A word before you move along:
This story is based on the international/European version of the film. You don't need to have seen that version to enjoy the story, but it certainly offers some clarity on certain passages! I highly recommend hunting it down if you haven't seen it - it offers a lot more depth and nuance to the relationship between Leon and Mathilda.
Naturally, the content herein is on the cusp of taboo, though every effort has been made to ensure it doesn't creep into unacceptable territory. This is one of my favorite films, with two of my favorite characters, and it's an idea I've had in my head since I first saw the film years ago. As such, I've taken great care to treat both the story and the characters with the utmost respect possible given the content.
You're All I've Ever Wanted
Three years had passed since Leon allowed Mathilda to sleep beside him. She, who had helped him acclimate to resting in a bed the way normal people did, had been denied that same luxury next to him. Mathilda found that sleep was often elusive and fitful, and she felt a great loss every night she slipped into her room alone without his strong, comforting presence nearby. During this nightly interim—unwelcome and uncomfortable—she would lie awake staring at the cracked ceiling above her bed straining to hear any signs of life from his bedroom across their dark apartment. Most nights, it was only the sounds of the city that made themselves known.
The first time he forced her out, she was merely fourteen; it had been the same day they found a new apartment with two bedrooms instead of just one. It made perfect sense to each have a room to themselves, but Mathilda could tell that things were changing. Veiled as freedom and independence, a room of her own felt more like solitary confinement; she felt the sting of his subtle rejection as violently as if she had just stepped into the heart of a hornet's nest. It was a circumstance she didn't quite understand at the time; it felt as if he revolted from her, all at once and without warning. It wasn't uncommon for him to sternly tell her no as a means to stop her insatiable want for him before she crossed that invisible line. But this had been something else.
It had been a shift in their way of being, definite, with no room for negotiation. There had been no more nights with his arm around her, instilling certainty and protection with his embrace despite his nervous discomfort. No more waking in the twilight hours and drifting off again, half-awake and curling into each other without Leon's lucid, better judgment to guide them. No more mornings waking next to him wrapped in a mess of sheets and tangled, determined limbs. No more watching him sleep for that brief moment Mathilda could take him in before he knew he was being watched and woke entirely. No more grumbled 'good mornings' in a sleep-drunk haze. No more nearness and routine and security side by side. No more him when all she needed was to know he was there, right next to her.
He had loved her, and even said as much, but said it less and less over time when he found it fueled her tenacity. For every rejected advance, every shot-down proclamation of her boundless love, every hug or close contact that she stretched on for just a second too long that he inevitably turned away from; she had never quite understood. It had been so sudden she was certain she had done something wrong to cause the shift, but she didn't know what or when or why.
When she cleaned, it was with him, always. Despite his rejections, he had been too protective of her to allow her to carry out a hit without him near. Whether that meant he was watching from afar with his rifle, or busting down a door side by side, he was always there. He was the hand that guided her, the arm that protected her, and the one to whom she felt she could never be close enough.
In their apartment, he was often there, reading voraciously now that he had the skill with which to do so. He likened books to lives he had never been able to live, and sometimes she thought she saw sadness in his eyes at the realization. There used to be nights where she curled up on the couch with her head in his lap and listened to him read to her, slowly and with an uncertain tongue. Sometimes he would even aimlessly caress her hair as he read, and she would drift off to sleep with ease. It was one of the more enjoyable things they did together, but he had taken pains to ensure even that stopped.
He would go out by himself sometimes, just to be alone and reclaim a sense of freedom she had unwittingly robbed from him years ago. She would venture out and do the same. Only occasionally, at first, and then more as she grew older and his distance became more profound, leading her to feel less at-home within the four walls of their apartment. But even with the divide between them swelling to an uncomfortable size and Leon being gone more, it was not often that Mathilda got to be alone in the apartment for any significant amount of time.
Those days were a privilege - she would walk around the apartment dressed however she pleased, without him suggesting she put on more clothes in agitation. She would sing and dance and make lunch without immediately doing the dishes and watch whatever she wanted on TV. Sometimes Leon would be gone an hour, down at Tony's discussing business. Sometimes he would be gone all day, while carrying out a hit when he had no need for her assistance, or it was too dangerous to bring her along. Years ago, she would be offended by the idea of being left behind, but her bloodlust had waned as she matured, and her wounded pride had, too.
So when she knew he would be gone for the better part of a day, she took the time to relish that sense of solitude. She could never truly leave him, not after holding a gun to her own head and unapologetically binding them together until the day one of them died. But the brief reprieves from the Leon she knew now were always welcome. She longed for the Leon that she had known years before, a man that did not seem to exist to her anymore.
One day, mere weeks before her 18th birthday, she thought she might have an idea why things had changed so abruptly between them. That day, she hadn't heard Leon come home earlier than expected. Unbeknownst to her, the target's plans had changed last minute; he wouldn't be where Tony's file said he would be, and the hit would have to be carried out another day.
She had been standing in the shower, bathroom door swung open wide where it would normally be closed all but a crack, and relished the feeling of sweltering water as it cascaded down her body. There were kinks in her neck from falling asleep on the couch reading the book Leon had been engrossed in the night before – a desperate attempt to be close to him during a time when she felt deeply shut out. She let the hot water pool between her hands, cupped around her neck, and tried to work out the aching muscles with her fingertips. A soft moan slipped from her lips when she happened upon the tightest spot.
