yourself, is absolutely worth it. The tension of his fingers in your hair and on your neck, trying desperately not to do too much and face your ire. His body flexing, taut, mixed with the look on him as he watches you closely coaxes another flow of liquid arousal from between your thighs.

The schlick, schlick noises as you work him and move your mouth faster, faster, are so fucking worth it; they mix with the squelching noises between your thighs as you try to fingerfuck yourself, your rhythm broken by everything your brain has to keep up with, your scent permeating the air.

You withdraw him from your mouth, but keep your hand going as you gasp for air.

“L-Leon,” you choke out, curling your fingers inside you. Your self-control falters for a second as you spout, “I—ah, you can touch me, you can scratch me, please…”

His first order of business is reaching for your dress, pulling the front down until your breasts spill out.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he murmurs, hands moving to gather up your hair behind your head, holding it on one, large palm like a substitute hair tie. “You on your knees for me…”

“Did you think about it before?” you ask, a plea.

You remove your fingers from your pussy and hold them up to him.

You don’t have to order him for him to know what you want. Quickly, he grabs your wrist with his other hand, wrapping around you with ease and bringing your fingers in his mouth eagerly, sucking off your wetness and flicking his tongue between them. Ensuring none of you goes to waste. Jesus, it’s obscene.

“Yeah, ‘course I did,” Leon admits as he gives your hand back, removing his grip, swallowing you down. 

“Tell me.”

You stop stroking him, a silent threat: you’re done touching him until he talks.

This dream sharing has become a thing with you two, or, you hope it has. The first time you slept together, he told you he thought about what it’d be like for you to sit on his face. Later, he made you tell him what you pictured while he was away on mission. Now, it’s his turn again.

“When you stayed over…” he starts, gripping your makedo ponytail harder. “Showered alone ‘cause I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you, remember?”

You nod, and as a small prize for him beginning his story, you reach behind and unzip the back of your dress, starting to push it down your body.

“Was hard when I shuffled past you in the hall ‘cause I wanted you so fuckin’ bad.”

Carefully, you maneuver your dress over your legs.

“Got in the shower and took my dick in my hand as I thought of you,” he continues, said dick pulsating furiously in his lap without your touch. “Thought about you in there with me, on your knees.”

“K-keep going,” you order, now circling your clit to the sound of his voice.

“Your back to the wall, taking me. Like this. Tighter.” Leon’s expression tightens as he tries to speak through the moans you’re pulling from him. “Thought I’d like to talk you through it, tell ya what to do… th-thought about if you let me fuck you like that, feel myself down your throat.”

“Fuck, Leon,” you swear, lifting your finger from your clit. Both of you watch a string of your wetness pull taut before finally snapping.

You rub the wet pad of that finger over your nipple next, mouth falling open as you play with yourself.

Hearing him say it, his fantasies… you can hardly fucking believe it, with what a sweet lover he always insists on being. He’s so incredibly hot—

You know you can’t take him like that tonight. You can hardly fit more than half him in your mouth without gagging. But you will, in time. You’ll get better. You’ll fulfill his wish.

“Y-you want me to touch you again?” you ask.

He understands that what you want is for him to beg. You’ve lost some of your confident sharpness, your own body ready to come apart, mind hazed; atop the fact that you’ve never been in this role before.

He’s perfectly happy to beg for you. 

“Please, baby,” he pleads, his delivery balancing indulging you and desperate need, “need your pretty mouth around me… wanna come…”

His words travel straight to your cunt, running hot, and you feel more arousal drip from your center like a leaky faucet. He’s so perfect when he’s a mess for you like this, when he wants you to take control… you’d never considered the idea of it being in your hands before Leon, but now you’ve tasted it and you need more.

You slowly lick over his tip and hold him in one hand, teasing like you’re starting from scratch again. You roll your tongue over and under the head, reaching every crevice until he’s whimpering for you, brows furrowed from the oversensitivity. 

His legs start to tremble. Even with you not moving your hand and only putting your mouth on the tip, he’s losing it, lewd sounds pouring from his mouth endlessly. He’s so fucking hard in your grasp; you can’t believe he’s this wound up already.

