Work Text:
The first thing you noticed about him was how wide his lips were. His lips were wide, but not unpleasantly wide. They offered characterisation, a certain depth to his face. His lips were also supple— that you noticed when he wiped his mouth after sipping a cup of coffee he had procured from the pantry. As he wiped his lips with the pads of his fingers, you marvelled how such a violent action proved how so pliant and soft his lips were.
To be able to wallow in his presence, to hear the ruffle of his clothes as he shifted to reach for a binder on the upper shelves, his tiny whimper as he bent down to pick up a fallen sheet of paper, filled you with immense joy and contentment. Age had seemed to catch on to him, but his features spoke otherwise.
You didn’t know when you had fallen for him, but all you knew was that it was gradual. It reminded you of waves, oscillating between the sea and the sand, gathering much sand as it ebbs away from the shore and losing much of its original source as it crashes onto the grainy medium. Until it eventually calmed to an even, and seamless exchange of water and sand, so did you allow your attraction to sediment and settle into the trenches.
**
“Is that good?” He asked, peering at you from behind the rim of his mug. You were both in the pantry, a familiar, comfortable silence blanketed around you. Instead of offering his usual tired smile, he prompted you with a question, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement.
In your hands, you held a cup of your favourite drink. Looking up from your idle mug-swirling, you blinked owlishly at him before clearing your throat to answer him.
“You wanna try?” was all you could manage.
Leon, pleasantly surprised, nodded slowly before reaching out for your mug, a mirthful smirk playing on his lips. You watched with curious eyes as he took your mug from your outstretched hand.
You watched each other, oddly fascinated at this new progression from convenient brekkie buddies to mug sharers. He studied the rim, finding trace of your lipstick, stark against the porcelain white of the mug. The thought of sharing a mug with Leon shouldn’t excite you this much, but as he put his lips to exactly where your lips were, marked by the faint tint of your lipstick, you found the excitement rational. He incarcerated you with his prolonged eye contact, and it didn’t help that he seemed to pucker his lips as he drank from your chalice. Your lips parted slightly as you watched him drink, as you drank him in, his hip leaning against the edge of the pantry countertop, an arm folded across his chest, as the other held your mug to his mouth.
When he was done, he licked his lips, instead of wiping them, and passed you your mug. You found that your lipstick had been cleaned, perhaps consumed off the mug, and when that was too much for you to handle, you set the mug down and looked up at him.
“Did you like it?” You asked politely. Leon’s eyes flickered to you lips before he licked his, holding you with his gaze.
“Loved it. I would’ve drank it all if I hadn’t remembered it to be yours,” he said, walking over to you to cross the polite distance that you had set between yourselves.
“I can teach you how to make it,” you said, closing your eyes briefly to control the urge to arch your back off the counter top and into the heat of his chest. Unbeknownst to you, Leon was fighting the primal need to envelop your smaller body with his. He set down his own mug down next to yours, coffee marks from where his lips were decorating the rim of the cup.
“Teach me then,” He didn’t need to whisper, he absolutely didn’t need to, not when you both were the only ones on that floor, in that pantry. But whisper Leon did, whisper he should, this felt surreal and intimate to him, this should be for his eyes and ears only, this scene played out in his mind on nights when he felt an inexplicable want rushing through him, replaying the days when he had felt your body brush against his in passing. And yet, it was happening in real time. The way your eyes searched his face, the way your lashes fluttered as he neared you, he felt only he should witness.
And when he couldn’t freeze and hold this moment in his hands, he took your face in his hands instead, pressing a kiss to your mouth, tongue peeking out to slide against your bottom lip.
“It tastes better on your lips,” He grinned once he pulled away. Stroking your cheek with the back of his hand, you closed your eyes and leant against his touch, letting out a tiny whimper when his thumb caressed your bottom lip. Reaching up to hold the hand that caressed your face, you pressed a kiss into his palm, staring up at him.
“Do you want more?”
Leon decided that his breakfast was settled.