Glass shattered, startling her. She wheeled around in surprise to find Leon standing in the living room, framed by the bathroom doorway, in her direct line of sight. He was rooted to the spot, mouth held steadily agape, dumbstruck. Their shower curtain was made of a thin, clear plastic, obscuring Mathilda only as much as steam and water droplets could. It was a situation neither thought they would ever be in, and Leon couldn't find the will to react. Mathilda, however, was unbothered by the sudden turn of events, and waited for some kind of reaction. The longer he stood there gawking, surrounded by spilled milk and broken glass, the more something stirred inside of her.
It had been a momentary glitch in their existence. But even after he abruptly stalked off to his bedroom and slammed the door, she had felt that tendril of electricity before it became swallowed up by the usual tension that existed in their home. In that brief moment, all of the repressed desire she had for him since day one, that she had tampered down out of necessity to preserve herself from his constant rejection, came back to the surface. The look in his eye, there for just a fraction of a single breath, had been unmistakable – he looked at her with unbridled hunger. And after that moment, Mathilda allowed herself to believe that perhaps he secretly yearned for her the way she always had him. She thought maybe that was why things were the way they were between them.
After that day, and in the weeks leading up to her birthday, the air had become more tense. Leon went out more often, for longer periods, with less explanation every time. He didn't speak to her as often as she wished, and when he did, his words were terse and bolstered with formality. She felt like a nuisance to him, worse even than when they first met. And as the days went on that he acted this way, her belief that perhaps her desire might be reciprocated began to wane. It had been just a blip of her over-active imagination, she was sure. And when she thought she saw him look down at her body while she stood in that shower that day? That had to have been something she imagined, too.
Slowly, she let that mirage drift, and she forced herself to face reality, yet again. In no other world than her fantasies did Leon see her as she did him. And she finally convinced herself to let the idea of him go, obliterating the last shred of hope she was sure she would ever had. Rather dramatically, Mathilda had resigned herself to a life of lonely, unrequited love.
Until the night before her birthday, when they were both sitting in the living room reading in companionable—though heavy—silence.
"What would you like for your birthday?" he asked in a low voice. No doubt he remembered his first gift to her, a gaudy pink dress she only wore to appease him, but that she secretly hated. She liked that he liked it, and that's where the admiration for it ended. In recent years, she had worn more dresses and clothes that fit shorter, tighter, in hopes he would notice she was growing out of her tomboy phase and her once shapeless, prepubescent body. She had grown her dark hair long, and worn makeup on occasion, and sometimes even perfume. Every attempt to gain his attention, even as she matured, had been unsuccessful.
It was the first time Leon had spoken to her in days beyond clipped, one-word answers to questions asked only to fruitlessly interact with him, and beyond simple good mornings and good nights. His voice so suddenly interrupting the silence took her by surprise, and she didn't immediately speak. From the outside, it might have seemed that she was only thinking of a suitable answer, but if she were honest, she couldn't speak because the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach were doing quite a dance.
Mathilda's imagination wandered then - she could think of a handful of gifts she would love for her birthday. None of them could be bought; all of them involved him. She wondered, quite brazenly, if she should tell him that. In the end, she thought better of expressing her true thoughts. No doubt it would result in yet another failed attempt to gain his interest.
"Buy me a plant," she finally said, eyes straight ahead in a blank stare, avoiding his at all costs.
"What kind?"
"Whatever," she said with a shrug. She refused to glance his way, trying to appear unbothered before placing her full attention back to her book. Equal parts of her hoped he would say nothing else, and also that he would speak again. Mathilda had always loved his voice and when it was low and full of grit, it gave her goosebumps.
Silence enveloped them both, and from Mathilda's peripheral, she could see Leon had not picked up his book again. Instead, he was unmoved, and when the pressure of his silent, undeterred figure in the corner of her eye was too much to bear, she finally looked his way. His dark, penetrating eyes were fixed on her with concern.
"Are you angry with me?" he asked with a gruff voice.
"Why would I be angry?" Her words were too hot and too succinct, and her attempt at nonchalance failed miserably.
He sighed and looked away from her while he searched for his words. Leon often had to think before hard he spoke, to find the words in English, and to make certain he didn't upset her unintentionally. Mathilda awaited them eagerly.
"Because of what happened," he said after a thick pause, "when you were in there." He looked toward the bathroom with guilt-stricken eyes and tense shoulders. "I had only been standing there a moment, Mathilda. I didn't realize."
Leon had always been a decent man, murder aside. Had always stopped her before letting her do anything untoward, and had done so gracefully when she was salacious and yearned for him. He was still a decent man, she knew, even if he had been less warm toward her in recent years. The regret was thick on his face, and she wondered why he should feel so bad. Eventually, it occurred to her that he probably thought she felt violated that day. If that were so, it would have made things far easier to navigate. Instead of feeling sick to her stomach that he had seen her, she had experienced a momentary thrill.
Mathilda said nothing as she closed her book, dog-earing her page where Leon would more humanely insert a bookmark. She swung her feet off the side of the couch, and sat up from where she had been lying. Leon was guarded as she crossed the small room, stepping around the scuffed coffee table without ever taking her eyes off of him. Then, she sat on the table just in front of him, her bare knees settling between his. Though she was nearly an adult, he still overwhelmed her both in size and presence.
"You know what I want for my birthday?" she finally said, her voice wavering. She hadn't expected the night to turn in this direction, to be so close to him so suddenly and have her insides doing somersaults. Above all, she hadn't anticipated having the audacity to be so close and say the very thing aloud that had only ever existed in her fantasies. Every one of her nerves trembled, and she relished the feeling of that fluttering adrenaline. This conversation had played out in her head a million times over the years, but saying the words, or any iteration of them, aloud had always and only been a pipe dream. That ship had sailed, she thought. It had never even been in the harbor to begin with.
