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Leon is positively sick of Chris Redfield.
He’s so sick of him, in fact, that when Chris offers a hand to help him up after nearly getting obliterated by a Tyrant, the only thing Leon can think about is how badly he wants those hands on him.
Chris is looking down at him with those kind, puppy eyes that Leon absolutely can’t stand. He hates him.
He takes his hand.
Warmth spreads from Chris’ touch throughout Leon’s body, and he hates that he even accepted the offer of help in the first place. He hates that Chris’ stupid brown eyes broke through his stupid hesitation. He keeps his eyes glued to Chris as his hand slips from Leon’s grasp to brush off whatever bits of Tyrant guts had flung onto his B.S.A.A. uniform.
“We should probably get out of here,” Chris remarks, looking around the vast chamber.
With some composure and dignity left, Leon cards a hand through his blood-slicked hair, sarcasm practically dripping from his lips, “Yeah, no, Cap’n. I think I’m all good right where I am.”
Chris gives him a look only an older brother could manage, kind of 'Cut the shit, Leon.’ mixed with‘You’re such a brat, Leon.’ But either way, he's just happy to have annoyed him to any degree.
The ride back to their less-than-cheap hotel feels longer than ever. It’s nothing either of them hasn’t experienced before, but it just so happens to be that a ride in the back of a government Jeep while covered in blood and guts never does get more comfortable, no matter how many times you have to sit through one.
And Chris just keeps looking at him like he has something to say, almost smiling like he knows something that Leon doesn’t. Leon does his very best to scowl, “What?”
Chris’ lips break out into a grin, “You-” He chuckles, “You have something in your hair.”
“What? ”
Leon thoroughly runs his hands through his hair, feeling around the drying blood before grimacing as he pulls a chunk of Tyrant from his bangs.
He pretends to not see the way Chris’ arm instinctively raised to get whatever it was out of his hair.
The thing about Chris is that he’s a generally affectionate person, and Leon isn’t a stranger to the occasional hand on his shoulder or even the odd handshake. But he’s never been the type of guy to accept a ‘Let me get this chunk of B.O.W. out of your hair for you, darling’ kind of touch. Let alone from Chris.
So why can’t he stop thinking about it?
He’s uncomfortably aware of his own thoughts as he peels his shirt off in the hotel bathroom. He’s uncomfortably aware of them when he looks in the mirror, inspecting his hair for more chunks of meat. He’s certainly painfully aware of them when he’s in the shower, watching the blood go down the drain and considering how it would feel to have Chris’ hands there instead of his own.
What the hell is wrong with him? Why can’t he stop thinking about Chris Redfield washing chunks of bioterrorist weaponry out of his hair?
Leon groans and considers the repercussions of punching the tiled wall.
Such are the consequences of testosterone, he supposes. The unbearable need to mount Chris Redfield has to do with HRT, and definitely not anything else in his brain. Yes. Good. He’s comfortable blaming the hormones instead of his own addled consciousness.
It’s not like Chris is ridiculously ripped, sturdy, charismatic and charming.
And it’s not like Leon gets hard thinking about it. It’s definitely not like Leon has ever gotten hard thinking about Chris Redfield before.
But if he, in theory, did, there would be no outcome other than rubbing one out in the shower to the thought of Chris Redfield. And that’s the worst part about it, isn’t it? The part that has him holding himself up against the wall thinking about Chris Redfield. The part where he’s not even thinking about fucking Chris Redfield. The part where he’s just thinking about him… in general.
Chris Redfield is Leon’s worst nightmare, and he’s easily going to be the death of him. Especially tomorrow morning when Leon is going to have to look him in the eye all throughout breakfast as they’re surrounded by their peers. It's really going to suck when Chris smiles at him and Leon has to live with the knowledge that he’s jerked off to that smile.
But right now? Right now Leon just wants to get off and go to bed. He wants to get off, maybe wash all the blood off of himself and then crash into scratchy hotel sheets with the burning guilt of jerking off to the only person he can fully trust anymore.
