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“You know, we thank some people for merely living at the same time as we do. I thank you for the fact that i met you, that i will remember you all my life”
- White Nights by Fyodor Dostoevsky
Chris had trophies, medals that proof he was one of the best marksmen and tacticians in the field. But None of that made him immune to the bullshit missions threw at him.
Ever since Louisiana, it all felt like a damn circus. The organization he helped build, cofounded to wipe BOWs off the face of the earth, was now using the very things they once fought to destroy. Talk about irony.
Now he sat behind a makeshift setup of computers, surrounded by a mountain of investigative reports in a rundown safe house on the outskirts of Colorado. That was one of the perks of operating as a rogue unit, no oversight, no bureaucratic interference.
The location had been a good call. Close enough to Raccoon City, just an 2 hour’s flight away so they could deploy quickly if something went wrong, yet far enough to stay off the grid. close enough to send help or reach it in time if things went south.
He took a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke linger in the stale air. His attention narrowed to a single red dot blinking on the screen. Leon.
Ever since they’d said their goodbyes and Leon headed out to investigate the sixth body discovered near the Wrenwood area, something hadn’t sat right with Chris. A bad feeling had rooted itself deep in his gut, stubborn and unshakable. So he’d slipped a tracker into Leon’s gear, just in case.
He hadn’t told him.
Maybe it was a breach of trust. Maybe Leon would be pissed if he ever found out. But Chris would rather deal with Leon’s anger than the alternative.
Maybe it was the years of being a leader, of serving as captain, as the one everyone depended on. He’d always been the big brother, the steady pillar in the face of chaos, the soldier who carried the weight so others didn’t have to.
And because of that, he couldn’t just let Leon walk into this alone.
Leon had told him countless times to rely on him that they were equals, partners in every sense of the word. And Chris believed that. He did.
But years of military hierarchy and ingrained responsibility don’t just fade. They carve themselves into you, settle into bone and instinct. That constant need to protect, to shoulder the burden first, it doesn’t disappear just because someone tells you to let it go.
Chris wouldn’t say he regretted not telling his husband. But Leon had a habit of brushing off caution when he thought he could handle something alone, and Chris couldn’t afford to take any more chances.
It wasn’t an insult to Leon’s capability. It wasn’t doubt. It was fear, plain and simple, dressed up as precaution. Love overriding logic.
They had both promised they would always come back to each other.
And Chris would be damned if he let that promise break on his watch. Leon was his, his partner, his equal, his home and no lingering curse from twenty eight years ago was going to take him away. Not without a fight.
From what the tracker showed, Leon was deep underground, somewhere within the old Umbrella facilities. For the past twenty minutes, the signal hadn’t moved. Not even a flicker.
Chris felt that familiar weight settle in his chest, heavy and cold. Twenty minutes was a long time when you were staring at a screen, waiting for proof that someone you loved was still moving, still breathing.
Patience is a virtue, he reminded himself.
On the twenty first minute, the red dot shifted.
Chris exhaled slowly, tension easing just a fraction as the tracker began moving again. Still, he didn’t take any chances. He had already ordered his elite Hound Wolf Squad to mobilize and head toward the designated coordinates of the underground facility quiet insertion, standby for extraction if things went south.
He pulled another cigarette from the pack and lit it, the flame briefly illuminating the hard lines of his face. Drawing in the smoke, he let out a long sigh.
Relief never lasted long in their line of work.
On their way to the facility, the squad ran into something that made Chris’s jaw tighten, dead BSAA soldiers. Worse still, there were active BSAA units moving in formation toward the center of Raccoon City. The same destination Leon was headed for.
What the hell were they doing there?
Was it the same lead Leon was following or something else entirely?
Dion managed to retrieve partial footage from the fallen soldiers’ body cams. The video was shaky, distorted in places, but clear enough to show coordinated movement… and something else lurking in the background that didn’t sit right. He forwarded the files to Chris immediately.
Chris stared at the paused frame on his monitor, cigarette burning untouched between his fingers.
This wasn’t a coincidence.
