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Leon collapses on the couch, grunting at the pain shooting through his body. He’s getting too old for this shit. He loosens the tie around his neck, grumbling about fundraisers. It isn’t the job that’s killing him, it’s the ridiculous late nights gallivanting around billionaires who would fund Umbrella in a split second if it promised them a higher pay out. He sighs, relaxing into the couch and rubbing his temple, debating getting a beer from the fridge when there’s a knock on the door.
He groans, wondering who the hell would be knocking on the door at two in the morning. He debates leaving it, letting them knock as he drifts off on the couch to regret it for the back pain in the morning, until he remembers that a new mission might have come up. He grunts, slowly getting up. He winces as his knees click, shaking his body out as he makes his way to the door.
The knocking comes again, more urgent and Leon tsks. He pulls it open, sighing. “It’s two in the morning, you know, not everyone is answering the door this quick-”
Lips crash against his and the next thing Leon is aware of is the wall colliding with his spine. He winces, adrenaline surging through him for a moment, before he recognises the stubble burning against his cheek. He pushes himself back against the lips, hands fisting in that ridiculously tight sweatshirt with a grunt, trying to take control.
It’s hopeless. The lips pull away and Chris manhandles him to the couch. He moves away, long enough to shut the door and Leon glowers. “You could buy me dinner, you know?”
“And be seen in public with you?” Chris sheds his coat, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the ground as he walks towards the couch. His steps are precise, predatory, and Leon has to suppress the shiver down his spine as Chris’ eyes take him in from the moonlight pouring in from the slight gap in the curtains. “Fuck. A suit? You’re trying to sway me, huh?”
“Don’t think you’re that important,” Leon grunts as Chris straddles him, feeling the couch sink beneath their weight. “Fundraiser.”
“Corporate government bullshit suits you.”
“Was that a pun?” Leon rolls his head, trying to ignore how hard he’s getting, the festering anger at the man above him burning in his gut.
Chris tilts his head, fingers drifting down Leon’s chest, fingers curling in the half undone tie. He leans down, hand bracing himself on the arm of the couch, grunting. “You’re annoying as fuck, you know that, Kennedy?”
“I know my face is pretty but it isn’t a mirror.”
Chris growls, deep, low and Leon can’t help the way he turns his head, eyelids fluttering slightly. “I don’t have time for your games, Kennedy.”
“You’re the one playing midfield.”
Chris grunts, sitting up. His hands rest on Leon’s stomach, slowly sliding upwards. Leon hisses at the air connecting with his bare skin, glancing up at him. His fingers drift over the curves of his abs, gentle, slow, ghosting over the skin. Leon can’t hide the shiver this time. Chris smirks, repeating the motion over and over, eyes locked onto Leon’s face.
The younger tries to turn his head, burying in it his bicep. Chris tuts and grabs his wrists. “I don’t think so.”
Leon cusses, lifting his leg to try and get some movement, take some control over the situation. Chris moves too quick for him.
That hand Leon hates so much but can’t get enough of gently wraps around his throat. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t force him to choke out, doesn’t do anything but hold it in place. Leon whimpers, legs going limp.
“You’re really going to keep fighting for control every time we do this?” Chris gently pulls the tie loose, fingers nimbly unbuttoning the shirt he’s wearing. He lets it fall open, making Leon whine at the sudden coolness around his body. Chris’ finger finds his nipple quickly, slowly, excruciatingly dragging his nail around it, just missing the nub every circle. “Every time, like it isn’t what you crave every time, hm?”
“Shut up, Redfield.”
Chris leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to the red blush spreading over Leon’s face. He lets go of his throat, his other hand sliding down his body. Leon closes his eyes, almost choking on the moan that comes from his throat as Chris flicks his other nipple. “You going to let me manhandle you, hold you down, fuck you until you can’t walk?”
“Fucking earn it.”
Chris grunts, chuckling a little. Leon swears as he’s suddenly yanked upwards, lips on his again. Chris wastes no time in throwing his shirt across the room; Leon’s vaguely aware of a ripping sound as the ex-military near enough pulls it off him. He goes to pull back and say something. Chris leans into him harder, pushing him into the arm of the couch, hand rubbing over the bulge in Leon’s dress pants. His mind goes blank, head tilting back and mouth falling open.