He grunts and slips two fingers inside himself immediately, pleasantly greeted by slickness and warmth. He tries his very best to not think about Chris Redfield’s hands as he fucks himself on his own fingers, grinding his dick against his palm as his fingers pump in and out. Leon carefully presses his fingers inside himself, finding the little bundle of nerves that is sure to send him over the edge, and he keeps pressing at it over and over, all the while still grinding against his own palm with not nearly enough direct stimulation to his dick.
Chris would probably be really good at that.
Chris is definitely better than Leon at that. He probably knows just how to get him off. He probably puts that mouth of his to good use, lapping up anything he can get, using his lips and tongue to their fullest extent. He’s probably really good at sucking someone like Leon off.
His stubble would feel just right against Leon’s skin, regardless of where he were to be kissing. He wouldn’t neglect Leon’s dick in the way that Leon himself is doing right now.
Chris would take care of him, Leon thinks.
And he comes. Flushed red from the heat of the shower and with his co-worker’s name on his lips.
Leon stands there, breathless and flustered. He removes his fingers from himself and gently runs them across his folds one last time before rinsing them out under the spray of the shower. These are the benefits of not paying the water bills for this place.
He turns off the water and steps out, throwing the towel over his waist before he opens the door to the room, immediately regretting it as he’s hit with the painfully chilly hotel air-conditioning.
“Hey, Leon, do you have my-”
He yelps, reaching for any gun he can get his hands on before he fully registers who is in his locked hotel room and why.
“Chris?”
It sure is painful to look him in the eyes, that much is true! Good job, past Leon, for your great intuition!
Chris gives him the courtesy of looking away, “I was just looking for my knife, Kennedy. I didn’t want to rifle through your stuff.”
“You could have fucking knocked!” Leon squawks, feeling his voice break as he lowers his gun.
Chris holds his hands up defensively, still not fully looking at Leon, who takes this moment to look him up and down in an act that was most certainly a mistake, “I did! I only just came in!” Leon wants to die, “You didn’t answer so I used the master key and-”
Leon makes an effort to cover his chest with his arms, an instinct of an era long gone, “Who the fuck gave you a master key?”
“Jill.”
Now is not the time to question how or why Jill had the master key to this random hotel. But the thought still lingers.
They stand there for a second, pointedly not looking at each other before Leon moves to rifle through his discarded bloody clothes for the knife he knows Chris had handed him earlier. He hates everything about this in the current moment.
“I thought I heard my name. I thought you heard me come in here.” Chris says, embarrassed.
Oh, yeah. Leon is absolutely going to die now. Getting mauled by zombies would be preferable to the situation he’s in right now.
He swipes a clean pair of underwear and a shirt from his trashed suitcase and glares at Chris’ turned back as he tugs them on. Potential judgement be damned, Leon is not going to shove a packer in his pants just for him.
He finds the knife and taps Chris’ shoulders with it, immediately regretting it as soon as Chris turns around. The tight tank top he’s wearing clings to him, and Leon can practically count every freckle on his face and shoulders from this distance.
Chris, who was already beyond embarrassed, somehow manages to blush one shade of red deeper, which is saying something, considering the fact that 30 minutes ago Leon didn’t think he was even capable of blushing in the first place.
“You did say my name, though, right?” He asks, and it’s a miracle Leon even processes what he said.
He crosses his arms again, defensively leaning back, “I was showering.”
“That’s not a no, though.” Chris has this horrible ghost of a grin on his face that almost gets Leon to shudder. Almost. “What were you doing in there then, if you didn’t hear me come in?”
“Showering, Christopher.” Leon hates everything about this.
Chris is actually smiling now, “Uh-huh. Thinkin’ about me?” He mocks.
“Yeah, uh-huh. Can you leave now?”
The bastard has the gall to laugh, “Were you actually jerking off? Jill is never gonna let you live this down, you know. Claire is gonna hate hearing about it.”
Leon isn’t actually sure how it happens, but the next thing he knows he has Chris pinned to the wall, holding him by the front of his stupid tank top and baring his teeth at him, “Do you know how much I hate you?”
Apparently, enough that when Chris smiles and chuckles, Leon sees red.
“Chill out, Kennedy. I won’t spread the word about your sexual fantasies regarding me.” He’s still smiling. Leon does not believe him.
“I don’t-”
Chris’ hand goes up to Leon’s waist, and his knee rises to meet Leon’s crotch.