A static frame froze on the screen: a man in a crisp white suit, black overcoat draped over his shoulders, black sunglasses reflecting the dim light, blond hair slicked back with gel and dark scars covering his side of face, just like Leon.
Thirty years in this line of work had hardened Chris. Few things still managed to surprise him. Few things except seeing someone who looked exactly like Albert Wesker staring back from the screen.
The one minute footage that followed was a display of sheer brutality, precision, ruthlessness, and cold efficiency, the hallmarks that could only belong to one man: his old nemesis.
Chris let out a bitter laugh, smoke curling from his cigarette.
Truly ironic. Some shit never end.
But then a cold wave of dread washed over him. If this man was here, his objective would likely mirror Leon’s which meant that right now, Leon was probably already engaged with him in some kind of way.
It took every ounce of self control Chris had to push rationality aside. He wanted to grab his guns and run straight into the chaos to save his husband.
But they were professionals. He clenched his fists, fingers tightening until his knuckles ached. He drew another drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs and dull the edge of panic for a moment.
He would have to trust his squad to get there in time. Once Leon was back safely in his arms, the rest of the world could wait.
Letting the ash from his cigarette fall onto the tray, he tapped it lightly, listening to the soft hum of the computers and the rustling of leaves outside the window. The soft drone washed over the room, filling the space with a cold, steady ambience that grounded him if only for a while.
Some time later, a transmission crackled through his comms, Rolando’s voice cutting cleanly through the static.
“Alpha, we’re picking up sounds of a fight underground. The whole area’s tightly packed, so we’ll be using explosives to clear a path.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” John chimed in.
“Pipe down, Lobo,” a feminine voice cut in sharply, Emily.
Chris leaned toward his keyboard. “Can you give me a visual?”
“Yes, boss.”
A few seconds later, footage flickered onto his screen. The Umbrella facility stood looming and intact, as if time itself had refused to touch it. Cold. Imposing. The logo still stamped proudly on its exterior.
“Did you find anything else of importance?” Chris asked, eyes never leaving the screen.
“Apart from some minor research data, nothing significant. The facility has multiple underground levels. Looks like it’s been in strict lockdown for years,” Rolando reported.
“I see.” Chris exhaled smoke slowly through his nose, gaze fixed on the Umbrella emblem. “Proceed to your target point. Keep me updated.”
“Roger.”
A chorus of confirmations followed before the transmission cut off. The footage disappeared, leaving Chris alone again just the glow of his monitors and the quiet, fragile hope that the next update would bring good news.
His gaze returned to the red dot on the screen, still deep underground. He ached to hold Leon right now.
=============================================================================
“There’s no way out, is there?”
It wasn’t really a question, more of a quiet surrender. A fragile acceptance of what stood before them. This was the end of the Umbrella nightmare, the end of the running and the fighting from their past. They had finally reached the end.
Closure for the living.
A requiem for the dead.
Leon looked down at the petite girl beside him. Once, she had been pale and trembling, her words caught in stutters, her eyes never daring to meet his. Now there was a stillness in her, a hard earned resolve that only came from seeing the worst the world had to offer and surviving it.
The sight filled him with a quiet melancholy. It reminded him of his first day as a cop, when he met Marvin, when he had still believed he could make a difference, that he could save everyone.
“Well… I’m not going to leave your side.”
He moved closer and sat down beside her, shoulder to shoulder. It was meant to comfort her, but perhaps he needed it just as much.
“I’m going to sit right here with you.”
His voice sounded hollow to his own ears.
He had promised Chris he would come back. The gold band on his finger was a steady, accusing weight. In the end, it seemed he was nothing more than a disappointment yet again.
Around them, wires sparked and walls groaned as they began to crumble. The lights flickered overhead, one by one, each dying bulb marking the slow, inevitable countdown. Until only a single light remained.
It flickered once.
Twice.
Then darkness swallowed the room.
“This is it, then,” Grace whispered, helplessness softening her voice.
And for a moment, there was nothing left to say.
But weal to thy fate.
