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The motel stood alone by the highway. The neon “Pink Flamingo” sign flickered, one letter half-dead. The usual location. The usual time — 11 pm. Their busy schedules left no room for alternatives. Once nights like this became a habit, there was no space left for arguments.
Leon parked his car. Late, as always. It wasn’t his fault, just the mission that had taken longer than expected. Well, missions never went as expected, that was a rule Kennedy had learned a long time ago. He was lucky to have someone who understood him by now.
He marched to room 106 — the most distant one, commonly booked by them. Chris was already sitting on the second plastic chair — smoking. Two plastic cups of cheap coffee stood on the small table between them. Their small tradition.
Chris’s gaze was tired — like he had been running a marathon around the city recently. Or maybe he had indeed. He was watching the night sky — brighter here by the highway than in the city.
Then he spotted Leon. Something softened in his gaze when he did — it was always like that whenever they met each other.
“Hey.” He waved.
“Hey.” Leon sat down heavily beside him. “Sorry, I am late.”
Chris didn’t mind. They were opposites in this: him — precise like the clock itself, Leon — carelessly not on time without an actual intention. Luckily, Chris was also one of those types who knew how to wait, and Leon — how to show up effectively enough to fill the silence his absence had been making.
A perfect match.
Chris didn’t offer him a cigarette. He knew Leon wouldn’t accept it anyways. But Kennedy was still sitting close — passively inhaling the smoke.
Leon was watching. Blue eyes were tracing the same night sky that so far didn’t say a word to its witnesses, just staying still there for centuries as always. Then he watched Chris. He liked gazing at this man, reading him, trying to solve the mystery of what was going on inside his head every time he went silent and grumpier than usual.
How many years had they known each other by now?
Quite enough to be considered a settled couple, not brave enough to be one in reality. Nights at the motel room 106 kept going, now being their small world separated from the problems and traces of trauma once the door was closed.
A small routine ritual helping them both to survive, to feel alive again. A reminder that at least something could be stable in this mess.
“You know,” Leon laughed deep in his throat, taking a sip of the plastic cup already slightly warped from the heat. “This view of us on these plastic chairs in the middle of the night next to the motel room? If anyone’s watching, they’re gonna assume we’re arguing about lawn care.”
Chris chuckled low in his chest. A sweet sound of his.
“Yeah, we look ridiculously domestic that way.” He agreed. “I bet next we’re gonna get old and start dealing with our health problems.”
“Already there.” Leon hummed, “my joints make the weather forecast more reliable than the internet.”
Chris laughed again, still lowly, still sincerely. It settled something warm in Leon’s chest — the way only he could draw out those sounds from Chris — rare, too significant.
If Chris’s face had been all grumpy before, now it got brighter.
“You’re still pretty even with old joints of yours.” Chris said it like a scientific fact.
Gosh.
It hit Leon. Harder than it had to.
How Chris could always throw him off track with a single phrase?
Leon chuckled quietly, looking away.
“Great. Put that on my medical chart.”
The tension from the mission Leon had been to before coming here started to fade away slowly. It was always like that when Chris was around. Maybe, they both needed it. And maybe, it meant more than they both were ready to admit.
The coffee was finished. Chris took another cigarette quickly — the last one.
“So, are we going to plan tomorrow morning ? Who showers first? What time to leave?” Leon asked, leaning to the back of his seat, old plastic creaked loudly. Blue eyes were scanning a boring parking lot like it was the most spectacular view ever. Kennedy didn’t care about morning routine, but he knew it would bother Chris. It was a small caring gesture he was always making before their special nights.
“Since when you became so practical? Isn’t it my annoying part of our routine together?” Chris raised his eyebrow as he took a deep drag.
Leon looked at him, eyes narrowed in a late night mischief.
“Just figured that it is probably the hardest part of the whole operation for ya.” Leon said it with a special care in his voice — usually not present for other people but Chris.
Chris scoffed at that.
“Operation? Is that what you call it?” There was no bitterness in his words, more like teasing.
Leon’s eyes flickered with a spark he had during the nights like this one — never named it, but always present.
