#dilf leon

“Are you done for the night? You were almost drooling all over me.” He comes back with two coffees, setting them down on the desk. He watches as you stop pacing, and walk back to your chair. 

“I’m okay,” you answer, giving him a sheepish smile as you sit back down again. You look at the documents spread on the desk, eyes becoming heavy yet again. There’s a marked map, places circled following mysterious deaths of unknown diseases. There’s suspicion of bioterrorism, but there’s no idea how it’s being spread.

“You like yours with sugar, right?” Mr. Kennedy asks, and you nod in response. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, bringing the mug up to your lips and blowing on it before taking a sip. You scrunch up your nose, the coffee still too bitter for your liking. He can’t help but chuckle when he sees the face you make.

“Too sweet?” He uses a sarcastic tone, and you laugh. You’re about to stand up to add more sugar, but he beats you to it. He winks before telling you, “I got it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kennedy,” you respond, smiling at him before looking back at the documents. This has been the main task at work the past couple of weeks and no one has been able to find some sort of lead– Determined and hardworking Mr. Kennedy decided that he’s staying late to find some sort of useful information.

“Hey, Mr. Kennedy! You said you were caught up in Raccoon City when the outbreak happened, right?” you shout, reading the papers that are laid out on the table. They’re case reports around the country, all detailing the same symptoms and reactions. By the erratic behavior, it is by no means a natural outbreak. It’s not a naturally occurring virus or bacteria.

“I was,” he answers once he’s back in your presence, holding your cup of coffee. He sets it down on the desk, and you quickly pick it up to give it a taste. This time around it’s perfect.

“Does any of this sound like the outbreak there?” you ask, almost getting deja vu as you read the reports. You’ve read too much about the Raccoon City outbreak, after all, that incident inadvertently led to the creation of your job.

“It does,” he hums in response. “But a little bit more complex.”

“So it could be the same virus but mutated?” you question, and he nods. Though that’s not what matters. There’s a point of containment that you have yet to find.

“Possibly. Most likely.” He grabs his mug, taking a big gulp. He needs all the caffeine he can get, he knows he has a long night ahead of him. He sighs, looking down at the papers on the desk. He can’t bear to look at them any longer. “We have no idea how it spread, or how it left that place.”

“If this is possibly connected to the t-virus then maybe–” you begin, only to be interrupted by him.

“The creator of the virus is long gone, as well as any contributor,” he tells you. He quickly realizes that he’s interrupted you, and feels bad about it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off.”

“You’re good,” you respond, not minding the interruption. Mr. Kennedy is older and wiser, he definitely understands the complexities better than you. You clear your throat, before speaking on the issue again, “Umbrella didn’t just have a couple of people working with the virus though– I’m guessing.”

“You’re right.” He frowns, grabbing his pen and writing down something quickly. You try to decipher what he’s written, but the writing’s rushed and messy. It doesn’t matter, the note is for him to read.

“I don’t know how you have the energy, Mr. Kennedy,” you yawn, bringing the mug back up to your lips to take another sip. The caffeine is not working as fast as you’d hope. “I’m beat.”

“Please, call me Leon.” The man doesn’t know the amount of times he’s had to correct you on the matter, but every time you insist on formalities. It’s true, you work under him but he doesn’t care for formalities with the people he works with. “Are you ready to head out?”

“I think I got another…” You pretend to think about it for a moment, putting your index finger on your chin and humming before finally saying, “I’d say another five minutes in me.”

“I take it, you’re a comedian,” he answers before letting out a low laugh. “I’ve put you through the ringer tonight, I’m sorry.”

“Just doing my job, sir,” you reassure him. You certainly can’t complain about your duties, after all, this is the job that you nearly begged to have– You won’t even mention that you were the first one that perked up at the opportunity of staying late with him. 

Frankly you got in your head about it. You were reading signals that apparently weren’t there. The flirtatious jokes perhaps didn’t mean anything more. The teasing and flirting were just something you misread. Or perhaps he just isn’t brave enough to do anything more. Though it makes sense that he’d remain composed, not willing to cross over the line. 

“What are you going to do after this?” he asks, shifting in his seat as his attention turns towards you. 

