Work Text:
When you get home from your boring office job, your boyfriend is in his "studio." Leon's studio is your apartment's guest bedroom, but you rarely have people over anyway. He's got a huge 24" by 36" canvas set up on his easel, turned to be landscape style.
"Hey, baby," you say, tip-toeing carefully through the studio. You don't want to knock anything over.
"Hi!!" He takes the paintbrush out of his mouth.
"Ah- no hugs! You're covered in oil paint, Leon," you yelp.
"Sorry, baby." Leon gives you that sad puppy-dog look of his. Then, a pout decorates his face. You sigh, then get on your toes to kiss his cheek - while carefully avoiding paint.
"What are you painting?" you ask, gesturing to the canvas.
"I'm recreating the Sleeping Venus by Giorgione and Titian," he explains. "But I'm trying to make it look more realistic. More like you, too."
"That's your way of saying you're painting me?" you tease, fluffing his hair.
"...no," he lies. He rubs the back of his neck - a nervous habit he developed in high school. It means that he's been painting too long, overexerting himself.
"Why don't you take a break?" you offer.
"I can't!" he exclaims, pointing an accusing paintbrush at the empty face of the painting. "I can't get your face right!"
"Is there something I can do to help?" you ask, pressing another cautious kiss to his cheek.
You can almost see the light bulb appear over Leon's head. He takes off his apron and hangs it up on a nearby Command hook. Then, he gently guides you out of his studio. "I think I might have an idea or two."
“What do you need, baby?” you laugh.
“Get naked,” he commands, still with that puppy-dog look on his face.
“That’s a little rash of you, Leon,” you snort.
“Can you please undress, then lay on the couch?” Leon asks politely.
“Yes, love of my life, the apple of my eye, I will be your muse,” you reply.
While you get undressed, Leon grabs his easel and pallet. He sets up in the living room, waiting for you to position yourself. You see the way his eyes dilate when you take off your bra. “Like what you see, Leon?”
“I’m working,” he replies - ogling you anyway.
“Man, I wish my job description had ‘Stare at my naked boyfriend all day while he naps on the couch,’” you sigh wistfully.
Leon puts down his paintbrush on his easel, then makes his way over to you. You sprawl lazily on the couch, one leg crossed under the other and a hand draped over your sex to keep things tasteful. He kneels beside you, leaning forward to kiss you. “It is my job. I make good money being an artist,” he replies, running his fingers through your hair. You close your eyes, leaning into his touch.
“I make good money punching numbers into spreadsheets,” you grumble.
Leon kisses your lips softly, his nose bumping against your own. You cup his pretty face in your hands – the very face you fell in love with in your sophomore year of high school – and brush your thumb over his cheekbone. He nuzzles into your hand, blond hair falling over your fingers in streams of gold. “Mmm, you’re distracting me,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your palm.
“‘M sorry,” you mumble, before kissing his lips again. “You’re just so handsome.”
He groans dramatically. “I’m never going to get that painting done.”
“You could keep kissing me for a little while longer, couldn’t you?” You pout at him.
“Don’t do that,” he chides.
“Do what?”
“That.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re pouting.”
“I’m not pouting.”
“You so are!”
“I’m just looking at you!”
“You’re pouting at me, so I’ll make love to you.”
“No, that’s not true.”
“You are!”
“Go paint your damn picture, boy,” you scold, planting one last kiss on his lips before he gets up.
“Yes, ma’am.” Leon gives you a mock salute.
When Leon paints, he channels Michelangelo painting the splendor of the Sistine Chapel, each stroke breathing life into celestial scenes. He captures the essence of da Vinci, working masterfully with anatomy to create something real. Like Raphael, he can create intricate scenes that allow the viewer to feel something. He embodies Caravaggio, casting striking shadows and illuminating moments.
In truth, Leon doesn’t just echo the greatness of these masters; he is more than them. He is greater than the culmination of their talents. Greater than anyone who has ever made art or will ever make art again, because he is yours.
“I love you, Leon Kennedy,” you admit, though he already knows that.
"I love you, too, my darling," he says from behind his easel.
After about thirty minutes, you start to feel restless. The stillness of the moment weighs heavily on you, and your thoughts drift to how much you miss the warmth of Leon's embrace. You long for him to take a break from whatever has captured his attention and spend time with you. You crave the intimacy of his arms around you and the softness of his kisses.
Leon is undeniably the love of your life, but there are times when being his favorite muse comes with its frustrations. As the minutes tick by, frustration bubbles up within you. With an exaggerated groan, you toss an arm over your eyes, hoping to catch his attention. “Are you done yet?” you ask impatiently
"Art takes time," Leon tuts.
"I've had to sit here - naked - without you doing anything but giving me a little kiss," you huff indignantly.
"You'll live," Leon replies simply.
"Leon," you whine.
"Just stay still, baby," he purrs.
"I can't! You're sitting over there, looking all sexy, and I'm stuck here! Watching you look sexy," you grumble.
"Just a few more minutes, love of mine," Leon replies.
"Ugh, Leon!" you complain. "That means another hour of sitting here for you!"
"I promise I'm almost done," he assures you.
"I better get the best sex of my life after this," you say, returning to the position Leon put you in.
"Yeah? What exactly do you want? Describe it to me." Leon peeks around his canvas to look at you.
