#dilf leon

You turn to look at him, a sheepish smile coming to your face. It takes everything in you to pull your facial muscles together and put on that smile. Your stomach churns and you try to think of a single good outcome. You’ll just be holding him back, you don’t understand why he chose to bring you of all people along– Mr. Kennedy is a veteran when it comes to field work, he can do this alone. It’s a simple investigation.

“How did you feel on your first field mission?” You bite your tongue the moment the words leave your lips. What could count as his first field mission came out of left field. He had no time to prepare.

“A little shocked that someone kept trying to bite my neck, but other than that, pretty okay,” he says, making you roll your eyes. Leave it to Mr. Kennedy to make a joke about a life-changing moment. “Trust me, you’ll be okay. You’re more than prepared.”

“If you say so.” You shrug, hoping that by pretending to not care you’ll be able to hide the fact that you’re completely terrified.

“I have your back in case the worst case scenario happens,” he reassures you. Still, it doesn’t really help you. Nerves won’t go away that easily, even if you know you have backup. You’re still scared of messing up.

“What exactly are we doing?” you ask, even if you’ve gone through the plan a million times. You have to double and triple check that you’re doing things right. You don’t want to mishear something and hold him back.

A guttural laugh leaves his throat, before he says, “You’re a smart girl, you already know.”

That shuts you up, and for the rest of the ride you feel your stomach churn with nerves. You want to get this over with, but you also can’t fathom the thought of finally getting to your destination and starting the mission. One thing is clear: it’s going to be a long day.

When you finally get to your destination, you’re calmer than what you anticipated. Your inexperience made things seem worse than they actually are– At least things are calm as you roam around the city. According to the data gathered, this place has been a hotspot for the virus. One of many places to investigate but the closest to headquarters.

“What are the odds we find out the source and eradicate the issue in this mission?” you ask, rather hopeful that you won’t have to engage in a million field missions before finally finding a solution. He burst into laughter at your words, making your cheeks get warm in embarrassment. 

“I’d buy a lottery ticket if we succeed in this singular mission,” he says while looking around the colonial style buildings. They’re all lively and well kept, nothing that causes any concern. Mr. Kennedy instructs you to look for anything that’s out of place; meaning a building that looks abandoned or with unusual activity in the front. 

Everything looks too normal for a place that’s had numerous reports of an unusual virus. Nothing sets off alarms in your head, and after what feels like almost an hour you come to a stop, realizing that you have no idea where you’re standing anymore. Mr. Kennedy grabs his phone, squinting his eyes as he stares at the screen, leaving you idle in the middle of the sidewalk.

“What comes next? We enter each shop and begin to ask around or–” you begin, and you stop in your tracks as you notice something weird from the corner of your eye. The window box of a building has strange looking flowers. 

“You were saying?” Mr. Kennedy puts his phone back in his pocket, waiting for you to speak again, but you don’t say anything. You keep looking at the flowers, almost as if you were mesmerized by them. A minute passes, and that makes Mr. Kennedy looks in the same direction as you, trying to check what has encaptured you. “What are those? You like them?”

“They’re blue,” you respond.

“I’m not colorblind, y’know?” he answers with a chuckle, though it doesn’t make you laugh as he’d hoped. You begin to march to the flowers, forcing the man to follow behind you. “What’s gotten into you?”

“They’re peonies,” you point out when you’re standing in front of the flowers. You’re tempted to pluck one out and take a closer look, but you keep your hands to your side out of respect to the owner. “Mr. Kennedy, peonies can’t be naturally blue.”

“These days people dye flowers, weird hobby but it gets them going,” he argues. Out of the many things he’s concerned over, blue peonies are at the bottom of his list.

“Not everything will have a huge neon sign that says ‘Look Here’ that flashes every time you walk by.” You carry a bit of attitude in your voice as you speak. It isn’t intentional or meant to be disrespectful by any means, though it comes off that way. Luckily, Mr. Kennedy chuckles. “This could be our hint.”

“Wouldn’t the odd flowers count as a huge neon sign as well?” he asks, and you click your tongue. You’re trying to find something out of place, and this is the only thing that looks out of place in the small town. “A bioterrorist that is concerned with dyeing flowers. That’s a new one.”

“Don’t flowers contain genetic material? Isn’t that the very thing that bioterrorists are obsessed with altering?” you argue back, prompting him to turn around and giving him a gentle push toward the entrance of the building. He doesn’t have anything to say back, after all, you did get him there. 

“If we have to question a sweet old lady, I’ll let you do the talking,” he says with the sole purpose of teasing you. He knows that you’re right and you picked up on the hint that he couldn’t decipher. He’s proud of you, but those words are reserved for when you’re driving back home after finishing your mission.