And like light breaking through a stormchoked sky, figures descended from above. Ropes unfurled from the shattered dome of the arena, boots striking concrete in practiced precision.
Soldiers.
Leon and Grace both flinched as blinding white beams cut through the darkness. They raised their arms instinctively, eyes squeezed shut against the sudden glare. For a moment, all they could see was light after so much shadow. Slowly, painfully, their vision adjusted.
One of the soldiers detached from his line and stepped forward.
“Leon S. Kennedy?”
Leon’s body reacted before his mind did. His hand moved to his weapon, fingers curling around the grip of his Requiem.
“Depends who’s asking,” he replied coolly, shifting slightly to shield Grace with his body.
The soldier didn’t raise his weapon. Instead, he tapped the comm in his ear.
“Do you read me, Alpha? We found them.”
Alpha.
Leon’s breath caught.
Alpha… That’s Chris’s elite squad.
“Yes, sir. They’re safe,” the soldier continued, as he knelt in front of him. The tension in Leon’s shoulders eased, just a fraction. They weren’t enemies.
“Agent Kennedy,” the soldier said respectfully, “I have a message for you from Captain Redfield.”
Leon let out a breath that was almost a laugh. A tired smirk tugged at his lips.
“So the big bad wolf arrived, huh?” he muttered, mostly to himself.
The soldier in front of him murmured a laugh softly.
For the first time in what felt like forever, the darkness didn’t feel so absolute.
Leon glanced at Grace first, making sure she was steady, then looked back at the soldier.
“You can tell me about it after we get her out.”
The extraction itself was almost laughably easy compared to everything they had endured. A secure perimeter. Medical checks. A stretcher Grace stubbornly refused until Leon gave her the look. Within the hour, they were escorted to a makeshift recovery camp set up beyond the ruins, floodlights, humming generators, the distant thrum of rotors cooling in the night air.
As the chaos settled into something almost orderly, the same soldier approached Leon again.
“Sir—”
Leon cut him off immediately, exhaustion sharpening his usual sass.
“None of that. I just crawled out of a death hole. I’d appreciate some semblance of normalcy. ‘Leon’ is just fine.”
The soldier blinked, then let out a quiet chuckle. “Of course, si— I mean, Leon.”
Leon raised a brow, amused despite himself.
“I think being your boss’s husband makes people stutter.”
That earned a slightly more awkward cough from the soldier.
“So,” Leon continued, folding his arms, “what’s the message? Is the big guy still on comms?”
“No, si–Leon. We were ordered to bring you to him directly. He’s expecting you. The chopper will take you there.”
Leon hummed softly, though a question had already begun forming in his mind.
“How did you guys even find me here?”
The soldier hesitated, just a fraction too long.
Ah. Classified.
“Alpha will brief you when you meet him,” the soldier replied carefully.
Leon smirked. That was answer enough.
Fine. He’d pry it out of Chris himself later.
The thought alone sent a warmth through him that the floodlights couldn’t compete with. God, he had missed him. Missed his voice, his presence, the steady reassurance that someone was always watching his back.
If he weren’t so bone deep exhausted, he would’ve jumped onto that chopper the second his boots hit safe ground.
Still, some of his old charm returned as he tilted his head at the soldier.
“Though I’ve heard a lot about you guys,” Leon said lightly, “I think I at least deserve to know the names of my knights in shining armor, don’t I?”
The soldier who had been accompanying Leon chuckled and gestured for the rest of the squad to gather.
One by one, they formed a line in front of him, disciplined, composed, radiating quiet competence. Up close, Leon could see why they were called an elite squad why they were Chris’s backbone. They clearly packed a punch.
“Rolando Elba. Code name: Umber Eyes,” said the soldier who had first approached him.
“Dion Wilson. Code name: NightHowl. Nice to meet you, Agent Kennedy,” added the one beside Rolando, his voice a little younger, though steady.
“Charlie Graham. Code name: Canine.” The voice was gruffer, filtered slightly beneath his mask.
So this is the one helping train Rose, Leon thought. That checked out.
