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Vulnerability is not Leon’s forte.
So when you’ve been pestering him with questions for the past half hour, he’s rightfully anxious.
“Have you ever fucked a guy, Leon?” You’re supposed to be sleeping, but instead you’re lying on his chest like an oversized cat, absent-mindedly staring at his screen as he tries to scroll through Facebook. Ever since you’ve introduced the app to him, he’s suddenly developed the nosiness of a bored housewife.
“No. I haven’t.” He sounds a little crabby as he responds, but the words “guys” and “fucking” don’t bode well in his mind. Makes him think of blond hair and a particular scar on the lip. Which could mean nothing. It does mean nothing and the last thing he wants to do is talk about it with you.
But unfortunately, you catch onto his dismay, and before he knows it, he’s nose-to-nose with a frowning you.
“You sound defensive.”
“Am not.” And now you have him frowning. Pouting like a petulant kid.
“Am too.” You raise an eyebrow at him as if to silently sass him, the wisp of a curious grin on your lips. “Are you into guys?”
“No.” ….Not really.
“Are you into butt stuff?” you ask and so casually too as if you asked about the weather. It catches him off guard, and now it’s his turn to raise an eyebrow, only with half the sass. “Assfucking or anal or whatever they call it?”
“Yeah…no, not-”
“Liar.” It’s a good thing age has given Leon patience. “I have psychic vision. The spirits told me you want a fist up your ass,” you giggle out in such an innocent voice he has the mind to whack you on the head. But that’s domestic violence. And that’s bad.
He retorts, “Are you two?” as he pushes you away, having you sit upright. “And besides, why’re you asking? You wanna fist me?”
“Rim you, actually,” you correct him so smoothly that you manage to surprise him again tonight. So either you really are a psychic or you’ve gone through his search history and found the bookmarks to his favorite porn videos. Hey, he knows what he likes, so he’s sticking to it. And yet-
“Absolutely not,” he declares, gently pushing you off of him and sitting up on the bed. Unless you’re ovulating or going crazy, he has no idea why you’re bringing this up. It’s honestly a little creepy.
And of course, you’re whining, “Why not?” in his ear, coming up behind him as you rest your chin on his shoulder. “It’s meant to feel good for you. Please? Lemme give you a rimjob, it’ll be fun. Think of it as an early Christmas gift.”
“It’s April.”
“Early Father’s Day gift.” It’s like you’re trying to kill him. Because, despite all his protests, he can feel himself stirring to life under his sweatpants in the most pathetic way possible. He can’t see your face, but he can already imagine your shit-eating grin. “Please, just lemme do this one thing. We always do what you want to do. I can only pretend to be your daughter so many times before it gets boring.”
“Alright, alright.” Leon forgets how immoral his kinks sound when he’s not balls-deep inside you. “I’ll…sleep on it.”
“Yay!” You kiss him on the cheek like he just promised you a pony, and all he can hope for is that you’ll forget about this with a good hour of head and some matcha latte.
It took you two days to convince Leon to let you give him a rimjob, but it took two weeks to convince him to let you do it while he wears lingerie.
It’s clear Mama didn’t raise a quitter. Sure, you got on your knees and throated his dick for two whole hours but it was so worth it. Also crying and wailing helped at the end. Because now you have him on the bed in pink lingerie that you picked out to your taste: a soft pink bralette too small for his (begrudgingly) fat tits and a garter belt with stockings; no panties so you’d get the perfect view of his cock flushed and weeping against his softening abdomen. You got The Leon Scott Kennedy in pink lace stockings. No one will ever understand how immense this victory is for you. Just the sight of him all dolled up with his coarse hair poking out the fabric can bring world peace.
“…Babe? I don’t think I wanna do this-”
“How many times are you going to say the same thing?” There’s a beat of silence between you and Leon after you cut him off, mainly because you have his legs over your shoulder and your face hovering over his ass. His asshole, to be specific. You’re already here, and he wants to chicken out, no way.
“I feel like you’re worried for no reason,” you continue with a pout, jutting your lips at his tempting pink hole. Not the lightish pink like the tip of his cock, but a little darker. Still a tempting sight, no doubt. It’s not fair, why does it look so…cute? Absolutely unfair. “I’m not going to bite you. Relax..”
Leon doesn’t seem convinced, given the fact that he has even more wrinkles on his face compared to before. But you have a sneaking suspicion he only feels that way because he’s the one who used to have you in the mating press and not the other way around.
He looks so scared, it’s adorable. Leon reminds you of a hamster sometimes.
“You look good, Leon,” you reassure, lowering your face to press a lingering kiss on his inner thigh. God, if you had a dick it would’ve blown up from hard it would be. Even with all his wrinkles and greying hair, there’s an unmistakable feminine charm to Leon that you want to drag out. “You look pretty, okay? I love you.”
And something is so soothing about the way Leon’s face relaxes a bit and his eyebrows unpinch. At the end of the day, you really want to do this for him. Is it gross? Maybe. But you know it will be so rewarding making Leon fall apart on your tongue for a change.
