leon kisser

“And what’d you find?”

“Said releasing endorphins can help ease the discomfort.” He closes the distance between your faces, open hand coming up to brush his fingertips across your cheek. “Muscle contractions, too.”

He’s on you before you react, gently tilting your head aside to expose your neck to him and resting the pad of his thumb on your upper lip; his mouth, wonderfully warm on your cool skin, presses a slow kiss into the spot along your jaw right below the ear.

The kisses continue down your neck, longer and wetter as he goes, coaxing the first moan from you. You reach towards his pants, running your hand over the rising ridge of his length. He pulls your shirt up over your breasts and traces the surface of your body with two fingertips, over the curve of your breast, down your stomach, then lifting the band of your pants. His mouth’s not too far behind, going further lower than you anticipated. 

“Leon—”

“Don’t want me to?” he asks, genuinely concerned.

“I-I do,” you admit hesitantly, “but it’s… I feel gross, I don’t want to gross you out—”

“Never,” he rebuts. “Baby, let me, if you want it. ‘Cause god knows I fuckin’ want it.”

You breathe in deep and exhale, having to take a moment to fully digest this. Fuck, of course you want it. You can feel your pussy leaking just from the thought of his mouth on you right now, the view of him between your thighs, and how he could look up at you and if you’re lucky, maybe you’d see a smear of red on his lips.

“Okay,” you concede.

“Good,” he murmurs, expression beyond eager.

Leon finally guides your pants over your legs, you lifting yourself up a bit and bending your knees to make it easier for him. Then, he situates himself so he’s prone along the long piece of the couch, propping himself up with his elbows, and rotates you to face him.

“Relax.”

Leon kisses the skin he didn’t have access to while your pants were still on—the top of your mound, down the dip where your leg meets your pelvis, then to your dripping cunt. He glances up at you to see that you’re covering your mouth with one hand like you want to stay quiet, and he simply won’t have that; he takes your wrist in a soft grip and pries your palm from your face, kissing the center before letting you go and settling back where he belongs.

“Wanna see and hear you. Ain’t nobody here but us.”

You nod in answer.

So beautiful, he thinks, your face flushed bright red.

Leon watches you and buries his face back between your thighs, diving right into licking long stripes along the length of your cunt. Instantly, you’re threading a hand in his hair and weakly gripping at the top of his head, your other digging into the throw blanket beside you. Satisfied in the sight, your mouth hanging slightly slack in pleasure, he shuts his eyes and shifts his focus entirely to the meal in front of him.

He laps your liquids up indiscriminately and delightfully, tongue sliding between your lips and around your hole, making you grasp harder at the blanket held tight in your hand and moan.

You’re quiet, at first, but Leon’s relentless, entirely unwilling to let you off so easily. The tip of his nose rubs into the wet flesh around your clit as he licks up the evidence of your arousal and your moans grow louder as you let go and your body melts into the pleasure he’s giving you. This is the affirmation he chased moments ago, absolutely certain you wanted this but only protested because you were feeling shy. It was cute, but he still needed to win. Still needed to do this for you.

He opens his eyes and looks back up at you, but you’re the one lost now, eyebrows drawn tight and mouth open, sounds flowing free. You couldn’t stop them if you tried, and you gave up on that awhile ago.

The deeper you fall, the more he bestows on you. Leon finally laps directly at your clit, and as you whine louder and louder—increasingly desperate for him to fill you—he, too, finds himself in need, grinding his hips into the couch for any semblance of relief he can fucking find.

You’d been doing your best to be good and keep your hand in his hair loose, but Leon moans low into your pussy as he ruts mindlessly into a pillow he managed to shift below him and you break, pulling at his hair and whining his name, tripping on your voice in the second syllable.

It’s like you activate him with that, pressing an invisible button.

“Baby, fuck,” he growls.

Next thing you know, two fingers slide deep into your slit. No easing into it—not that you needed to; Leon finds your soft spot in record time and immediately begins thrusting his hand in and out of you, curling his fingers up into it in every plunge.

“L-Leon! Oh, fuck, I can’t—I can’t— it’s too much,” you cry.

“You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart,” he encourages you, gaze fixated on the way your pussy’s swallowing up his fingers, mixed fluids dripping onto the couch. “Christ, so hot—you crying it’s too much, but that’s not what she’s tellin’ me, huh?”

The tell is that you’re not pushing him away; you wouldn’t hesitate to fight him off if you truly couldn’t take what he’s giving you, so, what else is he to do but slip a third finger in the next time his hand fucks up into you? Why would he slow down when you’re whimpering after the third’s added, pussy gripping him tight and he can tell you’re almost there?

“‘M gonna… gonna…!”

“That’s it, c’mon… come on my face.”

It’s the last thing he says before he’s wrapping his lips around your clit again, lightly sucking, quickly shoving you right off the edge and into ruin; into abyssal pleasure with him right behind you, dry humping that fucking pillow and spilling into his pants.

Leon moans your name for the first time, incapable of keeping his lips on your clit, the noises rising from him as he rides out his orgasm unstoppable and keeping his mouth thoroughly occupied—but his hand’s pumping into you, still curling perfectly into that spot over and over while you’re clamping down tighter than ever on his fingers and arching your back, obscenely coating them with red. 

Leon cautiously withdraws his hand from you, pushing himself up from the couch and coming to sit up on his knees. Both of you slow, trembling and panting hard from your come down, each looking at the other’s dishevelment, the visuals of your mutual undoing.

His hand’s a fucking crime scene, his mouth painted in your blood just like you imagined, wet stain on the front of his pants. 

He looks at you—sunken back into the couch, legs spread wide and a mess between, eyes half closed like you’re about to drift off to sleep—then down at the spot, laughing twice. 

“No! Not that bad. I’m only saying, like… I can follow recipes, but that’s about it.” You look through the tomatoes, pick out the best ones, and toss the bag of them in the cart. “No knife skills at all.“

“I’m no chef either. Cooked for myself before, though; sure we can struggle through it together and make something edible,” he laughs. “Don’t worry. Sherry’s easy.”

“I just don’t want her first impression of me to be that I’m a mess.”

“Not possible.” You catch Leon shaking his head out of the corner of your eye. “She already likes you, ‘cause she says you’re good for me.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, she’s right. You’re good for me. Too good.”

“Not what I meant,” you reply with a grin as you keep working down your shopping list, looking through each thing and meticulously picking out the best ones.

“She knew something was up. I only filled in the blanks… it was that damn report that did me in.”

“The one you needed to do on Daisy’s birthday?”

“Yeah. Well, sorta. It was the final nail. Always been horrible at the paperwork.”

You keep quiet, shooting a glance back at him and rolling your eyes dramatically.

“Don’t worry, baby. Only had good things to say ‘bout you,” Leon says, coming up behind you to reach for something on the top shelf that you can’t get to. “Sherry’ll love you.”

“I hope so,” you say. “Um, I think that’s about everything. I want to get some drinks, though. What does she prefer?”

“Mm, don’t think she’s much of a drinker, but…” Leon walks ahead of you to a different part of the aisle, browsing the wine bottles. “Think I’ve seen her drink this bef—watch it!”

You, in your effort to catch up to him with the cart, push a bit too far and ram into his ankles while he’s turning around.

“Sorry! I never learned to drive!”

“Well, I’m teaching ya when I get back, so start doin’ your homework,” Leon retorts. “I’ll pick you up one of those learner’s guides or something.” Then he takes the cart handle back from your grip, gently nudging you aside. “And give this back before you kill someone.”

“What? I never agreed to this!” you protest.

“You did, actually,” he states matter-of-factly.

“When!?”

“You said ‘you can show me how to ride’,” he says, “and I know you weren’t talkin’ about my—”

“Leon, I swear—”

“—‘Cause you’re already perfect at that,” he finishes, smirking.

A person you didn’t realize was there pushes their cart down the aisle, passing by the two of you.

You stare daggers into him, the type of glare you give someone while you kick them under the table with your foot because you can’t speak freely. Leon just shrugs and you sigh, then bust out laughing, unable to contain it anymore. He’s so stupid sometimes, but… you love it.

It seems to come out the most in him when you’re out doing shit like this—mundane things. He has an appreciation for the small stuff that you, and most people, brush off as chores, things you’d rather not be spending time and energy on.

Sometimes these moments are the only times you feel he’s truly, fully relaxed. Taking you to and from work isn’t a favor he does to keep you safe and make it more convenient for you like he’d say as cover (although those are certainly benefits). They’re a chance to share your music, to read bumper stickers and laugh, to bitch about shitty drivers together.

“You’re cute when you’re all worked up like that.”

“Now that you’ve made a scene,” you continue where you left off, walking past Leon to hide your blushed cheeks while pretending to be very occupied with picking out a drink for yourself, “how the hell are you going to teach me to drive? I don’t have a car.”

When he says nothing for concerningly long, you stop and look back, slightly raising an eyebrow.

“I am not learning how to drive in your Porsche.” You put on your strongest assertive voice, but taking in your size difference? His low voice compared to your softer one? It makes you feel like one of those wild, angry kittens; entirely unthreatening.

“Why not?”

“Are you insane? I’ll crash it purely from being anxious thinking about possibly crashing it! I’ve never been behind the wheel, Leon. Best I’ve done is go-karts as a kid!”

“Well, it’s all about the same,” he argues, tone cheeky. “Turn the wheel, hit the pedal.”

“Shut up.”

“I’ll buy you a car,” Leon says then, like it’s a concession he’s making. As if it’s settling for less and not equally as preposterous as you learning to drive for the very first time in his quarter-million dollar car.

“You are not buying me a car.”

“Then I guess you’re learnin’ in the Porsche, huh?”

“Okay. You can buy me the shittiest, cheapest car on the market,” you give in.

“Not doin’ that. You need something safe.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re impossible.”

“Think you meant to say ‘insufferable’.”

“Nope. I’ve got a whole laundry list of adjectives waiting for you.”

You’ve got time to figure out how to deal with this, since it’ll have to wait for him to return from deployment. Maybe you can arrange to borrow your mom’s car.

At the tail end of your trip before pulling up to checkout, Leon drags the cart over to the flower section and parks it, browsing the vases and bouquets on display.

“Are you buying me flowers, Mr. Kennedy?” you ask, teasing him in your tone, but on the inside? You’re exploding at the thought.

“Depends,” he answers, gaze darting between two bouquets. “Does it count if you help pick them out?”

“You scared to pick for me?”

“Nah, I just—I thought it’d be nice to do together, you know?”

An answer better than ‘yes’, which you didn’t even know was possible. How does he do it?