He leaned closer to Chris’s chair and cupped his chin, leaving no space for looking away.
“Quit smoking. You are making me wait.” He said brushing Chris’s lower lip with his thumb — easily and smoothly. The words were sharp and demanding, the gesture — too tender in the contrast.
Chris exhaled, the smoke faded into Leon’s face.
“Impatient.” Chris smirked.
Their lips crushed into each other as they both leaned closer almost at the same time. The cigarette butt was carelessly tossed aside. Leon always took the charge first — exploring like never before, daring, wishing to feel more of it. Leon’s tongue slipped between Chris’s lips now feeling the hateful cigarette taste, but as long as it was Chris — Leon didn’t care.
Then Chris took charge by pulling the back of Leon’s hair, making him tilt his head for that perfect angle. Grip — tight but not aggressive, a perfect balance they both had learned through the years. Chris nipped Leon’s lower lip, then traced it with his tongue. Another tease, always working.
“Let’s get inside.” Chris finally murmured into the swollen lips. Their eyes met — both knew what they wanted. Why they had come all the way here. Why it had kept happening through the years again and again.
The door of motel room 106 swung open with a dull thud.
They were kissing until their lungs burned, moans spilling out too fast, filling the night’s silence.
Kisses were Leon’s favorite part. Maybe even more than sex itself. Every time, it was a struggle for dominance — one he willingly lost.
Chris’s tongue slid inside, branding, driving him mad, while Leon clutched at the edges of Chris’s turtleneck — obscenely tight across his broad shoulders and chest.
Redfield pulled away only for a moment — just long enough to raise his arms and help rid himself of the unnecessary layer.
Leon’s shirt followed soon after.
Chris sat down on the edge of the bed and drew Leon in with him, so that Leon stood between his knees while Chris traced a trail of kisses over his stomach, up to his collarbones, making Leon arch harder into every touch.
“Did someone say anything about the impatience today?” Leon huffed under his breath teasingly.
“You made me wait too.” Chris rushed to explain before capturing Leon’s lips again — this time more eager, hungry. After all, it’d been a couple of weeks. Long weeks of not knowing whether they both had made it alive.
Chris pulled Leon even closer, so now Kennedy was straddling him. Chris’s hands roamed over his body again, up to his chest, then to his neck, and then…
Leon felt something.
He paused, his hand captured Chris’s wrist in a fast motion keeping him on the neck level.
Redfield stared.
Chris’s palm was hot — solid, unyielding. Leon swallowed, throat tight with tension, and pressed Chris’s hand more firmly against his own neck.
“What are you—” Chris looked at him, startled, already starting to pull away, but Leon only hushed him.
“Let me… try.”
Chris swallowed. And then, despite himself, stilled.
Leon kept the pressure there — slow, deliberate — attentive to the way it bloomed inward as a dull, pleasant burn.
His thoughts flickered to past missions: split seconds when especially dangerous creatures had caught him the same way. Back then, it had been survival. Here, it was a distorted echo of it — not dangerous, not real, but carrying the same sharp edge of adrenaline.
The pressure increased. Leon coughed at last.
Chris reacted instantly, pulling his hand away and shifting up, arms closing around Leon’s waist.
“Idiot. What are you doing?” he asked, concern cutting through his voice.
Leon didn’t know how to explain it. He had only felt it — that rush, the trick played on the mind. The same surge of emotion, but this time coming from hands he trusted more than his own instincts.
He lifted his gaze, still breathing hard from the brief lack of air.
“Chris,” Leon whispered, as if he were about to confess his greatest secret, “I think… I like it.”
The honesty of it rang through the empty motel room.
Chris froze. Leon did too — mostly out of fear. He trusted Chris with the worst parts of himself: the trauma, the reckless thoughts born from it. But this? This was new. And Chris’s reaction was impossible to predict.
Leon had always thought Redfield to be too responsible, too controlled for something like this. But the more he learned him, the more nights they shared, the clearer it became: Chris was just like him. Broken, but still fighting. Still alive. And one of the few people who genuinely liked Leon’s jokes.
