leon kennedy has erectile dysfunction and you’re not gonna convince me otherwise.
dare i say he’s had it since re2 …. how could he not? between all the alcohol, stress, trauma, ptsd, antidepressants, survivors guilt, and infections, he hasn’t been able to get it up for years.
it’s gradual. between post-raccoon city and his new government agent job, there hasn’t been much time for anything other than work, really. intimacy, sex, those are things of the past. he’s busy and stressed and miserable. it takes a long time and an all too embarrassing encounter—the first of many—for leon to realize there’s a problem.
he had found himself one night in the middle of a drunken hookup with a random girl some the bar. the exact details are a blur—from her name to how they ended up back at his place—but he could never forget how he lost his boner right before he put it in. he was confused. he had just been hard, they had just been making out, so what happened? why was he soft again and why couldn’t he get it back up?? he tried palming himself but after a few embarrassing minutes, nothing was working. he all too clearly remembers the shock, then the irritation written on her face when she realized she wasn’t going to get laid tonight. she left in a big hurry, getting dressed in a rush and calling a taxi before he could process what had happened.
leon chalks it up to nerves. whiskey dick. he hasn’t had sex in… well, ages. maybe it was that. and his drinking problem definitely wasn’t helping. he doesn’t think much of it until it happens again—different girl, different bar, same scenario. he was a little less intoxicated this time but somehow that doesn’t seem to matter. he’s hard up until he’s supposed to be, and then they’re both awkwardly staring at his limp dick before getting dressed in the most deafening silence known to man.
what the fuck is wrong with him? now that he thinks about it, he’s not even sure when the last time he orgasmed was. sometimes, in those late nights when he was drunk and bored and alone, he’d drift a hand towards semi stiff cock, lazily pumping just to feel something before he passed out from exhaustion. or lost his boner. or both at the same time. he tries to rationalize his situation. he is, after all, in his forties. of course he can’t pop a boner or masturbate as much as in his early twenties. his body isn’t what it used to be. he used to wake up with morning wood damn near everyday and fuck his fist senseless trying to control himself. in the shower, in bed, on the couch… multiple times a day, sometimes even back to back, he’d cum and be hard again minutes later, boner still raging like he hadn’t just milked himself dry. but now, nothing. he should still be able to do something at his age… right? how is he just now realizing how few and far between his boners are nowadays?
it sends him to a spiral. over the course of years, he’s tried everything. eating better, managing his stress, seeing a doctor, hell, he even tried going sober for a bit. nothing worked. drugs helped for a little. cialis, tadalafil, you name it, he’s tried it. they worked… until they didn’t. and then same thing would always happen: he would go up, up, up on the dosage until the side effects were too many and the results were too lacking. viagara helped the most but it took time to work. which was a hard workaround when you’re hooking up with strangers from the bar. even porn couldn’t touch him, his barely-there hard on lasting for a few before he’d go flaccid yet again.
the overwhelming shame. that was probably the biggest culprit of it all. the anxiety, a vicious cycle that consumed his waking thoughts. it consumed him so greatly that he was no closer to a solution than he was before. insecure thoughts reared their ugly heads constantly, leaving him alone damage and isolated.
so here he was at the age of fifty. he’s given up on it all—sex, relationships, hell, even masturbating. the sweet burn of whiskey’s bout the closest he’ll ever feel to warmth ever again. years pass and leon might as well be a shy virgin again. there’s a lot of things that didn’t go as expected in leon’s life, but this was probably the least of them all.
that is, until you come around.
he had stopped approaching people and turned down the occasional advance. but you’re different. you’re persistent. and how could he say no? you’re a pretty little thing, all soft smiles and doey eyes that he easily loses himself into and for the first time in ages thinks, screw it. his interest in you is enough to outweigh the anxiety of watching those all too familiar events unfold: the realization he can’t give you what you want, the disgust on your face…. watching you leave like all the rest.
he couldn’t have been more wrong.
some nights, you’re sweet. you know the right things to say. you reassure him, take it slow, tell him that it’s natural and okay. you never balk at his attempt to dissuade you, instead reaching a hand to the soft bulge in his briefs when he says, “it doesn’t always work… can’t get it up, sweetheart.” you smile all pretty and kiss his jaw in the spot he likes, rubbing his flaccid cock over his underwear. “i know,” you murmur onto his skin and leon melts. it’s the first time he’s felt wanted in god knows how long and fuck, it feels good. he feels safe, content because he knows you’re being honest. he’s worried about that before: that you’re lying. maybe you’re cooing sweet nothings just to placate him, make him feel like a man again… but then you’re taking his soft cock into your mouth and looking up at him with eyes that are so wide and full of pure adoration that leon can’t help but silence any doubt in his mind that you like his erectile dysfunction. who else could possibly look this content, this turned on from sucking flaccid cock? you kitten lick his shaft, down to his balls, and leon’s so fucking horny that he feels like he’s going to explode. the sensation is muted. it’s there but it feels dulled. almost like your mouth is far away, but he’s so worked up from years of frustration and anxiety and nerves that he doesn’t care. hes still horny for god’s sake, his libido is been perfectly intact this entire time. he feels hot all over and on edge… on the edge of what exactly he’s not sure but his breathing goes all heavy as you take him into your mouth regardless and this time youre sucking and oh god leon doesn’t think he can take it. maybe it’s all those pent-up feelings but leon actually cums for the first time in years, spurting slow, sticky ropes into your awaiting mouth, his moans turning into curses as you keep sucking him to overstimulation.
but other nights, you’re evil, leon thinks. downright crazy because he knows it turns you on. this source of massive embarrassment for him, you fucking like it, and he can’t help but like that you do. you must be the only person in the world with a kink for this shit, he swears, because it can’t be normal for someone to be this wet over an old man like him not being able to get his cock up. those are the nights that you’ll fuck yourself open right in front of him with your fingers and there’s no hiding how completely you’re dripping for him. or more like what you’re doing to him: torturing. leaving him to do nothing but watch as you scissor yourself open, other hand on your clit. any attempt to replace your hands with his or his mouth have you batting him away and shaking your head. you had said no earlier too when he had suggested taking a viagara. he can’t do the things he wants to do to you, hell, he can’t even stroke himself because his cock just lies there heavy and limp against his thigh as you downright degrade him. “you’ve never done this for me. can’t even fuck me properly, i have to do it myself. it’s honestly pathetic. even after all this you still can’t get it up, old man?” you’re going faster now, wrist a blur and leon can tell you’re rubbing on that spot because your hips are starting to squirm. you’re a sight to behold. naked and spread apart before him, tits bouncing and eyes all fucked out and hazy, lips bitten and parted in that perfect ‘o’ shape. he’s so fucking horny, so pent up it physically pains him, he honestly thinks he might honestly explode because fuck, if he could get hard right how, if he could just pop a boner he’d fuck you absolutely senseless, hard and rough, the way you’re doing now with your fingers, the way he knows you like it. he’d kill to replace your hand with his cock and be the one to make you feel good. he’d fuck all those dirty words out your mouth his cock, throatfuck you til you couldn’t say another degrading thing ever again. but he can’t. so he only watches, cock still sitting soft against his leg as you reach that peak, as your body goes rigid and every muscle in your leg seems to stiffen, eyes rolling back as you orgasm and leon is jealous watching you rub yourself through it because he can barely remember how that must feel, that same wave and crescendo of electrifying pleasure that he hasn’t felt in so so long.
he’d be lying if he didn’t say he liked those nights more.
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