“Come on, Kennedy,” He says, and Leon really doesn’t know what he wants him to ‘come on’ about, “It’s been a long night.”
Grinding on Chris’ leg would be wrong, and beneath him. Grinding on Chris’ leg would definitely out him if his lack of genital protrusion against Chris’ knee hadn’t already. So when he leans in closer, grinding is definitely, totally, most certainly not what he is doing, “Are you leaving or what?”
Chris lets his shoulders drop, still smiling, “I don’t know,” He hikes his leg up further and Leon has to hold back a grunt, “Do you want me?”
There’s a tense second of hesitation, and all of a sudden lips are crashing against his. Leon’s hands let go of his shirt collar to explore further south, going under its hem just to feel up his annoyingly present V-line. He has half a brain to question if any of this is even really happening, but once Chris’ hands tangle in his hair, Leon decides that he really doesn’t give a shit.
He truly hates that the Leon from 30 minutes ago was right. He hates how good Chris’ hands feel in his hair, or how much the scratch of his stubble adds to his kisses. It’s not like Leon hasn’t hooked up with men before—he knows the feel of stubble against his skin and he knows it well—but something about the fact that it’s Chris makes it feel different for him.
Chris does manage to draw a sound from Leon when he moves his leg to put just a little more pressure on Leon’s crotch. The noise he gets is something between a groan and a whine followed by a warning glare.
“Chris.” Leon warns, as if that means anything at all right now.
Swiftly, Chris manages to turn them around so Leon is now pinned to the wall, leering at him. His hands are still in Leon’s hair, and he’s still fucking smiling.
The second that he lets go is when Leon knows that Chris Redfield is going to be the death of him. He knows because Chris gets on his knees and parts his legs more.
“Do you want this?”
Leon is so fucking wet.
“God, yeah.”
He doesn’t register Chris’ hesitation. What he does register are Chris’ hands on his hips, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his underwear and pulling it down slowly. Too slow. He registers when Chris stops, too.
He hadn’t told him.
“Oh.” Leon says, having completely forgotten that disclosing ‘Hey man, I don’t actually have the dick you’re expecting to see between my legs’ was probably something he should’ve done before getting to this point.
Chris looks up at him, his touch burning the skin on Leon’s thigh, “Leon,” He mutters, with an unexpected softness, “You-”
“Don’t-”
He presses a kiss to the inside of Leon’s thigh and has the audacity to wink at him with the softest smile, “Me too.”
What?
He barely has a moment to register it before Chris’ mouth is on him and fuck it’s everything he hoped for and more. Chris splays his tongue out across his hole to give a single, achingly slow lick before giving full attention to his dick. Leon knows he’s not the biggest by any means, but he’s fairly proud of his bottom growth, and watching Chris Redfield take it into his mouth with the glazed-over look of someone who can't wait to give head is worth every penny he’s ever spent on HRT.
Leon is not new to this, he’s been around the block more than a few times, so he really should know exactly what it feels like, but somehow, the way that Chris is sucking him off feels completely different and new.
Maybe it’s just the fact that it’s Chris. It’s Chris’ tongue swirling around him, Chris’ lips giving him that suction, Chris’ big doe eyes staring up at him with something Leon can't quite put his finger on.
Having a schoolgirl crush on Chris Redfield is not something he can afford to do right now, but it sure is hard not to.
He can feel Chris’ tongue against him, licking carefully along his slit and penetrating him just slightly before coming back to suck on his cock over and over and over with just the right amount of stimulation.
He can’t help but grab at Chris’ hair, getting a better purchase on him as he fucks himself on his face. Leon swears he can see Chris trying to rut against something, only to whine loudly and directly onto Leon’s dick when nothing satisfies him. He tugs on his hair again, earning another satisfying whine that sends vibrations directly to his cock.
There’s this thing Chris does with his tongue where he slowly licks a long stripe over Leon’s outer lips and comes up to suck on his dick again, keeping eye contact for just a second or two before looking away and bobbing his head slightly that just drives Leon insane, leaving him groaning and gasping. How is he so good at this? Is Leon dreaming?
And just by the way that Chris grazes his top teeth against Leon’s cock on purpose for the slightest bit of extra sensation, Leon knows he’s not dreaming. He could have never come up with that image in his head but, dear God, it feels good.