“John Perlman. Code name: Lobo. Nice to meet the legend,” came a mischievous voice.
Leon’s smile matched the energy. “Yeah, almost became one written in the history books.”
Lobo barked out a laugh.
“Emily Berkhoff. Code name: Tundra.” Her voice was mature, clipped, professional. It reminded Leon faintly of Jill, someone endlessly capable, yet perpetually exasperated with the chaos around her.
Leon looked at all of them and understood immediately why Chris had chosen them. They weren’t just strong. They were solid. Loyal.
He gave them an easy nod, passing along a tired but genuine smile.
“Thanks for looking after that boulder punching asshole who doesn’t know when to quit.”
A ripple of chuckles moved through the line, the mood light.
“We always have his back, Leon,” Rolando said firmly. Then he glanced at his Rolex. “It’s time for your ride.”
Leon nodded. As he turned toward the chopper, he glanced back at Grace. She was wrapped in a thermal blanket now, medics hovering nearby. Safe.
The sight eased something heavy in his chest.
They had made it out.
The rotor blades began to spin as Leon approached the aircraft. He tapped his comm.
“I’ll be damned… Can’t believe that antiviral actually worked. I feel better than I have in ages.”
A bright, relieved voice answered immediately. “Thank God. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Leon smiled faintly.
“I’ve got a dose with your name on it, Sherry. You’ll be back in action in no time.”
“Thank you, Leon.”
He could almost picture her smiling on the other end.
“Would’ve been a lot smoother if Chris hadn’t been so late to the party,” Leon added teasingly.
Sherry chuckled. “Where is Chris anyway?”
Leon’s gaze lifted toward the dark horizon.
“Don’t know,” he lied smoothly.
For Chris’s sake, he couldn’t risk saying more. Who knew who might be listening?
“Got a feeling I’ll run into him somewhere,” he amended lightly. “I’ll get back to you after I take a breather.”
“Yeah. Okay. You deserve it.”
The transmission clicked off.
Leon slipped the comm away and climbed into the chopper, exhaustion finally catching up with him, but beneath it, something warmer burned steady.
Anticipation.
He was finally going home.
To his husband.
========================================================================
It took nearly fours hours to reach the safe house in Colorado. The chopper had been forced to crawl through sheets of storm clouds, its blades fighting against violent crosswinds and punishing rain. By the time they touched down on the helipad, the storm had worsened. The drive from the landing site up the narrow mountain road to the cabin took even longer, the tires slipping over mud and scattered pine needles washed loose by the downpour.
Leon had managed to steal a short nap during the flight, so when they arrived, he felt sharper than he had all day. Rested but restless. His mind kept circling back to one thing: Chris. Everything else could wait.
The rain poured over him now like a high end showerhead set to freezing, soaking through his shirt within seconds. October in the Colorado mountains showed no mercy; the air bit at exposed skin, and each breath carried the crisp sting of approaching winter. Thunder rolled somewhere beyond the tree line, low and distant.
He mounted the wooden steps two at a time, boots thudding against the damp boards. The safe house was tucked deep within the forest, more cabin than fortified hideout, though its simplicity was deceptive. It sat a twenty minute hike from the nearest road, and even that narrow trail was nearly swallowed by dense grass, pine undergrowth, and thorny brush. From above, the place would be almost invisible beneath the canopy.
A strategic choice. Isolated. Quiet and Off-grid.
Perfect for lying low.
Leon reached for the main door, rain dripping from his hair, jaw set.
Twisting the knob, Leon pushed the door open and nearly walked straight into a solid wall of muscle. He barely had a second to register it before a firm hand caught his shirt and yanked him inside. The door slammed shut behind him, the impact rattling the hinges as his back hit the wood.
There was no time to speak.
Warm, rough lips claimed his in an instantly chapped and demanding. Leon exhaled sharply against them, the surprise melting just as quickly into hunger. He didn’t hesitate. His hands fisted into Chris’s shirt before sliding upward, fingers threading into short, damp hair as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss.
