leon s. kennedy resident evil requiem 9.
age gap ( fifty-one leon s. kennedy + twenty-odd reader); blowjob; oral sex (m receiving); secret relationship; power imbalance (mentor older agent â rookie); prison cell setting; risky/public-adjacent sex; consensual but reckless; female reader; filthyâdirty talk in thoughts.
The detention cell was a narrow, concrete coffin tucked in the sub-basement of the D.S.O. black site âa place nobody talked about unless they had to. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, one tube flickering every few minutes like it was on its last breath. The air smelled of damp stone, old coffee, and the faint metallic tang of gun oil that clung to everything here.
Leon S. Kennedy sat on the edge of the metal cot, elbows on his knees, staring at the scuffed floor. At fifty-one, the years had carved deeper lines around his eyes and threaded silver through the blond at his temples, but the posture was still the same: shoulders squared, ready for whatever came next. Heâd fucked up ânot catastrophically, not in a way that would end careers or start wars, but enough to earn twenty-four hours in here while Internal Affairs cooled off. A judgment call during an extraction that went sideways. Brass wanted optics, so they locked him up like a rabid dog until morning shift.
Nobody knew the two of you were together. Not officially. Not even close. You were the twenty-six-year-old field analyst whoâd been fast-tracked into support rotations âsharp, quiet, still green enough that people underestimated you. He was the veteran whoâd mentored you on paper, nothing more. The relationship stayed buried under late-night briefings, stolen glances in corridors, and hotel rooms paid in cash.
Which was why, when the night watch list came down, you drew the short straw. Overnight guard duty. Alone. Standard protocol for a low-threat hold: one agent posted outside the cell block, cameras monitored remotely, no visitors.
Except you werenât planning on staying outside.
The clock on the wall read 01:13. The facility was dead quiet except for the low hum of the HVAC and the occasional creak of settling pipes. You stood in front of the reinforced door, keycard in hand, heart hammering so hard you were sure the microphone would pick it up. One last glance down the empty hallway. Then you swiped the card.
The lock hissed open.
Leonâs head lifted the second the door cracked. His blue eyes found yours immediately âsharp, surprised, then something darker flickering behind them. He didnât stand. Just watched as you stepped inside and let the door seal shut behind you with a soft pneumatic thud.
âYouâre not supposed to be in here,â he said, voice low and gravelly from disuse. But there was no real warning in it. More like he was testing the water.
âI know.â You swallowed, fingers flexing at your sides. The black tactical pants and fitted long-sleeve clung to your frame from the long shift; you could feel the nervous heat rising under your collar. âI just⌠needed to check on you.â
He let out a dry huff that mightâve been a laugh. âCheck on me. right.â
Silence stretched. Heavy. Electric.
Then you moved.
No preamble. No excuses. You crossed the small space in three steps, dropped to your knees between his spread thighs, and reached for his belt with hands that only shook a little. Leonâs breath hitched âonce, sharplyâ but he didnât stop you. Didnât say a word. Just leaned back slightly against the wall, palms flat on the cot, watching every motion like he was memorizing it.
The zipper came down slow. Deliberate. You tugged the waistband of his black briefs lower until his cock sprang free âalready half-hard, thick and veined, the head flushed dark. Heâd been thinking about you. You could tell by the way it twitched when your fingers brushed the base.
âFuck,â he muttered under his breath, the first crack in his composure.
You didnât tease. Didnât have time for that. You wrapped your hand around him âwarm, solid, pulsingâ and leaned in, lips parting to take the tip into your mouth. The taste was salt and skin and him. You swirled your tongue once, slow, then sank down further, hollowing your cheeks as you worked him deeper.
Leonâs hand flew to the back of your head ânot pushing, just holding. Fingers threading through your hair, gripping like he needed an anchor. A low groan rumbled out of his chest, raw and quiet, the kind of sound he only made when he thought no one else could hear.
You bobbed slowly at first, letting saliva slick the way, taking him inch by inch until your nose brushed the coarse hair at his base. Your throat fluttered around him; you fought the urge to gag and won. His hips jerked once âinvoluntaryâ before he locked them down.
âJesus⌠sweetheart,â he rasped, voice wrecked. âYouâre gonna kill me.â
You hummed around him in answer, the vibration making his thighs tense. Faster now. Wetter. Messier. Spit dripped down your chin; you didnât care. One hand stroked what your mouth couldnât reach, twisting gently at the base, while the other braced on his muscled thigh, feeling the tremor there.
His breathing turned ragged. Short. Desperate. The hand in your hair tightened, guiding you just enough ânot forcing, never forcingâ until you found the rhythm that made his abs clench.
âLook at me,â he growled.
You lifted your eyes. His were blown black, pupils swallowing the blue, jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. The sight of you âlips stretched, cheeks flushed, tears pricking from the effortâ seemed to snap something in him.
âFuckâ Iâmââ
He came hard, hips stuttering as he spilled down your throat. Hot, thick pulses that you swallowed greedily, milking him through it with slow pulls of your mouth until he hissed from overstimulation and tugged you off gently.
You sat back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, chest heaving. Leon looked wrecked âhead tipped back, throat working, chest rising and falling like heâd run a marathon.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then he reached down, cupped your jaw with a calloused thumb, and tilted your face up.
âYou shouldnât have done that,â he said quietly. But his voice was soft now. Almost tender.
âI know.â You gave him a small, shaky smile. âWorth it.â
He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh. âGet out of here before someone checks the feed loop.â
You stood, legs unsteady, smoothing your shirt. Leaned in just long enough to press a quick, chaste kiss to his mouth âtasting yourself on him, tasting him on you.
âSee you in the morning, Agent Kennedy.â
He watched you go, eyes lingering on the sway of your hips until the door sealed shut again.
Back in the corridor, you resumed your post. Sat in the folding chair. Stared at the monitors like nothing had happened.
The clock ticked toward dawn.
I really like my old husband better
In honour that today he left twelve minutes of requiem.
