You finally take mercy on him and bring him into your mouth, lips closing around his cock and sliding down, taking more of him, until his tip reaches the back of your mouth and you can’t take the rest of him without risk of ruining this, already having to exert effort holding down a gag.

No point in going slow this time; you quickly rise to the speed and depth you had earlier, breathing through your nose as you come up and swirling your tongue over the head before plunging back down.

“I’m—gettin’ close—hah…”

You shut your eyes and keep going, increasing your pace, groaning around his cock in your mouth when he tugs on your hair, losing his grip. Your empty hand crawls up his chest, starting beneath his navel and making a path through his hair until you reach his heart and keep it there, feeling the beat under his skin.

One last time, you come up, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet ‘pop’. You inhale, then tease, “You gonna come for me?”

“Fuck—was gonna, before y-you—fuck, if you start goin’ like that again—please—”

You’ve never seen him this worked up, this rabid. Not even when he fucked you into your living room wall like you might die tomorrow.

“You think you deserve it?” you ask quietly. “You think you’ve been good?”

“Y-yeah,” he answers simply, eyes wide and glossy, looking like he might be on the edge of tears (wouldn’t that be an accomplishment, edging Leon so hard he cries?). “Been listenin’ to everything you say—behaving myself, been so patient…”

Leon’s suffered enough. And so have you, confident you’ve made a mess on the floor. If he doesn’t touch you soon, you’ll be the one sobbing.

You turn your attention fully back to his engorged cock, head purple-red and throbbing, licking along the shaft and tip—not slow this time, no more teasing; you lap at him like this’ll be your last meal and you clean up every drop of precome weeping at the tip. 

Leon’s so hard now, about to burst.  You can barely fit him halfway into your mouth without pushing your limits. You hurry your strokes on his shaft and run your tongue along every part of him you can reach—under the head, the top of the shaft, the leaking dip at the top. 

Restraint is gone when he comes—grip tightening, scratching at your scalp and holding you where you are, expelling a moan so uninhibited and loud that you moan around his dick in exchange. Warm, slightly salty ropes of release fill your mouth and trickle down your throat as you strain against his grasp to keep moving up, down, lightly sucking him throughout his orgasm.

“F-fuck!” he whines between moans and calling your name in stuttered exhales. “Baby, please, ‘s too much—can’t—”

He could easily pull you off him if he truly wanted to…

You slow your ministrations over a few more motions and finally pull back, swallowing him down with your eyes firmly on him. Watching his eyebrows pull up in the middle, contorted in pure pleasure, his legs shaking violently, whole figure coated with a sheen of sweat.

Leon looks fucking divine like this. A perfect mess, composure broken to pieces because of you. 

He loosens his grasp on your hair and immediately, you stand up to climb into his lap—taking him by surprise as his body’s still recovering, coming down from how fiercely you shot him over the precipice—and push him down to the bed, following and kissing him hard, your tongue seeking his with a faint taste of himself still on your lips.

It might be one of the most anticipated days of your life, you think. Leon has told you almost nothing about the plan; only that he’s made reservations and that he’ll pick you up at 6 P.M. The element of surprise is fun, but it takes you forever to pick what you want to wear and how you want to do your makeup, caught between wanting to look your best and not knowing what type of place you’ll be going to.

If it’s a place that requires a dress code, he’d have to tell you that,  right? He hasn’t mentioned a thing, so if he’s picked an upscale restaurant, it can’t possibly be too out of your element. You don’t want to overdress, either.

You: are you around? Daisy: for u? on the day of ur fated date with the dilf? OF COURSE I AM You: i can’t decide what to wear You: i don’t know where he’s taking me or how fancy it’ll be Daisy: he drives a porsche!!! he’ll probably take u to a place where the prices make my eyes bleed You: so what do i wear??? HELP Daisy: don’t overthink it!! wear that blue dress with the sweetheart neckline and the leg slit. do u still have that?

Oh, god. You do, and you know exactly where it is. The black dress you wore to Daisy’s party is technically more of a skimpy get-up, but the blue one always makes you feel so… exposed. Plus, it’s strapless. You’ve worn it a few times and nothing’s ever happened, but it always feels like your tits are one wrong move away from slipping out.

