Containing the outbreak had been simple enough. Especially for a pair like Chris Redfield and Leon S. Kennedy. They’d driven up to the little Canadian hunting village in Leon’s beloved Jeep, scouted out the ten or so infected humans around the place, and put them down without much of struggle. They’d even had time to call an airlift in to take the bodies back to DC. Sure, Leon had gotten a scratch from a zombie, but the thing had done nothing more than rip a chunk of his tee shirt off. Chris still can’t quite believe it, but the mission had been...easy.
Almost too easy.
But, Chris reminds himself, in this business, you never look a gift horse in the mouth. A simple job is a simple job, and if it ends up complicating itself, that’s a problem for you to solve tomorrow. Chris and Leon would stay overnight near the site of the outbreak, Rebecca would run tests on the bodies to figure out what they were infected with, and they would go from there. Simple BSAA protocol.
Leon, however, isn’t quite used to BSAA protocol. Or, for that matter, any protocol at all. “So remind me - why couldn’t we get on the airlift and just go back to DC tonight?” he asks as they trek back through the forest, still picking dirt and debris out of his honey-blond hair.
“For safety’s sake,” Chris answers, ducking around a tree in his path. “There’s always a chance that there was an infected that we missed, who could cause another outbreak by tomorrow. But if they’re infected, they won’t get far.”
Leon scoffs, smirking. “They don’t trust you and me to do the job right?”
Almost on cue, the ragged edge of his ripped shirt gets caught on a stray branch, jerking Leon off balance. He swears and untangles himself, while Chris chuckles. “Right. Because nothing ever goes wrong for you or for me, ever.”
“You know what I meant,” Leon says, rolling his eyes. “I’m just saying that some of those BSAA guys sound like real hardasses.”
“Ouch! I was the one who wrote that rule,” Chris quips back.
“Well, you are a hardass,” Leon says with a grin. He pauses to stomp on a particularly dry leaf, which makes a satisfying crunching noise under his combat boot. “Personally, I think we did a fantastic job.”
Chris snorts, but in all fairness, he has to agree. He and Leon make an incredibly lethal team, taking out an entire town of zombies in less than an hour. “Maybe. But I know you don’t want to leave your car here.”
Leon sighs. “Touché.”
“And it’s too late to try to drive back to DC tonight,” Chris points out. “Might as well camp out here, right?”
“I guess so,” Leon says, pouting.
But something’s still nagging at the back of Chris’s mind. “Do you have any idea why they sent you on this mission?”
“I guess no one else had room in their weekend itineraries.”
“Ha ha. Seriously.”
“Or no one else could stand to work alongside the real biohazard, Chris Redfield’s Football-Sized Biceps,” Leon quips, patting one of said biceps for emphasis.
Chris laughs. “Come on, knock it off.”
“What? Am I not hilarious?”
“Uh huh. You’ve got me in stitches.”
“I feel like I really missed my calling as a stand-up comedian.”
“Yeah, cause halfway through your set the audience would stand up and leave.”
Leon gasps, a hand to his chest in mock offense. “How dare you insult me AND make an even more horrible joke than I did?!”
“Some of us have natural talent,” Chris says with a grin.
“Well, I make up for it with my natural good looks,” Leon sniffs.
Do you now , Chris is about to retort, when Leon makes a sudden, strangled squawk. Chris whips around, pulling his gun out of his holster - only to see Leon and his shirt caught on yet another branch.
He laughs out loud in relief, and Leon rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right, stand there and make fun of me,” he says, tugging at his shirt unsuccessfully. “Don’t help at all .”
“Do you need help?”
“No,” says Leon petulantly.
“I am NOT.”
“You look stuck.”
“I am not stuck,” says Leon, and with that he pulls his knife from its holster and slices the shirt in half, from hem to collar. It falls away behind him, and Leon steps forward, grinning in triumph. “See?”
And Chris does, irrefutably, see. Leon Kennedy, the government agent and one-man army, has fucking pierced nipples.
He can’t look away. Chris Redfield isn’t into guys, never has been and never will be, but it’s like those little silver bars have some sort of weird magic magnet that keeps his eyes locked to them: how they glint in the sunlight, how they make Leon’s pink nipples impossibly perky -
“My eyes are up here, Redfield.”
Chris blinks, and blushes when he realizes he’s been staring. “Oh. Sorry.”
Leon gestures to his chest. “Unexpected surprise, huh?”
“Not really,” Chris says, and surprisingly enough, he means it. When he actually considers it, Leon’s exactly the type to do something like...that.
Leon’s eyebrows lift. “Not really?”