He picks up a glass vase from the shelf. Simple, refined. Nothing wrong with it, but you walk up and pick a different one; this one’s tinted blue glass with embossed vertical slats on it. It has character.

“See? Need your help with this.”

“They’re both good options.”

“This one’s an example of how my house became so sterile, as you put it,” he says, casually. Then, completely unaware your heart’s threatening to beat right out of your chest, he swaps out the simple vase in his hand with a bouquet and asks, “How about these?”

You snap out of it and take in the bouquet he’s holding up to you. It’s an arrangement made of roses, carnations, delphiniums, and chrysanthemums in a white and peach color scheme with pops of bright blue. Right behind the bouquet is his stupid, gorgeous face that always has you acting first and thinking later, blinded by your little crush. You’ll remember this image forever—his grown-out stubble, relaxed brows and light in his eyes, and that criminally fucking tight shirt holding out a bouquet for you.

“They’re perfect, Leon.”

Cooking is a real test of your ability to work together.

You survive it, stumbling through the recipe instructions as a team. Your frustrations are shared, each swearing whenever the wording is unclear and you have to zoom in on the pictures to understand how the hell they want you to cut the vegetables; oh, and when the time estimates are clearly written with the assumption that the reader is a highly trained and accomplished chef, because there’s no fucking way, in spite of there being two sets of hands, it takes fifteen minutes to prep the whole goddamn thing.

You haven’t put this much effort into cooking a meal since you were taking care of your sister; these days, you tend to cook something easy or eat at one of the shops close to the bar. You thought that stuffed shells would be simple enough, even if you’re making it from scratch, considering it’s baked and not cooked. You thought a side salad would be simple prep, but then you obsessively prep and plate it to make sure it looks exactly like the picture.

Leon shakes his head at you and takes up dish duty while you work on the salads, clearly stumped by your refusal to accept the dish as less than completely perfect.

“Hey,” Leon says, scooping you up and sitting you on the edge of the kitchen island once there’s nothing left for you to do but wait, and positioning himself between your legs. “Thanks for helping. Sherry’ll be impressed.”

He cups your face and presses his lips to yours softly, taking the kiss slow and steady; he needs this, you can distinctly feel that, but it’s full of affection, appreciation—a deliberate thoughtfulness in the way his mouth explores yours. 

That’s how it starts, anyway.

When you part for air, he transitions straight into kissing you along your jawline in gentle pecks, then down to your neck, gradually ramping up the intensity. By the time he’s reached the neckline of your shirt, he’s surrendered to you and you didn’t have to do anything to earn it.

“Leon,” you protest, but there’s no bite behind it.

“Hm?”

His other hand supports you at the middle of your back as his body guides yours down onto the island counter, softening your landing. Your knees bend and legs raise, compassing his waist and perfectly angling you to feel his growing, hard arousal over your pussy, begging to be set free of its confines and to tear away the fabric keeping you separate.

 “Leon, she’ll be here soon…”

“We have time,” he assures, a whisper against your neck where he’s still leaving kisses, wetness gathering between your thighs in response. “I can be quick.”

That he can. He did prove that the other night when your mother showed up unannounced.

“We shouldn’t,” you say, a weak argument considering how your legs are currently fully wrapped around him, the heels of your feet pushing into his back so you can feel more of his growing need for you. “But…”

“I know, sweetheart. Will you let me take care of you?”

You swallow and nod, giving him the go-ahead. You trust him. You know if you run out of time, he’ll fix it. He’s already done it once.

With your acceptance in hand, he continues his work, lifting the edge of your shirt up and over your breasts. He leaves it held up there and encloses his mouth around a firm, cold nipple, the contrasting heat of his mouth eliciting a broken cry from your throat.

The wet tip of his tongue plays with the hard peak, swirling around and over it, your back arching and driving you further into his mouth. He gives attention to your other nipple with his free hand, pinching and rolling it between two fingers, every tweak and pull furthering the drip between your legs. 

Quick learner that he is, it’s evident he’s stored away in his memory how easily you’ll fall apart under his hands; how you’re so sensitive there and the right tweak of your nipple makes you leak like a fucking faucet, and you love it. Knowing him, it’s only a matter of time before he makes it a personal mission to have you come like this.

Leon nips gently with his teeth as he pulls back, swapping mouth and hand to give equal attention to your breasts. Your fingers thread into his hair and tug, and as you pull harder, Leon meets your intensity—his hand digs crescent indents into your breast, and the careful nips of his teeth at the peaks of your other grow sharper, graduating into proper bites that have you withdrawing one hand and gnawing on it to stifle the moans of mixed pain and pleasure.

Once he decides you’ve suffered enough, he parts from you, but not without a parting gift. He captures as much of the flesh surrounding your nipple as he can fit into his mouth, biting and suckling and then releasing with a wet pop. That’s sure to leave a mark.

He continues lower, kissing down your stomach and briefly dipping his tongue into your navel, reveling in the way you jump from the unexpected touch before hurriedly working to unbutton your pants. Leon pulls you to the edge of the counter by your belt loops and lowers himself to his knees, then guides your jeans over your legs and leaving them at your ankles, finally exposing your sopping, glossy cunt.

“You sure you would’ve made it all the way to dinner without me touchin’ you?” Leon smirks, raising your thighs to drape over his shoulders, bulky arms holding you in place.

You don’t indulge him with an answer. Even if you wanted to, his tongue is on you too fast, sliding up the full length of your slit and immediately shorting your mind before you have a chance to reply. He licks around your clit and dips into every part of you, every crevice, lapping up your liquid like it’s the only thing that can soothe an ache—on you everywhere except where you need him most.

You whine, close to pleading, but a metallic noise coming from Leon below you catches your ear and you force yourself up to your elbows to get a better view.

You can’t see shit over the counter, but you can feel Leon shuffling beneath you, the sound now recognizable as his belt hits the ground. A shoulder under your thigh starts shaking—mild, to start. Leon pauses to breathe, leaving your dripping pussy and swollen clit wanting, taunted by his deep, warm exhales as his pace  on his cock picks up, rhythmic.

After what feels like forever, he opens his eyes again, finding yours immediately with a half-lidded, hazy stare under thick lashes. 

“D-don’t come,” you order. “Not with your h-hand.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says.

Leon’s mouth is on you again, giving the perimeter of your entrance short and fast licks to heighten your anticipation before dipping into your hole, the wet muscle stretching out as far as it can go inside you, fucking you.

Everything—the foreplay, his shoulder bouncing your thigh from the force of him stroking himself, the fucking view you got of him between your legs before falling back to the counter—threatens to ruin you.

Right as you think you might break, Leon takes mercy on you, at last circling your clit with his eager tongue. He employs faint, long strokes at first, then adjusts to shorter, swifter flicks of the tip that make you grind your hips into his face involuntarily, body ravenous. There’s nothing you can do to hide now, lewd noises and whimpers flowing freely from your lips and you don’t get a say in it.

You’re so drenched he can’t keep up, arousal coating the skin around his mouth and running down his chin.

“That turnin’ you on?” he taunts. “Knowing how hot I’m gettin’, can’t resist touching myself with this pretty pussy in front of me…”

“Y-Yes,” you admit, breathless.

“Fuck, you ready for me?”

“Please, please…”

It’s all Leon needed. His restraint violently snaps as he practically shoots back to his feet then leans his body over yours, arms on either side of your head. Rock hard and weeping precome at the tip, his dick slides between your folds, swimming in your slick.

It’s torture. You can’t fucking take this anymore; raising yourself up and moving forward as much as you can and reaching for his cock, lining him up with your greedy, impatient cunt.

You’re hypnotized, watching as he breaches you and pushes further into you, inch by agonizing inch, clearly at the last of his self-discipline and shaking with need. Even when Leon’s at his best and thinks he’s fully in the driver’s seat, you can always tell when he’s one minuscule move away from erupting into something feral.

He bucks his hips, sinking the rest of his length into you at once, filling you completely.

“Leon,” you whine as he pulls back out. When he slams back into you in one motion, harsh and desperate and forcing you to take all of him at once, you loudly cry out, “Leon—!”

He slips an arm under you and around your back to lift and bring you closer to him, both of you upright at the edge of the counter. His free hand cups the underside of your leg, close to the knee, raising it up close to your chest; in the new angle, his pelvis and trail of loosely-curled hairs brush against you with every thrust, the head of his cock pounds into that spot inside you he’s such an expert at finding.

“Feelin’ good, baby?” he asks, knowing damn well what he’s doing to you—you’re an utter mess, sweating magnified by the radiating heat of the oven, mouth permanently contorted as he draws moan after moan from you like he wants you to lose your voice, your cunt gripping him tighter than ever as you dance on the edge—you just need a nudge.

“I—ah—n-need…”

He knows what you need, what you want to ask for, but if you can’t say it? He loves tormenting you.

He presses his forehead to yours, but his hips kick into overdrive as he pursues his release, fucking into you harder, hitting so deep he’s on the verge of splitting you in two. “My sweet girl, so fucked out you can’t speak, huh?”

“W-wanna come,” you force out, driven by your determination to prove him wrong.

You can speak, but two words might be the limit.

“Yeah?” You nod in response; the tone in his ‘yeah’ is signal enough. He’ll take care of you, always does. “I got you, okay? Don’t need to do anything but relax for me.”

You listen, resting your head on his shoulder, weakly clinging to any part of him you can.

It’s natural, taking direction from him. You trust him fully, maybe more than you’ve ever trusted another person before. Maybe that’s why you’re insane enough to actually consider letting him show you how to ride a motorcycle.

Leon coats his fingers in your slick before bringing his hand down and rubbing your clit; trapped between your bodies, the pressure on your nub increases with every thrust of his hips.

“Christ, you feel so—so good—c’mon, come with me, I’m gonna—”

He’s done for before he can even finish his sentence, his legs stuttering, lowering his head and getting lost in your hair and your scent as relief hits. He groans, low and ragged and so close to your ear as he comes, hands gripping you harder and tethering himself to you as the rhythm of his thrusts becomes broken and sloppy—spilling inside you in bursts and filling you to the brim, his fingers on your clit never relenting, never slipping, laser-focused on you.

It doesn’t take long. A few flicks of his hand is all you need to topple over with him, drowning out your groans and muffled cries of his name in his traps. You can’t help it, it escalates into biting him while you shatter under the unbearable pleasure, in need of an outlet, especially with that hand still fucking playing with you and prolonging your release. And maybe his own too, with the way your cunt’s constantly constricting and expanding around his cock, draining him of everything he can give you.