You: yeah. somewhere You: you don’t think it’s too much? Daisy: THAT’S THE POINT!!!! he’ll be thinking about getting his dick between ur boobs alllllll night. i know i would be 😏 You: if he takes me somewhere too nice i’ll feel weird! doesn’t it seem like a club dress to you?! like, isn’t it borderline inappropriate? Daisy: it’s a DINNER, not a wedding! You: okay okay you’re right. thank you. also….. guess what? Daisy: don’t u DARE tell me he knocked u up You: oh my god, NO You: don’t say that, don’t even think it lol You: the other night when he came over 

You pause just to rile her up and you swear you can feel her frantic typing through the phone. Daisy’s been pestering you about him since she first caught on to your connection months ago, before you realized it yourself. She has a knack for that, and she loves to play wingwoman.

It would be great if she stopped calling him a DILF, though. It’s only a matter of time before you get a notification at the wrong time, with the wrong eyes on your phone…

Daisy: TELL ME EVERYTHING!!!! Daisy: did u do anal? did he let u finger him? is he into BDSM? You: jesus christ Daisy: STOP STALLING You: FIRST OF ALL You: i’m not telling you fine details about our sex life! i dont know how he’d feel about that… You: SECONDLY Daisy: oh, now it’s “our” sex life 😏💦 You: i think i’m his girlfriend now Daisy: u THINK??? You: i mean, i am! it still feels unreal! like i think im dreaming and waiting to wake up You: okay i really need to finish getting ready, thanks for the help!! Daisy: WAIT!!! Daisy: DON’T U DARE

You do not wait. You set your phone to silent and toss it on your bed—if you keep entertaining this with Daisy, there’s no way you’ll finish getting ready in time. Getting her advice was a good call, though; once you put on that blue dress and look in the mirror, you know it’s a winner. Leon will love it.

It’s amusing how loud your phone’s vibration is as it repeatedly goes off, either from her spam texting you or trying to call you. You’ll get back to her later.

Daisy can be energetic and a lot to manage, but you two quickly became friends after working together at the bar so often, and this situation with Leon has only brought you closer.

It’s interesting, how you can sort your life by your relationships.  It’s your default behavior; you find yourself remembering things with your relationship status as an anchor. Even after your split from Aiden, you didn’t really feel free until… yesterday, if you’re being honest.

Is it a bad thing to tie yourself so closely to another person? Shouldn’t you feel free without having to be in a relationship? You don’t know what the right answer is, but you do know that Aiden has a certain way of getting in your head (as demonstrated by that kiss that you still—unfortunately—remember) and being with someone like Leon and having him call you ‘his’ is one more gap between you and your ex. You’re grateful for that. Anything that gets you further away from him.

You check the clock, and see it’s about 3 P.M. Still plenty of time to finish getting ready. You take the dress off and throw it in the dryer with some wrinkle release spray while you work on your hair and makeup.

It’s been awhile since you had an excuse to spend this much time on your appearance and you find that now it’s something you enjoy rather than feeling like an obligation (well, besides not wanting to look terribly frumpy at a potentially very fancy restaurant).

You like dressing up for Leon. You like how he looks at you. You like that when you put this much effort into your routine, he looks at you like he’s been given a gift and not like looking nice was an expectation. Even if he showed up at your door and you were in your pajamas, he’d still call you beautiful.

Leading up to pickup time, you watch the clock in anticipation, pacing around your living room without knowing you’re doing it. Once you finally came to your senses, you decided to take a single shot of vodka to help cool the nerves.

You don’t even know why you’re so nervous about this. It’s just a date. You’ve already hit so many other, scarier milestones: you fucked him, rode on the back of his motorcycle, and snooped through his shit.

Defined the relationship, too.

He should only be a few minutes away by now. You step into the bathroom to look yourself over in the mirror one last time.

Blue dress, strapless with a heart neckline that cups your tits perfectly. Check. You’ve not gotten over that feeling of being exposed, but you’ve made peace with it. It’ll be worth it, you know that in your gut. For now, you wear Leon’s jacket over it and cover your shoulders, but you already have a plan to drop it down to your elbows.

You put on some simple jewelry, a way to fill out the empty space between the dress and your hair, and a pair of strappy, black heels that you never quite learned how to walk in. 