Chris swallows and tries to backpedal. “I mean. A lot of people have theirs...done. You know. It’s not weird.”
“I guess not,” says Leon.
“It’s supposed to make them more sensitive or something too, right?”
As soon as he says it, Chris immediately decides that maybe things would have turned out better if the zombies back there had gotten the best of him after all.
But it’s too late for that, and a sly glint is creeping into Leon’s blue-grey eyes. “It might,” he answers coyly, and Chris swears he’s about to have a heart attack.
Instead, he tears his eyes away from Leon and turns back to the trail. “We - we gotta get moving,” he says, and Leon nods in agreement.
As they walk along, Chris forces himself to look anywhere but at Leon. His gaze wanders along the thick trees, the autumn foliage, the chilly steel grey of the sky. But Leon’s presence burns like an open flame next to him, warm and inviting and a constant danger.
It’s not sexual attraction, Chris reminds himself, as he carefully keeps Leon out of his line of sight. He just...admires the guy. Always has. He’s smart, strong, competent. Shot down infected with agile, precise movements, wielded a knife in a way that was almost balletic in its practiced grace. He makes it all look so easy.
And besides, even if it was more than just simple admiration, it wouldn’t mean anything about Chris, wouldn’t mean that he isn’t still straight as an arrow. It wouldn’t mean anything about him or his sexuality. Because Leon is...well, he’s Leon , all sharp eyes and playful grins and sleek, androgynous beauty. Everyone - male, female, whatever - knows that there’s just something about him that’s irresistibly, magnetically erotic, something that makes you want to play with those stupid pierced nipples while you fuck that perfect round ass from behind while that gorgeous sultry voice screams your name -
He whips around to see Leon drumming his fingers on the hood of the Jeep. He’d walked right past the car without even seeing it.
“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” Chris apologizes, and hurries back to Leon.
Leon lifts an eyebrow as he approaches. “Something on your mind?”
Chris shakes his head and swallows. “No, uh, it’s nothing. Just kinda - just kinda tired.”
“Okay,” says Leon, like he doesn’t quite believe him. “Want me to drive?”
“That’s okay,” Chris says.
Leon shrugs and heads toward the passenger side door. “Suit yourself.”
But before Chris can get in the car, Leon turns back to him. “Hey. Hang on.”
“Hm?” Chris says, glancing up.
There’s something almost vulnerable in Leon’s eyes. “After we get back to the hotel and wash up, would you...would you want to maybe go grab a drink with me?”
Chris can almost feel his brain shatter into a billion tiny pieces.
“Uh,” he finds himself saying, “a. A drink?”
“Yeah,” says Leon. “Like...you know.” He smiles.
The implication hangs heavily between them for a few moments.
But it comes crashing to the ground when Chris speaks again. “Um. I’m really - I’m sorry, but I don’t - I’m not - ”
“Oh,” says Leon, reddening. “Oh. I’m sorry, I thought - ”
“No, it’s okay, it’s fine,” says Chris, feeling his face heat up to match Leon’s. “I don’t mind! I just - ”
“Don’t worry about it,” says Leon, and slides into the car’s passenger seat. “Just forget I said anything.”
They drive back to the hotel in stony, embarrassed silence.
As soon as they arrive at their hotel room, Chris disappears into the bathroom and shuts the door. Leon hears the shower turn on, and he sighs, filled with relief at the promise of being alone for at least the next few minutes. He flops down onto the bed closest to the window, sinking into the softness of the comforter as he stares up at the ceiling. This...sucks.
In hindsight, Leon should have known better than to ask. Of course the BSAA’s golden boy, Captain-fucking-America himself, wouldn’t be into guys. Let alone him.
Still, Leon thought he had felt...something, some tension crackling between them. Some heat burning low behind the other man’s gaze. But he must have been wrong.
He sighs again and pushes his hair out of his eyes. Dwelling on it was just about the least helpful thing he could do at the moment. Everyone would be better off if Leon just acted like it hadn’t even happened, at least until the mission was over and they could finally go home. Tomorrow, he can whine and moan all he wants about being rejected yet again. But for now, he has to be professional.
He hears the shower shut off, and rolls over onto his side, mentally preparing himself to stand up and face Chris again. In three, two, one -
The bathroom door swings open, and Leon draws himself up.
And promptly collapses.
“Leon!” a voice shouts, and suddenly there are wide, warm hands on his still-bare shoulders. “Leon, what’s - are you -“
“‘M fine,” Leon mumbles, the room still spinning around him.
Chris’s hands are still on Leon’s arms, steadying him. “Are you sure? Nothing’s wrong?”
Nausea pricks at Leon’s gut, but he swallows it down. “I’m fine. Just stood up too fast.”