Chris pulls back and Leon rolls his head to the side. He watches, eyes marking every piece of muscle he can in the dim light as that ridiculous muscle shirt gets pulled off. His hands find movement and he can’t help the desire in him as his fingers numbly work at his pants. He manages to get them off before Chris descends again.
This time, Leon yells out in surprise, suddenly flipped onto his front. His hands are behind his back, something silky wrapping around them. He whimpers, feeling how hot his dick pulses. Chris pulls the tie tight, not tight enough to do damage; he knows Leon could rip it apart if he needed to. Tight enough, Leon knows where he stands. He doesn’t fight it, letting his brain float with how thick the air is getting. He swears he can almost smell Chris through his jeans.
Leon watches as he disappears into the bedroom, doing his best to fill his lungs with oxygen. He doesn’t know what’s curling around him more, the churning hatred in his guts for the man in his apartment, or the desire to be held down, to let go and let himself finally not be the one in control. He’s sweating, he knows that much.
It doesn’t take too long for Chris to come back, tossing the lube bottle in his hand. He stands still for a moment and Leon refuses to look at him. Part of him churns in embarrassment. He wonders what anyone would think about this if he ever told someone, if anyone saw this, came by in the morning with work orders.
Suddenly, he’s being pulled up, yelping as he stumbles, bent over the edge of the couch. Chris holds him in place, tossing the lube onto the couch. It doesn’t take long for Leon’s boxers to be on the ground, Chris pushing his feet apart. “You going to stay down or are you going to make me do this one handed?”
“Like I said. Fucking earn it.” He squirms, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as Chris tries to hold him in place.
“And what if I just didn’t.”
Leon scoffs, going still. He knows deep down Chris would never, wouldn’t miss out on preparing him, wouldn’t do that to him. The anger and fear pooling in his gut, mixing with his horniness makes his brain too creative, brain coming to life with twenty different scenarios. Chris lets go of his wrists, pausing, watching. Leon shifts his arms slightly down his back, releasing some stress on his shoulder and falls still. Chris makes an approving noise, almost a damn coo. Leon grits his teeth and snarls.
He glares over his shoulder, about to make a retort when something cold sinks into him. He loses his words, squirming against the sudden intrusion. The urge to relax, go pliant, to sink into the couch rises in him and he fights it, choking on a groan as Chris pushes a finger deeper into him. His body betrays him with a wanton moan leaking from his lips, his back arching as a second finger works into him. Chris chuckles, leaning over him, his fingers sinking deeper with the movement.
He kisses the deep blush covering Leon’s cheeks, tutting. “The same song and dance every time. Don’t you know that’s the definition of insanity? Repeating the same thing constantly, expecting different results? Like my dick isn’t going in your ass.”
“Shut the fuck-” Leon almost bites through his tongue, tears pricking in his eyes as Chris finds his prostate. Chris chuckles, low, almost dark, fingers gently massaging. Leon can’t stop the whimper falling from his lips, dick aching between his legs. He collapses against the couch arm. Chris pats his ass, making the skin sting. “There you go.”
Leon closes his eyes, head getting slightly fuzzy as a third finger joins, biting his lip at the mild burn. “I’m good.”
Chris makes a noise, his fingers pausing briefly. “You’re not-”
“-I want the burn, damn it.” Leon wants the ground to open up. Take him. Make him fight anything he’s fought against before. Anything that isn’t being vulnerable to Chris fucking Redfield when the man’s fingers are inside him.
Leon forgets to breathe at the loss of contact, as Chris steps back. He shivers as he hears his belt undo, the fabric of those stupid jeans hitting the ground. There’s an elongated silence and then Leon can’t help it. His back arches, tears pricking in his eyes, yelling at the stretch. Chris pauses, a hand running up Leon’s spine, squeezing at the base of his neck. Leon doesn’t get too much of a chance to adjust before he’s pushing forward, making Leon choke on his saliva. He gasps for air as he feels Chris’ hips make contact with his bare ass.
He hears the soft moan, the fucking...tight and Leon fights against the tie. The pain resurges him, grunting as he tries to stand up. The hand at the base of his neck suddenly pushes down, squeezing slightly. Leon whimpers, his head turning to fizz again. Chris holds him there as his other hand rubs gentle circles into his hip. He’s going to bite those fingers off soon; this isn’t about gentility or attraction or any of that.