Maybe not the best thing to pair with your nerves tonight. But you have worn them before. Just gotta take it one step at a time.

There’s a knock at the door exactly at 6 P.M., so you take a deep breath and grab your keys, wallet, phone. 

“Fuck,” is the first thing Leon says when you open the door.

You watch as his jaw slackens and those ocean eyes roam over your body from top to bottom and back up again. Ever a typical man, his gaze lingers on your hips and breasts for a barely noticeable half second longer than anywhere else. You can’t hide how it makes you feel if you tried; your cheeks quickly flush and what is most certainly one of the cheesiest smiles you’ve made in your life blooms across your face.

“Nice to see you, too,” you respond. 

“You look…” He pauses to think, clearly preoccupied with eyeing you. “…perfect.”

“Yeah?” you reply playfully. “I had some help picking out the dress. It’s our first date, after all.”

You’re doing a horrendous job of toning down that ridiculous grin, riding the high of his compliment and how he visibly blanked upon seeing you. It’s futile.

You look Leon up and down, too, taking in his appearance: he fills out a sleek, navy blue jacket left unbuttoned over a black, well-fit shirt and dark grey pants.

The man sure does love his fitted shirts, and you have no complaints. You step forward and place a hand on his chest, reaching up to kiss his cheek and quietly say, “You look so formal.” God, and he smells wonderful, too; wearing that woodsy scent with a taste of vanilla, freshly applied. “It’s different. I like it.”

You more than like it, far more. You’ve never seen a man look better. The tone of your voice certainly gives that away, and you hope that your attempt at flashing him bedroom eyes also conveys that.

“Good. ‘Cause I’m usually not one to dress up.”

“Well, I consider myself honored.”

“Likewise.”

“We’re kind of matching,” you add, as if it’s unexpected.

Another reason you were well onboard with the blue dress idea. Leon wears black and blue like he has no awareness of other colors’ existence and you know he likes the combination on you, too—and you like the idea of faux-planned outfits.

Thank fuck you decided to dress up. Imagine if he showed up looking like that and you decided to wear a party dress and a choker, something you’d actually considered to ensure you look plenty fuckable. While he might not mind, you’d feel absolutely ridiculous and you’d have to insist on either changing last minute, or convince him to cancel and spend the rest of the night in your bed (would that be so bad, though?).

“Hope you’re all ready to go,” Leon answers, taking a step toward you. His voice is low and close to the shell of your ear, prickling your skin. “‘Cause if you step back in that door, lookin’ at me like that? We’ll miss our reservation.”

At least you know your bedroom eyes work.

You push him away with your palm resting on his chest, then lock your door and walk right past him towards the waiting Porsche. Normally, he moves a million miles faster than you, but tonight you have him melting in your hands.

Leon looks like a damn golden retriever, standing there, gawking at your dress. Like he’ll do anything you ask him to.

He moves fast once he comes to his senses, catching up with you and holding the car door open for you, one hand extended to help you in.

“You sure I should get in the front seat?” you ask, teasing. “Or you want to get it out of our systems in the backseat first?”

“Jesus Christ, don’t tempt me, sweetheart. I’m tryin’ to be good, here.” Leon half-heartedly laughs it off, but he seems slightly tense, clenched. Forced to put in some real effort to keep his hands to himself, and when he speaks again, his breath sounds a little strained. “C’mon, get in. Please.”

He keeps his hand on your thigh the whole ride there, innocent enough; he doesn’t push his limit and ride further up your thigh, though whenever he takes his eyes off the road to glance at you, it’s beyond obvious that he wants to, but not as much as he wants to take you on your first date.

And you want this more, too—god knows tonight is what’s been motivating you all week and keeping you sane as you spent more time apart—but you’re not as in control as he is. Images of him rubbing his thumb into your thigh and moving his palm closer to your center plague your mind no matter how hard you try to keep your shit together.

How the hell are you going to make it through this dinner without begging him to fuck you in the bathroom?

“Here,” he finally announces as you pull into a space and he shuts off the car.

You sit for a minute. Breathe.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m just… a little nervous. I’ll be okay.”

“You will,” Leon assures, reaching across the console to take one of your hands in his. “Look so fuckin’ gorgeous tonight, baby. Gonna be damn near impossible to keep my hands off you.”

