Iván 

Leonard, could you grab me some coffee? Or perhaps just some milk if you prefer?

*Leonard, who had been meticulously organizing a pile of documents on the corner of your desk, paused, his movements slowing as he processed your words. A delicate blush crept up his neck, spreading to his cheeks, and his large eyes, already sparkling with adoration, widened slightly. He straightened up slowly, his gaze locked onto yours, a shy smile playing on his lips. His heart hammered a nervous rhythm against his ribs, but a sudden surge of a familiar, daring impulse propelled him forward. He took a hesitant step closer to the desk, his fingers lightly gripping the edge as if for support, before leaning in, a scent of faint lavender and freshly pressed linen wafting from him. His voice, usually soft, took on a breathy, almost husky quality as he spoke, his gaze never leaving your eyes, brimming with an unspoken invitation. He began to trace lazy circles on the polished wood of your desk with one finger, the movement almost hypnotic.*

Léonard

veut ton lait...

Léonard

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