"No," he said, curiously, confused. He was often oblivious and Mathilda found it deeply endearing.
"I want a kiss."
The look on Leon's face was as stoic as usual. She had always loved his features, down to every scar and line that made him look much meaner than he actually was. But more than anything, she loved his eyes and how they carried so much behind them, running the gamut of emotion that he very seldom outwardly expressed.
"Mathilda…"
"That's what I want," she said boldly, cutting off what she was sure would be yet another rejection. With her backside on the edge of the coffee table, she leaned closer to him, folding her arms across her chest and leaning her elbows on his knees. She leaned her head against one hand, and with the other, she splayed her fingers against his leg. Leon's breath shallowed as he looked down at her, actions more sure and determined than his had ever been and entirely disarming. Mathilda wasn't certain what provoked her to be so brazen in that moment, but the longer they sat silently at that impasse, the more she regretted ever speaking. "Or don't you want to?"
That question brought about an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach, stirring and tightening; Mathilda wasn't prepared for any unfavorable honesty. His rejections had always wounded her for days at a time, before finally destroying her almost irreparably, making her give up on him entirely. Or so she thought. The look in his eyes weeks before after he dropped his glass of milk had convinced her there was something there she had always hoped would be there. Somewhere deep inside, she still clung to that single moment, even after she convinced herself it had never happened the way she thought it had.
"I can't," he said, in a mere whisper. His words broke her in half because it was a no, but also, because it wasn't really an answer. It didn't tell her if he longed for her or if he didn't. If he wouldn't kiss her because he didn't want to, because his long stretch of a loveless life had crippled him, because she was too young, because because because. It didn't tell her why. All of the sudden, anxiety flooded her so potently her fingers tingled.
"Why not?" she said, releasing the breath she had been painfully clinging to.
"Mathilda, you're too…"
"I won't be, soon enough," she said, cutting him off with slight desperation. She felt stupid for begging. It was a worthless feeling.
"Stop," he said, a quiet plea in his voice. He couldn't look her in the eye. Instead, he looked down at her hand, now gripping into his knee. "Please. It's no good. Okay?"
Silence swelled between them, and Leon finally looked at her. In his eyes, Mathilda saw the heartbreak, undoubtedly because he could see the heartbreak in hers. Years of this now, of her pleading for his affection and his love and his touch, only for him to finally tell her it's no good. Mere hours from from there being no moral conflict should he give her this one thing. Hours from it being okay to love one another. And still, he thought it was no good.
Gently, he pushed her away as he stood. He left his book where it was on the table next to her and walked to his room without saying another word. Mathilda took in his slow, weary movements, and noted the droop in his shoulders. He turned as he quietly shut the door behind him, chancing a brief glance her way before it closed. The sadness in her eyes made his breath hitch.
Of all the times she had heard him say no, this one was the worst. There, on the cusp of her 18th birthday, he kept her at arm's length and told her no one last time. It made her feel like the fool she always suspected she was.
Mathilda went to bed that night with a dark cloud hanging over her head. She had hoped for a different outcome, a different start to a new day, a new year, a new life. Seemingly limitless possibilities came with adulthood, but the only one she wanted could never be.
She slept, but barely, tossing and turning throughout the night and woke abruptly when she heard the front door close in the early morning. Padding out into the living room, she imagined she would see Leon returning from the store with some package as a grand show of affection, some one-eighty from the night before. But he had actually only just left, leaving her to her own devices on the one day she wished he wouldn't abandon her.
"Happy birthday to me," she mumbled.
†††
Every crevice of their apartment became spotless in the following hours. Mathilda's mood ranged from heartache and anger to desperation and longing. On principle, she thought it best to go out, to do something with her day and her night, to enjoy this day she would only ever experience once in her life. But she was too distraught by the events of the night before, too busy replaying it over and over again in her head and wishing she had said or done things differently. And besides, she didn't want to miss Leon when he eventually returned.
Except, by the time 8 o'clock that evening came around, he still hadn't come home. There had been no sign of him, and even after Mathilda dropped a nickel into the payphone downstairs in the apartment lobby and called up Tony, she was no closer to finding out where he might be.
She fell asleep from exhaustion watching a rerun of The Abyss on TV, volume turned so low it might as well have been muted. Hunched on the couch with her arms around her, she was sleeping like an angel, Leon thought, when he finally returned. Her face was scrunched in her dreams, and it pulled at his emotions that her dreams might be unpleasant.
Mathilda hadn't heard him come through the door. It wasn't until he set his things down on the kitchen counter with a clang that she woke with a start. Despite the sudden noise and brief disorientation, she knew by the feeling in the pit of her stomach it was only him. Her gut would have told her otherwise if he were anyone else. Still, she treaded meekly into the kitchen.
There, in the middle of the small table tucked into the far side of the kitchen, was a potted palm, roughly the size of the one she and Leon had in their care for years. His had since grown and been repotted several times, and called the corner of their living room home for some time. It was far too large to fit on any window sill these days.
The sight should have been endearing, but it stung Mathilda's pride that he would bring it to her instead of giving her what she truly wanted. She was sure she made it clear, and yet, he chose this as her gift. Better than a pink dress, but still not what she longed for.
"Hi," she said with a small voice.
Leon wheeled around from the counter, not having heard her, small surprise on his face. His coat was shrugged off over a chair, and he had begun preparing dinner by the stove. Pasta, from the looks of it. Simple, but Mathilda noted a bottle of wine, and so she knew he would try to make it special in whatever way he could. He was a good cook, but didn't stray much from the basics, to no complaint of Mathilda's.