“Why? Are you planning on asking me out?” There’s clearly a joking tone in your voice so as to not make him uncomfortable. He chuckles in response.

“I was thinking about it, but I wasn’t too sure if you’d be willing to go out with an old man such as myself.” He plays along with you, and you try your best to not smirk.

“I’d show you off like a trophy,” you answer, biting your lip as you look back at him. The exhaustion wears off, feeling yourself fill with energy that the caffeine couldn’t replenish. “How old are you again? Forty?”

“You flatter me. I’m forty-eight,” he corrects you, and you try your best to not laugh like a schoolgirl.

“Twenty years, that’s not too bad,” you comment, and he smirks.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he warns you, licking his lips as mischievous eyes check you out. Before you can argue that you know exactly the situation you’re getting yourself into, Mr. Kennedy stands up from his seat. “It’s getting late.”

“You’re right.” You follow his lead, standing up from your chair. “I have to leave before I miss the last bus.”

“Bus?” he asks, and you hum in response.

“You know, those really big cars that are considered public transport–” you joke, trying your best to not burst into laughter.

“Nonsense, I’ll drive you home,” he responds, grabbing his jacket and patting his pocket to make sure he still has his keys. While you’d typically protest and insist that you’re fine on your own, the last thing you want to do right now is test your luck. 

“Won’t it be too out of your way?” You still double check, trying to seem considerate. You already know that he’ll insist on taking you home, no matter what you say.

“Not at all, but I might need some gas money.” He shoots you a wink, and you chuckle in response. 

“You talk a lot of shit,” you answer, grabbing your purse and following behind him. He holds the door open for you, letting you walk ahead.

You call for the elevator, and wait patiently by his side– Considering no one is in the building at this hour, it takes a relatively long time. 

“Seems like everyone is working late tonight,” he comments, getting slightly impatient the longer he stands idle. 

“Got someone waiting for you at home?” you pry, though you bite your tongue the moment the question leaves your lips. You know that not too long ago Mr. Kennedy went through a nasty divorce, ultimately leaving him alone. However, that divorce was a year ago and perhaps he’s taken the opportunity to move on. 

“My dog. How about you?” he questions, and you shake your head.

“You know, since you’re being so kind, I can make you some dinner.” You’re testing the waters, checking how far he’s willing to go. You fight back a smirk as you look up at him. He cocks his brow, trying to figure out what you’re up to. Though, it shouldn’t take a genius to figure it out.

“I’d be honored. What are you offering? Instant noodles?” He gives in without an issue, though he takes the opportunity to tease you. 

“If you’re lucky, I might throw an egg in there,” you answer, earning a chuckle from him.

“Aren’t I just the luckiest man alive?” he replies with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. As the words leave his lips, the elevator doors open. To no one’s shock, it’s empty. He lets you step inside first before following behind you.

“Considering how expensive eggs are these days, you’re very fortunate.” You stick your tongue out playfully, making him laugh in response. He hits the first floor’s button, making the elevator doors close. In the silence, you hear his stomach growl and you raise your brows, “Seems that someone desperately needs dinner.”

“It’s your fault for bringing up food,” he argues, and you roll your eyes. You finally get to the first floor, leaving the elevator and nearly rushing out of the building. You walk ahead of Mr. Kennedy, knowing exactly where he parks daily. It’s hard to miss Mr. Kennedy’s car. “Will you slow down?!”

“Hurry up, Mr. Kennedy!” you yell back at him, though you stop in your tracks to wait for him.

“You’re just eager to escape, aren’t you?” he asks, voice a little out of breath when he catches up to you. You chew on the inside of your cheek, holding back what you truly want to say. The last thing you want is to escape from his grasp.

He walks to his car, going to the passenger side and opening the door for you. You mutter a thank you before getting inside. It smells just like his cologne– The musky, woody scents encapture you. He shuts the door and rushes to the driver’s side.

“Where do you live?” he asks, and you put out your hand to take his phone.

“If you give me your phone I can put it in the G–” You only get the first letter out before he cuts you off.

“I know this city like the back of my hand, I can take you there with no outside help,” he assures you, and you frown before you reluctantly tell him your address. You’d insist that he uses his phone, but you decide against arguing about it. You can only hope that you don’t end up driving in circles. He begins to drive, and at least he starts off going in the right direction.