Chris tasted like smoke and rain, like long hours awake and worry burned down to ash. The scent clung to him, heavy and intoxicating, almost as heavy as the broad body pressing Leon into the door. Solid. Unyielding. Real.
Whatever explanations were owed could wait.
Leon parted his lips, meeting the urgency with his own breath hitching as Chris’s mouth moved with restrained intensity possessive, almost desperate. The storm outside pounded against the cabin, but inside, the only sound was the sharp pull of breath and the scrape of fabric as they closed what little space remained between them.
Leon opened his mouth more, moaning as Chris explored every inch. Taking his lower lip and biting it, Leon winced and lightly tapped the burly man on the shoulder.
They kept kissing until breathing became a necessity and even then, they barely pulled apart. Their lips hovered a fraction away, sharing the same air, the same warmth. Chris rested his forehead against Leon’s, his breath fanning softly over Leon’s damp skin, their noses brushing every time either of them shifted.
His voice, when it finally came, was low and rough with emotion.
“Welcome back…”
Leon’s blue eyes glistened in the dim light of the cabin, lashes clumped slightly from rain and heat. His lips curved into something small but certain as he whispered, “I’m home.”
And he was.
Back. Free from the curse. Safe.
Chris hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding himself together until this moment. When Leon’s tracking signal had vanished, something inside him had nearly broken. He’d been seconds from tearing the world apart to find him. It was Rolando’s message that pulled him back from the edge. Still, the hours between had been hell.
Now Leon was here. Solid in his arms.
It was damn near impossible to step away from each other. But Leon was soaked through, clothes clinging to him, rainwater still dripping onto the wooden floor. The cabin’s small chimney crackled faintly in the background, filling the space with a soft, steady warmth. There would be time for them in the narrow bed in the room, time to tangle together beneath worn blankets, after Leon was dry and properly taken care of.
Chris brushed his fingers down Leon’s wrist, slow and grounding, before lacing their hands together. His thumb rubbed gently over cold knuckles.
“Come on,” he murmured, softer now. “Let’s dry you off. You hungry?”
Without waiting for an answer, he tugged him along, leading him toward the bedroom he’d been holing up in for days.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, neither of them was alone.
““Yeah,” Leon said with a crooked smirk, stepping closer just to brush their shoulders together. “Hungry for you.”
Chris rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Glad to know. But first, let’s clean you up. You smell like you rolled around in B.O.W. guts.”
Leon let out a soft laugh as Chris steered him toward the bathroom. The small space filled quickly with the scent of damp wood and the faint citrus of old soap. Steam would make it warmer soon.
“Well,” Leon replied, tugging his soaked shirt over his head and tossing it aside, “as we all know, they love me too much. I’m always on the menu.”
“Oh yeah?” Chris twisted the shower knob, testing the water with his fingers and adjusting the temperature. “Some of them were insufferable?”
“Some?” Leon snorted. “All of them. One was practically breathing down my neck with their disgusting breath.”
“Breathing down your neck?” Chris shot him a look over his shoulder. “I’m surprised they didn’t chew your head off getting that close.”
“Heh. Victor was one persistent bastard,” Leon said casually, stepping out of his boots and peeling off the rest of his wet clothes until he was left in nothing but his briefs. “Pretty sure he was copping a feel.”
Chris’s eyebrow quirked slowly at that.
He turned, and for a split second, forgot what he was doing.
Leon stood there under the warm bathroom light, rain-slick skin still faintly chilled, muscles shifting as he pushed damp hair back from his forehead. Water traced down the lines of his torso, disappearing beneath the waistband of his briefs.
Chris had years of experience resisting that particular allure. Years of knowing exactly how distracting Leon could be when he wanted to be. His husband, even in his late forties was beautiful in every way
Didn’t make it any easier.
Chris let his gaze travel over Leon carefully. He found nothing but shallow cuts and scrapes, the kind that would sting under hot water but heal. The dark blotches that had once marred Leon’s skin were gone.
All in all, he looked… better. Far better than Chris had braced himself for.