"I didn't mean to be gone so long today," he said, trailing off. "I couldn't find it so easily on a Sunday." He motioned to the plant, obvious pride on his face, and he was searching. For her to smile, to acknowledge his efforts, for her to care. Since the last evening, he wanted nothing more than to make her smile in any way he could, other than the way she wanted.
She said little while they ate. She thanked him for the plant, for the dinner and the wine, and told him she loved it all. They weren't white lies — she did love every effort. But she was too numb from disappointment to really feel it in her bones. Normally, she would be elated to share a meal with him made from scratch, and receive a thoughtful gift besides. To be close to him, just like old times. This was probably the longest they'd been in a room together in months, if she had to guess. But in those moments of heartache, all she wanted was to be somewhere else; all the things she loved about him that would normally delight her, suddenly made her feel sad. Everything about him was perfect and always had been, and she hated that she thought so.
"Thanks, Leon," she said when her plate was clear. "Everything was really good." She noted the smile on his face, and she forced a small one of her own in return. "I'm gonna go lie down."
There wasn't much pretense in her words, and Leon watched her in confusion as she scooped up the plant and wandered to her room. Her shoulders were slumped, her demeanor languid. At first, he wondered if she had drank too much wine. But one look at her glass showed that she had taken only a few sips, just to be sociable.
The click of the door behind her sobered him, the potent silence causing a discomfort to spread through his insides. Leon didn't know how to fix what was wrong between them, if it could be fixed at all. He wasn't even sure he knew exactly what had happened. All he did know is that the one thing she wanted from him, he wasn't sure he could ever give her.
But he knew he had to figure something out, and couldn't leave the evening to end on such a dreary note. Not on her birthday. This wasn't how he intended the day to go for her, or any day, for that matter.
Slowly, he walked to her door, clear across the living room from his own, just next to the bathroom where things had so suddenly changed. One look at the shower made the memory of her in there come back to him, and he shuddered.
Leon raised his hand to knock, but faltered, uncertain of what to say when she came to the door. But before his brain could catch up with the right words, his knuckles rapped hurriedly and he held his breath. There was nothing at first, not even an acknowledgement, but just as Leon was about to knock again, the door slowly creaked open.
Mathilda watched him as he stood there awkwardly and she could see the gears turning in his head. His mouth opened silently as if he would speak, but the words didn't come to him.
"Yes?" she asked with a tone of annoyance. But she wasn't annoyed so much as she was hurt, and she wanted him to leave. Before the end of the night, she was sure she might cry, and she didn't want him around when that happened.
"I don't…" he started, but his words faltered in frustration. He couldn't find the right thing to say, or even the right thoughts. Everything was a jumble, which alarmed him, as he was an even-keeled man who suddenly could not compose himself inwardly. "I love you, Mathilda."
He stared blankly at the doorknob in her hand, and then chanced a look into her eyes. She was confused but relieved, and just as reserved.
"I love you, too, Leon," she said in return. It was a genuine sentiment she hadn't uttered in quite some time, but its delivery sounded uncertain and wavering to Leon's ears. Silence stretched for a long period. "Is that it?"
She was expecting more, and Leon felt something clutch at his gut. He had pained her enough over the years, a point of great regret for him, but he had done the best he could not knowing how to navigate a life with her. Still, he couldn't bear to hurt her anymore, and the look of expectation meant he couldn't just turn and retire for the evening and leave things as they were.
Leon shook his head.
"No. I've never known how to, uh… to keep you away," he said. "I don't want to hurt you, Mathilda. And I don't know how to…" He sighed a heavy, broken breath. "There are lines a man cannot cross, you understand?"
Though she felt as if she could not possibly hurt any more, her stomach still dropped all the same. His words in the past 24 hours had felt so finite and crushing, even if that hadn't been his intention.
"Yeah," she said with a soft voice, eyes downcast. It was her turn to stare hard, at the bulging veins on the back of his left hand.
"I would want to kiss you," he suddenly confessed. It felt like the right thing to say, to ease the pain. It was also true, though he never thought he would admit it to her.
She looked up at him sharply, confused.
"I'm just a man, Mathilda. You are always trying to push me, and I had to push you harder, you see? I couldn't. It wasn't right. And now, you ask this of me… and I don't know how. I told you, I wouldn't… be a good lover. And you deserve… you deserve that."
He looked ashamed, embarrassed. It had been so long they had been together now, under the same roof. And things had shifted from one normal to another, settling finally in uncomfortable territory that, at times, could also be cold. Mathilda ached for him then, and felt pity for him, too. He was trying so hard to make her understand, and though she didn't entirely, she felt the butterflies return to swell inside her.
"I don't care if you know how, or if it isn't as good, or whatever," she said, nodding her head. "Just forget it. I don't want it anymore."
The look on his face was surprised and vaguely hurt.
"I always wanted you to want me," she continued with a shrug. "I don't want a pity kiss. I want a kiss from someone who wants to kiss me because they want to, and not just because I asked them to."
Neither of them spoke or moved or even breathed in those next moments. Mathilda waited for him to say something, to prove to her wounded heart there was hope after all, but the longer his words failed, the quicker she realized she was a fool for hanging on for so long.
"Goodnight, Leon," she said softly, before clicking the door shut between them.
Leon struggled to process what was going wrong. How could she not understand that this new world between them—that had opened up at the stroke of midnight, where any desire he might have for her was not entirely reprehensible—was difficult to navigate? For so long he looked at her as a child, and he struggled to see her as nothing but until this day.