Chris suddenly pulls back, fucking forward with full force and Leon throws his head back, mouth falling open.
It’s about brainless fucking in shame.
Each thrust is winding, knocking all the air out of his lungs. Leon struggles to draw a breath, legs shaking with the near violence of each movement of Chris’ hips. Chris grunts, like a fucking animal in heat, and Leon scowls as he adjusts. He’s about to make a snide comment when it happens. Chris hits his prostate with deadly accuracy.
He collapses, pleasure sparking through his nervous system. He can hear a high pitched whining, faintly, vaguely aware that noise belongs to himself, but he can’t bring himself to care. Chris gives him little time to adjust from the shock, driving into it like a fucking radar is guiding him and Leon can’t stop the tears welling in his eyes. He shifts forward, balancing awkwardly on the couch arm, vaguely embarrassed by the string of expletives turning into moans escaping him. Chris’s hand curves tightly around his hip, forcing him upwards. Leon can’t help the moan that leaves him as his face ends up buried in Chris’ neck, the scent of his absurdly expensive cologne overwhelming his senses.
Chris releases his neck, his other hand coming to hold Leon’s other hip, suddenly fucking forward and back with more ferocity. All Leon can do is stay on his feet, fingers trying to cling to Chris, trying to find anything to grip to and find something to ground him.
Chris notices it, grunting a little and pausing. He pulls back, slipping free of Leon. The younger struggles to stand on his feet, sinking to his knees as Chris steps away, doing something in the small kitchenette. “Seriously? Are you doing my fucking dishes right now? Such a good little husband, huh?”
The fist in his hair tugs on his scalp, making it burn as Leon struggles to his feet, gasping. Chris leads him to the kitchen counter, pushing him down. The cold material brushes awkwardly against Leon’s nipples, making a soft noise come out of him. “Making sure your fucking knees don’t ruin the evening, lean against that.”
Leon scowls, preparing a retort before he’s full again. His forehead collides with the marble as Chris fills him again in a swift movement. Leon stares at the hand next to his head, gripping at the smooth surface, the balance shifting in Chris’ palm as he speeds up. Leon can feel the fuzziness circling his brain, but it isn’t enough. He grunts.
“Leave something this time, you- fuck- coward.” Leon’s head jerks back at the hand in his hair, letting a groan out.
“What are you saying?”
“Well it’s you, Redfield.” His words drip with venom and it earns him an almost painful driving thrust into his prostate, winding him. He can’t help the long moan, stuttered as Chris does nothing but speed up. “You never leave a victory mark on me, huh? That ashamed of your dirty little secret?”
Chris drops his hair, gentle enough to guide Leon down so his head doesn’t ricochet off the counter and then leans forward onto the counter, at a new angle. The resounding thrust sends Leon’s hips into the side of the counter, making him yell. Chris continues, forcing Leon to chase him back, to get slammed back into the marble, making his toes curl. The pain fogs him over, mixing with the burning resentment, the pleasure, and he chokes on his next breath. Chris grabs his hair again, pulling him upwards, forcing the angle change that brushes against his prostate with every shift. He tries to grunt, almost ashamed of the whimper that leaves him. Chris pulls his head to the side, sinking his teeth into the side of his throat.
Tears stream down Leon’s face, overstimulated as Chris’ tongue runs over the sensitive skin of his shoulder, chasing a blood droplet. He wants to make a snide comment, that Chris is so desperate you’ll risk mutating? You don’t know where I’ve been recently. His mouth won’t work though, hanging open. Chris forces his fingers into his mouth and all Leon can do is groan, wrapping his tongue around them as best he can.
“That good enough for you?”
Leon whimpers, nodding as best he can with Chris’ hand still in his hair. His knees weaken, and he collapses. He doesn’t miss how Chris holds him up, hand on his hip mostly gentle. He pulls out and Leon can’t help but hang his head, whimpering. He’s manhandled across the room, bent over the couch, letting him collapse against the cushions, legs no longer holding all his weight. Chris leans over him again, pushing him harder against the couch, fingers pushing into him.
