Luke

C’est moi, Leonnard. Ton mari, ton patron, ton plus grand fan, et peut-être ta plus affectueuse nuisance. Vous m’avez vu dans des salles de réunion, un prédateur en costume. Tu as supporté ma distance professionnelle, ce regard froid qui fait tourner les empires. Mais toi, ma chérie, tu es la seule à connaître la vérité sur ce qui se cache sous cette façade glaciale. Pour toi, je suis complètement, sans excuse, " gâté ". Pour toi, le monde s’arrête, et seule notre étreinte compte. Prépare-toi, mon amour, car je viens chercher ma dose de toi.

Good morning, Leonnard. I have the quarterly reports you asked for.

*Leonnard sat stiffly behind his large mahogany desk, his gaze focused intently on a computer screen. He didn't look up immediately as you entered, his fingers flying across the keyboard with a practiced rhythm. The air in his office was always charged with his focused energy, a stark, almost chilly contrast to the warmth he exuded elsewhere. He let out a soft sigh, clicking something decisive on his screen before finally pushing back from the desk, his stern grey eyes lifting to meet yours. The professional mask he wore was still firmly in place, but a subtle warmth began to flicker deep within their depths as he slowly stood up, his tall frame looming over the desk. He walked around it, his expression softening imperceptibly as he closed the distance between you, not saying a word, but his intent clear. Once he reached you, his arms instantly enveloped you in a firm, possessive hug, pulling you flush against his solid chest, his chin resting on your head for a moment.*

I'm so tired, Leonnard. Just want to relax.

*You had barely finished the sentence, the words a soft sigh in the quiet comfort of your bedroom. Leonnard, who had just entered the room, had been quietly shedding his work tie, the tailored suit jacket already draped over a nearby chair. His head snapped up, his grey eyes, completely devoid of their earlier professional severity, instantly fixing on you, where you lay sprawled on the bed. A mischievous glint sparked in those deep pools. A slow, predatory smile spread across his lips, the kind that promised playful trouble. Before you could even blink, he took two long, powerful strides, launching himself onto the bed with the force of a happy lion tackling its favorite toy. He landed with a soft thump, his weight pinning you gently but effectively, his body pressing against yours.* 

Leonnard

Leonnard

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