The two of you ride out your orgasms holding onto each other like your life depends on it. Reliant.

God, it sure feels like that’s the truth, these days.

After he’s sufficiently come down, breaths calming, Leon stuffs himself back in his pants and wraps his arms around you, embracing you reverentially. Holding onto you so fucking tight, your bodies molding to each other’s, exactly where you’re meant to be.

“Jesus,” Leon sighs, “can’t get enough.”

“Ready for round two?” you joke, but he looks like he’d actually be considering it if you didn’t have plans. “How are you going to survive your mission, out there all by yourself?”

“Gonna call you all the fuckin’ time, that’s how.”

“Yeah? With video?”

“You want to?”

“Maybe,” you admit, suddenly shy. “Wouldn’t it be fun?”

A knock at the door pulls you out of your stupor. You rush to stand and straighten yourself out, finger combing your hair, praying your makeup is passable.

Leon fully zips himself up and tugs his shirt down and with such minimal effort, looks exactly like he did before fucking you on the island. Must be nice…

He hurriedly wipes down the island and floor while you pull yourself together. In a panic, you rush to go catch your reflection in the hallway mirror, but Leon stops you before you can turn the corner and reels you in with one arm.

“You’re fine, baby. Hair and makeup’s all good,” he says, kissing your cheek, and you can’t decide if you believe him or if he wants you to wear it, just enough plausible deniability to be acceptable—because messy hair is a far cry from a hickey, right? “Gonna have to tolerate me dripping out of you all night, though.”

Your throat catches on whatever you wanted to say and then Leon’s walking down the hall, your window gone; you follow, body shaking from the nerves. You’re simultaneously stoked and terrified to meet Sherry. Leon’s beyond confident that she’ll like you and you do trust him, but regardless—this is your chance to make a good first impression. It’s important.

Leon opens the door. Sherry’s lovely from the start, radiating warmth while he does quick introductions, a hand pressed lightly to your back to keep you grounded.

“It’s so good to meet you,” she says with a smile. You all stop in the kitchen on the walk back and Sherry’s face perks. “That smells wonderful.”

You’re already getting to work, hastily throwing on oven mitts and pulling the baking dish of shells out, setting it on the counter. 

“You made this?” 

“Was mostly her,” Leon answers, getting drinks while you work on serving the food, aware of how important it is to you to be the one to do it and get it perfect. “You want a glass?” He holds the bottle you picked up at the store out to Sherry. “Got this for you.”

She nods and he works his way down the lineup of glasses, filling them all—even his own, skipping the whiskey.

“Your place is different since the last time I came over,” Sherry says, quickly looking over the kitchen and living room, picking up on all your added touches. 

“That’s all her, too,” Leon says. 

Things that changed right before both of your eyes, but small enough that it takes a fresh perspective to really see it. His jacket that you’ve essentially stolen is tossed over the couch instead of being hung neatly at the doorway, the new bouquet of flowers is setup on the island, and your half-finished fantasy novel’s left on the coffee table.

Oh, and the kitchen. Leon talked about taking you shopping to help liven up his place before he leaves for his job, but with the understanding that it would take more time than you had today, you got him to agree that stocking his shelves would go a long way.

You had to argue your case first. He’s practical, debating the point of it when he never cooks for himself?

“First of all, I’ll start cooking in here,” you said. “But I really can’t express enough how strange it is to only have three spice jars. And two of them are salt and pepper!“

And it worked, upgrading the space from practically looking abandoned simply by lining the shelves.

“Dinner’s ready,” you say, setting the last plate down on the table.

It provides you a comfort, an experience you didn’t realize you were lacking. That seems to be a common theme in this new life you’re building. When’s the last time you had a home-cooked meal with everyone sat at the dinner table, genuinely happy to be in each other’s presence? The closest you probably ever got was one of the earlier dinners with Aiden and your mother, which doesn’t feel like it ‘counts’ anymore. Yeah, it was nice then, but just like the family dinners with your father, the memory’s since been tainted.

The only thing that could make this dinner better is if your mother were here. You internally vow to make that happen once Leon’s back.

You don’t expect all the small gestures: Leon gently placing his palm on your upper shoulder as if to simply say I’m here, stealing quick kisses from you every opportunity he gets, looking at you like you’re a precious resource. Not at all ashamed to call you his; quite the opposite, in fact, with every little thing reinforcing how grateful he is that you’re simply here. 

He’s in his element. He’s relaxed and you see another side of him here, joking around with Sherry and resting an arm over the back of your chair.

You have a few glasses of wine to loosen up, but you’re careful to pace yourself. Sherry is easy to talk to—she’s kind and has plenty of questions for you, none of which feel too personal. Like she’s asking because she’s genuinely curious about you as a person, your life. Certainly nothing like your mother’s interrogation of Leon.

Once you’re all done, you and Sherry migrate outside, drinks in hand when Leon says he needs to check something for work and that he’ll catch up with you in a few. The weather’s perfect and you still have a small amount of time left before the summer sun fully sets.

You suspect he manufactured an excuse to get you and Sherry alone, giving you a part of him, his life, that you can experience when he’s not around anymore.

“You’re good for him, you know,” she says unprompted. 

“Thank you,” you swallow. “He’s good for me, too.” You pause, deciding if you should even ask this. “Has he…?”

It gets caught in your throat, but Sherry knows what you mean.

“Somewhat. He’s hesitant to share things about you,” she answers. “He doesn’t want to say anything he’s not completely sure you’d be okay with him talking about.”

“Right, yeah.”

That sounds like him. Thoughtful. 

“I’ve never been with someone like him before,” you note. “Someone, like… good.”

“Does he know that?”

“Yeah, I think so. Whether he believes it is another story.”

“He can be like that,” she laughs. “I know that well.”

“He said you’re family. Are you his sister, or…?”

She shakes her head.

“Not by blood,” Sherry answers. Then, “He saved me.” 

“He did?”

The gears in your head are turning and you think of what he said to your mom, how the work is what’s important. And though he’s told you so little about his job, you know him. You know that he’s a good man and that he can’t possibly represent the things you hate about the government.

You know in your soul that he must be doing something admirable.

And if you put the pieces together: he downplays what he did for Sherry, just like how he downplayed himself with your mom and shifted attention to the work, as if he’s not the one executing it. Just like how he keeps saying you’re too good for him.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No, he only said that you were what made him get into this line of work,” you explain. “And that you’re family, of course.”

“Yeah, that’s right. He’s some of the only family I’ve got left.”

“You used to live in D.C., too?” you ask.

“I did. I came here with him. He was going to go it alone, but…”

“But?”

“I-I shouldn’t speak too much on his behalf,” Sherry says, “but he was in… bad shape, for the last year.”

“After his wife passed.”

“Right. I knew if he came out here alone, that maybe… maybe I’d never see him again.”

You can’t see how Sherry could mean anything besides the worst, but it’s tough to grasp. Yeah, Leon has a rough exterior and he’s clearly been met with some pretty awful shit, but that? It… it doesn’t seem like him.

Guess that solidifies how clueless you can still be, how new to his life you are. You’ve fifty years to catch up on and Sherry has known him since, what—you have to wrack your brain to remember when the Raccoon City Incident was—the late nineties?

You were young then. So young. And Sherry looks about your age.

You can’t imagine having to deal with the shit they’ve dealt with. You’ve heard stories about the incident, but no one really knows what happened that night. Further, for all you knew, there were no survivors.

This part of the world you’ve found yourself in—it isn’t like anything you’ve ever experienced before, you know that despite only seeing the very tip of iceberg.

The door behind you slides open and you turn, immediately making eye contact with Leon as he steps outside. You don’t know what your face looks like right now, but you can guess that it’s some fucked up amalgamation of sadness, uncertainty, and curiosity.

And something else that you can’t quite place. Something warm, something safe…

The rest of the evening passes easily. You find yourself gravitating towards him more, as if you weren’t already attached to him at the hip, but the significance of Sherry’s reveal is in the back of your mind the whole time. You look at him differently, in a way.

Still the same Leon. Still yours.

At first, it felt like the knowledge put distance between you, but as the night goes on and the information settles in your mind, you begin to feel closer to him than ever.

The two of you relocate to the couch after Sherry leaves and you finish cleaning up the kitchen together. You lay with your legs across the couch, your back leaning against Leon’s torso, and in the middle of a commercial break you angle your head back to look at him.

His features are illuminated by the soft glow of the TV, the screen reflecting in his eyes; you’re lost in them when he notices you and meets your gaze, taking you out of it.

“Can I ask you something?” you probe. 

“‘Course. Anytime.”

“Raccoon City,” you begin, re-orienting yourself to sit up beside him and take your weight off his chest, “You were there, weren’t you?”

Leon pauses, the realization that you’re asking because you had alone time with Sherry settling in.

“Yeah, I was,” he answers. “What’d she tell ya?”

“Not much. I think she wanted me to ask you,“ you explain. “You don’t have to tell me…”

“No, I want to. It’s… I’ve been waitin’ for the right time, is all.”

You wait patiently, giving all the time he needs. You can almost hear him thinking, figuring out what he wants to say, how to say it.

And probably how to toe the line of breaching confidentiality.

“That’s where everything started for me,” he says. “Parents were killed in front of me when I was young… and I was meant to die that night too, but a police officer saved my life. So I went to the academy, ‘cause I wanted to help people like he helped me.

“Raccoon City was my first day. Supposed to be, that is.”

“Jesus, Leon…”

“Was already outta control by the time I got there. Did what I could, but it wasn’t enough. Too many people I couldn’t help. It was my job. Didn’t make a fucking difference.”

“I don’t believe that,” you say. “Sherry told me you saved her. That’s more than enough.”

He’s heard it a million times, you’re sure. What you said doesn’t change his mind.

But you had to say it, and you’ll continue to. Like how he keeps reminding you not to minimize yourself, as he promised to.

“I tried. Least I could do was get her outta there. She was only a kid. And then… once we got out, they wanted her—the government. So, I gave my life up in exchange for her freedom. That was the deal. Been doin’ it ever since.”

“Is that why you still do it?”

“No,” he answers confidently. “Now I do it because someone has to. No need to rope more people into this shit if it can be helped.”

“That’s a lot resting on your shoulders.”

Leon says nothing. Possibly doesn’t know what to say.

“I think… fuck, I don’t know if I should be saying this,” you start, filling the silence.

His gaze on you urges you to continue. Can’t take it back now. So you swallow and you continue.

“I think—I think maybe you saved me, too,” you say. “I left him, but I don’t know if I had the strength to stay gone.”

“I didn’t save you. You did that on your own.”

