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It's fine. It's fine. This is totally fine.
Is it weird? Is he weird? God, he must be weird. It's nothing to get this riled up over, yet here he is, peeking over at Leon every now and then to catch a quick glimpse of the ink that spirals up his forearm.
Ethan bites his lip. Twirls the pen in his hand and clicks the button on top a few times, his desk work momentarily forgotten.
No, this isn't normal. Then again, neither is Leon with tattoos, so how is one supposed to think? React? He's been pretty good about hiding his (admittedly disturbing) attraction to the special agent; but things like this… well, they're on the same level as glasses, or piercings. A small change that—for a select few—can turn their entire world on an axis.
How far up do they go?
Does he have more?
When did he get them, and what do they symbolize?
"Ethan?"
The blonde startles, blue eyes flickering up in embarrassment.
Leon blinks at him. "What's your damage?"
Oh, Jesus Christ. "Nothing, sorry. Just a little spacey… today."
"I'll say."
Ethan hurriedly scoots closer to his desk, quickly turning his attention back to the papers that scatter across it. He isn't even sure what he's supposed to be doing with these, or why he even got assigned to deal with them, but if things keep going the way they are, he's gonna be here all fucking night.
Ethan scowls. And then he hesitates, realization dawning on him slowly that… hey, doesn't Leon work crazy late hours, too?
No.. no, no. He's on the clock. He needs to pay attention…
"Ethan." It isn't a question this time. Ethan meets Leon's gaze with a sheepish expression, and the other man draws his brows together. "Seriously, what's going on with you?"
How does one go about confessing their guilty, weird, quid-pro-quo attraction to their superior without coming off as a freak? Better yet, how does one go about it without getting fired? Ethan feels a cold sweat prickle beneath the collar of his button-up.
I like you. I like you. I like you.
"I like…" It's like there's a solid chunk of ice stuck in his throat. "Well, I mean, your… you know."
Leon's look of concern quickly shifts into one of bewilderment. "No?" He says, real slow-like. "I don't know."
Ethan wants to die.
"It's just…"
The atmosphere in the room shifts. Ethan's hands are clammy and cold and he regrets even opening his mouth; wishing he could've just opted to say that he feels sick and his head hurts, and maybe even take the rest of the night off so he could reflect on all of this – perhaps over a nice glass of wine. Instead, because he's terrible at socializing and even worse at socializing with Leon, he's currently staring the agent down with terror flashing in his eyes.
Leon doesn't say anything, but it's obvious that he's dying to get this over with, just like Ethan is.
"Y– you can't get mad," Ethan stammers, clenching his fingers.
More silence.
Ethan sighs. Then, finally, he lays down his cards with a quiet, "Your tattoos."
Leon tilts his head. "... Mine?" He asks, a bit delayed, and Ethan has never wanted to evaporate into thin air more than he does right now.
"Yeah."
"Like, the ones on my arms?" Leon rotates his wrists, glancing down at his own artwork.
"Yeah."
"Ah."
Great. When should he start packing up his belongings? Now? Tomorrow? There's a spare produce box in the break room, and he only has a couple of personal items on his desk. His name placard, a picture of his childhood dog, a cup full of pens he got on clearance at Staples…
Although Ethan doesn't get to stand up or prepare before Leon is speaking again, his voice surprisingly nonchalant.
"And...?"
Ethan sucks in a deep breath. That's a good question. "They're… distracting me?" Vague enough to keep matters civil. He can do this. "And that's why I'm a little… slow, today. I think. Because they're doing that. Distracting me, I mean."
Leon hums, acknowledging that he heard Ethan's answer. He waits, silent until Ethan manages to scrounge up the courage to meet him eye-to-eye, and then he laughs, shocking the younger man.
There's something to be said about the way in which Leon handles all things; from topics as serious as bioweapons wreaking havoc on unsuspecting townhomes, to things like this – Ethan admitting he's intrigued by the older man's ink. He's good at finding the balance while still remaining cool and collected, and that's a trait Ethan's always admired.
Because, sadly, he cannot do that.
"I knew there was something about you, Winters," Leon says jovially, as if he's discovered some grand secret. He leans back in his chair, pushes himself a little further away from his desk, and says: "Do you want to come have a better look?"
Ethan nearly chokes on his spit. "W– wh– what?"
Leon's grin widens. He's enjoying this. "I can't have distractions in the workplace. So if you're curious, and think it might help you refocus, I implore you to get your ass over here and take a gander."
The blonde flusters, his lips screwing into a scowl. Implore. What did this guy know about words like that?
