Profile

Layla discovers Jake’s surprising talent while admiring his side profile.

Ficlet written in the Ask For the Moon universe. Rated Teen

Prompt: Bold

Layla finished with the report, typing in the last set of numbers on the chart she had made to summarize the last three months of sales through the auction company she worked for. She hit ‘SAVE’ and then looked up at her husband, who was busy scratching out something on a large notepad on the other side of the desk. He often doodled while she worked, waiting for her to finish so they could head out together for whatever interesting adventure he had planned for the day.

Jake still drove the rich and famous around London at night when he fronted, but he tried his best to spend a few hours in the afternoon with Layla now, before heading to work. Since Layla’s job was mostly done online, it was easy for her to finish up fairly early so she could spend the rest of the day with her husband, whoever that happened to be on any given day. Jake was the only one who worked nights, while Steven worked mostly morning shifts at the museum and Marc worked on whatever writing project he has going on whenever he felt like it.

Layla knew that Jake liked to draw, mostly caricatures of the people he drove around at night, but he seemed unusually intense with whatever he was working on right now. She found herself studying his profile as he focused on the paper and charcoal pencil in his grip. His face was the same face his ‘brothers’ wore, and yet she could almost always tell who was fronting by just looking at them. Their expressions, the way they carried themselves, the way they liked to style their hair…

Jake’s hair was slightly messy today, and a curl was falling down over his forehead. It emphasized his dark brows, which were currently furrowed in concentration. His distinctive nose contrasted with his impossibly long eye lashes. His beard stubble was thick, as he hadn’t shaved that morning, and it made him look far different than either of his alters, who shaved religiously. His lips, which looked as if they were made of porcelain, were slightly parted. Layla knew those perfect lips were not at all cold or hard. As she watched, the tip of his tongue dipped out to lick the corner of his mouth before flashing back inside, and she couldn’t stop the feeling of arousal that filled her. His powerful jaw clenched and shifted slightly, and Layla let out a sigh. God Lord, he was beautiful.

He looked at her, her exhale enough to distract him from his sketching. He blinked, then frowned. “What’s wrong?”

She laughed softly. “Nothing.” She shrugged and sat back in her chair. “I was just admiring your profile.”

“My profile?” he repeated, his brows arching. “You mean my big schnoz?”

Layla laughed again. “It’s the perfect size for your face,” she argued. “It’s… bold.”

“Bold?” Jake scoffed.

“Bold. Noble. Virile.” She cocked her head at him. “It’s you.”

He sat up straight and leaned back in his chair, his expression both amused and contemplative.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered intently.

“You’re one to talk,” he responded, his voice also quiet.

She shook her head. “I’m just average,” she argued. “Put some makeup on me and dress me up nice and I might pass as pretty, but otherwise…”

“Bullshit, Querida,” he growled. “You’re beautiful.” He held up the notebook he had been doodling on. There, on the white sheet of paper drawn in black charcoal pencil, was an image of her. She was looking toward the viewer, giving them a side-eye, her curly hair wildly disarrayed and a smirk on her lips.

She was… beautiful.

“Jake,” she breathed. “I didn’t know you could draw like that.” She licked her lips. “I… I’m not that pretty.”

“This is what I see when I see you, Muñeca.” His voice was deep. His expression passionate. He set the drawing down, and Layla watched as his gaze turned inward. He looked back at her. “The others agree. Steven says I’m to frame it and put it on the wall where you can see it and be reminded just how beautiful you are.”

Layla felt her eyes begin to fill with moisture. She was not a crier, but these men she called her husband had always had a knack from bringing out the tears, good and bad. Today they were very good.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“We know.”

THE END