“You showed me how, that I could do it. I really think… I’d have gone back again. I always would.”

“What’d he do?”

You’re hesitant to talk.

You want to. You want to let him in and you know you should, especially after what he’s told you, and it’s the third time he’s asking. He never pushes you on it, but if you were in his shoes…

“It’s okay,” he adds.

Too kind. Too understanding.

“I want to tell you about it. I do,” you insist. “I’m just… afraid, I guess.”

“Of?”

“Judgment.”

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t—”

“I know you wouldn’t want to.” You shuffle in place, instincts telling you to hide. “But everyone does, no matter how hard they try not to. They don’t know what it’s like. They don’t know how fucking hard it is to leave.”

He’s quiet, giving you the patience you gave him while you work up the will to keep going.

“We were high school sweethearts,” you start. “It was never meant to be anything more, and we split at graduation. I went with my sister, and he went to California.

“After her passing, I moved in with my mom for a bit. Didn’t realize he’d come back too—he emailed me one day, saying he swore he saw me in town. Mom liked him back then and encouraged me to meet up with him, so I did. I think she still carries some guilt for that.

“Sorry, this is probably more information than you really care about.”

“No,” he answers immediately. “I wanna know everything you wanna tell me.”

“That’d take a long time.”

“I’ve got a long time.”

“Shut up,” you giggle, playfully hitting his arm. “Anyway. We got back together; he had his life set, I didn’t. I’d dropped out of college to take care of my sister and lost the motivation by then. He took care of me. I didn’t ask him to, he did it on his own. I never really had a say in it, but he was doing something good for me, for us, you know? And it seemed like he wanted to.

“He always had an issue with his temper, but in high school, it wasn’t such a big deal. And I think, early on he was so infatuated with me that it won out, so I didn’t see it. He’d get really angry around me, but never at me, and every single time he apologized that I had to see that side of him.

“Then… it started with work. He was working long hours for awhile; I was bartending and I’d pick up extra shifts, but it wasn’t the same. I enjoy my work. Even when it’s hard, I’ve always liked it. I’m not sure if he’s ever liked what he does, but it pays well, and he seemed to value that.

“He’d get upset with me when the house wasn’t clean or dinner wasn’t made or I’d forgotten some favor he needed, ‘cause he was out there working to support us and I wasn’t, I guess. Longer it went, the more that’d set him off. Always doing something wrong. It’d go in cycles, though; he’d grovel and apologize and offer to go to therapy or whatever new idea he had that week. But each time he fell back into blaming every stupid thing on me, it’d get a little worse.

“Um… in time, he started getting physical. Not with me, not directly. He’d break shit, throw it, whatever. Early on he’d just, like, fuck up my plants and break the pots or the TV remote. Whatever inanimate object he could get his hands on.

“He did that for years, and I let him.

“He never put his hands on me, not even at the end. But he started throwing things at me—near me. Like he wanted to scare me, I suppose, but he never wanted to hit me. Never tried to. He’d throw glasses at the wall a couple feet away from me, that sort of thing.

“I tried to leave a few times, but he always got me back. Always found a way. He’s not just an angry person, he’s manipulative; he knew how to press my buttons. I don’t really know what it was that made me leave the last time, but it’s the longest I’d ever managed to stay apart.

“That’s why I say that you saved me. I think… I think if you hadn’t shown me what it’s like to actually be treated well, he could’ve lured me in again.”

You pause and Leon takes the opportunity to close the distance between you, reaching out to embrace you again, but you stop him, lowering his wrists.

“Wait,” you say. “I’m sorry. I just—I need to tell you something that I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

Wetness wells in your eyes. You’re surprised it didn’t come earlier, expecting not to make it two sentences into your explanation before breaking down and sobbing. But you kept it together.

Leon looks upset, too. Like he wishes he could touch you and fix it, and like it could be the first time you see him shed a tear.

“He kissed me,” you say, the words like acid on your tongue. “I kissed him back.” That’s the statement that pushes your tears over the edge, overflowing and running down your cheek. “I didn’t want to. I d-didn’t mean to, I didn’t even know he’d be there, he just—”

“Hey, hey, slow down,” Leon urges, hands lifting, but not yet coming to touch you. “When was this?”

“While you were g-gone,” you explain, looking away and wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. “I p-promise, I didn’t know, I didn’t…”

“Baby, it’s okay. Don’t gotta explain yourself.” He finally moves, lifting your legs from under the knee and draping them across his lap, one large hand on your thigh to keep you secure. “Should kill him for puttin’ his hands on my girl.”

“W-why aren’t you mad at me?”

“No reason to be. You didn’t want it.”

“It’s my fault, I should’ve made him—”

There’s a very long road ahead of him and too much baggage still packed up tight, Leon knows that. All he can do is take it day by day, and he’s settled one thing, one big thing, that opened doors he never expected to open again (and brought new responsibilities with it).

He made you his.

“I’m yours,” you said. ”God, I’ve been yours.”

That night, after he took you—still wet from your interrupted shower, clearly still recovering from the fact that he’d shown up at your door—how to broach the subject was all he thought about after slipping out and letting you finish up in the bathroom alone. He just needed to figure out how to broach the subject.

And, fuck, even if he’d finally made up his own mind, he was admittedly still a bit afraid of your answer, worrying that maybe you’d have a moment of clarity and realize he’s too old for you and the job’s too frustrating to deal with.

It was Chris who gave him the final mental push he needed. On that first night at the safe house for that job on the Oregon coast, the same night he called you, Leon fell asleep certain of what he wanted.

Calling you wasn’t part of his original plan; he told himself he wouldn’t contact you at all during the job. It could be a distraction and he shouldn’t feed the habit, he thought. Shouldn’t get your hopes up… nor his. 

Leon and Chris tore through the boat, cutting down zombie after zombie. An outbreak contained to the ship; no surprise there, after the reports they’d gotten that led to nosy B.S.A.A. eyes on it and to the case being handed over to the D.S.O. in the first place. 

It was a long fucking day and sure to be an even longer week ahead. So, he caved. Soon as him and Chris made it back to the safe house, he found himself stepping out front and finding your contact in his phone. He’s in so over his head with you that despite not having showered yet and feeling and looking like absolute shit, his finger kept hovering over the video call button, considering it.

“Stay safe out there, Leon,” your voice echoed in his head after your call was over. He stuffed his phone back in his pocket and stepped inside, locking the door behind him and turning the deadbolt.

“Glad you found someone to care for,” Chris said, voice coming from the couch. At Leon’s silence, digesting the fact that Chris heard, he added, “Your phone call.”

“You eavesdropping on me now?”

“Wouldn’t say that. Walls here are pretty thin, if you haven’t noticed.”

Leon kicked off his shoes, annoyed and trying to hold it back; be tolerable. It’d been months since he last saw Chris, and even if he didn’t want to talk about it, any of it—he knew it all came from a good place. From his friends, friends all too aware of how he’d lost his reason to live and still kept going anyway.

“What’s she like?” Chris asked, testing Leon’s boundary. 

Both waited in silence as Leon considered how he’ll answer. If he’d answer at all. He took his time unstrapping his gloves and peeling off his jacket, hanging it up on the rack by the door and tossing the gloves on a nearby table. 

Then he had to decide to give in or shut the fuck up and go to bed. He should do the latter, he thought. He should want to do the latter. It surprised him that once faced with the decision, he realized how much some piece of him was raring to talk about you, waiting for the opportunity despite the uncertainty that bubbled up so quickly when Chris mentioned you.

“Fun. Thoughtful,” he finally conceded, still standing at that table and facing the wall. “Sweet. Not like me.”

“Good,” Chris said. “You need someone fun and sweet in your life.”

“Can’t happen.”

“Why not?”

Leon sighed deeply and pushed his palm to his forehead, still unsure if he made the right choice in talking to Chris about you. Was barely twenty-four hours ago that he’d told Sherry. Whole thing was slowly getting away from him, impossible to keep in control. You have that effect on him.

He turned and forced himself to walk into the living room, coming to sit on the free armchair in front of the fireplace.

“She’s a civilian. Doesn’t know anything about this side of the fence,” Leon elaborated, hunched over in a way he rarely is ever since Elpis. “Don’t think she can stomach it… Don’t think she should have to even consider it.”

“Isn’t that her choice to make?”

“It’s the right thing to do.”

“It’s not, and you know that, Leon.”

Leon just scoffed at Chris, pushing away from his knees and leaning back into the chair, draping one arm over the armrest.

Chris lit a smoke as if he was prepared to be sitting there until dawn and it made Leon wish he’d brought a bottle. On most jobs, these little nightly escapes at the safe house—albeit, usually spent alone, his only company the whiskey—offered a much-needed reprieve from his mind.

But Chris? He was making Leon explore what he longs to escape.

“She’s a bartender,” Leon offers, unsolicited.

“That how you met her?” Chris asked, and the implication is clear.

“…Yeah.”

“Yet, your hand’s empty tonight.”

“It is.”

“That ‘cause of her?”

“Might be,” Leon answers. “She challenges me.”

Definitely.

Sharing this moment earned him some silence from Chris’s end, the only sound in the room the crackling flame for a few long, much-needed minutes.

A weight had been lifted from Leon’s shoulders, he realized. Chris knows about you. Chris knows you’re good for him, though too stubborn to realize that you’re too good for him. It bought Leon some peace he didn’t want to admit he needed.

It closed a bit of the distance he’d placed between himself and Chris.

“Don’t let a good thing go because you’re afraid of what she’ll find.”

It’s the last thing Chris said before Leon disappeared down the hall and shut his door. He laid there in bed for hours, it felt like, pondering Chris’s words, flip-flopping between feeling like Chris was right and that he should get over himself and let you make your own choices and like it simply wasn’t fair to you to let this get any deeper.

It’s not that he has ever thought you can’t make your own decisions; of course you can. But what piece of you would fracture the first time he loses contact and you think he’s dead? The first time he doesn’t come home when it’s over and you have to visit him in a hospital bed instead? 

His wife was part of this world; that was why they worked, and still, they had their moments. Every couple does. You have no clue. You don’t know. 

You don’t know about Raccoon City, the whiskey, or everything he left behind in D.C.

He has so much to tell you to make your choice fair, because he can’t fucking let you go. 

He loses track of time sitting at his desk. The sun not setting until at least 9 P.M. in the summer isn’t doing him any favors, either. He’s finalizing the hire of an office manager when Sherry knocks at his door, recognizing her pattern instantly.

“You still in there?” she asks through the door.

“Yeah, just finishing up,” he answers. “Come on in.”