He can tell Chris is desperate too just by his body language, his thighs pressed close together as his hands grip onto Leon’s hips for dear life. It’s beyond maddening.
“Chris…” He groans, rocking directly into the heat of Chris’ mouth, his hands tugging even harder on his hair as he gets close, “Please…”
Chris hums again, sucking him into his mouth and digging his blunt nails into the sides of Leon’s thighs.
The noise that he lets out as he comes should have been embarrassing, and not something for Chris to ever get to hear in his entire goddamn life, but as soon as Chris pulls away and licks his lips after working Leon through what may have been one of the most intense orgasms of his life, Leon can't bring himself to care. He's enamoured.
He has a hard time looking at him as they both catch their breath. There’s slick coating the bottom half of Chris' face in a sheen that is so alluring he finds it nearly impossible to not drag him up for a kiss. Though, he manages to resist it by distracting himself with Chris’ arms and chest, raking his eyes up and down his older colleague and drinking him in. God, he wants him so bad.
Chris is still pathetically clasping his thighs together and moving his hips in an attempt to get any friction whatsoever, so Leon decides to take mercy on him. He nearly trips when he moves to get Chris off of the ground, but manages to catch himself and drag him along to the bed.
There are moments in his life where he wonders what decisions he made in his past that eventually led to where he is at present. This is one of them. What decision could have possibly led to having Chris Redfield in his bed? What kind of sick butterfly effect has him hooking up with Chris Redfield at age 37?
If you had asked him some 20 or so years ago where he thought he’d be at 37, this was really not what he would have said.
This is much—much—better than whatever 17-year-old Leon could have mustered.
Chris manages to somehow rise to his feet and rip off his tank top in just one swift motion, and immediately Leon’s hands are on him, feeling up the muscles and tracing scar after scar from over a decade of trying to stop the zombie apocalypse. Eventually, his fingers find the faded scars under Chris’ pecs, framing them and stretching up to his nipples.
The backs of Chris’ knees hit the edge of the bed and he lets himself fall while Leon feels him up, nipping at his neck and keeping his fingers on the tracks of his scars. It’s… nice.
He almost loses himself in the feeling of another body against his, he almost doesn’t hear Chris whine pitifully under him. But he does. He hears it and every thought leaves his brain save for the one about how this is Chris fucking Redfield whining and moaning under him like a bitch in heat.
Between hurried kisses, Leon hears himself say, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”
Which is unfortunately true. At the very least, 10 years he’s been waiting to get his hands in Chris’ pants, as much as he’d rather die than admit that.
He can feel Chris chuckle against him now. He can feel the way his vocal chords vibrate, what, with his lips being right against Chris’ throat, and he can feel his chest rumble up and down as soft laughter courses through him. It all makes Leon’s heart flutter.
He slips his hand under the waistband of Chris’ pants, and the laughter quickly gets swallowed by a groan. Leon’s fingers graze against his heat, and, fuck, he’s beyond soaked. If this is what just the anticipation does to him, then Leon really has no clue what he’s in for when he gets him close to coming.
Chris is hard, Leon can feel that immediately as he brushes his fingertips along the top part of Chris’ length, shushing him calmly all the while. He kisses Chris’ neck while he whines and jerks him off slowly while leaning over him. Tentatively, he slips one finger into the hole, and is pleasantly surprised to hear an approving noise from Chris. So this is how it’s gonna be.
Fucking him slowly with one finger, Leon never stops kissing him. He moves from Chris’ neck to his jaw and to his lips, back and forth until Chris gets sick of it and starts begging for more.
Which, to his delight, does not take that long.
“Come on, Redfield.” Leon mocks, slipping a second finger in to give him some more purchase, “Settle down.”
There is no coherent verbal answer, but he really doesn’t need one to understand what the grunts and quiet moans mean. More, more, more, more.
He moves his fingers faster. speeding up his pace as best as he can while using his thumb to give his cock the extra, much-needed, stimulation. For his hard work, Leon earns a warm hand sneaking under his shirt and clawing at his back in desperation, as well as more than a few pleasured gasps from Chris at particularly sharp movements of Leon’s fingers. At some point, he curves his finger just right and the noise that emerges from Chris’ throat can only really be described as a sort of mewling cry. It’s the kind of noise you joke about, the kind of forced-sounding noise that porn stars make. The kind of noise you’d never, ever, expect to hear from the head of the B.S.A.A.