Relief settled quietly in his chest.
He lifted his eyes to Leon’s. “Copping a feel?” he repeated, one brow arching.
Leon paused only for a fraction of a second before clicking his tongue. “Are you not gonna join me?” he deflected smoothly, brushing past Chris and stepping under the spray.
Chris caught the dodge. He didn’t push, just filed it away for later. They’d talk. Not now.
Shrugging lightly, he stepped back toward the door. “No,” he said. “I’m gonna finish making you something to eat. Take a long one, Leon.”
The shower answered for him as hot water hit skin. Leon exhaled softly, half relief and half sting, as it ran over fresh scrapes and sore muscles. The sound followed Chris out as he pulled the door closed, sealing the warmth inside.
In the kitchen, a pan still sat on the stove, already halfway done from before Leon arrived. Chris moved through the last steps automatically, adding the final touches.
Only when he paused did he let himself breathe.
The storm still raged outside. The fire crackled low. And in the room bathroom the sound of water ran steady and warm.
After a while, Leon emerged from the bedroom dressed in a cozy sweater and loose sweatpants, towel draped over his head as he worked it through his damp hair. His skin looked warmer now, color returned, edges softened.
“It smells nice,” he murmured, padding into the living area before dropping onto the couch with a quiet groan of contentment.
“Yeah, almost finished,” Chris called from the kitchen.
Leon hummed in response, sinking deeper into the cushions. The cabin felt impossibly safe, warm wood, low lights, the steady crackle of the fireplace blending with the fading rhythm of rain outside. The antiviral had done its job. Physically, he felt almost new. The ache was minimal, the darkness that once clung to him gone. Even the mental weight he’d been carrying seemed lighter.
He felt… free.
Like he was walking on clouds.
His eyes drifted shut, sleep creeping in at the edges, when footsteps approached. He blinked them open just as Chris appeared, carrying a tray loaded with food and a bottle of red wine.
Leon’s stomach growled embarrassingly loud.
He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was.
Chris set the tray down on the low table, handing Leon a plate before sitting beside him—close enough that their thighs brushed. Outside, the storm had softened into a drizzle, rain tapping gently against the windows instead of assaulting them.
They ate slowly, savoring it. Conversation stayed light, Chris mentioned catching up with his squad, Leon brought up Grace in passing. Nothing heavy. The hard conversations could wait.
The attached kitchen cast a warm amber glow into the living room, blending with the golden flicker of the fireplace. Shadows danced lazily along the walls. Between the food, the wine, and the steady heat of Chris at his side, Leon felt drowsy again.
The kind of tiredness that only came when you finally stopped surviving and started resting.
“If you’re tired,” Chris said, a hint of mischief curling at the edge of his voice as he studied Leon’s softened expression, “should I carry you to bed, gorgeous?”
Leon rolled his eyes, but instead of answering, he shifted closer and draped himself over Chris, half in his lap. His head fell against Chris’s neck, breath warm against his skin as he inhaled deeply. His voice came out muffled, but the meaning was clear.
“I missed you.”
Chris’s arm wrapped around him instantly, firm and protective. He buried his nose in Leon’s still damp hair, breathing in the clean scent of the safe house shampoo beneath the familiar warmth that was simply Leon.
“I missed you too,” he murmured, pressing a slow kiss to the crown of his head.
His hand slid up, fingers brushing gently along Leon’s neck. He tugged the collar of the sweater aside just enough to see skin, smooth now. No more dark scarring. No trace of what had once marked him.
Relief flickered through his eyes before he lowered his mouth to that bare stretch of skin.
One kiss.
Then another.
A third, lingering their.
He moved upward, lips grazing along Leon’s throat toward his ear, breath warm and deliberate. He felt the subtle shiver that ran through Leon’s body and smiled faintly against his skin.
“I’m not letting you go that easily,” Chris whispered, voice low and possessive in the quiet glow of the room. “Not for a while.”
The fire crackled softly behind them, rain tapping against the windows like a distant echo while in the warmth of the cabin, neither of them had any intention of moving anytime soon.