Regardless, he still obediently gathers himself to his feet, taking the necessary steps to close the distance between him and Leon. The fine hairs on the back of Ethan's neck stand at attention, and he's acutely aware of the personal bubble he is now officially bursting— not that Leon seems to notice, or mind.
Infact, the only thing he does when Ethan comes to stand beside his chair is jut both arms out, letting Ethan do whatever he likes.
Instinctively, Ethan grabs them. Then panics, because holy shit, he's touching Leon fucking Kennedy. Then double panics, because why did he do that? Why is he still doing it right now?
"Uh…"
"You just wanted to hold hands?"
"N– no!" Ethan exclaims, immediately letting go. Leon bursts out into full-bellied laughter, and the blonde has to take a deep breath before he passes out from his nerves. "Jesus, Leon, I– I was trying to bring them a little closer."
"Oh right, the bad eyesight," Leon drawls. "I forgot you wear glasses sometimes. Far-sighted?"
"Near-sighted. Now shut up and let me look," Ethan snaps, finding his second wind. He reaches for Leon's arms again and finds relief in how the older man wordlessly obliges; giving Ethan the opportunity to twist his arms and inspect the patterns that dance across them. It's not a situation Ethan could've expected, or even predicted, but Leon's right about one thing—this is definitely scratching that terrible itch he feels, somewhere deep down. No more needing to sneak creepy, uncomfortable glances to figure out what they are.
However, he'll always wonder where the tattoos lead. And how many more of them Leon has, hidden underneath all those layers of fabric.
"I see." Ethan nods, smiling at Leon as he releases his grip again. "They're cool, I wasn't expecting you to have them. Then again, I've never seen you wear anything other than long sleeves."
Leon quirks a brow. "You pay attention?"
Ethan's smile drops. "Oh. I mean, not in like– not in a weird way, that isn't what—"
There's the sound of a scoff, and then Leon's hands are on Ethan's wrists, gently pulling him down to his level. The blonde stumbles forwards and catches himself with a knee on Leon's chair, and the situation is so tense and utterly stifling that Ethan has to rear away with his eyes narrowed in firm on the office door.
"Ethan," Leon coos.
The blonde makes a noncommittal sound in his throat.
"Ethan, c'mon, look at me."
There's no way this is happening right now. No feasible way. He must be dreaming.
Ethan registers with rapt attention as Leon let's go of his wrists in favor of bringing both hands up to cup his cheeks, and whether Ethan wants to submit or not isn't really an option anymore. Determinedly, the older man coaxes him to meet his gaze again.
"Shy?" Leon teases, and then quickly changes his tune when Ethan struggles in his grasp. "Okay, okay, I was just kidding! Damn."
"Leon—"
"Hold on for a second, sweetheart. I've got a few things on my mind." Ethan's face burns as he tries to process this, process the feel of Leon's touch as it sears itself into his memory. His heart pounds so fiercely in his chest he fears that Leon can feel it, but if he does, he doesn't comment.
Leon brushes his thumbs over Ethan's cheekbones. "You thought I'd be mad?"
"It's unprofessional," Ethan breathes.
"What is?" Leon asks. His eyes are so blue. "Wanting to see my tattoos?"
Ethan nods. Leon snickers, pulling him that much closer, and the blonde is enveloped in the smell of bergamot and gunpowder and something spicy like sage, and… what was the question again? He can't think clearly when he can feel Leon's words flit across his lips.
"The only 'unprofessional' thing I see is the subordinate about to climb into his boss's lap," Leon murmurs with a wry smile. Ethan lets out a small gasp, jolting, and Leon makes sure he doesn't slip away. "Woah, hey! I never said I didn't like it."
"L– Leon, I don't understand what's…" Ethan stutters, shivering, feeling the traces of electricity that follow Leon's fingertips. He doesn't know whether to lean into him or settle his entire weight on top of Leon, so to play it safe, he refrains from doing either.
The agent takes a moment, eyes sweeping over Ethan's features, before letting out a soft exhale. "Well, now you've seen them. I hope that helped you find some kind of clarity..."
Not even a little bit, Ethan thinks miserably.
"... But it'll probably kill you to know that there's more than just this, and I can assure you, they are much more interesting." Leon chuckles as he tugs the blonde in one last time, and kisses him, right on the corner of his mouth.
"Still distracted?" He whispers.
Ethan can't even think of a proper reply. His brain has turned to mush.
"You…"
"Mm?"
Ethan sucks in a deep breath. "You're a fucking asshole."
Leon throws his head back and laughs, and when he recovers Ethan is already swooping in for another kiss. To hell with professionalism.
*