Leon splutters, trying to push upwards against the ex-military’s weight, only to be forcefully crushed down as the fingers curl, digging into his prostate. He gives in, pressing his hips back, a babbled, please leaving his throat. He’ll hate himself for it later, but his brain can only process one thing right now – being empty. Chris relents, pulling his fingers out. His hands wrap tightly around Leon’s hips and he arches his back as he feels the skin break under his ridiculously manicured nails.
It takes a moment, a few shits from Chris and then Leon is full again, sobbing. His legs give out, balancing him awkwardly on his chest as Chris fucks harder and harder. He whimpers, hands twisting against the tie, numb to anything but the beating his prostate is taking. His hips ache as they brush over the couch fabric. Chris curses and pulls back again, and Leon shudders.
“Fuck you.” He manages to choke it out, sniffling. “Stop fucking teasing me.”
“Shut up.”
Chris is manhandling him again, pushing his back into the cushions. He lays there, shaking, staring up at him. Chris stares down at him, hand reaching up to wipe a tear from Leon’s cheek. Leon closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see that look in Chris’ eyes, something akin to adoring, something almost resembling attraction.
“You’re really pretty when you cry, you know that, Kennedy?”
“Kinky bastard. Is that why you come here?”
“Look at me.”
“No.”
Leon screws his eyes shut, turning his head away. Silence encompasses them, other than their heavy breathing. Neither of them move.
“Look at me, or I’m going home.”
Leon snarls, whipping his head around. He makes eye contact and Chris squeezes his hip, hard enough to irritate the already irritated skin. “Good boy.”
Leon is about to headbutt him. Surge upwards and take him out with a hard knock to the jaw. His back arches instead as Chris fills him again with one fluid movement.
It doesn’t take much longer. Leon whimpers, the pain of his knuckles digging into his spine, the ache and throbbing of his hips mixing with the pleasure rocketing up his spine into his brain, mixing as a hazy pleasure. Chris, for a moment, reaches down, cradling his cheek almost gently, almost as if he might actually care, and then Leon sees stars.
He can’t help the scream that comes with it, body twitching as he cums. If he wasn’t so high on what he was feeling, he might grimace at the feeling of something hot and sticky catching his cheek, might be disgusted with himself for somehow cumming on his own face.
Instead, he collapses, panting heavily. Chris isn’t moving, still rooted inside of him. Leon turns his head, staring at the dark screen of the television. Thankfully, it’s too dark for him to see his reflection. Chris grunts, leaning down, and Leon shudders at the tongue on his cheek, groaning as he cleans Leon’s face of semen. Leon blushes and then his eyes shoot close, scrunching shut as Chris leans down, fucking into him hard.
He’s sensitive. It hurts. If it was anyone else he might make a move to push them off of him, but his arms won’t work, wouldn’t bend if he even tried. He collapses into the couch, twitching, wincing as the pleasure begins to ebb into pain, but he lets his body relax. He lets the tears flow. He lets Chris move him as he pleases.
It’s not much longer before he’s vaguely aware of Chris gasping against his throat, catching the skin as he comes, clinging to Leon’s waist hard enough that Leon knows he’s not going to be able to change in front of anyone for a week. Maybe two.
The weight of Chris collapses on top of him and Leon makes a noise, kneeing him. Chris grunts, digging a finger into his side. Chris moves enough to muddle them around, pulling the tie and releasing Leon’s hands.
Shakily, his arms wrap tightly around Chris’s shoulders. They stay that way, Leon’s face buried in Chris’s shoulder. Chris doesn’t make any comment or movement that he’s even aware Leon’s crying – and he knows it’s a sham. He knows in any other situation, maybe any other life, maybe Chris would sit up and kiss his tears away. Maybe he would wrap his arms tightly around his waist and squeeze him until he feels put together again. Maybe he would stay and hold Leon tightly, caress his hair and whisper against his temple as he kisses the skin there.
Chris registers it when Leon goes limp, barely conscious, hands sliding slowly off his shoulders. He huffs, carefully sitting up. He doesn’t jostle him too much, watching in the moonlight at the curve of his chest as he inhales slowly, exhaling deeply. He slowly gets off the couch, moving into the bathroom and sighing heavily, wiping himself off. He should leave. He knows he should leave.
He knows he never will.