“Oh, same here, asshole,” Leon shot back, only to lean in and bite lightly at Chris’s neck in retaliation.
Chris huffed out a breath that was half laughing but his grip tightened instinctively at Leon’s waist.
It didn’t take long before restraint dissolved completely.
Hands roamed. Sweaters were tugged off impatiently, fabric dragged over skin and discarded somewhere between the couch and the hallway. Fingers traced familiar lines as if reacquainting themselves confirming what they already knew. That this was real. That they were both here.
They moved toward the bedroom in a slow, heated stumble, barely separating long enough to navigate the narrow hall. It was a small miracle they didn’t trip over their own feet with how closely they clung to one another, kisses stolen between steps, quiet laughs breaking through the intensity.
Chris pushed Leon into the mattress, making him roll over his stomach, and speaking hotly in his ears,
“So what was that thing about someone copping a feel?”
Leon groaned on the mattress pillows, wanting Chris to just get started, feeling the familiar press of hard on his ass. “It was nothing can we…just start” god he was desperate.
“No, I think I’d like to know which bastard did it,” Chris said, his voice low and relentless, jealousy sharp in every syllable.
“That bastard is dead,” Leon shot back, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “Forever buried in the ruins of Raccoon City. See? I did your job for you.”
Chris’s eyes narrowed, a mix of amusement and possessiveness flashing across his face. “Cheeky bastard,” he muttered. Then, his tone darkened with promise. “Guess I’ll have to put you in a collar.”
“With your name on it suree” ,Leon drawled, his brain to mouth filtered was cut, he didn't care anymore especially with Chris laying his claim, calloused fingers moved pass his back to his ass cheeks and then his thighs, spreading them apart.
What followed them was a whole night of relentless sex, neither of them gave up. They would believe that Leon would have passed out in the second round but he was as competitive as Chris. Their moans and gasps filled up the room, with bed rattling and skin slapping along with it.
By the time they finally collapsed, Chris, satisfied with the way he’d marked Leon from head to toe, they fell back onto the bed side by side. Both of them were utterly spent, bodies still humming from the intensity of the night.
Wrapped around each other, they paid no mind to the cum or the heavy scent of sweat and sex lingering in the room. Arms draped over shoulders, fingers laced together, they let exhaustion take over, drifting into a deep, untroubled sleep.
=======================================
Sleep came rarely to either of them. When it did, it arrived in fragments, shattered by nightmares or undone by a quieter cruelty: the unbearable act of closing their eyes. How could they accept rest when not everyone had been given the chance? When survival had come at someone else’s cost?
Now morning light filtered through the gauzy cabin curtains, spilling soft gold across the wooden walls and rumpled sheets. The air still carried the faint scent of rain and damp earth from last night’s storm, the world outside washed clean and deceptively calm. Whatever had raged, inside their chests or outside, had passed. The new day felt hesitant but hopeful.
Chris had woken an hour earlier, as he always did, his circadian rhythm unwilling to grant him the luxury of sleeping in. Since then, he had simply lain there, watching Leon. Leon was turned away from him, breathing slow and deep, exhaustion evident in the slackness of his shoulders. He must have been utterly drained; he didn’t stir when Chris let his fingers wander, tracing the familiar constellation of moles scattered across his back. The motion was absentminded, grounding, something steady to focus on.
Leon didn’t react, and Chris found himself oddly grateful for that. For the quiet. For this moment.
But reality pressed in soon enough. Leon was back now, and that meant procedures. Reports. Questions. Leon would have to check in with DSO about everything that had happened, which means he would be leaving soon too. Before that, though, he needed answers of his own.
He would have to ask Leon to brief him about the man in the white suit.
His squad was on standby. Once he finished debriefing with Leon, they’d have to chart their next course as well. The thought of slipping back into work, reports, strategy, made the craving hit sharp and sudden. Smoke would take the edge off.
Chris exhaled heavily and pushed himself out of bed. He dressed in silence, movements practiced and efficient. Before leaving the room, he paused at the doorway and glanced back at Leon. Still asleep. Still breathing steady. For now, that was enough.