Sometimes, Leon had failed to see her as such, his mind wandering when he caught an innocent glimpse of her and saw the woman she had become instead of the child that had knocked at his door so many years ago. In those moments, he would shake away any thoughts that betrayed him and leave the apartment for a brisk walk to clear his head. Being with her, so close and yet far and away, had been torture for those last several years. But he had been determined not to do wrong by her in any way, and that included looking at her in any way that felt improper; it was enough to boil his blood when they were out on the street together and the scum of the city gazed upon her in such a way.
Still, despite his best efforts, they had failed that day when he came home to find her in the shower, and he had lived with the shame of that moment ever since. How could she not see that every day he kept her away was only because he loved her? How could she not see that it wasn't right and could never have been right had he not stopped things before they started throughout all of these years? That everything he did was for the sake of both of them? He needed her to understand.
In a sudden gust of emotion, Leon opened her bedroom door without knocking and swung it wide. His unexpected presence startled her and she wheeled around from across the room by her window, smoking a cigarette next to the palm tree. She thought she hid the habit well, but he knew. It was the night he had cast her away that she found the habit again, as a means to cope. He did not approve, but their closeness had waned too much after that to insert that restriction once again. Had he said anything, she would have continued just to spite him.
Leon slowly closed the distance between them, and when he came to stand just in front of her, he could see the city lights glinting off the tears that rolled down her face. She was passive as she cried, glassy sadness displayed in a way that only a girl who had seen her entire family murdered could possibly manage. The sight of her often staggered him. She was resilient, and yet so fragile.
"Put it out," he said lowly.
Mathilda didn't bother stamping the end of the cigarette on the window sill like she typically did. Instead, she tossed it out onto the fire escape and watched the embers flick away as the cigarette fell to its demise 10 flights down.
"I do want to," he said when she looked up at him. He swallowed hard as he looked her up and down, before their eyes met. "I do."
His insistence took her aback, but she was still shielded. She hadn't expected his admission at all, and certainly not with any amount of conviction. But there in his features, it was undeniable. It had sparked there for the blink of an eye, that look of hunger. She had thought she saw it before and she was right.
"You do what?" She desperately sought a clear answer. An end to the agony. The smallest shred of hope that the torch she had carried for him for years had been worth its crushing weight in her heart. "Say it."
His strong, sinewy hand slowly raised toward her face. Always gentle, his touch was electric as he skimmed his fingers against her cheek, wiping at the tears as he cupped her jaw and traced his thumb over her parched lips. He was such a lethal man that she had almost forgotten how tender he could be.
"Say it," she said, voice trembling. He, too, was trembling. His breathing was not normal. She hadn't picked up on it until that moment, but his jaw was locked, and his breath was held.
"I do want to kiss you," he said with a hoarse voice, bolstering with barely contained emotion. "But I couldn't. It wasn't right, then."
She understood suddenly that his rejection had only been his decency, depriving both of them of any carnal pleasures they might have succumbed to otherwise. She had assumed it played a part, but wasn't certain that was the whole of it.
"What about now?" she asked expectantly.
Leon faltered. "I do want to," he repeated, nearly whispering.
Mathilda closed her hand around his, still caressing her cheek, before pulling him to her, ridding the space between them. Roughly, she planted her lips on his, clumsy as she stood on her tiptoes, but determined with every movement. Leon's arms instinctively came to her waist, pulling her into him tightly. The sudden closeness overwhelmed him and he had to fight the impulse to push her away like he had always done; he could do it with ease with only one hand, but there was something desperate in the way she moved that burst a seam in his resolve.
His lips remained sealed against hers, but only for a heartbeat. When he opened to her, her tongue found his and every moment that had been turned away time and again finally came to fruition. Mathilda moaned softly, and Leon felt it echo into his mouth, sending a shiver throughout his body. He felt weak in the knees all the sudden, and pulled away from her, if only to breathe.
Mathilda looked up into his eyes, fearful of another rejection, but it was only an intermission. He was breathing heavily, overwhelmed, and frozen to the spot. But he didn't push her away, and that was something.
She led him by the hand to her bed and sat him on the edge. Usually an austere man, Leon's nerves were palpable. Mathilda felt much the same way; they had come to the point where neither of them knew much of what to do next.
"Did you ever sleep with that girl, from before?" she asked. She took him all in; the clouded eyes, the tremor in his hands, the faint arousal she could see if she looked just close enough. It was overwhelming for her, too, but her desire took the reins before her inexperience could stop her.
Leon nodded. "Not many times."
"Enough to tell me if I'm doing something wrong," she pointed out. Doubt made her hesitant, uncertain which move to make next. She knew how to do all of this in theory, and had fantasized about it hundreds of times. But imagining it and doing it were not the same and her body knew it.
Leon saw her hesitation, and it pulled at him. All those years of determination had brought her here, standing before him breathless from a kiss, and he hoped that her pause didn't mean she hadn't wanted this after all. It would make him sick to know he might have put her in an unfavorable position.
"You can't do it wrong," he assured. Still, she didn't move. "You don't have to, Mathilda. I won't make you do anything you don't want."
The prospect of a full stop brought some relief to Leon, because he was just as nervous as she was. But she would have none of that. Despite her inexperience, she had only seen a glimpse of what he would be like if he gave in, feelings that might be bubbling beneath the surface. The thought made her feverish, and she longed to see what he would be like unhinged.
She loved every bit of him, and had for so long; she couldn't stop now.
Mathilda heard the sound of her own heartbeat hammering in her ears, with the faint sounds of the city below coming through the open window.