Sherry steps in, closing the door behind her. Immediately, Leon can tell from her body language that whatever she’s come for is something he won’t be the happiest about. He leans back in his chair and gives her his full attention when she speaks.

“Hey, Leon… did you see the email from Walker?”

“No,” he answers. “What about?”

“Maybe look for yourself,” she sighs, sitting in a chair across the desk, facing him.

Leon pulls it up on his computer, the two of them sitting in silence while he reads.

From: Walker, Samuel <[email protected]> To: Kennedy, Leon <[email protected]>, Birkin, Sherry <[email protected]>, Allen, Mara <[email protected]> Subject: [CONFIDENTIAL] Deployment Notice OFFICIAL DEPLOYMENT NOTICE AGENT: LEON S. KENNEDY DATE: JULY 27, 2027 EST. DURATION: 2-6 MONTHS THIS IS AN OFFICIAL NOTICE OF UPCOMING DEPLOYMENT. PLEASE SEE ATTACHED DOCUMENT FOR MISSION OBJECTIVE. FURTHER DETAILS AND FULL CASE FILE WILL BE PROVIDED AT A LATER DATE. SHERRY BIRKIN WILL REMAIN OFF-FIELD UNTIL AGENT KENNEDY’S RETURN AND ASSUME ANY PENDING BRANCH MANAGERIAL DUTIES UNTIL...

“Shit.”

He stops reading, skimming the rest and saving the document for later.

Another fucking mission. With two weeks’ notice this time, but what catches his attention is the duration estimate. Two to six months…

It could be half a year away from you.

And he’ll be going alone. Something he used to appreciate, but now?

The whole job’s trouble for countless reasons, but the notice doesn’t read like this one’s negotiable. His hands are tied, especially after delaying the last job. He still can’t believe he got away with that.

Leon sighs in exasperation and puts his head in his hand, propped up by an elbow on the desk. Nothing can ever simply stay good. Everything good comes to an end, and always earlier than it should.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Sherry says, as if she has anything to be sorry for. She’s getting the shit end of the stick on this, too. “You’ve got to make the most of your time, but you already know that.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you told her anything else yet?”

He sits up in his chair, correcting his posture.

“Told her it’s unpredictable… and not always safe,” Leon answers. He hoped there’d be more time before the next job. “Didn’t tell her enough. Sayin’ I don’t know how long they’ll ship me out isn’t the same as sayin’ it could be half a fucking year.”

“Well, what did she say to that?”

“Said she’d wait for me. Do ’whatever it takes’.”

You’d been sweet and thoughtful about it, matching the description he’d given Chris of you perfectly. God, you’re too good for him, but he’s choosing to be a bastard; to live. So he’ll make you wait and he’ll do anything he must to make it right, because the thought of letting you go isn’t on the table anymore.

Maybe it never truly was.

“She really cares about you, Leon.”

“Yeah, I know,” he comments, warmth spreading in his cheeks, which makes him feel ridiculous. Fifty years old, blushing thinking about his girlfriend. “I-I’m in this. With her.”

“You asked her?”

Leon nods. 

He’s grateful that Sherry’s been here to help him with this—and that she’s been invested, asking about you unprompted. Makes him feel like less of a burden of an old man unloading his shit like a lovestruck teenager, and loathe as he is to admit it, it’s forced him to come to terms with the fact that pushing people away and going it all alone was never an effective strategy.

“I’m so happy for you,” she continues, a smile on her face, relief palpable. “Seriously, Leon. You have to be aware how different you’ve been lately?”

“Don’t I know it.”

“So, when are you introducing us?”

“‘Bout that…”

The way you admitted to missing his presence at the bar has been bouncing around in his head ever since you said it. Haunting him with how bad he wants to come see you again, but Leon’s been waiting for the right time, worried about trusting himself around the bottle. 

You always enjoy drinking with him and he doesn’t want to give that up fully, even if he should, even if he knows that all he has to do is tell you and you’ll understand.

You’re in the thick of it when Leon arrives, so engrossed in your task that you miss his trek from the entrance to that seat at the end of the bar—somehow still available, like it’s reserved for him. Watching you work, all he can think about is how easy it’d be to take another picture of you without you noticing…

You finally see him after sliding a drink across the counter and lifting your head, catching a familiar silhouette in your peripherals.

“Leon! You’re here,” you say excitedly.

“In the flesh.”

You don’t ask for his order—no need. You just grab the bottle and start pouring his favorite.

He can handle a drink. One. This is what he’s been working towards. He’ll be driving you home in a couple hours, so he’s on the hook. An obligation, especially one for you, is helpful. It’s been the most effective strategy for keeping his hands off the bottle so far.

“Been a minute,” your quieter coworker, Lucas, says, giving a weak wave from across the bar. “Welcome back, man. Good to see you.”

“I didn’t expect you…” 

“Told ya I’d come back,” Leon says, taking the glass and pushing his card over to you. “Got off work a bit ago.”

“You had to stay so late? Everything okay?”

You had to jump right to it, didn’t you?

“Yeah,” he tries to answer with a tone that sells it, like he’s a normal person with a normal job that he hates in a normal way. “Tell you more later.”

“Alright,” you respond with a half-hearted nod, but it’s clear that you know it’s not all alright.

That’s the last you show of it, though, not permitting his untold news to hang over both of your heads for the night—which he’s appreciative of. He’s had enough today, and having to have this conversation with you at all is the cherry on top of the shit pile.

It wouldn’t be so awful if it weren’t for how fucking long they’re shipping him out for. Another assignment with little notice for deployment would suck too, but right now he’d trade, easily. He’d probably trade for any job that wouldn’t mean multiple months away.

He’s thought about what his next deployment might mean for you a few times, but in his fantasies, it was a little more… exciting.

Thought about the next time he’d go off for a week and text you in the evenings. Ask you what you’re wearing, tell you how fucking much he misses you. Tease you over the phone with promises of what he’d do to you once he got back. Stroke himself on a call with you and stop right before finishing… save all that built up energy for when he got his hands on you again.

There will be plenty of time for all that still, but it’ll be taxed by the knowledge that reunion isn’t right around the corner. Everything was easier in his fantasies when he expected missions to last a few days, most of the time.

After a few more rounds across the bar with a couple hours left in your shift, you make your way over to Leon’s end of the counter.

“I’m about to go on my break. You wanna come outside with me?”

“Lead the way.”

“Let me grab my jacket,” you say, briefly disappearing in the back.

“Love that thing, don’t you?” Leon asks when you reappear in that fur-trimmed black leather jacket he put over your shoulders weeks ago.

“I do,” you admit sheepishly, pulling the collar tight to your neck to feel the fur on your skin. “Come on, let’s go.”

Leon swallows the rest of his drink and follows you outside to the alleyway behind the bar. It’s dark outside, but the day’s not yet completely gone—on the tail end of that Pacific Northwest summer sunset that seems to last forever. He doesn’t waste a second, turning around and stepping forward until your back is pressed to the wall, his captive.

Oh, what he’d do to you if this wasn’t right outside your workplace…

“Missed you,” he murmurs, gripping your waist and letting his thumbs slip under your shirt.

“You just saw me!” you say, giggling.

“I know.” Leon seals his lips to yours, kissing you; tender and slow, but best of all, familiar.

It’s reminiscent of when he kissed you on his couch the morning after you stayed over for the first time. When you said you wanted to know him. When you made being with you feel so fucking easy that he even had the audacity to poke at you for praise and you retaliated by making him admit exactly what it was that caught his eye. It was smooth, it felt natural; you already felt like his girl, then, clearly demonstrated by how readily he’d let that phrase slip.

“I wanna introduce you to someone,” Leon says, stepping back to give you room to breathe… and make the scene a little less incriminating, in case someone decides to join you. “Name’s Sherry.”

“Oh?” you ask, a curious brightness in your eyes.

“We work together. Actually… she’s why I’m in this line of work.” Leon pauses, wanting to offer a little more to you, figuring out how to strike a balance. “She’s family.”

“Of course. I’d love to,” you answer quickly, slightly flustered. “What are you thinking? Like, for plans?”

“Dinner? That sound good?”

You nod in response, a little tongue-tied.

Pleased, though. Leon’s instinct is to worry, but he swallows that. You’re nervous because he’s giving you what you asked for: you’re going to get to know him, and not just him; the people in his life, too.

“At mine? Somewhere we’re all familiar.” 

“Are you cooking for us, Mr. Kennedy?” you ask excitedly.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, but I could be convinced,” he hints.

“I could help you.“

“Yeah?” Leon grins at that. All according to that plan he didn’t have, huh? “Let’s talk about it at home. You wanna lift after you’re done here?”

You both notice it at the same time.

Home.

But he doesn’t dare call attention to it.

“Long as you’re good to drive,” you agree, and you’re doing him a massive favor unbeknownst to you. “Um… can we stay at your house tonight?”

Leon likes your place and it does feel more like a home, especially compared to his sterile ‘model house’, but the fact that you want to be in his space despite that? Enough to specifically ask for it? Yeah, that does something to him.

Oh, and how you say it like the only choice now is whose place you’ll stay at because you’ve become inseparable makes his heart skip a beat.

This is step one to making his house more of a home, too, he realizes. He certainly doesn’t have an eye for the task; he’ll need to get you to make it feel more lived in. Maybe you could help him pick up some decor and furniture for the empty, unpacked rooms, and fill out the kitchen.

And maybe leave a piece of you there.

“You wanna watch something?”

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” you ask, pouring yourself a glass of water and leaning against the kitchen counter. “Aren’t you going into the office tomorrow?”

“Nah,” Leon answers. “Have most of the next two weeks to myself. Actually…” He hesitates, wishing this wasn’t necessary, but he has to cross the hurdle early. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Okay.”

You seem a bit tense—probably because of how abrupt it was the last time he had to deliver news like this, and he regrets letting that happen. It’ll be better this time, he hopes, but the subject of how long he’ll be gone still looms bleakly over his head.

“Got assigned a mission again. That’s what the two weeks are for. Told ‘em not to bother me until it was time to ship me out.”

“Oh,” you say, blank faced.

“Thing is, this job… I’ll be gone a lot longer than before,” he continues. “I’ll be able to talk to ya more, though.”

“How long?” you ask. “I-if you know, that is. I remember you said you don’t always know…”

“Uh,” he clears his throat, bracing himself, “they gave me a two-to-six months estimate.”