The cabin floor creaked softly under his weight as he crossed the narrow hall to the room opposite, his makeshift operations space. Maps, weapons, files, and sealed mission cases were laid out with methodical precision. The storm had left the air cooler, fresher; faint sunlight cut across the desk in pale stripes.
He tapped his comm unit and waited for the familiar click of connection.
“Umber Eyes, what’s your status?”
Static hummed for a beat before the reply came through. “On standby, Alpha. Waiting for your orders.”
“Did you leave the compound?” Chris asked, leaning one hand against the desk.
“The government personnel started arriving. News reporters too. We thought it’d be better to keep a low profile.”
Chris drummed his fingers once against the wood, then flicked his lighter. The flame flared briefly before he brought the cigarette to life. He took a slow drag, letting the smoke settle in his lungs.
“Did you find anything on the white suit guy?”
A short pause.
“Affirmative. Not much though. Name’s Zeno,” Umber Eyes reported evenly.
Chris stilled. He drew in a longer drag at the name, smoke burning sharper than before.
“It’s one of Albert Wesker’s clones,” NightHowl added grimly.
“So there’s a possibility there are more?” Tundra chimed in.
A dull pressure began forming behind Chris’s eyes. Of course there were more. There were always more.
“What now, Alpha?” Lobo asked.
Chris exhaled a slow stream of smoke toward the ceiling. Outside, somewhere in the distance, water still dripped from the eaves, the world deceptively quiet.
“Stand by for today. Get some rest,” he ordered at last. “After I talk with Leon, we’ll rendezvous here and move on to our next objective. It’s about time we set the next plan in motion.”
“Roger,” a chorus of voices replied before the transmission clicked off.
Silence reclaimed the room.
Chris remained where he stood, cigarette burning low between his fingers, thoughts spiraling. Zeno Wesker. Clones. Government interference.
And then there was another problem, one that didn’t sit right.
What the hell were BSAA soldiers doing in ARK?
Lost in thoughts, he didn’t notice the presence behind him until warm weight settled against his back and familiar arms slipped around his waist.
Before he could react, the cigarette was plucked from his fingers. Leon leaned in, cheek brushing between Chris’s shoulder blades, and took a slow drag himself.
“Too early for this,” Leon muttered, voice hoarse with sleep, words muffled against the fabric of Chris’s shirt.
Chris huffed a quiet laugh and turned in his arms, automatically pulling Leon closer. He wrapped both arms around him, grounding himself in the warmth and solidness of him. “Yeah?” he murmured. “You want breakfast?”
Leon only hummed in response, still half-asleep, then reluctantly stepped out of the embrace. His hair was tousled, eyes heavy, but the sharpness behind them was already waking.
“I’ll make it,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face.
He glanced past Chris at the desk, at the scatter of files, annotated reports, and hastily scribbled notes. The ashtray. The still smoking cigarette between Leon’s fingers.
“You take your time with those,” Leon added quietly.
Chris followed his gaze and gave a soft chuckle, choosing not to argue. There was something steadying about the domestic ease of it, the quiet kitchen noises that would soon follow, the smell of coffee cutting through the lingering smoke, the illusion of normalcy in a life that rarely allowed it.
“Don’t burn anything,” Chris called lightly as Leon walked off, the words almost easy.
Leon slowed, hand brushing the edge of the doorway. He looked back over his shoulder, eyes sharper now despite the rasp in his voice. “After breakfast… I think you owe me an explanation. How exactly did you find me, huh?”
There was something beneath the question, curiosity, yes. But also something tighter. Something that had weight.
Chris held his gaze a second too long. “We’ll talk,” he said finally.
Leon studied him, like he was measuring the space between truth and whatever Chris was holding back. Then he gave a faint, humorless huff and disappeared into the small kitchen.
Silence settled in his absence.
Chris turned back to the desk, but the warmth lingered where Leon had stood, stubborn and distracting. His fingers hovered over the papers without moving.
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