"You're all I've ever wanted," she said in a whisper, holding his face between her hands.
It was sudden, the way he pulled her to him, strong hands clutching at her waist and closing the distance between them once more. The breath was knocked from her as she collided into his chest, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around his muscular shoulders. The sudden nearness was overwhelming, and she looked down into his dark eyes from where she stood, eyes just as uncertain as hers.
Mathilda wasn't sure who kissed who that time; their lips met somewhere in the middle. It was a crushing force, so intense it could forge diamonds, she was certain. His skin felt hot against her; his lips, his chest, his hands that pulled her by the small of her back into him. The feel of him was intoxicating.
Neither of them, to Mathilda's knowledge, had kissed another in a very long time. She had kissed a boy at school just before her life had been turned upside down, and Leon long before he came to the States. She had never been with anyone in such a way, and longed to be, yet strangely feared it. Still, the feel of him and his sudden desire for her—now, something she was certain she had not imagined—were all she needed before impulse guided her.
She brought her knees to the bed and straddled him, desperate to close that remaining space between them. When she brought herself tightly into his lap, she could feel what moments before she could only see, the strength and hardness of him. If her arousal were so obvious as his, he might be just as thrilled as she was in that moment.
As they kissed and their tongues intertwined, Mathilda ground against him, softly at first. Both of their breaths hitched, out of unison as they pulled away from each other's lips long enough to sigh a heavy sigh. But the longer it went on, the faster it became, creating a painfully delightful friction between them. He growled whenever she pushed against him hard; it was a pathetic noise he couldn't help, evidence that he yearned for her just like she was yearning for him.
With one arm wrapped around her back and tangled in her hair, and the other clutching at her backside, Leon pulled her against him harder with every forward motion of her hips. Both were fully clothed; she in jeans, he in his trousers, and it dulled the feeling between them both. Mathilda longed to feel his skin on hers, and she pulled away from him, for just the moment.
So late at night, all he wore was his shirt, suspenders discarded somewhere in his room. She leaned back and pulled at the hem, and he raised his arms so she could throw it aside. He watched her curiously as she looked down at him, as her small hands skimmed timidly against his chest. She had seem him without a shirt so many times before, knew where every scar from every altercation was. She had sewed a knife cut up herself just above his heart, and had checked his bandages for days after. She knew his body only from afar, and had never had the opportunity to truly touch him in any way that didn't include clinical precision.
Mathilda wanted to speak, but didn't know what to say. He knew exactly how she felt. He'd known for years. Still, it was a relief to him when what she said was all she could say.
"I love you," she said in a breathy whisper.
"I love you," he said in return, emphasizing his last word.
"I want you to be my first," she said almost immediately. She held her next breath. Her eyes held a mixture of shielded anticipation, so used to being turned away by him, and unrestrained desire.
The look of her, and the feel of her skin again his, undid him almost entirely. He said nothing in response, and answered only with a kiss.
His hands were rough and warm as they skimmed across her back beneath her clothes. They were certain and determined when they pulled her shirt above her head. He observed her in the same way she had observed him, but his hands were more shy, fitfully sifting through the thoughts and reservations he'd held for years. There still lingered a small voice that told him this was wrong, but he knew somehow it would always have happened when the timing was better, that it was right to happen, so long as she wanted it to and she was capable of making that decision.
Leon's gaze was transfixed on her every movement as she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. He held her gaze as it dropped to the floor, breaking away only when Mathilda took his hands in hers and placed them on her breasts. When his eyes slid down her neck to her chest, he sighed and skimmed his thumbs across her nipples until they hardened beneath his touch. Her breath hitched, and he stared at her lips, parted and parched. The sight of her and the obvious want she had for him, made him grow harder beneath her, painfully so.
Leon had ignored her as best he could as she grew into a woman. There were times she had almost forced him to acknowledge she was no longer a child, but he refused to accept it, and so became the void of space between them. But now that he was able to look at her in such a way, the sight was staggering.
She had been a bony thing when first they met, but now that she was a woman, her hips had flared, what little baby fat she had was now gone, and she had grown substantially in all the ways women often did. As he ran his hand over her breasts, he could scarcely believe she was the same person. Though she hadn't grown much in height, she had grown substantially in other ways, enough to fit in the palm of his hands.
In one motion, he pulled her against his chest as he stood, bracing her weight against his arms. She yelped in surprise at the sudden movement. He laid her on the bed, climbed between her legs, and kissed her hungrily. Mathilda reacted in kind.
Her hands ran down his back, to where his ass was, and she grabbed him roughly, pulling him into her so that the friction between them would return. He thrust against her gently as he kissed her, braced on his hands on either side of her head.
The sight and feel of him on top of her was unlike any half-baked adolescent fantasy she had ever conjured up. It was difficult to breathe as she took in his abdominal muscles tightening with every forward movement. The chest hair concentrated in the middle of his chest that traveled and dispersed down to his navel. The small muscles and veins that moved and twitched beneath his skin with every minor movement. The warmth of his breath every time he exhaled against her skin.
He pulled away after long and stood again. He ran his fingers along her sides, up to her breasts, letting himself linger there. Then, he slowly traveled southward, placing kisses along her belly. Once at the waist of her pants, he hesitated.
Her breath hitched at the implication, that realization that this dream was suddenly coming to fruition. In a moment of uncertainty, he looked up at her sharply, and she nodded.
"Don't stop," she said, clutching at his hands.