And definitely not at the hands of a D.S.O. agent.
“Leon,” Chris manages, breathless and choked. “Fuck– Leon…” He says it again and again, it sounds almost hymnal.
“That alright?” He asks, even though he already knows it’s more than alright by the way Chris is leaning into his touch, “You’re so needy.”
Leon keeps pumping his fingers in and out of Chris’ hole, making sure to hit that spot with every other motion, never once letting his thumb stray far from Chris’ dick. The older man groans and grunts, rocking back into Leon’s motions with precision. When he knows Chris is getting closer, he makes sure to suck hickies and leave bites just to stimulate him a bit more.
He doesn't think too much about their placement, and neither does Chris, apparently, judging by his lack of complaints. What are a few lovebites in the face of a zombie apocalypse, right? Who would ever question why zombie-killing extraordinaire, Chris Redfield, is covered in bruises?
“Fucking– Goddamn .” He groans and Leon chuckles against his throat, curving his fingers again and pushing relentlessly to see what other pretty sounds he can drag out of Chris.
Seemingly, the guy doesn’t know how to keep quiet. Or still. He scratches—hard—at Leon’s back and moans in the most delightful way possible, pleading and whining unintelligibly as he’s brought closer and closer to the edge. His breath always seems to hitch when Leon’s teeth graze his throat, and he keeps trying to bring him impossibly closer, pressing their chests together.
Maybe Leon is just really fucking good at this.
It’s difficult to think that Chris would ever be this reactive with anyone.
Though, the satisfaction is there when Chris climaxes against Leon’s hands. He gasps and swears as Leon works him through it, still kissing him all over and trying his very best to think of what praises he can even say to soothe Chris right now.
He removes his hand from Chris’ pants and sits back on the bed, half-straddling him and– wow, isn’t that just a pretty sight?
The B.S.A.A.’s golden boy splayed out underneath him, covering his face with his hand and catching his breath all at Leon’s doing. He’s embarrassed and Leon is just eating it up. He traces the muscles of Chris’ chest and goes over his scars again before getting off of him. He’s mad that Chris still looks delightfully appetising after all of that.
“Fuck,” Chris manages, his chest rising and falling slowly.
Leon lays down next to him, “You like that word a lot, don’t you?”
By some miracle, Chris manages a breathless laugh, “Fuck off, Leon.”
He realises starkly that he doesn’t know what to do now. He knows Chris personally. He’s known him for some 16-odd years, he’s not just some stranger that Leon managed to pull in a bar, he’s his friend.
A friend that’s currently blissed out and recovering, pulling him closer against his broad chest.
“Don’t tell me you’re a cuddler.”
“Shut up, Kennedy.”
Leon hums, wrapping his arms around Chris’ stupidly small waist. He’ll have to shower again in the morning, and he’ll have to confront whatever feelings he may or may not have about the situation and, in turn, about Chris, but for now, he’s allowed to enjoy this.
“I’m getting too old to keep doing this, but you…” Chris trails off, letting his hand find its way to Leon’s hair.
Fuck this. Leon would practically purr if he didn’t have some amount of self-control. The way Chris is scratching at his scalp feels almost better than the blowjob, “I’m not much younger,” He’s hit over the head with just how badly he wants to kiss him right now.
“I guess not.”
He can feel Chris’ heartbeat against his chest, slowing steadily as the adrenaline fizzles out of his system. He smells like sex and cigarettes and just something else that’s so… Chris. It’s infuriating and Leon wants more of it, “We should do this again sometime.”
The intention was for it to sound cocky and flirtatious, the type of thing Leon usually says to Chris, but the way that the words claw their way out of his throat betrays him, sounding lovesick and wanting.
“Yeah. We really should.”
They can ignore the toils of the day, for now. They’ll both be sore and grumpy when the sun rises, but that really doesn’t matter now, not when Chris is pressing himself desperately closer to Leon for warmth, and certainly not when they drift off to sleep— together.