"Mmm, I want you to kiss my lips," you begin, looking at him through your lashes. You run your hands over your breasts. "Then I want those gorgeous hands of yours to touch my curves like this. Tweak my nipple... then you'll run them down my stomach like this." You slide your hands from your breasts to your stomach, squeezing your waist. Then, you move them to your thighs, kneading at the soft flesh there. "You'll kiss my lips, neck... jaw, and you'll get lower... and lower-"
Leon throws his paintbrush down in his water cup angrily, then he's on top of you. There's barely enough room for the both of you on the sofa, but it seems that neither of you can bring yourself to care. He captures your lips in a searing kiss. It's not just a ravenous hunger, it's pure unadulterated love that he pours into your kiss. "I need more room for what I'm gonna do to you," Leon growls in your ear. Suddenly, you're in his arms and on the way to the bedroom.
"Don't get paint on the bed, Leon!" you warn, glaring at him.
"I don't have paint on my clothes," he mumbles, stripping out of his painting clothes and throwing them in his studio. He's left in his cute boxers, decorated with little stars.
"Hey there, cutie," you giggle, grabbing him by the waistband of his boxers. "I like these. Where did you get these from?"
"I thought you'd like them," he purrs, caging you under his body. He kisses you like you're his air, like breaking away means you could disappear at any moment. Your hands fly to his hair, everything you can't put into words being poured into that kiss. His hands travel down your sides, his movements deliberate and reverent. "Can I eat you out, my darling?"
"You may, my darling," you reply. He trails his lips down your neck, leaving burns shaped like his lips in his wake.
Leon yanks you to the edge of the bed, bunching the sheets underneath you. He kneels on the carpet in front of your bed, pulling you so that your pussy is just on the edge. "My, my, maybe I should paint this beautiful sight." He kisses your thigh. "But I am a selfish man, and I want to keep this to myself."
He kisses your other thigh, savoring the taste of your skin. "You flatter me, Leon," you whisper, the hoarseness in your voice betraying you.
Featherlight kisses create a path up your thighs to your clit. Leon knows you better than you know yourself, and he knows how to make you arch your back. He uses the tip of his tongue to trace circles around your clit with pinpoint precision. His hands hold your thighs apart as he licks at your clit, keeping you from crushing his head between your knees.
"Always taste so heavenly," he groans against your pussy, his teeth grazing your skin. Two fingers come up to your hole - dripping wet from the work he's already done - He prods inside, making you yelp.
"Leon!" you shout. Leon curls his fingers in rhythm with his tongue and lips, not pumping, but just moving. He manages to hit your G-Spot every single stroke, which makes you squirm. Moans fall from your lips, loud enough to get a complaint from the neighbors again.
"Keep saying my name like that," he says around your clit.
"Leon, Leon, Leon!" you pant desperately, grinding your hips against his mouth.
Your first orgasm hits you like a freight train, leaving you trembling as he makes you ride it out. "Good girl," he coos, licking up your slick. "You've done so well."
He guides you on your back, letting you wrap his legs around his waist. A soft, "I love you," escapes your lips. He kisses you, nipping at your bottom lip as he does so.
"I love you more, baby," he replies, running his tongue over your lip to soothe the bite. Leon shifts to free himself from his boxers, lips never leaving yours. He positions himself carefully as if he's afraid he'd hurt you somehow. Leon is always so gentle when you have sex.
"Oh, Leon!" you exclaim. He feels heavenly like he was made for you. Being with him as long as you have, maybe he was made for you. As he moves, rolling his hips, he hits all the right spots. Each whine, whimper, and moan seems to spur him on. "Keep going," you beg. "Leon, keep going."
Leon's composure falters as your words wash over him, your voice thick with need. He kisses you deeply, letting himself melt into the rhythm of your connection. Each sound you make, each movement of your body against his, pushes him closer to the edge. Leon shifts slightly, trying to make his movements more calculated. He knows the angles that make you gasp and cling to him even tighter. His lips trace down your neck, lingering against your skin as he murmurs your name, low and rough - like a prayer.
"Perfect. Always so perfect," he rasps, his breath hot against your ear. His hands grip your hips, steadying you as he moves in tandem with your body. "I've got you," he whispers, his voice trembling with emotion as he presses a kiss to your forehead.
"Leon, I'm close," you whimper. You see stars in your vision, raking your nails down his back. Leon devours every sound you make with his lips. You break away for breath. "Harder! Harder," you gasp out.
Leon finds your lips again, groaning against you. The sound is low and raw as he responds to your pleas. His movements become more forceful, each desperate cry sending shivers down his spine. The way your body arches into his, the sheer need in your voice, it drives him insane. "You're incredible," he murmurs between kisses, his voice husky and uneven.
The tension between you coils tighter and higher, your nails digging even deeper into his skin as your breaths intermingle. When you finally shatter beneath him, his name on your lips, Leon follows you over the edge, his own release drawn from the intensity of your connection. For a moment, the world fell away, leaving only the sound of your shared breaths.
"I love you," you say as he collapses on top of you.
"I love you more, my goddess," he whispers, rolling the two of you over so you'll lay on top of his chest.
"We should get married," you whisper, nudging your nose against his jaw.
"Maybe," he replies cryptically. You swat his shoulder, then kiss his cheek.
"Maybe?" you huff. "That better be a 'Yes, ma'am,' soon."