He made quick work of her zipper, of the jeans he pulled down her hips, of the panties he pulled along with them. Mathilda tried to take in every detail - his dark hands against her pale hips, his lips pressed against her breasts, her belly, her inner thigh, how he looked and felt as he settled between them, now completely naked to him. She looked at his groin, and despite the dark lighting, and the dark fabric, she could see it swollen there, testament to his arousal.
She tried to sit up and reach for the waist of his pants, but he grabbed her wrists and kissed her again before gently pushing her back onto the bed.
"A man must always take care of the woman first," he mumbled against her lips. "Especially if he loves her."
The look he gave her as he trailed down her navel was intoxicating, and when he propped her thighs up over his shoulders and disappeared between her legs, she thought she might just die right then and there.
His lips and his tongue were more certain and precise than anything she'd ever felt. Perhaps he hadn't been with a woman more than a few times, but Mathilda was positive that what he was doing with his mouth was something he had done many times before. It felt too good to be something he wasn't skilled at. The way he licked, and sucked, and nibbled here and there. The way his tongue felt against her, within her. The way his long, strong fingers stroked inside her. He was gentle at first, eliciting soft moans from Mathilda, and then his movements grew faster, more frantic as he stroked against something inside her that made her see stars. Leon wanted her to feel pleasure after so long only feeling pain. And watching her writhe around as a result of ministrations was an intoxicating sight.
Mathilda moaned his name enough and so loudly that the whole of New York City had to have heard, and when he began stroking her most sensitive spot on the outside in tandem, she could barely stand it. She opened her eyes to look down at his hands, to see what he was doing, and found him watching her with heavy, lustful eyes, lips slightly parted. She clutched her hand around one of his, unsure if she was trying to push him away or spurn him on.
Breathing became difficult. A warmth spread across Mathilda's body, deep from the inside. Her hips took on a mind of their own as they bucked and grinded against him, her wetness everywhere she could feel from the waist below. And despite not having touched him once, Leon was breathing erratically, too.
"Let it go, Mathilda," he said in a jumbled whisper. His voice was thick with arousal and the mere sound of it, deep and grainy and the sexiest thing she was sure she had ever heard; it sent her over the edge.
Mathilda cried out as she convulsed against him, around him, and his fingers continued on, steadying her and coaxing her as she rode that wave of pleasure. His other hand came to her breast, her neck, her cheek all in turn, as if he couldn't decide where he wanted to touch her as she climaxed. And as she calmed, as her hands let go of the mass of sheets gripped so intensely, her head fell back against the bed, chest heaving.
It took a moment for Mathilda to regain her sense. Every one of her extremities tingled and pulsated, and she could feel the blood rushing past her ears.
"Leon," she whispered, finally finding composure. She lifted her head to look up at him, and clumsily propped herself up on her elbows, dizzying herself in the process. His hand lay across her belly, caressing it as his other disappeared beyond the side of the bed.
"Has anyone ever made you feel that?" he asked, voice hoarse with desire. He had hoped she would say no, a sudden jealousy sparked by the question and the potential answer.
Mathilda nodded. "Just me, in the shower," she said with a chuckle. "But not like that."
She paused before sitting up entirely and brought herself to the foot of the bed. Leon straightened out of a slouch where he knelt, which put her above him only slightly, just enough to put her breasts in his face.
She reached to his trousers, and he neither moved to help her gain access, nor did he push her away. He studied her movements, taking in every flourish of her fingers, trembling but insistent.
"You don't have to, Mathilda," he said as he gently took her hands in his, distracting her from his pants, half undone now. He was aroused beyond belief, a knot in both his stomach and his throat, but the voice in his head from years past crept up with a hesitant whisper.
"I want to touch you," she said matter-of-factly. Leon's jaw went slack, and the fire burning in his blood grew to be white-hot. Shakily, he stood, and let his grip on her hands waver. Mathilda held his gaze as she pulled at the zipper, letting his pants fall to the ground. She took in the sight of him: the swollen, straining crotch of his underwear pulled tightly over his erection was the only thing keeping her from him. Once again, she looked him in the eye, pulling them down from his hips.
Leon felt the hints of shame and impropriety return, but Mathilda reached for his painful, aching manhood so quickly, he had no more than a second to overthink the situation.
Her hands were warm, and looked so small around him. With potent curiosity, she took in the sight of his cock, her lips parted and dry. She gripped gently around him and stroked up and down slowly, watching the foreskin glide across the head in wonder. It was a mesmerizing sight, something Mathilda had not seen before, and it was unbelievable that she could finally see him and feel him.
Blood pumped loudly in Leon's ears. To see her in such a state was wildly stimulating , and he wanted so badly for her to never stop.
"Is this how you touch yourself?" she asked, eyes fixed on his with an innocence that, were he not mistaken, she was intentionally trying to elicit. The glint of mischief therein gave her away, though. The minx.
"Yes," he sighed. Her touch was exhilarating.
"Is this what you do in the shower? Or in bed?" She stroked him faster, with a harder grip. The more she did, the quicker he breathed, and the less stoic he became. It was a powerful feeling, to know she could do so much to him, with only just the touch of her hand.
Leon moaned in response to both her words and the increased pressure, and sucked in air the moment he felt her tongue around him. She was a sight to behold as she sucked, but just barely, on the tip of his cock, hand still stroking him heartily. It seemed he could only just accustom himself to what she was doing before she took it to the next level, overwhelming him with the pleasure of her ministrations.
"Mathilda…" he breathed. He could scarcely think in his current state, and when she pulled away from him, he was damn near grateful for the reprieve. The desire within him, however, ached for her touch again, even in that brief moment of abandonment.