Chris moves to the bathtub, filling it with lavender and epsom salts and turning the water on a high heat. He sits on the edge, watching as it fills, the additions slowly bubbling up. He swirls his hand around, making sure its a comfortable temperature before he turns the water off. He dries his hand, leaning for a moment against the wall. He rocks, letting his forehead connect dully with it before sighing deeply.
He can’t help but wonder about if the BSAA and DSO had never become some type of mortal enemy. If Leon hadn’t been essentially blackmailed into joining the government company. He takes a deep breath, forcing his tears back. He moves to the sink, splashing some water on his face before moving back to the living room. Carefully, he lifts Leon, watching the way his eyes flutter. He raises a hand, fingers smoothing over Chris’ pectoral. Chris can’t help the pang in his stomach when he recognises Leon feeling safe in his arms, his arm dropping and eyes fluttering shut again.
Gently, he places Leon in the bath, holding the back of his head as he carefully lowers it, making sure it won’t wake him up. He winces at the bite mark on his throat, nibbling his lip as he carefully wipes the drying blood streaks from it. Leon will have his ass for it in the morning. He sighs, lathering up a sponge, carefully running it over Leon’s body, cleaning his chest. He wipes down his hips, wincing. They’re already starting to mottle. He glances at Leon, still quiet, asleep, peaceful – one of the few times Chris has seen him with no stress in his features.
He stays that way for a moment, kneeling on the bathroom floor, taking in every inch of Leon’s face, the way his breathing is level, the way he’s… calm enough to be this vulnerable around Chris. Something shatters inside him and he grunts, standing up. He makes his way into the living room and finds his underwear, tugging them back on. He grimaces, realising he never wiped himself down but walks back to the bathroom. Penance for his sins, or something.
He sighs and leans down. Gently, he runs his fingers down Leon’s cheek, making a soft noise. “I need to dry you.”
Leon lets out a heavy groan, shifting before his eyes flicker open. He shoots Chris a look, devoid of his usual maliciousness, and Chris grabs the towel from the back of the door. Leon groans as he pulls himself out the bath, slipping as he puts a foot down. Within seconds, Chris has him in his arms, supporting him as he finds his balance. Leon sighs, his forehead resting on Chris’ shoulder.
They stay that way for a few seconds maybe too long and Leon stands up, snatching the towel from Chris’ hands. “I got it.”
“Sure.”
Chris counts to ten in his head before he follows Leon out the bathroom, finding him on the bed, body loose as he struggles sleep. Chris wordlessly finds a pair of underwear, carefully helping him on. Leon grunts but bends his legs awkwardly, languid, and Chris gets them up. He pulls the duvet down, before picking him up, carefully getting him under the blanket. Leon sighs, curling up, eyes shut long ago.
Chris lets his fingers linger in Leon’s hair before he leans down. He always does this, press a kiss to Leon’s temple, which usually gets him a sleepy, weak push to his jaw. This time, however, he’s surprised to meet Leon’s eyes, their lips brushing together. It’s Leon who pushes into it, awkwardly, and Chris curls his fingers, wrapping Leon’s hair around his fingers as he leans into it. They stay, again, maybe a few seconds too long before Leon moves, rolling over. Chris lets go of his hair, barely able to repress the sigh trying to leave his throat.
He watches in real time as Leon’s stuttered breathing doesn’t slow down and grits his teeth. He’s overstaying his welcome. He gets up, and pauses at the door, as Leon clears his throat. “Be more interesting next time, Redfield.”
He smirks, pausing long enough to look back. He sees the briefest glint in the dark of Leon’s eyes watching him. “Better bring something to the table that makes me want to be interesting then.”
Leon scoffs, his head disappearing back under the covers. For a moment, Chris almost walks across the room, nearly climbs into the bed, is so close to crushing Leon to his chest and holding him all night long.
He swallows, returning to the living room, dressing slowly. He waits, as he always does, ears straining to hear anything summoning him, begging him to stay that isn’t the tenseness in the air. Any sign of Leon relenting, asking him to stay for coffee in the morning, or that it would be dangerous to go home this late at night.
Nothing comes and Chris opens the door, grabbing the key from the side. He locks it, sliding the key under the door. It clatters against something and Chris leans against the wall, sliding down it. From here, just, he can hear the sobs begin from inside of the apartment. He rubs his face, knees pressed against his chest, staring up at the ceiling as he listens.
In any other life.