“Why don’t you? Wouldn’t she be your peer?” you joke, and his mouth nearly falls agape, but he remains composed. Mr. Kennedy opens the door, the bell ringing in your ears the moment he steps in. You feel your heartbeat get faster, palms getting sweaty as nerves slowly come to light. He takes small steps in the unusual surroundings, and you follow his lead.

All the lights are on, but no one is inside. It’s eerie. You can almost hear your heart beating in your chest due to the silence around you. You’re blindly following him, barely paying attention to where you’re stepping. 

“Is anyone there?” he shouts, confirming that there’s no one else in the shop. He signals you to stay behind him as he opens the door to the backroom. He keeps his hand on his gun, stepping inside and scanning the empty room.

A shop that’s clearly open, yet no employees are in sight is weird. You’re looking around the backroom, trying to find something unusual. Any hint of disorder around the place, but nothing stands out.

“Maybe you were right, and there’s nothing going on he–” you begin, but he shushes you as you hear banging against a door. Mr. Kennedy frowns, stepping closer to the door where the sound comes from. “Is that the employee bathroom? Is someone stuck in there?”

You hang tight behind him, and the closer you get to the sound source, the more nauseous you become– It isn’t because of nerves this time. A rotten smell reaches your nostrils, upsetting your stomach. You cover your nose, but the smell is entrapped in your senses. 

“Stay behind me,” he orders, and when he makes sure you’ve listened to him, he opens the door. 

You watch it with your own eyes. All of those stories you’ve heard of infected now before you– The rotting corpse of what once was a young woman now mindlessly walks around, searching for flesh that it can consume. It tries to grab onto Mr. Kennedy, attempting to grab his shoulders and take a big juicy bite of his neck.

It should be your sign to take out your gun and shoot, but too scared you freeze. You feel your heart stop, a cold sweat dripping down your forehead. Not too long after, your ears ring as three gunshots are fired. The corpse falls to the ground, and Mr. Kennedy takes a step back. He’s killed it, yet you remain unmoving. Scared. 

“Seems like you were right,” he comments, looking back at you to find you frozen. When there’s one, there’s a dozen, he knows; yet, he puts his gun away and focuses on comforting you, “Hey, you okay?”

“I think I’m going to be–” You can’t finish your sentence before you’re puking all over his shoes, unloading all your nerves onto him. And even then, he caresses your back in hopes of calming you down.

He reassures you, “Everything is going to be okay. You’re doing great.”

It’s humiliating to sit in a hospital bed, waiting to be discharged after your first mission. You aren’t injured by any means, Mr. Kennedy simply insisted on getting you checked out after you kept puking over and over again. Nothing even touched you, yet you’re here as if you were injured by something. You couldn’t even keep investigating or get anymore clues because Mr. Kennedy insisted on getting you out.

You don’t understand why he pretends like you’re a case study– You’d argue that you’re more than justified to react like that at such a smell. You got your blood drawn and a couple of more checkups. You find it ridiculous to wait in an emergency room for something that has a clear cause. You simply have to take care of yourself in the next couple of days, there’s no need for you to pay money for an emergency room.

“We could’ve gone to urgent care– Or you could’ve just taken me home, we know why I reacted the way I did,” you mutter, staring at the ceiling tiles, still shocked about what you’ve witnessed today. This is so much worse than what you anticipated. The smell lingers in your nose, you could puke again.

“It’s an emergency, you vomited for nearly ten minutes,” he argues, making you click your tongue. He’s a veteran in this, of course he isn’t phased by it.

“That’s an exaggeration.” A sigh escapes your lips before you ask, “Did you react like this, Mr. Kennedy?”

“You did great,” he answers, not wanting to flat out say no. His reaction was a little different, but yours is valid nonetheless. “And please, call me Leon.”

“You would’ve been just fine without me disturbing you,” you say, avoiding looking at him as you speak. You’re too ashamed over your uselessness.

“Who figured out where to go? Because it wasn’t me,” he reminds you, and even though he’s right, it doesn’t feel like it was enough. You should’ve been quicker, you shouldn’t have frozen in place at the sight of the corpse. “You could’ve done much worse than ruin my shoes, but you didn’t. For your first mission, you did amazing.”

“Do I have to buy you new ones? Or will you just take it out of my salary?” You shift the topic to something more lighthearted, and he chuckles.

“I take Klarna,” he jokes, earning a chuckle from you. 

You continue talking until the doctor slides the curtain open, entering the space. She looks at your chart, then back at you.

“We got your results back,” she begins, before looking at your boss. She clears her throat before saying, “I believe it’s best if we speak privately.”

