Disenchanting Valentine’s: Ex-Lover M Luci (Patreon)

“Just trust me,” Lucien whispers to you, leading you by the hand down one of the paths around campus.

Of course you trust him. It’s Lucien. You two haven’t been through all the shit you have for you not to trust him. Still, under nightfall, the shadows of the trees seem to jump out as you pass. You squeeze Lucien’s hand a little tighter, moving closer to him as you both keep going.

It’s not like it’s a quiet night on campus. Valentine’s Day never is. Couples are coming back from dinner, having picnics in the courtyard of the student center, watching the stars outside the dorm buildings; people are everywhere. None of them pay you any attention as Lucien leads you around the dorms to the back of the Arts building. He scans a key, which you have no idea where he got, and leads you inside down the dark hallways.

“Are we allowed in here?” You hiss, keeping pace as you pass the classrooms by.

“Yeah,” He raises an eyebrow as you finally come to stop in front of a door, “How do you think I got a key?”

There’s light coming from inside the room, but you can’t see much with Lucien in front of you.

You shrug a bit, “I thought you stole it.”

He blinks at you, and you can’t help but laugh a little at his expression. He turns without comment and opens the door, tugging your hand to lead you inside.

You bite back a gasp as you look around the art studio. Only one easel has been left in the center of the room, the rest moved against the wall. A few fluffy blankets have been spread out on the floor, and bowls of fruit and chocolate are set to the side. One lamp is on in the corner, providing some dim lighting in the large room. Candles surround the blankets in a half circle, and it looks like he’s scattered flowers petals haphazardly around on the floor.

“Ta-da,” He says weakly, sweeping an arm out to gesture at all of it.

You can hear the nerves in his voice, see him swallow heavily; he’s afraid you won’t like it. Why you wouldn’t, you have no idea. This is…more than you ever thought you deserved. You turn to him fully, swallowing your emotions as you take an unsteady step toward him. You give him a soft kiss and he brings a hand to settle on your hip, his fingers flexing with the urge to pull you closer.

“Thank you,” You whisper hoarsely, not hiding the tears that threaten to fall as well as you’d like.

His lips part, his mouth opening as if he was going to say something. No words come out, though, and he just stares down at you quietly for a moment. You feel the same, as if the words have been ripped from your tongue, gone without a trace. You never thought it would be this easy, loving him again. Again, you think, turning the word over and over in your head. As if you ever really stopped.

It’s different now. Before, Valentine’s Day was a simple and sweet affair. You’d eat dinner on the balcony of his bedroom, watching the night sky in each other’s arms. Now, so many years later, you’re celebrating it with him for the first time all over again. It always comes down to that word; with Lucien, it’s always again. You circle around each other, constantly drawn to the same orbit, destined to somehow find your way back to each other’s sides.

“It’s nothing,” He finally says, his quiet voice still loud in the silent room, “It’s the least I could do for you.”

You feel the urge to kiss him again, but instead you walk further into the room. Lucien closes the door, watching you as you take it all in.

“My art professor is the one who gave me the key,” He says suddenly, “She knows I like to paint at odd hours. It’s soothing for me. This studio is like a place away from it all, somewhere I can just be me.”

The importance of him bringing you here isn’t lost on you, and he obviously knows you realize that.

“It seemed fitting,” His eyes are warm as they flit over your face, “You’re the only person who makes me feel the way this place does. Safe.”

This time you give into the urge. Your lips press against his, less soft and more urgent. He pulls you flush against him, groaning as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. He turns the both of you around, breaking the kiss just long enough to guide you down onto the blankets. Your back presses against the plush fur, and your breath catches as your eyes lock, both of your gazes longing.

“Are we,” You whisper, your face mere inches from is, “About to have sex in an art studio?”

He bites his lip, stifling a chuckle, “Uhm, do you want to have sex in an art studio?”

“Well, I…” A tingle runs down your spine at the thought, desire pooling below the more you think about it, “I want to. I want you.”

His eyes brighten the moment the words leave your mouth, a dopey little grin curling his lips. Candlelight shines on his skin as he makes quick work of undressing, and you’re almost so distracted that you forget to do the same. He presses down on you, his body on top of yours as he captures you in another kiss as his hands slide down your body. He catches on your hip, his thumb caressing your skin.

You pant, pulling away long enough to reach for your jacket. It’s tossed to the side with the rest of your clothes, but you dig for the lube in the pocket and press it into his hand.

His eyes widen before a smirk flickers on his lips, “You had plans, then?”

“I had hope,” You respond, laying back down with a smug little smile.

Lucien’s face softens as he cards a hand through your hair, drinking you in for a moment. He then proceeds, relishing every little noise you make as he carefully works his fingers into you. Finally, when you’re just about to go over the edge from just two digits, he slides his length into you. You grip his shoulders as he kisses a trail up your neck, adoring awe on his face as he listens to your quiet moans.

You find the peak together, him collapsing into your arms with a spent whine as you clutch him close. You tug one of the blankets over the both of you as the chill of the evening sets in, making goosebumps raise on your bare skin.

“I got ahead of myself,” He mutters into your shoulder, “I didn’t even get to show you the painting.”

“The painting?” You pause, remembering the canvas turned backwards on the easel so you couldn’t see the front, “You painted me something?”

You feel unbearably loved in that moment, like the affection could just about strangle you.

“I painted you,” He responds, pulling his face from the crook of your neck to look up at you with those damned brown eyes of his.

Something warm settles in your chest. You haven’t even seen the painting yet but you know you’ll love it regardless. Lucien made it, and you love him so much it feels like you could combust from it all, so of course you would.

“I love you,” You say, your voice trembling.

He presses his forehead against yours, “I never stopped.”