“Mmm. Make sure to hold onto that energy for later.”

“Oh, I will. Don’t think I have a choice in it.”

The restaurant is certainly upscale, at least compared to what you’re used to, and it’s immediately obvious you’d never be able to afford coming here otherwise. You feel out of place. You don’t look it;, though, and you’re grateful you at least managed to dress appropriately. 

Leon must be able to sense your hesitance. He places his palm lightly at your lower back and leans over to whisper in your ear, “I got you.”

You exhale like it’ll push out all your uncertainties with it and follow the waiter to your table. Leon, a perfect gentleman, pulls out your chair and waits for you to be seated before taking his own. 

It doesn’t take long for you to grow comfortable, focusing only on your bubble and doing your best to shut out everyone around you. Your table, though not fully private, is tucked away in a corner with a wonderful view of the lake.

The wine helps, too. 

The restaurant is the type with only a set tasting menu and wine pairings, prix fixe; an experience you’ve never had before. You thought the idea of not being able to choose your meals to be less than ideal, but once the courses start coming out, you quickly change your mind. 

They make ingredients you’ve never cared for taste like heaven. Who would’ve thought you can turn carrots into foam and make noodles out of papayas? Dishes come out looking like art pieces, so beautiful it’s almost hard to eat, and dish after dish proves that the secret to some of the foods you think you hate is how they’re prepared and served.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Leon asks you about halfway through the menu. 

“Everything is fantastic,” you beam, sipping the white wine you already forgot the origins of. “Everything is so creative… and the flavors don’t sound like they’d work together, but they always do! I’ve never experienced something like this. Have you?”

“A few times. Not often,” he answers. “You seem more relaxed now. Feeling better?”

“It’s easier, being here with you. Glad we didn’t get a table in the middle though.”

You look across the table again, really look—all your attention on him, his expression, his demeanor. 

He looks… soft. Comfortable. Kind of like how you feel despite being in this restaurant that’s too pricey for you because he’s by your side.

“Leon, I was wondering… what brought you out here? Like, why here, specifically?”

“D.S.O. wanted another location,” he explains. “The timing was right. Needed to get away.”

“Yeah. I can imagine…”

“Don’t think they wanted me on this. They wanted me in the field. But things were becomin’ intolerable, and I was becomin’ less effective, so they suggested I be the one.”

“Do you like it here?”

He shoots you a look like you’ve asked an incredibly silly question.

“Like—the weather! The area,” you laugh.

“Yeah. I like it here.”

“Even though it’s grey all the time?”

“Hasn’t been too bad. Came at the right time.”

“Yeah, well you’re in for a real treat once we get back into fall,” you state. “I don’t know what it’s like out in D.C., but it gets pretty depressing here most of the year. I still like it, though. Not everyone does.”

“Feel like the weather here suits me,” Leon says. “It’s thematic.”

“I think the summer weather fits you better.”

Bright after surviving nearly a whole year of grey. Like stepping out of the shower into the cold air and immediately wrapping yourself in a towel fresh from the dryer. 

“Your friends said you’ve lived here your whole life,” Leon comments.

“Yeah. Sort of. We weren’t always this close to the city, but we’ve basically always been in western Washington. Spent a little bit of time down in Oregon, just outside Portland, after high school.” You sip the rest of your wine before continuing; it’s starting to hit you. “That was after I moved out. I went down with my sister—”

“You have a sister?”

You realize now that he doesn’t know. You never told him.

“I did,” you answer. “She, uh… got sick. You know.”

His face drops, as expected. Like every shitty thing you’ve ever experienced is sinking in for him now, all the scars that mark you. Knowing he can’t do a thing about it. He can’t fix you.

“I’m sorry.” He reaches his hand across the table, an offering.

One that you take with a half-smile. He’s warm… you let yourself melt into it. Usually, you hate talking about her; you hate unpacking your life for people time and time again (a big reason you stopped bothering with therapy), but with Leon…

“It was a long time ago. I’m okay now. Made my peace with it or whatever,” you say, squeezing his hand. “We lived together before we knew and that was hard, being in such close proximity all the time as adults. But we got closer before she passed, and I’m grateful for that.