“A little old-fashioned, aren’t ya, Mr. Kennedy?” you tease him, making him click his tongue.

“Leon,” he corrects you, though it goes in one ear and out the other. You’re still going to call him Mr. Kennedy. “You know, you can’t always rely on technology.”

“Hmm, is that so?” you respond with a mocking tone in your voice. He’s not oblivious to it, but he still hums in response. You keep your eye on him, watching as he focuses on the road. You have to say that when he’s concentrating, he’s pretty hot– Though you think that no matter what he does.

“When you get to my age–”

“You talk about yourself as if you were ancient,” you comment, and the corners of his lips turn upward. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he actually says something, he closes it.

“I’m ancient,” he answers, holding back the inappropriate comment he was going to make. Even if you’re out of the office, he’s still your superior. 

“I don’t think you are,” you say, and he chuckles.

“I can bet money on why.” He makes you furrow your brows, and you tilt your head as you look at him. He catches you from the corner of his eye and asks, “Got something to say, sweetheart?”

“What are you betting money on?” You cross your arms, eyes narrowing as you stare at him.

“Nothing, I was just talking to myself,” he claims, and you scoff. 

“Seems like all the field work is catching up to you, Mr. Kennedy. Your sanity is slowly dropping,” you mutter, though it reaches his ear without an issue. He laughs at your comment, not saying anything back.

“You know, I have to say,” he begins, though he bites his tongue for a moment. He stays silent for a moment, and just as you’re about to speak, he says, “I’m surprised you don’t have a boyfriend.”

You fight back a smile as you hear the comment. It’s not out of sheer curiosity, Mr. Kennedy wants to test the waters. He doesn’t want to be too upfront about how he feels, just in case that the flirtatious jokes are just that, jokes. The fact that he’s technically your boss makes the situation all that harder. Mr. Kennedy can’t be too safe about the matter.

“I’m hard to please,” you answer. Your eyes remain intently on him, lowering your voice before making a remark, “Or perhaps I’m waiting for someone that can handle me.”

He rests his arm on the center console, hand tempted to move to your thigh. He remains still, composed. Mr. Kennedy’s known temptation for too long, but it’s never burned like this before. He knows it’s something you want, but he mustn't give in– Even though he plays along. 

A deep laugh leaves his throat, before he asks, “You think you need someone older, sweetheart?”

“No.” You shake your head. “The person I have set my eyes on does happen to be older though.”

“You’re just talking in riddles.” Before you can properly say what’s on your mind, and make your move, he parks outside of your building. He was right, he knows the city like the back of his hand. 

“You want me to be upfront with you?” You tilt your head, batting your eyelashes when his gaze finally lands on you. There’s a smug look on his face before he nods in response. 

“I want to know what’s on your mind,” he says, and you straighten your posture. Your breath gets caught up in your chest, and for a second you’re hesitant on whether or not you should speak. You look into his eyes, biting down your lip as he asks, “Cat got your tongue?”

“Why don’t you walk me to my place first, then I’ll tell you what’s on my mind.” Nerves begin to consume you, and all the confidence that you swear you’ll have when you’re with him is nowhere to be seen. But you know one thing: if you don’t make the first move, then nothing is going to happen. 

“Then lead the way,” he answers, turning off the car and getting out, not thinking twice about it. He doesn’t have the same issue as you, it seems. He rushes to the passenger side, opening your door for you before extending his hand for you to take.

You feel your heart about to beat out of your chest as you lead Mr. Kennedy into the building. You can’t believe that you’re actually leading him back to your apartment. You’re oddly quiet, scared that if you speak you might ruin the moment. 

“This is a nice building,” he comments, earning no response from you. You’re too in your head about your next move. To think that you were complaining about your night with him being uneventful. He notices your silence, and decides to ask, “So what are you offering me for dinner?”

“Instant noodles, you guessed right the first time,” you answer with a nervous giggle, one that he can’t quite ignore. Before you can get to your door, Mr. Kennedy grabs your wrist and stops you in your tracks. You look back at him with wide eyes, and you blurt out, “What’s wrong?”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks, and you avert your eyes, looking at the ground in shame. His hand goes under your chin, tilting your head to look at him. “Hey, look at me. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave without an issue–”

“I really want you to come inside,” you cut him off, and he raises his eyebrow at the way you phrase it. Still, he nods in response before he lets go of you. You go to your door, taking a deep breath before opening it. 