So he nods and swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing at his throat. There’s still worry there, a tinge of shame on his face. You want that face gone by the end of the night.
You start slow. Dragging your tongue over the flesh of his thighs and ass, taking note of the faded stretch marks. So cute. You kept going on, leaving trails of spit and bite marks, reminders that you were in fact all up in his butt. And you could feel him tensing under your touch, your hands firmly holding the back of his thighs. It’s like heaven, feeling the lace under your fingers and seeing that pink bralette on his chest.
Your eyes flit back to Leon and, oh gods, he looks perfect. Eyes unfocused and cheeks rosy under all his silver stubble. You don’t waver in eye contact with him when you raise your face enough to start making a mess. Slobbering and laving your tongue over his balls, why are they so fat and big? And sensitive too, because you don’t miss the way he whines ever so softly under your breath when you graze your teeth over them. They sit so nicely in your mouth, so well behaved as you suck on them one at a time. Modesty is out the window for you and him because before you know it, your tongue is against his hole and his knees are pressed to his chest.
“Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck -” It slipped your mind that Leon was pushing forty and that there was a (small) chance he’s never been folded like this. Oh well!
And honestly, all you tasted was Irish Spring, a hint of musk, and…hair. Could be worse. Leon gives you head so it’s your turn to do the same. You can feel that the rim of his hole is all puffy as you give it a few kitten licks, lost in the way his body jerks to get closer to your mouth. Slut. You always knew he was into these sorts of things.
And that only spurs you on. You pull back to spit on his hole and there it was. He straight up moans and his head is thrown back against the pillows, the bra on his chest threatening to snap off with the frantic rise and fall of his chest. You dove back in with vigor, not holding back with the theatrics as you made out with his ass. It’s doubtful that this is a pretty sight for him but you don’t ever want to stop, pushing your tongue past the rim and feeling him clench down on you.
Spit. Irish Spring. Musk. Leon. It’s like his ass is the gateway to his heart because you’re sucking on his hole like it’s the last thing you do. Like his ass is his face and you’re kissing him like all couples do in their wedding pictures.
Which reminds you to start dropping hints that he needs to propose to you soon. You can’t keep doing this without a ring, you fear.
Leon, Leon, Leon. He lies to you, but it’s okay. You know he likes this, you hear his hiccuping whimpers bouncing off the walls and his body trembling. And how helpful of him to hug his own legs to his chest, leaving your hands free to wrap around his cock. The poor head is leaking precum all over his abdomen, smearing into his thick happy trail. So much for not wanting this. You run your thumb over the drooling tip, your free hand idly playing with the thin straps of his garter belt.
Drool’s pooling down your chin now and you’re dimly aware that your jaw is starting to ache like a bitch. Makes you wonder how Leon can go at this for hours but then again, he never shuts up so it must come naturally. No other reason . His dick presses into your hand like it’s beggging to be touched so you oblige, slowly pumping his length to hear him sing.
But unless the sound of a dying animal was singing…Leon wasn’t. No, it sounded like he was in pain with the way he gutturally cried out, nails ripping at the silk around his thighs. It almost freaks you out, but you don’t get the chance to pull away because before you know it, he nearly breaks your nose from how violently his body jolts and his load is painting your hand. At least now you know why Leon ended up working for the government instead of casting couches. His moans were less than pleasing.
But that, in its own way, is endearing to you. You finally pry your face away from his ass, admiring his hole now puffy and slick with your spit. He’s breathing heavily on the mattress, finally letting go of his legs as you rise from the floor and wobble to your feet. The stockings are torn up under the welts and his bralette has rubbed his chest raw, red lines prominent among his pale skin and tufts of silver hair. And his face makes you wish he could be on the cover of Playboy. There’s a bit of drool ebbing down his lips, his eyes are shut, and his lips are a little bloody from how hard he’s bitten them.
“And you said you weren’t going to enjoy yourself,” you tease, bringing your cum-stained hand to your lips. Your tongue darts out to get a taste and you make a mental note to tell him to lay off the whiskey again.
And all he does is groan, turning over to his side and curling up. Like a cat or some other domestic animal. Cute. Makes you feel a hint of pride knowing you’re domesticated Leon Kennedy enough to tongue-fuck his ass. “Legs hurt. Cramping. My fucking ass crack is wet.”
“Don’t complain,” you tut, making your way to the dresser and pulling out some wet wipes to clean up your hands. “I know you liked that. You sounded so…. passionate. ”
“Just get me out of this shit.” Someone doesn’t sound entertained. So you finally crawl into bed and lie down next to him, and almost immediately, his head is against your chest. You can see the way his eyes and lips crinkle at the corners, and yet he looks so vulnerable as he rests against you. It makes something in you stir, so much so your arms are around him in a heartbeat, holding him close.
“Thought you wanted me to undress you.”
“...Later,” he grumbles. “And-uh, that didn’t suck at all. So thanks. You’re still weird, though.” And there’s that playful wisp of a smile on his lips again. Just how you like to see him.