“Mr. Kennedy can stay, I don’t mind,” you insist though the doctor is looking at your chart with concern. Maybe that’s a sign from the universe to let the man go. Ultimately, you’re going to be forced to tell him about any condition. Considering your field of work, any health concerns will go through him regardless.

She’s silent for a minute before nodding. She begins by explaining what you have to do. After losing too much fluids you’re dehydrated, but there’s no underlying issue for the vomiting, clearly other than what you witnessed. Then she’s silent again. 

She looks at your chart one last time, then reveals, “You’re pregnant.” 

The revelation makes your eyes widen, your heart dropping to your stomach. Out of all things that were going through your head, pregnancy was absolutely the last. Oh, you should’ve listened now Mr. Kennedy of all people is one of the first to know that you’re– Mr. Kennedy is the only person that could be the father. You look back at him, noticing how he shares the same look as you. Mouth slightly agape, eyes wide as he stares back at you.

He knows this is his fault.

omg guys he’s so Emo Boy coded… trust… he probably listens to Big Juicy on repeat too… wow 🤩 😍 😘 🤤

You get into your cab, give the address and stare at your phone for some sort of response from your boss. Alas, he doesn’t answer. The cab driver attempts to make small talk with you, but you can only hum in agreement since your stomach is in knots. It’s not the first time you’re late, but this time you’re nervous. You should’ve known better than to make a move on Mr. Kennedy.

You take a deep breath when you’re in front of the building. You have no option but to exit, thinking of the elaborate lie as to why you’re late– It shouldn’t be an issue if your coworkers weren’t so nosy. You’ve never been so conscious about the way your heels click as you enter the building, but today you can barely ignore it. Your stomach churns as you approach the elevator.

All eyes are on you when you finally get to the office, at least that’s what it feels like. Even if half of the office is empty, people stare at you as you step into the place. You smile at the receptionist before trying to walk to your desk unscathed, except that when you’re about to walk past reception, you hear your name.

“They’re waiting for you in the conference room,” the receptionist informs you, and your breath gets caught up in your chest. You feel your face get warm, and you try your best to think of what they could possibly need your presence for. While your role is important, they can carry out any meeting without you.

You put your purse down on your desk before rushing to the conference room. Mr. Kennedy’s deep voice fills the room but it comes to a stop when you enter the conference room. This time, all eyes are actually on you. A sheepish smile comes to your lips and you mutter, “Sorry I’m late.”

“Took you long enough,” you hear, making you roll your eyes. 

“I told her to take the morning off since she was the only one willing to work with me last night,” Mr. Kennedy quickly steps in, defending you. “In fact, you’re lucky she decided to show up at all.”

You shyly smile at him before looking down at the table. You can’t make eye contact with anyone, scared that they can see his fingerprints on you. Mr. Kennedy continues speaking, and you look at him for one second, tearing your eyes away just as quickly. Your ears get hot.

To top off any embarrassment, your stomach growls loudly in the middle of the meeting. In the midst of your rush, you forgot to eat anything. Great. At least your boss continues speaking, turning their attention back to him.

The meeting drags out for far longer than what you anticipated, and now you’re dizzy as you go back to your desk. You take a deep breath before putting your head down for a moment. You already feel it in your bones that you won’t get out until it’s dark out.

“Sorry about that.” You lift your head up to find Mr. Kennedy at your desk, holding a snack bar. Your stubbornness refused to let you stand up and walk out of the meeting at any time. That same stubbornness is about to make you reject the snack, but ultimately your shaky hand reaches out and takes it from him. “Do you want to go out for lunch?”

“Yeah,” you nod with no hesitation. You know that you should keep your distance from him of all people, but right now your stomach speaks for you.

“You wanna go now?” he asks, and you stand up, grabbing your purse. That’s your answer. There’s no small talk as you walk out of the office and get to his car. He does the chivalrous thing and opens the passenger door for you, closing it once you’re in the car.

In less than twenty-four hours you’ve been in his car twice. A new personal record.

“I know I told you that you could have the morning off but–” Mr. Kennedy begins as he gets into the driver’s side. Immediately, a frown comes to your face, confused at what he said. What he said in the meeting was something he said to save face– That’s what you assumed. You remember all the events from last night very clearly, and not once did he tell you that you could have the morning off.

“You didn’t.” You can’t help but chuckle. If Mr. Kennedy had said that, you wouldn’t have rushed out of bed this morning. 

“I did, right before I left. You were half-asleep then,” he argues, and you nearly roll your eyes. At the very least he could’ve sent a text. 

“Then why was everyone waiting for me in the conference room?”