“Welcome.” You turn on the lights, showing off your humble abode. It’s cozy to say the least, but he can immediately tell that you don’t pay too much on rent. You look back at him and ask, “You want anything to drink?”

“Water, on the rocks please.” He shoots a wink your way and you roll your eyes before chuckling. He’s so stupid. Before you can get away, he grabs your wrist again, “But we have something pending.”

“You want to talk about it now?” you frown, and he nods in response. “I thought you were hungry.”

He remains silent, unsure of how to respond. His appetite is suppressed– It’s changed to something else. He no longer wants food but something more… Carnal. You look into his lustful eyes, and you feel the nerves fade away. He wouldn’t have joined you if he didn’t want the same thing. Your hand goes to his chest, and you smirk with newfound confidence before you whisper into his ear, “You want me to be upfront?” 

“I’m all ears,” he answers, hands steady at his side. He’s not going to succumb to temptation so easily. It’s late, he won’t let the night get into his head. Not so fast. He knows what he wants and he’s known for a while but it has to wait.

“I want you, Mr. Kennedy.” You send a chill down his spine, and when you think he’ll finally give in, he remains still. Your cheeks burn, and you feel the embarrassment take over you from his lack of response. 

“You know I can’t touch you, sweetheart.” His words are contradictory as he finally makes a move, hands going to your waist and slowly creeping down. He knew that by accepting this offer he’d go against the very thing he isn’t supposed to do. Yet he remains in your place, ready to give into temptation. “I’d get in so much trouble for doing anything with you.”

He shouldn’t have asked. He shouldn’t have come up here. Truth be told, he pretends to fight temptation so he can claim that he tried. You just wouldn’t leave him alone. If he had any real intention of keeping to himself, he wouldn’t have walked you here.

“You know…” You lick your lips, wondering if you want to be so utterly bold with him. “You don’t have to touch me.”

“What are you implying?” His breath gets caught up in his chest, and it takes all the strength in him to not pin you against the wall and have his fun with you.

“You can just watch,” you respond, biting down on his earlobe before grabbing his hand and leading him to your bedroom. You smirk as you begin to unbutton your shirt, revealing the lacy bra that hides underneath your clothes. “Even though I know you want to touch.”

“You’re bold for someone that refuses to call me by my first name,” he points out, and you giggle before planting a kiss on the corner of his lip. He can’t touch, but there was never an agreement that you had to remain idle. 

“Maybe I like Mr. Kennedy better,” you answer, kissing him again. You step back, putting some space between you. 

He remains still, completely unmoving as he watches your every move. You slowly get undressed, making it as painful as you possibly can for him. He watches every garment hit the floor until you’re completely bare in front of him. 

“Will you help me?” You bat your eyelashes in his direction as you sit down on the edge of the bed. That’s his cue. He can finally drop the act– Except that when he walks over to you, and his hand looms close to the forbidden, you slap it away. You click your tongue, shaking your head disappointedly before reminding him, “No touching, remember?” 

“Ah, you’re strict,” he responds before clearing his throat. “How would you like me to help, sweetheart?”

“Spit,” you command, and he chuckles.

“You’re messy.” He almost sounds proud about the fact as he mentions it. He brings his lips together, spit dripping down and landing on your lower abdomen. Two of your fingers travel down, picking up his saliva before you run them through your folds. You spread your legs, making sure that Mr. Kennedy gets a clear view of what he can’t touch.

His gaze remains fixed, watching as your fingers tease your entrance— It’s almost torturing him. When he thinks you’re finally going to insert your fingers, you move them back to play with your clit. He’s not sure if your intention is to tease him by denying yourself, but it’s certainly doing something to him. 

The room is hot. Five minutes ago it was frigid, but now he can barely breathe. Perhaps it’s because the scene in front of him is enough to melt him with a single glance. He knows that he grows uncomfortable with the tension within his pants, that he can’t relieve with you. 