Then your expression drops and you frown, your lips pressed tight together. Shoulders slumping slightly in glaring disappointment.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.” All his instincts fire up, telling him to fix it, make it better—and he can’t fucking fix it, but he can pull you into his embrace, pet your hair, and breathe in your scent. “Got the notice today not long before I left the office to come see you. Wanted to tell you soon as I could, but didn’t wanna drop it on you while you were working.”

“Can you tell me…” You wrap an arm around his back and look up at him, your eyes wide.

Do you even know how you look right now? How you make him feel like if you used the right words, employed the right touch, you could make him say fuck it all—fuck the confidentiality, fuck the job—and tell you anything you want to hear?

“Like… how dangerous is this one? Compared to others, I guess? I don’t know,” you finish. “I don’t know how safe any of them are, so do I worry more or less than my already-vague amount of worrying?”

“Dunno, but if I had to guess, safer. It’s long ‘cause it’s a less active job. But ‘m still out on the field. Still in gear. You know?”

“Yeah,” you concede, relaxing further into his chest. “Yeah. Okay. I’m sure I can swap some shifts at work next week…”

“Wanna use our time wisely,” Leon says softly, kissing your forehead and then touching your nose with his. You seem to be taking this as well as he could hope, and that’s a win. “Can you think about what you might wanna do? Could take you to that cake shop. Anything you want.”

You lay your palms on his chest and rise on your toes to kiss him, hands trailing further up to his neck, then around it.

“Yeah, I can do that,” you say, a yawn escaping.

“You wanna get ready to sleep and watch something in bed?”

“Mmhm. That’d be nice.”

Leon grabs your hips to lift you, and your legs cling around him on reflex, hands holding on firmly around his neck. A habit, now. One that you got him addicted to, back pain be damned; besides, it’s nothing compared to the shit he’s doing in the field.

He kneels slightly to pick up your bag and carries you to the bedroom, and then you both start your routine. You each have a sink, a place in the mirror. A spot that belongs to you, right beside his, and you never had to ask for it.

In his bathroom. In his bed. On his couch.

In his heart.

“You know,” Leon starts almost as soon as he spits out his toothpaste into the sink, watching you brush your hair, “you could leave a toothbrush here, if you want.”

He tries to sound casual about it. Like the idea just crossed his mind and not like he’s been thinking about it all week, close to begging on his knees for it.

“Leon…” You stare at him wide-eyed, like his offer took you by surprise.

He waits, starting to question if he’s pushing you faster than you want this to go.

“Well, I—uh, I only have one, is the thing,” you finish, but it doesn’t sound like an excuse. You sound flustered. It’s cute.

“If you tell me what you need, I can pick it up.” Leon’s studying you, trying to keep his own cool, put on a face of fake confidence. “Up to you, of course… thought maybe it’d be more convenient, is all.”

He makes himself look away, hoping to ease some of the pressure off you. Starts trimming out of place hairs on his face that he’s looking for simply to keep his hands busy. He’s never had to try this hard to appear nonchalant in his life.

“I don’t want to…” you trail off, and he can tell that this is more of your hesitancy because of getting in your own head; like, despite how fucking badly he wants this being right in front of you, you’re still unsure, “…impose, or trouble you.”

“Never,” he states. “Never troubling me. Not you. I’m offerin’ ‘cause I want you to, selfishly, but if you don’t wanna—”

“No, no, that’d be nice. Really nice.”

Now he turns his eyes back onto you.

God, you’re fucking adorable. In his oversized shirt and a pair of panties (a sight he’ll never get enough of), your face red, your reluctance being simply because you haven’t yet internalized what you do to him, what you mean to and for him.

“So send me that list when you can. Anything, and I mean anything, you want that’d make stayin’ over more comfortable,” Leon says. “Let me do this for you. Okay?”

“Y-yeah, okay,” you answer, smiling. “Thank you. Seriously.”

You finish with your moisturizer not long after and head back to bed, leaving him alone to finish up. Once he comes to join you, you’re on your side of the bed, one leg folded up and the other resting straight out, your phone in your hand, and sheets partially draped over your legs. Your nipples poke through his shirt, courtesy of the light breeze of the ceiling fan.

“Oh, Leon, come here,” you say, beckoning him over once you notice his figure in the bathroom doorway.

As he climbs in beside you, you hand him your phone, opened to a listing of an older motorcycle in need of some work.

“Mom wanted me to show this to you,” you say. “Actually, she wanted me to ask you if you’d take a look at it and see if it seems like a decent project bike. And if you’d go with her to look at it if it passes the first sniff test.” You’re talking fast, nerves getting to you. “Please don’t feel like you have to—it’s not even really for her, I guess she’s dating a new guy and he’s really into bikes and she—”

“‘Course I’ll look,” Leon answers without hesitation. “Don’t mind goin’ with her, either… long as we can make it work in time.”

A bonding experience between him and your mother. Leon must’ve made the cut after all.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Um, I’m gonna run downstairs and get a snack while you check it out… be right back.”

You climb out of bed and head off to the kitchen while Leon looks over the bike, scrolling from picture to picture.

 A text notification from a contact labeled Aiden Williams interrupts his analysis, the preview showing, “Stop ignoring me. Just fucking talk to me like a grown adult”.

He knows he shouldn’t look, but his thumb is tapping on the notification before he knows it. 

Leon shouldn’t be surprised by what he sees—though you’ve not shared it all, it’s clear that your ex hurt you deeply. So deep that you can barely scratch the surface of it with him months later.

A bunch of unanswered texts.

Sat, Jul 10 at 1:51 PM Aiden: Sarah told me you’ve got a new boyfriend Aiden: So that’s it? Eight years down the drain? You: please just leave me alone. Aiden: Was our relationship nothing to you? Aiden: I thought you just needed a break. Can’t we talk about it? Aiden: That’s all I want. To talk Sat, Jul 10 at 6:22 PM Aiden: Seriously? Aiden: Fine. Have a great fucking life Sun, Jul 11 at 4:01 PM Aiden: Sounds like he’s more of a sugar daddy than a boyfriend Aiden: It’s kind of pathetic Aiden: You know I’d help you if you asked. But you’re too proud to Aiden: Like always Mon, Jul 12 at 1:32 PM Aiden: Come on. Fucking talk to me Aiden: You haven’t blocked me yet. You must be thinking about it Aiden: We can still fix this. I can change. I know I haven’t always been the easiest to deal with, I know I’m flawed Aiden: Please call me Mon, Jul 12 at 7:06 PM Aiden: Baby, please, we can get through this Today, 1:58 AM Aiden: Stop ignoring me. Just fucking talk to me like a grown adult

Leon hears you shut the fridge door and hurries to open Aiden’s contact card and memorize his number so he can enter it into his phone later, then quickly swipes back to the bike.

He doesn’t feel good about going through your texts with Aiden, but it’s not like he meant to or was intending to. Receiving a message like that? All the messages, the harassment over the last few days? He won’t tolerate it. Not with anyone, and especially not with you. 

Question is, what will he do about it? What can he do about it without upsetting you?

 His palms graze over your arms, then contour your thighs, caressing gently. Your legs wrap around and anchor themselves to him; Leon, without speaking a word, tenderly pries your legs off him, cupping your limb as he breaks the kiss and travels downward. You toss your head back in a silent moan as he takes a nipple into his mouth, rolling the tip of his tongue over it and sucking and pulling while occasionally glancing lower, watching your liquid arousal gather at your center and pool onto the sheets. 

Leon coaxes another low moan from you, then relents and continues his pursuit, kissing down your torso, to your navel, then your center. His grip moves you into position, your thighs thrown over his shoulders as he settles between your legs, pressing all of his body into the bed.

He turns his head to kiss the inside of your thigh—fluctuating between light pecks and sucking on your skin harshly like he intends to mark you as you did him. Unlike you, he never stays long enough to make it last; only enough to make you wish that he would. Like he wants you to ask for it.

You won’t. Not this time, anyway.

Soft ends of hair strands tickle your abdomen when he lowers his head.

“Leon… oh—”

All words fall off your tongue as he seals his mouth around your clit, sucking delicately and watching you writhe beneath him. Two fingers prod at your entrance cautiously, as if testing your readiness; he breaches you with ease, sliding in and curling into your soft spot instantly, already familiar with your body… more than he ever was.

You didn’t use to think it was possible to come without clitoral stimulation, but the fifty-year-old in your bed’s taught you otherwise. You suspect he’ll be teaching you a lot of things, in and out of the bedroom…

“Takin’ care of me got you this hot, huh?” he teases. “You’re fucking soaked.”

The warmth of his breaths landing on your cunt when he speaks only reinforce his verdict, more wetness rushing to your center.

“That’s it… relax, sweetheart.”

You try; you lean back into the pillows and shut your eyes, removing one of your senses and honing your focus on him.

Leon dives back in, licking a long stripe up your drenched pussy and lapping up your juices; he continues pumping you with his fingers, curving them right where you need and moving faster and faster—determined—reaching a steady pace once you’re gripping the bed tight, arching your back, and curling your toes.

Moans start pouring out your throat, far too relaxed and engulfed in stunning pleasure to give a damn about how you sound, and—

There’s a knock at the door.

Three raps.

“Ignore ‘em,” Leon urges, “you’re so close, baby, can feel it...”

Who the fuck would show up at your door this late, anyway? You try to set the thought aside and focus; Leon’s right, you’re on the fucking edge, body electric and utterly impatient after going down on him. God, his face when he came, the way he kissed you even with his own come still on your lips—

You make a frustrated groan when the knocking starts a second time.

“Fuck,” you curse, throwing your head even further back into the pillow. “Fuck, fuck, I need to get the door…”

But Leon doesn’t let you go. In fact, he strengthens his grip on your thigh with his free hand and fucks you faster with the other, tongue flicking at your clit until you’re choking out his name in a whine as you completely unravel. He keeps thrusting into you through it and rolling his tongue over your clit, only setting you free after you’ve exerted what he deems a sufficient amount of effort pulling at his hair in a weak attempt to get him off you, oversensitive, convinced you’ll faint if he keeps touching you like that.

He brought you release in seconds after the pressure was on. As if he knows your body like the back of his hand. Is it so? Has he memorized you that well? Or is it the experience coming with age?

Then, another three raps at the door. Goddamnit.

“You better hurry,” Leon smirks, wiping you from his lips as he sits back on his knees. “Sounds important.”

You roar to life and jump out of bed still in a partial daze from how hard he made you come and run to the dresser to throw on a pair of underwear (almost useless, with the way you drench them immediately) and shorts. You pick up the first shirt you find at the top of your laundry pile and tug that over your head as you speed walk down the stairs.

You look through the peephole before opening the door.

It’s your mother.