Mathilda sat back on the bed and reached out to him. He took her hand and stepped out of his trousers, following her onto the bed as she scooted herself back and fell into a cornucopia of pillows. When she pulled him down on top of her and he lay between her legs, he felt like a puzzle piece that fit perfectly there. His erection was pressed against her belly, hard and warm and promising of things to come. She arched her hips into him instinctively.
"I want you inside of me," she whispered.
"Are you certain?" He wanted nothing more than to be buried deep inside her, basking in the pleasure of her swollen and wet sex fit tightly around him, but he had to know for certain. There was no going back to how things had been once that boundary had been crossed.
Mathilda said nothing in response. She only reached down between them, and grabbed his cock with one determined but clumsy hand. She tried to pull him toward her quivering entrance, but was having trouble finding the right angle. Leon lifted his weight from her, and closed his hand around hers, positioning himself against the wet mouth of her womanhood, and looked down into her eyes.
"Mathilda," he said, but was silenced by the hand that pulled his face down to hers, and the lips that pressed against his. Her tongue was thick with determination, and he was not sure a woman had ever kissed him so hungrily before.
He didn't even think as he pressed into her, slow but with resolve. Mathilda tensed beneath him and moaned as her lips broke from his. The pain on her face was palpable and Leon's heart fluttered. He was not a small man, and he could feel Mathilda struggle to acclimate to his size as he slid into her.
"Easy, easy," he said, assuring her he would not hurt her. She moaned again, eyes screwed shut. Her fingers clawed at his arms. "Breathe."
When he had reached a point he could go no further, he stayed motionless inside her and studied her face. Eventually, she breathed a deep sigh and languidly opened her eyes. They were dark and hooded with lust.
"Okay," she whispered.
He pulled out of her easily, and thrust back in with just as much care. Each pass was less agonizing, and her moans became less laced with pain and more laden with pleasure. The quivering arousal from her first orgasm had yet to dissipate entirely and she twitched and clenched around him with each erratic aftershock. She couldn't decide if she liked looking at him more, or if she liked watching him disappear inside of her.
Eventually, the pretense of caution wore off. Leon's reserve had been slowly dissipating until he could no longer hold back. His thrusts were clumsy only for a moment, until his body remembered the rhythm of this specific dance. Every feeling was different, more intense, than he ever could have remembered. The way she looked spread and eager beneath him, the way her hands hungrily clung to any part of him that she could reach, the way she moaned and breathed out his name almost silently, the look of pure love and unfettered want in her eye. Every second that passed that he was inside her, the man he wanted to be vanished. He wished to be slow and gentle with her, but he couldn't find that strength within himself. With the way she clawed at him and spurned him on, he wasn't sure she could help herself, either.
"Give me more," she breathed.
That was all it took before his pace quickened, each thrust more deliberate and intense. Her soft whimpers became deep moans, and her hips rose to meet his impatiently so much so that he had to hold her down with his hands as he buried himself inside of her, lest she hurt herself.
Eventually, he closed any remaining gap between them, their bodies flush against one another as he thrust harder, faster. He breathed deeply against her neck, sighing and mumbling words in a foreign tongue more and more with each electrifying wave. Mathilda's moans were loud in his ear, reverberating into his body and settling with a delightful shudder between his legs. They provoked him every time, and he gave her everything he had to give, burning muscles be damned.
It had been so long since he had been with a woman, but despite his substantial dry spell, he knew she was close to tipping over the edge once again. She pulled at him desperately as her body seized beneath his, and she clenched violently around him. It was all he could do to hold himself back as she climaxed on his cock, and he tried so desperately to see her through as she rode this second surge with his name on her sweet lips.
But he couldn't hold on. He pulled himself from her hastily at the last moment he could, spilling himself all over her thighs.
After a brief disorientation, of confusion that his closeness had very quickly vanished, Mathilda watched him in her stupor as he stroked himself, coming more with each fevered pass. She took in the way the muscles in his arms twitched, the contorted look on his face full of pleasure, and the way his come came out in spurts, less and less each time. He shuddered and breathed erratically, his moans soft. Still, he was louder then than he had been in times past, when she had pressed her ear to the bathroom door while he showered, hoping to hear him pleasuring himself. The whole view was intoxicating.
Finally, he calmed, sitting back on his heels with his cock still in hand, eyes shut. When he opened them and glanced down at her, the guilt came for him.
"I'm sorry," he said, eyeing the mess he'd made of her legs. "I couldn't stop."
Breathlessly, Mathilda nodded. She looked first at his cock, glistening from her wetness, and then at the cum on her thigh. With her index finger, she wiped up the smallest bit, and looked him in the eye as she stuck it in her mouth. He was slack jawed as he watched her, unable to formulate thoughts after all this, nevermind words. She was perfect in every way he could imagine.
"Don't apologize," she said. She got to her knees and gently pressed her lips to his. "I told you, you're all I've ever wanted. And I'll take it all.. Everything you've got."
Mathilda had always been a tad more clever in the ways of love and emotion than Leon ever would be, and he felt her words stir in the pit of his stomach. It was a feeling of love and acceptance and a taste of something new, a promise of lustful endings to come. Even in his youth, the girl he had loved had not loved him in such way. He couldn't imagine what tomorrow would bring, or the night after that, or the night after that. But he knew that he had awoken her, finally giving in to their baser desires, and that this certainly wouldn't be the end. If anything, it was only the beginning.
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it :) There aren't nearly enough Leon: The Professional stories out there, and I already have another planned. Reviews and likes and follows are greatly appreciated!
If you liked what you read, be sure to check out my original erotica stories over on Amazon, under the same pen name.