“You’re really sure?”
“I said I’m fine , Chris,” Leon snaps, before he can stop himself.
Chris recoils in shock, holding his hands up in surrender. “I was just checking.”
Leon nods, and staggers to his feet. “I’m going to shower.”
“Okay,” says Chris, and lets him leave.
Once Leon’s gone, Chris pulls out his radio communicator and boots it up.
On the other end, a familiar voice crackles to life. “Chris?”
“Rebecca,” Chris answers, breaking into a relieved grin. “How are you?”
“Not too bad! Looks like you and Leon made it out alive.”
Chris glances in the direction of the bathroom. “Yeah, we’re both fine. He’s showering. Did you get the samples we sent yet?”
“Nope, still waiting on them,” Rebecca answers, her words punctured by static. “Should be here soon, though.”
“Can you let me know when you figure out what was going on back there?”
“Sure thing. And Chris-“ Her voice drops to a hush. “Don’t be too hard on Leon, okay? He just got back from that rough mission in Spain. Really took it out of him.”
Shit. He’d totally forgotten about that. Guilt twists Chris’s stomach at the way he’d practically ignored Leon on the ride home. After something so silly and inconsequential as Leon asking him out.
But it’s not Rebecca’s job to listen to him as he vents about his own issues with emotional intimacy. “I’ll look out for him,” says Chris, with a nod that Rebecca can’t even see. “Signing off.”
“Signing off,” Rebecca echoes, and then the line goes dead.
With a sigh, Chris sets the radio on the bedside table, right next to the phone book.
The phone book.
Now there’s an idea.
When Leon steps out of the bathroom thirty minutes later, he’s greeted by an unexpected aroma. The whole room smells of garlic, tomatoes, greasy cheese, lots of oil. Almost like -
“Pizza!” Chris calls out, and flips the box open. “I got cheese, I hope that’s okay.”
Leon’s nothing short of dumbfounded. “Yeah, uh, cheese is great,” he says stupidly, still taken aback. “You paid for this?”
“American taxpayers paid for this,” says Chris with a grin, biting into a slice. “Dig in.”
Leon obliges. It’s good, hot and cheesy and gooey, and once he bites into it, he can hardly stop himself from shoveling the whole slice into his mouth at once. He hadn’t realized it before, but he’s starving.
Chris is standing back with an amused twinkle in his eye. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Hell yes,” Leon answers around a mouthful of pizza. He’s grabbing the box for a second slice before he’s even finished the first one, and Chris laughs at his enthusiasm.
They fall into a silence that’s almost comfortable, sitting across from one another on their respective beds as they plow their way through the pizza. Or, rather, while Leon plows his way through the pizza and Chris watches, nibbling on his own single slice. Leon doesn’t know why he’s so hungry out of absolutely nowhere, but he has food, and that’s what really matters.
Soon enough, the pizza box is empty, and Leon is slumped back on his bed. He should feel full, he knows that, but hunger still gnaws at his gut relentlessly. An itch he can’t quite scratch.
But he’s definitely feeling better than he was before. He catches Chris’s eye, who’s just finishing the last of his two slices, and sighs in satisfaction. “I needed that.”
Chris swallows his final bite. “I guess you did. Never thought you could eat me out of house and home, but I guess I was mistaken.”
“It was good pizza!” Leon protests, but then he notices the smile in Chris’s eyes. He can’t help but smile back. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Chris answers, and Frisbee-tosses the box across the room. It lands neatly on top of the trash can opposite their beds.
Leon glances up at Chris again. “You...didn’t happen to order any garlic bread or anything too, did you?”
“You’re STILL hungry?” Chris exclaims, laughing out loud.
Leon blushes. “Sorry!”
“It’s okay,” says Chris, with a shake of his head. “I didn’t get anything else, though.”
“Don’t worry about it,” says Leon. He props himself up on one elbow to get a better look at Chris. “So. Was this your way of extending an olive branch?”
Chris cringes slightly. “Was it that obvious?”
“Yes,” Leon says, but he’s grinning. “You’re one of the most obvious people I know.” But then he looks away, his face clouding. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing to you.”
Chris sighs. “No - Leon, don’t say that.”
“I mean, it’s true,” Leon says. “I made an assumption that I shouldn’t have. And it made you uncomfortable. So I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” says Chris, shaking his head. “You didn’t know. Besides, the best thing for us to do now is just...put it behind us.”
And then he smiles gently at Leon, and Leon feels something clench in his stomach. He swallows it down and nods. “Right. Put it behind us,” he says, and slouches back on the bed, brushing his hair out of his face.
