Chapter Text
48 Hours. He had only been here for 48 hours and Leon already hated it. He hated everything about this and the worst part about it was that he didn’t have any choice in the matter. The government was very, very clear about that. Major Krauser was intense. Intimidating… but the way the older man looks at him.. something almost predatory. It makes Leon's skin crawl.
Currently, Leon was dragging his sore body towards the tent to the far side of the small base that he had been brought to. The other men were still out and about, he could hear most of them talking in near shouts near the campfire due to intoxication. He had decided to turn in early after that excuse they called dinner. From what the Major had told him earlier in the day after some grueling training sessions that still had Leon’s muscles aching with strains and pulls, they had a long day tomorrow.
Leon decided to dress down for bed, it’s not like they were going to be sent out in the jungle the very next day, right? Heaving a sigh he stripped the shirt of his fatigues off and folded it neatly before setting it by the box at the end of his bunk that had his belongings. He looked over his shoulder with a pointed glare and flushed cheeks when he heard one of the men, Kilian Rhodes, let out a low dirty wolf-whistle as he walked past the entrance of the tent.
He swallowed, doing his best to ignore it as he unlaced one of his combat boots, braced his foot on the back of it and tugged his foot out of it then repeating the process with the other foot. He rubbed his calves tenderly, the left one was pretty sore from a kick from Sergeant Rhodes during training. After a moment he undid his belt and tugged it free as he took his pants off leaving him in only a pair of tight black boxer briefs as he stepped out of his fatigues.
It was now that Leon allowed himself to finally take in the damage from his first day of training. Dark bruises littered his left side along his ribs and Leon could see bruising on his lower left leg from the aforementioned kick. His arms were scraped up and there was a deep cut that had been patched up on his lower right arm.
Someone laughed obnoxiously outside and Leon furrowed his brow in frustration. How the hell was he expected to sleep with all that noise. The men were drunk. Off their asses, for that matter. Normally, Leon would be inclined to drink too but something about being around a bunch of men who had just been beating the shit out of him for training made him think better of that.
He had to admit he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the small unit that he had been put in.
There was Sergeant Kilian Rhodes, a man in his early 30’s and a chain smoker. The man always had a damn cigarette in his mouth. He stood about 5’8 so he was a little shorter than Leon, but the man was built like a tank. His arms were covered in tribal tattoos; apparently the man had family roots from New Zealand with one of the local Māori tribes. Third generation or something like that. Shaggy black hair and a scar on the left side of his lip.
Another was Sergeant Philip Brixton, mid-20’s, a tall motherfucker about 6’4. Blonde hair and a unique pair of eyes, one eye was a mint green and the other was a steely blue. Heterochromia, he said it was called. He was from Texas and apparently before this he was a rodeo star… but Leon couldn’t quite tell if that story was told with sarcasm or not.
Lieutenant Richard Willows, a 42 year old man from Brooklyn New York with a thick accent and jet black hair that almost always looked like it was covered in oil. He was roughly Leon’s height. He had a tattoo of his wife on his left bicep and he was as foul mouthed as you can get.
Then there was Major Krauser. 36 and a 6’2 powerhouse of solid muscle. An intimidating presence with blonde hair and steely gray eyes that stared at everything with an indifference despite the aggression that seemed to radiate off the older man.
It was quite the group.
Some first day of training. Leon thought to himself as he climbed into his bunk. He must of been more exhausted than he thought because his head didn’t even touch the hard as hell pillow before exhaustion overtook him.
Leon was startled back awake when he felt something wrap around his neck and tighten like a cinch before he was suddenly yanked off his bunk. Disoriented, still half-asleep and now unable to suck in enough oxygen he flailed on the ground as his hands tried to tug offending constraints to his air away.
“T-tango…” he wheezed out, trying to use the safe word he had been given for training.
It went ignored. If anything the pressure tightened.
“T… ango!”
Nothing.
He couldn't breathe!
He rasped and wheezed and he vaguely heard the sound of laughing before something slammed into his forehead and everything went black.
Leon groaned as he awoke a second time. His head pulsing with a mind splitting headache.
“Heh, he's waking up…” someone sneered.
“Damn, Kilian, you hit him hard enough? His whole eye is swollen.”
“Here give him some of this. Fix him right up.”
A rough hand on his jaw was forcing his mouth open. Leon's eyes snapped open in alarm just as the lip of a whiskey bottle was pushed into his mouth and the bottle tipped upside down. Amber liquid began to trickle down the back of his tongue and straight down his gullet, too much of it all at once, and he coughed and sputtered, trying to turn his head away only for a hand to snag hold of his hair to the point it was pulling at his roots and he was forced to still.
“Gggk-–!?”
It burned. Fuck what the hell were these idiots drinking? That tasted like pure fucking moonshine.
He struggled or tried to but he became aware of the pressure on his knees from someone sitting on him and someone else was holding his arms high above his head to the ground. He choked violently as his mouth was filled faster than he could even attempt to swallow and it spilled down his chin and down the sides of his cheeks as his neck lurched and convulsed.
Can’t breathe! Choking! Fuck! Fuck stop!
His body flailed his wrists yanked at the hold on them and he let out pathetic sounding, panicked gurgle around the alcohol filling his mouth before finally the bottle was pulled from his mouth and Leon was about to try to spit the rest of the burning liquid out but a hand clamped firmly over his mouth preventing him from doing so.
It was now that his gaze could focus that he saw Sergeant Rhodes kneeling above him, his eyes were intense as they stared into his terrified, confused gaze.
“Swallow it.” he ordered firmly.
Leon shook his head defiantly despite the small whimper that escaped him.
Kilian laughed, his dark shaggy hair tousled about before he slammed his fist as hard as he could into Leon’s stomach.
The action had Leon inhaling sharply and he almost felt sick as he unintentionally aspirated some of the alcohol into his lungs.
Fuck that burned!
Rhodes’s eyes met his.
“Wanna try that again Rookie?”
Reluctantly, Leon swallowed the rest of it.
“Good boy.” Rhodes purred gleefully.
“Fuck you!” Leon snarled as he renewed his struggles with an intensity.
Rhodes hand darted out and slapped him hard across the face before grabbing his chin again, lifting the whiskey bottle to his lips. “Drink.”
Leon pursed his mouth tightly closed.
The other man rolled his eyes and pinched his nose closed until Leon was forced to gasp for air, before shoving the lip back into his mouth. Once again Leon was choking over the liquid as it burned his throat. This time he could feel Rhodes hand massaging his throat, forcing him to swallow even as he tried to spit it back up.
“Have him finish it. That should get him a nice buzz.” Leon heard Brixton suggest in his southern drawl.
And that's exactly what they did too they literally forced him to drink two-thirds a bottle of whatever shit that was until the last drops were poured onto his tongue.
He gasped desperately for air, his stomach cramping painfully from consuming so much in such a short time. They released him and he rolled onto his side hacking and sputtering.
“Aw, poor little Rookie. Can't drink with the big boys.” Someone sneered.
Leon began to get on his hands and knees, trying to put some distance between them when he felt firm hands grab his hips and pull him backwards. He had enough, and despite his burning chest and throat, he twisted his body and delivered a punishing blow to Sergeant Rhodes, jaw knocking a tooth clean onto the dirt.