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, recalling the incriminating pile of clothes by the couch.  “Just a minute!”

You hastily gather up the items and race to the top of the stairs, taking them two at a time, tossing the clothes at your bedroom door and near sprinting to open the front door. 

“Mom?”

“Hi,” she greets with a tight-lipped smile.

“What’re you doing here so late? Come in,” you urge, stepping aside, nerves terrorizing you as your mind races to gain clarity on your situation, prepare an explanation or some type of plan—

“Locked myself out like an idiot… can’t get a locksmith until tomorrow,” she answers, walking past you. “Was wondering if I can sleep on your couch for the evening? Sorry to bother you, honey; I tried to call first.” The corner of her lip twitches as she adds, “A few times.”

Your stomach sinks at that, your phone lost somewhere in your bed. With Leon…

And your mother has been out there long enough to begin putting the pieces together. You can see it in her eyes while you start turning over possible explanations in your head. That’s not even including the fact that you know your hair’s a mess and your face is surely red.

“O-of course you can stay,” you answer, failing to maintain composure. “Do you want anything to drink, mom?”

You watch her kick her shoes off at the entrance, your brain still running amuck, overanalyzing every moment…

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about me, I can get it myself. Thanks for letting me sleep here.”

“Anytime, you know that. Sorry I missed your call.”

The smile she’s giving you is making you nervous. You can tell she wants to ask you about the fucking Porsche out front and the heavy, too-large boots by the door. You could say the car belongs to a neighbor, but your demeanor and failure to answer your phone multiple times aren’t doing you any favors right now.

No clue about the boots. There’s no reasonable explanation for that.

“Uh, let me get you some clothes, alright? I’ve got some sweats that’ll fit you. I’m sure I can find a shirt, too; that one doesn’t seem very fun to sleep in.”

She simply nods at you, making her way into your kitchen and pouring a glass of water from the tap. 

You hurry off to your room and shut the door behind you, finding Leon lying on his back across your bed. It’s cruel that you’re not in a position to do anything about how alluring he looks right now, still semi-hard and flushed in the face.

“It’s my mom. She fucking knows you’re here,” you explain, voice barely above a whisper, even though you’re definitely out of earshot. “She said she called me first and I didn’t answer.”

You dig around the blankets and retrieve your phone, seeing three missed calls on the lock screen. Fuck. 

“You’ve told her ‘bout me?”

“No, no,” you explain, now rummaging in your dresser for sweats. “She knows someone is here, though. I can see the gears turning in her brain—the Porsche, your boots…”

“You want her to know?”

“I-I don’t know.”

It comes out like an admittance. Jesus, now your brain’s really turned to mush. Does he want you to tell her? Does he not care? Leon doesn’t seem like a guy who would want you to be his secret—but he does seem like a private person, who maybe isn’t ready to blast it to everyone you know. Especially a parent.

“Should I?”

“It’s your choice.”

Do you care? Will your mother care? You’ve always had a close relationship with her, and the omission of this piece of your life recently has felt a little like a betrayal. Will she judge you for dating a man closer to her age than yours? Or will she be glad that you’ve moved on from your ex?

Despite your closeness, the two of you rarely broached the subject of Aiden. You only told her so much, aiming to avoid her ire; constantly uneasy that she’d feel lesser of you for staying so long—or that she’d take it upon herself to simply end his life. You never told her the full extent of his fits.

And you guess a part of you didn’t like acknowledging the elephant in the room: you’d been following in her footsteps. You grew up seeing what your father was like, and still, you kept repeating that your situation was somehow different. You refused to see.

“What’re you worried about?” Leon asks, coming up behind you and drawing your back to his chest with an arm around your waist. “Not me, I hope.”

“What do you mean?”

He kisses your neck, slow and torturously, shamelessly aware you can’t act on it. You moan and cover your mouth with your palm once you realize it slipped out. Leon’s clearly pleased with himself, his dick stirring up and pressing between your cheeks eagerly.

“Don’t stress yourself over this, baby,” he says, a whisper in your ear, raising goosebumps on your skin from how badly you wish you could melt into his arms in this moment and let him take care of you. “Can tell you’re wound up. Relax. I’m good with anything you wanna say.”

Takes you a second to process what he’s saying.

And so, with that simple statement, you’re calming down and settling into his chest. He makes it seem so simple, like he’s casting a spell on you. He’s just…

Your biggest source of safety and anxiety, currently.

“Better get back out there.” Leon palms your ass and playfully squeezes before letting you go and looking around for his own clothes on the floor.

“Yeah. Yeah,” is all you can muster up.

You find a shirt from your closet and head back out, carefully opening and closing the door behind you. In case your mother decides to be nosy and could catch a glimpse. 

“Mom, got you some clothes,” you say, finding her sitting on the couch, making herself at home with her phone already plugged in at the side table. “There’s an extra toothbrush in the second bathroom you can use if you want. Still in the package, it’s under the sink.”

“Thank you.” She smiles at you, and you know what’s coming. Her eyes dart downwards, like she’s pointing you in that direction. “New jacket? It’s not really your style, is it?”

Oh, fuck. Another piece of the puzzle, Leon’s jacket that you’ve been wearing for weeks still on the floor. Apparently you missed that in your rush to take the incriminating clothes pile upstairs.

“Looks like you got yourself some used boots, too,” she continues, blatantly teasing you now. “Little big for you, though, aren’t they? Quite a growth spurt you’re going through.”

“Oh my god.”

“Come on, indulge me. Because I’m guessing the Porsche outside has something to do with this, too. Oh, and the missed calls, and—”

“Mom.” She laughs at you, reveling in your suffering. “Jesus Christ, you’re relentless.”

She’s so much worse than Daisy when she wants to be. 

“What’s his name? What’s he look like?”

“Mom—”

“Are you going to introduce us? Or hide him in your bedroom all night?”

“Fucking hell.”

“Language, dear.”

“Oh, shut up,” you retort, laughing, because what else can you do? “It’s… complicated.”

“Tell you what,” she starts, “I’m going to have a shower and get ready for bed. If you haven’t brought him out here to meet me by the time I’m done, I’ll march up there and find out myself.”

“You can genuinely be so evil sometimes,” you mutter. 

“Not everything is about you. Maybe I just want to know the person I’m sharing a roof with?”

You sigh as your mother walks off. At least Leon took a weight off your shoulders, but his expectations weren’t the only thing burdening you.

You scramble through the cupboards for a bottle, finding whiskey that you’d picked up for Leon, and quickly down a shot to take some of the nerve off.

She will forgive you for not telling her sooner. She’ll understand that you didn’t want to tell her before you even knew what was really between you and Leon. Your mom is reasonable—you’re close for a reason. You know that, rationally. Regardless, the whole situation is… a lot.

You take one more shot directly from the bottle. To be safe. Then circle back to the couch, deciding to set that up before facing Leon again and catching him up.

“Need a hand?”

You jump out of your skin at Leon’s voice, dropping the handle and letting the pull-out bed fall back where it started.

“I need another drink,” you say, taking a few steps back as Leon assumes your spot, unfolding the mattress with ease. “Show-off.”

“You got sheets and blankets for this thing?”

“In the hall closet.”

And then he’s doing it for you, dressing the bed like he lives here and has done it a thousand times. When he does it, though, it’s much more exciting than when you do it; your eyes are fixated on the subtle movements of his muscles as he shakes out the cloths and spreads them across the mattress.

You could get used to this. It’s like he lives here. It’s so easy to picture waking up here with him every morning…

You don’t even register that you’re staring until he’s throwing a pillow and accompanying pillowcase at your face. 

“You gonna help? Or keep ogling me?”

“Shit, sorry,” you answer, blushing hard as you scramble to shove the pillow in its case.

The shower shuts off as you each set a pillow on either side and straighten out the sheets, finally making it look like a proper bed. 

“Thanks,” you say. “She practically demanded to meet you, but if you—”

“I heard.”

Must be those field agent senses of his. Of course he heard your conversation, despite being all the way upstairs! Why would you ever dare to think otherwise?

You decide to make your mom a fresh pot of decaf, at least it’ll give you something to do with your hands. And your mind. Without having to ask or sharing a word, Leon helps, in small ways that are big to you.

He knows where you keep everything. He knows your routine. God, he’s observant. He pays attention to you.

“Don’t mind it,” Leon says. “Remember what I said? Don’t stress yourself out, sweetheart. I’m fifty. I can handle meeting a parent.”

“Yeah, but… I… I don’t know what to expect from her. I was with my ex for a long time,” you say, gripping your mug tight and looking down. “And she hated him. I’m not sure if she’ll be relieved that you’re so obviously unlike him, or if she’ll be more… critical this time around. You know? Like, maybe she thinks my judgment or perception is skewed because of all that.”

“I can take critical,” Leon says. “Might be right ‘bout the second part, though. Considering you’ve decided to stick with this old man.”

“Ugh,” you say, laughing involuntarily at his stupid remark. “Can you at least try to be a little more shitty? I’m not used to this.”

“So what I’m hearin’ is that she was right to hate him?”

“Maybe,” you admit. “Yeah.”

Leon tips your chin up and leans in, kissing you, wrapping an arm around you and holding you close with a palm at the small of your back, free hand coming to cup your cheek.

He’s sweet about it, doesn’t push; his mouth remains closed, tongue disciplined, though the desire hidden in it is evident as his lips move over yours, ardent, like you’re all that exists.

“Wouldn’t have believed you if you tried, but at least we’ve established that he’s not ‘just a friend’.”

You quickly step out of Leon’s embrace and they’re both giving you wicked stares.

Leon must’ve known she was coming, hearing her approach from the hall with the same superhuman senses that heard your conversation occurring on an entirely different floor. 

“Name’s Leon,” he introduces himself, holding a hand out.

His other hand doesn’t move from your back. Comforting you, securing you. Silently reassuring that he didn’t lure you into a trap; he made a calculated decision to rip the band-aid off and not let you stew for too long. Knew it would be okay.

“Nice to meet you,” she says, shaking his hand, warm expression on her face.

“Likewise.”

You can see her taking in his appearance and doing the mental math.

“Your handshake is so strong,” she continues, an inflection in her tone that gets your attention. She’s definitely taking in his build, too. How his figure takes up half the room simply by existing, how small you look compared to him when he’s not that tall.

The shirt he threw on is slightly loose on him, and yet there’s still so little left to the imagination.

It would make sense, you think, for her to crush on him like you have. Probably makes more sense for her than for you, honestly, being closer to his age. You can’t stop doing laps in your mind, wondering what she’s thinking about the age gap. It’s completely uncharted territory.