And that’s when he feels it, covering his forehead, soaking his bangs. Making his hand come away damp and sticky. He hadn’t even realized how disgustingly hot it is in the little hotel room, how he’s already drenched in sweat only ten minutes after showering. But now that he’s thinking about it, it’s almost unbearable.
Leon forces himself to sit up again, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “Did you turn the heat up or something? It’s kind of warm in here.”
“I didn’t turn anything up,” says Chris, and stands. “I’m actually sorta chilly, I was just about to close the window - ”
“Can you leave it open?”
“...sure,” Chris says, eyeing Leon curiously. “Are you feeling - ”
“I’m just a little warm,” Leon says. Then, an idea strikes him, and he looks down at his ratty, sweat-soaked tee. “Can - can I take this off?”
“I don’t mind,” says Chris, but there’s still something suspicious in his tone. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Okay,” says Leon, a little breathlessly, and then he’s tugging the shirt over his head -
And oh, it feels so good to be bare-skinned again, so good to have the cool night air washing across his heated chest. He sighs in delicious relief and runs his hands down his torso and god, how didn’t he notice how itchy these pants are before right now? They’re scratchy, hot, constricting, awful, and he doesn’t know how he’d worn them all day but that doesn’t matter now because he wants them off -
With a jolt, Leon realizes that his hands are gripping his open belt, ready to push his trousers down his legs.
Chris is staring at him worriedly now, a deep crease between his brows. “Leon. I need you to be honest. Cause you’re scaring me now.” He leans forward, kneeling next to Leon’s bed. “Are you okay or not?”
Leon tries to answer. He really does. But his mouth doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to do anything but fall open and breathe in deeply, because he never realized it before but Chris Redfield smells good . Like whiskey and firewood and something else that’s warm and heavy and making sparks flare in his gut, and Leon suddenly realizes that he’s desperately, achingly hard.
Fuck. Oh, fuck.
Before Chris can come any closer, before he can see the erection swelling between his legs, before he can drown him in that scent or those eyes or anything at all, Leon’s vaulting himself off the bed, dashing into the bathroom and locking the door behind him.
He’s breathing hard, pressing his back against the door as he trembles. The room is spinning now, almost like he’s drunk, but he’s not drunk he’s just sweating and dizzy and hornier than he’s ever been in his whole entire life. His knees shake and his cock throbs and he’s - he’s empty.
The realization makes him gasp, and he doubles over, a pang of desperate need wrenching through his body. His skin is on fire, hot and flushed and sensitive, so sensitive that a palm ghosting over his bare torso almost makes him cry out with want. He’s empty, he’s so empty, and God does he need to be full, he needs, he needs, he needs…
Everything is slowing down now. He can feel it, can feel his mind beginning to shut down. Can feel the facts and thoughts and worries slipping through his fingers and fading into thin air piece by piece.
Another piece disappears. Like soap bubbles punctured with a finger. Pop, pop, pop, and then nothing but static and heat.
Another piece gone. He’s so empty, and he doesn’t know why, and he realizes that he doesn’t care anymore.
Another piece. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. And oh, it feels so good.
And then the last part of Leon’s rational mind shuts down.
A moment passes.
His eyes flicker open. Did he close them? He doesn’t remember.
He’s aroused. He’s very aroused. It hurts.
His cock is so hard. And he’s still so empty. Leon whimpers.
He looks up, and sees his own reflection in the mirror. Eyes wild and wide, cheeks flushed pink, blond hair mussed, full lips parted. Like some sort of slut.
Leon whimpers again. He wants to be a slut.
And he doesn’t know how he knows it. But he knows he’s meant to be a slut for Chris.
He thinks about cock. Chris’s cock. He knows Chris’s cock is big. Because Chris is so big. Leon loves how big Chris is.
Chris’s cock would feel so good in his mouth right now. And Leon would look so good with Chris’s cock in his mouth. Leon traces the outline of his lips with a finger, watching himself in the mirror. He wants to look good. Be good. Be a slut. He pushes the finger past his lips and sucks.
And oh, does that feel good. So good that Leon’s eyes roll back in his head. Like he could come just from a finger in his mouth. His cock twitches and his hole aches when he thinks about it. He adds another finger, and another. Yes. That’s….wonderful. He moans. So good.
A knock at the door. “Leon?”
Chris’s voice. Deep and low, so low it feels like it’s rumbling and echoing around Leon’s chest. Chris is there. Chris is big and strong and smells so good. He needs Chris. He needs Chris to breed him.
He opens the door, and their eyes meet for one long, heated second.
And then Chris finally speaks.
“Mother fucking shit.”