“Closer with my mom, too. It’s part of the reason we have the relationship we do today, so…”

“Bittersweet.”

“Yeah. It is.”

Leon you can open up to. Leon you don’t hate unpacking your baggage for. You still haven’t told him  the truth about your scar—or the kiss, for that matter—but you will. One thing at a time. 

Your waiter shows shortly after that with your next course, and for you, another glass of wine. The wine really starts to settle in you throughout this next meal, and under the table you reach out to Leon with your foot, finding his and touching them together briefly. 

He shoots you a quick, wry glance over the fork at his mouth and reciprocates the motion, making you laugh.

You’re playing footsie with a fifty-year-old and you couldn’t be happier. This certainly wasn’t in your life plan. 

Right after you finish this last meal, before dessert, you lean forward, moving closer to him so you can speak quieter, and rest your elbows on the table.

“Need to run to the restroom… you want anything?” you ask with a wry look on your face. 

Watching his face, it takes a second before he catches on to what you’re saying. 

“Yeah,” he answers, “get me the same order as last time?”

“Yes, sir.”

You give him a theatrical salute before you scoot your chair out and walk to the restroom; Leon just shakes his head, grinning.

No bra this time, so you can’t tease him with the lace of it poking out from under your neckline. Instead, you pull your dress down enough for your breasts to fall and cover your nipples with one hand while taking the photo with the other, pressing them together.

For the second photo, you pull your dress back up and lift the top part of the slit in your dress, stretching your leg out and arching your back. It takes some maneuvering in this space, but the dim lighting is doing you a lot of favors, and you think you take a pretty fucking good picture that shows the pushed-out curve of your butt and a hint of the string thong barely covering your pussy.

You: what do you think? 🥰 Leon: Think you’re trying to kill me. You: its what YOU asked for 😏 Leon: It’s unfortunate I want to bring you back to this restaurant. You: yeah? how come? Leon: You’re tempting me to meet you in there. Do things to you that’d get us banned for life. You: go on… Leon: Later. 😉 

You huff at the screen. The audacity. That little interaction just seals your decision on how you want to handle him tonight.

It’s the first time he’s used an emoji with you, though. That feels like progress. 

You make it back to your table and soon enough, it’s time for your last course. Emboldened by the accumulated alcohol, you reach across the table without warning and steal a bite of his carrot cake. 

Leon looks at you with fake offense; you had to convince him to get his in the first place and not just hand the whole thing off to you. Apparently, a cake is a direct violation of his very strict diet—which he doesn’t seem to realize you’ll be happy to take as a challenge.

Knowing that super special secret federal agent Leon S. Kennedy broke his diet for you? Yeah. No shit you were going to push him on that. 

“Now you want it?”

“Tastes better when it belongs to you,” you confess.

“Ah. You like the adrenaline of committing theft,” he retorts, keeping a straight face, but a quick twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays him. “Guess this whole thing won’t work out, huh? Me being a government dog and all…”

“No, no, wait!” you respond in mock protest.

“Unless I quit and take up a life of crime with you.”

It might be a hypothetical scenario played out for fun, but still… a comment from him about building a life together? It’s a surprise you can keep yourself from fainting, prevent your heart from stopping.

“We totally could. I bet you have all sorts of useful skills for living a life of degeneracy,” you laugh, pushing it further. “We gotta go big or go home, though! Petty dessert theft won’t be enough—we’ll have to plan out robbing a big bank or break into celebrities’ homes or something.”

“You wanna rob a bank with me, yet I can’t get ya to to learn how to ride a motorcycle?” he challenges.

He’s going to keep pushing you on riding the bike, you can tell—you sensed it ever since you saw how enthusiastic he was about getting you to ride it. And, well, while you are a bit scared, it would be an intimate experience together. You can already feel his rough, large hands over your soft, smaller ones, showing you how to grip right; his body sitting behind you, cradling yours, breath on your neck as he instructs you…

“Oh my god, fine,” you concede, dramatically crossing your arms.  “You can show me how to ride… but I’m only going around the block! You can’t make me go into real traffic.”

“Mm. You’ll warm up to it.”

“Fat chance.”

“Sure, sure. Just a few weeks ago, learnin’ anything was a ‘never’.”