A breathy moan escapes your lips, your back hitting the mattress as you get lost within yourself. It’s almost his breaking point, but he manages to remain composed. He’s lucky that he gets to admire a masterpiece in the flesh, he won’t test his luck. 

“Leon.” The way you say his name completely fucks him over, and even though you haven’t touched him, he could come right then and there. It’s the first time he hears it, and he hates that he’s pushed you to this point because he knows he’s going to get addicted to the way it rolls off your tongue.

Through half-lidded eyes, you look at him and say, “Touch yourself, Leon.”

He’s hesitant, until he can’t hold back any longer. He unbuttons his pants, pulling down his zipper before getting to work. His thumb swipes the precum, and he slowly drags his hand down to the base of his cock. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he mutters, hand moving slowly as his eyes remain steady on the way you please yourself. He sits down beside you, getting a better look at how you please yourself. Too engrossed in the lower half of your body, he misses how your free hand is caressing his arm before it wraps around the base of his cock. He hums, “I thought you said no touching.”

“You aren’t touching me, I’m touching you,” you argue, and he really can’t refute anything. Even if you were wrong, he wouldn’t say anything especially with how your pretty little hand lazily strokes his length. “Oh fuck, you’re big.”

“Were you expecting anything else?” He can’t help but laugh, fingers brushing against your thigh and almost succumbing. The subtlest touch makes you weak enough to ignore what you’ve set up. You let go of his cock, grabbing his hand and guiding it to your sopping pussy. Touching is okay as long as he doesn’t actually put his dick inside of you… Right?

“Shit… Are you sure?” He looks at your face for approval, as if you weren’t the one that led his hand to your cunt. You give him a subtle nod, making his finger run through your folds, getting them wet with your slick. “I need to feel you so bad, doll.”

“Leon,” you mewl, as he inserts a thick finger inside of you. Your hand goes to the base of his cock again, resuming lazy strokes, matching the pace of his own fingers. You arch your back as he inserts another finger into your pussy. 

You’re softly moaning his name, getting lost in his touch as he treats your body as if it were his own. You shut your eyes, too lost in your own pleasure that you whine when he takes his fingers out of your pussy. You’re about to vocalize your complaint, but when you open your eyes, Leon is on top of you.

“I need to feel you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, lips landing on yours, locking into a messy kiss. Your tongue presses against his, while your hand strokes his cock. When he pulls away, a string of saliva connects your lips.

There’s no forethought. Any consequence is quickly forgotten– And what you had originally agreed upon is the last things on your mind. Right now you need release, in the best possible manner. It doesn’t matter that you’ll see each other tomorrow and you’ll have to remain professional. How this can possibly strain your relationship is not something you care about right now. Right now you need to consume each other. 

“Put it in, fuck me,” you answer, making him run the tip through your folds before sliding right inside of you. You gasp as he stretches you out with his length. Leon moans your name as he bottoms out, remaining still so he doesn’t finish inside you just yet. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, shutting his eyes as he feels the way you wrap around him. You feel so fucking perfect, just as he imagined. He begins to move his hips, giving gentle strokes. 

“God, Leon,” you moan, keeping your eye on him. His mouth falls agape, sweat slowly dripping down his forehead. He moans your name, smoothly rolling off his tongue. Almost as if he’s been waiting to use it in this context.

“You’re doing so good. You’re taking me so well, sweetheart,” he praises you. Your hand goes down to play with your clit as your climax slowly consumes you. With your free hand, you push his head down so your lips can lock again. He feels your moans on his lips which make him slowly lose control. 

You tighten around him as your orgasm slowly takes over you. You bite down his lip, pulling away from the kiss to freely moan into the air, telling him just how good he’s making you feel. “Leon, I’m gonna come. Shit, I’m gonna come.”

You shut your eyes, legs spasming as you reach your high. You coat him with your juices, making a mess all over him as his thrusts become unregulated. 

“Good job, you’re doing so good,” he says as he chases his release. Leon had the full intention of pulling out, but before he can form a conscious thought, his cock twitches and fills you up with his seed. He curses under his breath, giving a couple more gentle thrusts before pulling out of you. 

He falls back on the bed, staring at the ceiling of your bedroom. He’s still too hot for any sort of regret to consume him, though he knows that when he wakes up tomorrow, he won’t be too proud of his actions. He looks at you, and a shy smile comes to your lips as you stare back. At the very least that makes him feel better.