“It wasn’t my order. I told them you weren’t going to be there, and carried on without you,” he claims. He can sense that you’re annoyed, but considering the last minute appearance that you’ve made, he can understand why. While you typically look dashing, he can say today isn’t your best day. He must say you look beautiful regardless. “I wish I could let you go early but with everything–”

“It’s fine, I get it,” you cut him off. You’re drowsy, but it won’t really hit you until you’re finally home. All you need is a shot of espresso and maybe an energy drink, and you’ll be fine until dark. You just won’t be able to stay overtime. You yawn before asking, “Where are we going?”

“To one of my favorite places,” he answers. “Just a way for me to say thank you for helping me during busy season.”

“Busy season? There’s a busy season in this job?” you laugh, though there’s a hint of worry in it. Mr. Kennedy chuckles. “That’s sweet, thank you, Mr. Kennedy.”

“I thought we were past Mr. Kennedy,” he says, and you try to think of something astute to answer with. But you’re caught off guard and embarrassed as you remember last night. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, he’s clearly not shaken up about your encounter. “I mean since last night and all–”

“Are we almost there, Mr. Kennedy? I’m really hungry,” you speak loud enough to drown out his voice. He ends up laughing again. 

“Almost there.”

You’re sitting across your boss, mouth watering as your eyes glance at the menu. You want everything, knowing that you won’t be able to properly finish the first plate. You’ve never really paid much mind to the old mom and pop restaurant that’s a couple of minutes from your home, but the food that comes from the kitchen looks delicious. To think that it’s one of Mr. Kennedy’s favorite places. 

“Should I get a cheeseburger or a chicken sandwich?” you ask, looking up from the menu to look at Mr. Kennedy who already knows what he wants. While everything looks great, that’s the only thing that you really crave right now.

“Cheeseburger sounds good,” he answers, though he has to say that he’s surprised that’s your choice considering the ample menu. While he had a different plan, you’ve tempted him to change his decision. “I think I might get one too.”

You wait for a minute for the waiter to come by, and once he takes your order, you look around the place. You wait for him to say something, not daring to utter the first word.

“How are you feeling after last night?” he asks, and your eyes widen. You’re caught off guard even though you shouldn’t be. You didn’t expect him to be so upfront about it. “I have to apologize, it was completely inappropriate of me and–”

“You don’t have to apologize, I initiated it,” you say.

“But I’m old enough to know better and I should’ve stopped it,” he responds, and you nearly scoff. Not only did he not stop it but he went a couple more times after that. It’s rich for him to say that. 

“It’s fine, we can pretend as if nothing happened,” you answer. At least now you have a good reason as to why he offered to take you out to lunch. He certainly wasn’t planning on hooking up again. A shame– though maybe it’s better considering you’ve been ashamed all day over nothing. 

“While we’re here I wanted to ask you something,” he begins, and while you’d take the opportunity to shoot a flirtatious joke his way, you’re certainly not in the mood now. You don’t think you ever will. 

“Shoot.” Your voice is rather unenthusiastic. Mr. Kennedy isn’t an idiot, he can tell that you’re displeased with the way he’s turned you down. 

“I have a field mission in the next month or so, and I want you to help me out,” he puts it out in the open, making your brows furrow in confusion. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Consider it, you’ve been stellar at your job and you’ve been trained enough for this,” he answers, and while your stomach churns at the mere thought of taking such a responsibility, you have other questions.

“Since when did you set a date on a field mission?” you question, knowing that you did end up doing a lot of work, but nothing that would have a particular area of interest. 

“When I left your apartment, I got to work and found an area of investigation, and that’s what I’ve been–”

“Do you ever sleep?” Your eyes narrow as you examine him, trying to get a better look at him. You were absolutely drained after last night, yet he hasn’t even shut his eyes and he looks fine. 

“Maybe I sleep with my eyes open and you guys never notice,” he jokes. Usually you’d laugh, but you take his statement as factual since it’s the only thing that actually makes sense. He clears his throat. “But I’ve been setting it up, and since you were there with me last night… Before that, I want you to help me.”

“Don’t you want someone more experienced for that? I’ve been working with you for how long?” you respond, hoping that he’ll get his mind off that ridiculous idea. Some of your coworkers have never been on a field mission, and they’ve been working with Mr. Kennedy for longer– Why you? 

“Hey, I get that you’re nervous but look at me, I’ll be there every step of the way,” he reassures you, though it doesn’t help.

“I signed up for paperwork, not field work,” you reveal. Maybe you should’ve spent a little longer reading the fine print of the job requirements. “I do research, Mr. Kennedy. I help set up the mission and find areas of interest not–”

“Think about it, okay?” he ultimately interrupts you, feeling the nerves that flow through you. You take a deep breath before nodding. 

The food gets to your table, and work talk dies down. It’s awkward for a few minutes, but you manage to get over the events of last night rather quickly. As much as you hate to say it, it’s hard to stay awkward with him. 

“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.”