One thing about your mother that you appreciate is how she’ll fuck with you to hell and back, but she knows when to be polite. If she does have negative feelings about the matter, she’s keeping that to herself.

For now. You’ll hear an earful about it later if you’re correct about her silent judgment.

“We made decaf,” you say, pouring her a cup.

“How d’you take it?” Leon asks. 

“Like mine,” you answer on reflex, “but double the cream. At least.” 

God, now you’re really giving her a show; you kick yourself for not staying silent. This interaction says so much about your relationship in so few words, and she shares a look with you that tells you she’s very aware. 

And she’s enjoying it. 

You can guess it’s likely both at your expense and because she hasn’t seen you happy like this in… many years, too many. Back when you and Aiden were doing well, which feels like ancient history at this point. So distant that the person you were then no longer feels like you.

“Thank you very much.” She accepts the mug from Leon’s outstretched hand and walks past you, taking a seat at your dining table, obviously expecting the two of you to sit with her. And talk.

So, you follow and take your seat; the hot one. Might as well get through this and take another small weight off your shoulders. Leon’s close behind.

“How’d you two meet?”

“Uh…” you pause, swallowing. “He’s a regular at the bar. Or, was.”

“Been busy with work. Mostly,” Leon chimes in, leaning back in his chair and draping one arm over the backrest, fingers dangling right behind your neck. “I’ll come back. ‘Less it would cause problems?”

“Problems?” your mother asks.

“No, no one will care about that. Everyone misses you, actually.” You shift in your seat, sipping your coffee. You add, seeing your mother still clearly confused, “He’s worried it’ll be a problem that I’m… seeing a customer.”

“‘Seeing’, huh?” she prods. “Peculiar choice of words, isn’t it?”

“I mean—”

“Am I interrupting your private time?”

“Mom! My god.”

She really knows how to get you to the point. You know she’s urging you to state the exact nature of your relationship. She’ll never miss an opportunity to put you on the spot.

“Well?”

“It’s not like that! We—we’re dating,” you acquiesce, cupping your mug hard again and looking down at it like it’s the most enthralling thing in the world, your face almost certainly turning red.

Leon takes his arm off the back of his chair and fully rests his palm on your upper back. Here for you again. It’ll be okay.

“Good,” she states plainly. She’s glad to see you leave him behind. You can see that, despite how badly she wants to have full faith in you, another tangible gap between you and Aiden is the solace she wants. “What do you do for work?”

“Federal agent,” Leon answers with ease and confidence.

“Really? Can you elaborate?”

It’s not her trying to pry, for once. Your mother would never anticipate you dating anyone in government—and neither would you if it weren’t happening to you, for that matter. Cops and the government aren’t really your thing. ’Fuck the cops’ has always been close to your heart, but you’re not supposed to actually fuck them. That’s where you went off-script.

“Work’s highly classified. Even this one doesn’t know.” He gestures toward you.

“Interesting,” she comments. “You must be very important, then. Guess that explains the Porsche.”

Leon laughs.

“Not sure ‘bout all that. The work is what’s important.”

Even though you can’t truly understand, you smile. Whatever he’s doing is important to him, and that’s why he does it. It’s why he puts himself at risk.

He’s making the world better, you know it. You just don’t know how.

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” you announce after a pause, yawning and inching back in your chair to stand from the table. “Do you need anything else, Mom? Help yourself to the house and kitchen, of course.”

“No, thank you. It was nice to meet you, Leon,” she replies, her tone pleasant.

“Same to you. Have a good night.”

He’s a shoe-in for passing the initial mom test. Besides, you know she’ll be texting you about him in some way, shape, or form within the week.

Then you’ll really know what’s on her mind.

You make your way back to your bed, sitting on the edge. Thinking about what this means. Your mother hasn’t seen you in a new relationship for nearly a decade. She’ll probably insist on inviting him over for dinner next. Ask when you’re getting married and having kids. Typical mom stuff.

Leon shuts the door behind him and instantly sheds his shirt, taking a spot beside you.

“Not gonna say it again after this, promise,” he says, stroking your back, “but you needta relax, beautiful. Everything is fine.”

“Oh, I’m okay. I’m… I guess I’m glad it’s over,” you admit shyly. “I hadn’t told her anything. I was starting to feel bad about it, but I didn’t know what to say.”

“She’s nice.” Leon props himself up on one elbow, staring at you with those lovely, hypnotizing blues. “Not sure what you were so worried ‘bout.”

“Got in my head. Sometimes, it’s like I don’t know how to act after my ex. Like, my mom and I are so close, but this made me realize how much I haven’t been sharing with her. But… it’ll be different now. I think.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, looking to him, close enough that your noses are nearly touching.

Then, Leon decides to pick up where you’d left off. 

He inches further up the bed and takes you with him in a firm grip around the waist, ending with him on his back and you on top of him, your legs mixed indistinguishably with his and your hands on his chest. They move on their own, doing little twirls in the salt-and-pepper hairs sprinkling his chest while your gaze shies away from his.

“Ah!” you yelp when Leon puts his ice-fucking-cold fingertips on you, having dipped right under your shirt and clutching your sides in a fast motion that catches you by surprise. “You jerk—hey!”

In the blink of an eye you’ve lost control of your body, his fingers playing your soft skin like a fiddle, tickling you; you squirm, fighting him for life to escape from his grasp, wriggling wildly and trying to peel his hands off you, but it’s useless—you’re no match for him and you can barely breathe anymore, laughing and crying at the same time, unable to even satisfy the need to move because he’s trapped you to him so firmly.

“Leon! Leon! Oh my god”—you choke out a few words at a time between forced giggles and attempts to kick him off you—“I’m gonna kill you, I swear!”

As soon as he lets you free of his tirade, before you can so much as dream of how you’ll kill him, he’s replaced the tickle onslaught with a fierce crushing of his lips to yours and cups the back of your head for better leverage. 

Everything that hid behind the controlled kiss your mother caught part of is let loose now. No lead up to it. His mouth dominates yours, moving over your lips and prying them apart, leading you both into a heated, messy kiss, and it, shockingly, feels so unbelievably natural. Feels like you’re relinquishing your body to its primal urges, operating on pure instinct. No thought.

Your tongues clash together at the same time as if following the same telepathic order. It’s like you’re connected.

Finally, you break apart, breathless and gasping for air.

“Leon—”

“Shh.” He hushes you with a finger to your mouth. “Quiet, baby. Lemme finish what we started.”

The hand lingers. His thumb slides over your lips, tugging your lower lip down. When he peels back and you let your mouth continue to hang ajar like that, he can’t resist sticking two fingers in, pressing them to the center of your tongue.

You seal your mouth around him and lick; curling around, running between, flicking at the pads until he’s thoroughly covered, saliva trailing behind once he finally pulls out.

His rigid length prods at your stomach, coming to life at the sight of you. Leon gingerly slips his wet fingers under your shorts and panties, finding your clit and moving with light, leisurely circles, coaxing a gasp from you and your hips grind into his touch on their own, a plea for more.

“Been waitin’ for it all day,” he purrs, free hand working at your shirt and lifting the hem; once it’s over your breasts, you work together to get it fully over your head and arms and throw it on the floor. “Fucking loved when you took control. Only made me want you more… and now I’m all pent up, sweetheart.”

Fucking hell, the longer this continues the more you feel empty. A piece of you missing, your pussy aching for him.

It’s where he belongs. Where you need him most.

Your heart agrees.

You were nervous about his size at first. That feels like ten thousand years ago. Your cunt fits Leon like a glove. You were made for each other, you think; when he’s inside you and holding you close, it’s the only time you’re one hundred percent in the moment, all your worries and bothers forgotten, left behind. Even your insecurities find a temporary reprieve.

He worships you when he fucks you, and every piece of you feels right.

“Leon, please…”

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, a tangential echo of you, earlier.

“N-need you, inside,” you whine. “Want you to fill me up… please…”

That’s all it takes for Leon to grab you with one arm and flip you both, trading positions. Without missing a beat, he grips your shorts and panties and yanks them down your legs with such force you’re surprised they don’t rip.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. “I’ll never be able to stop tellin’ you that.”

Hovering over you, Leon lines himself up with your swollen pussy, clearly holding back a groan himself when he coats his cock in your slick. He lifts your knees to your chest, towering over you and pressing in, breaching you. A rough, large palm covers your mouth and he steadies himself, elbows digging in on either side of you. 

You moan as he bottoms out in you, arching your back and crying out into the palm over your mouth, thankful he’s muffling your sounds, the pleasure-pain from him pounding into and stretching you almost too much to handle. Driving you mad, so full, so complete.

Leon’s big, like, big—and you were terrified when you first saw his size, but now? Any smaller wouldn’t feel right and any bigger would tear you in two. It really is like he was fucking made for you.

A few drops roll down the corner of your eye as he slams into you, still pushing your legs into you with his torso, fucking you like he’s trying to get you knocked up. Damp bits of hair fall from his head, framing his face, accentuating that godly side profile of his that you always find yourself staring at.

“L-Leon,” you say the very second he lifts his palm from your mouth. “Fuck, please, please, it’s so hot, I’m gonna…”

What you’re saying please for, you’re not sure. Anything. Everything. As long as it’s him.

You just need Leon.

“So tight, baby, ’m gonna go insane,” he says, voice starting to crack. “Need y-you to come with me…”

He wastes no time placing his fingers back over your clit, rubbing with drawn out, calculated strokes; each making you clench further, until you’re right on the very edge with him.

“Can I trust you to be quiet?”

“N-no,” you admit.

Leon quiets you by covering your mouth with his as you come, the tightly wound knot in your core coming undone all at once; waves of pleasure sink you deeper, drowning your senses, your limbs searching frantically and clinging to him anywhere they can latch onto. Scratching at his back like you’ll drift away if you can’t dig your nails in.

An anchor. Your anchor.

Then your anchor stutters, losing some of his rhythm; he’s pushing himself to keep thrusting into you while you ride this out, swallowing your sounds, filling you and making you whole again. So determined to take care of you—priority to prolong your release, watch you squirm, and drink up your pathetic, perfect attempts to cry his name.

Leon follows and finishes at the tail of your rolling orgasm, starting to fill you with warm, sticky come coating your walls and mixing with your arousal, overflow dripping slow from your cunt and making a wet spot on the sheets.

You move your arms to cup his face, following his lips and swallowing all his moans with your kiss, guiding him through. Caressing his cheeks with your thumbs while he weakly ruts into you, legs shaking, chasing the tail end of the high. Taking care of him the best way you know how.

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’.”