He’s not surprised by his actions, after all, there was no other reason for him to come back here. He knew that when he decided to walk you back upstairs, this is how he’d end up– Even if he claimed otherwise.

“So much for no touching,” you joke, trying to sit up, but your back hits the mattress just as fast. He laughs. A silly rule, one that you both knew neither of you would follow. 

You lay in silence for a moment, before Leon gets up. He has to get going. But just as he’s getting ready, he gets a look at you in all your glory. He eyes glisten, watching his cum ooze out of your cunt, and for some reason– 

He’s not leaving any time soon.

“Are you gonna get–” You stop in your tracks, your eyes widening when you realize that Leon isn’t quite done. “That was fast for an old man.”

Leon knocks on wood, fearing that his fate will change. He ensures every single member of his family wears pink, making it clear that the family has a preference– The baby will be loved equally regardless but it’s time for a little girl to join the family. 

“Are you two ready?” Leon asks, walking over to his boys to make sure they’re ready. Nothing they can do today will ruin his moment. Today, they are his little angels whether they like it or not.

“We’re ready,” the eldest nods, and Leon ruffles their hair. For once, he believes that his boys will actually behave. Leon’s hope in the world is slowly being restored. 

His eyes then land on you, the sweetest smile coming to his face. His hand goes to your bump as he presses a kiss on your temple. He crouches down, pressing a kiss on your bump and saying, “We’re so excited to meet you, baby girl.”

“Okay, baby. Let’s go downstairs, people are going to show up soon,” you tell him, urging him to get up from the floor. Leon listens, taking James from your arms and guiding the boys downstairs.

As guests arrive, Leon keeps track of who wears pink– Nearly everyone. But there’s still an asshole or two that think they’re being hilarious while wearing a blue shirt. Even with the negativity around, Leon is not going to let anyone ruin his day. It’s his day.

Leon already has the perfect reaction for when he sees the pink confetti. He’s ready. He’s ready for when he first holds her in his arms. He has already started buying her clothes. He has the perfect nursery planned out for her. For fuck’s sake, he’s already setting up her college fund.

Leon holds James in his arms, ensuring the toddler is safe from his brothers. He’s by your side at all times, protecting you from any evil eye. Leon is not spiritual, but today he believes everything that will make sure that he’s getting his baby girl.

Leon keeps James in his arms at all times, greeting people and sharing his excitement for the fourth baby. He doesn’t boast about the fact that he’s finally getting his baby girl, but the excitement is clear. Everyone that has been around Leon for long enough knows that he’s been dying for a baby girl.

The man barely even pays attention to his boys that are probably causing a ruckus. As long as Leon is happy, he’s letting everyone do whatever they want. He even gives James a lollipop to get all loaded on sugar. 

The time comes, and the genderkeeper gets the balloons, handing them to you and Leon. Leon puts down James, letting the toddler run free until a family member catches him and keeps him in his arms to whine and cry. Still, Leon finds the toddler to be much calmer than his brothers. 

Leon has the biggest smiles on his face, getting jittery from excitement. He kisses your lips as a countdown begins for you to finally pop the balloons, and Leon nearly cheers from excitement when they get to one. You pop the balloons at the same time.

Blue confetti swarms the air, and you look at your husband with wide eyes. The wide smile that was on his face drops, but as he hears people cheering he tries to keep it up. The last thing he wants is for his fourth son to watch a video of the gender reveal and realize his daddy just wasn’t that excited for yet another son. 

Leon engulfs you in a hug, kissing you, trying to disguise the slight disappointment. Curse his seed and everyone that wears blue today. The universe hates him.

“This time you’re getting a vasectomy,” you whisper in his ear, trying to maintain a smile as everyone watches you and cheers you on. 

“Oh, trust me, my love. We don’t need a vasectomy,” Leon is holding back tears, watching in the background as his older boys hold James as if the toddler were a human sacrifice. Leon wishes he could read their mind to figure out their thinking process and their next move, but even a psychic would end up confused. “I’m cutting off my balls.”

He pulls away from the hug, and cheers loud enough for everyone to hear, “Wooo! Another boy!”