That way…
Hands brushed over Kennedy’s flushed neck. Fingers pressed lightly against his Adam’s apple — careful, measured.
“Are you sure?” Chris asked. Serious. Gentle.
Leon smirked.
“I promise I’m not trying to die. I just have… very specific relaxation settings.”
Chris accepted that easily, a faint smirk answering his.
“If you’re joking, that’s a good sign.” He bit his lip as his fingers slid over the warm skin of Leon’s throat. “We can try. But if you want to stop — tap my shoulder a few times. Or wherever you can reach.”
Leon let out a low laugh. He found it endearing how Chris could be so responsible even in a moment like this.
“You ever notice you look like you’re about to file paperwork even when you relax?” Kennedy said without any bitterness. He loved that about Chris. Or maybe he just loved him.
Chris rolled his eyes. His hand tugged Leon’s hair again, making him tilt his head:
“That sweet mouth of yours. Never knowing when to shut up.”
A bitter kiss — brief, but sharp and possessive enough to reveal the true nature of the night. Leon couldn’t help but melt in that feeling. What he loved most was to push Chris to his limits.
“What can I say,” Leon chuckled when Chris pulled back a little, their faces still close. “I cope with stress via sarcasm and bad decisions. Tonight’s a two-for-one.” He added quickly: “Before we continue, I should probably disclose I’m very annoying when I trust someone.”
Chris tugged a smile. He couldn’t be pissed with Leon for too long. Naturally.
“Yeah, I am aware of that.”
Leon’s lips - already swollen and wet, stretched into a smirk, blue eyes narrowed in temptation. But he played by Chris’s rules - always had in order to avoid another hour of being lectured about his recklessness.
“I got it, big boy: if I tap your arm, it means stop. If I don’t, it means I’m exactly where I meant to be.”
Chris seemed to be satisfied with this answer. His eyes scanned Leon’s face a little bit longer like he was making sure Kennedy wasn’t joking, before he let go of Leon's hair and pressed a hand on his chest, making Leon lay down on the bed sheets.
Leon lay back obediently, his own breath ringing in his ears like a chime of anticipation. Chris pinned him with that piercing stare, sinking lower to lavish kisses on the tender, pale skin once more — even as his hands made quick work of Leon's belt, stripping away the last barriers of clothing.
Chris nipped at his throat, the chest, those nipples that weren't the most sensitive but craved attention all the same. He knew it drove Leon wild, made him melt beneath him. Their usual appetizer before the main course.
And there was Kennedy — utterly naked and bared before him, as ever. Leon's heart fluttered every time under the blaze of Redfield's gaze; the man always regarded him like a masterpiece, embracing every scar etched across his body.
Chris's hand drifted higher, but not to claim his neck—instead, to part Leon's lips and slip his fingers inside. Kennedy enveloped them with his mouth, sucking greedily, his eyes still drilling into Chris's.
"You never cease to surprise me, Kennedy," Chris confessed. No teasing in his tone this time. His gaze burned with genuine intrigue. Far too much.
Moments later, those slick fingers trailed downward to Leon's spread thighs, brushing the head of his cock and drawing a sharp hiss of pleasure — before pausing at the tight entrance. Chris didn't press in yet. He circled it teasingly, as if pondering the perfect way to begin.
Leon arched — sweetly, effortlessly.
"Bolder, Redfield. We've done far worse, remember?"
Chris smirked. Oh, he remembered.
"I can't help seeing you like this. It's important to me... to get it right."
Leon didn't argue. He knew it was true. And deep down, he adored it — madly so.
"But who am I to deny you, Leon?" Chris asked without demanding any answer. His hand hovered at Kennedy’s throat, fingers brushing lightly, a silent question in his eyes.
"Do it," Leon whispered, voice rough with anticipation, as strong fingers curled around his neck. The promise of pressure made his pulse race, their gazes locked in heated challenge.
And Chris did. His hand pressed harder — but carefully, stealing first huffs of breath from Leon’s throat. At the very same time Chris’s fingers of the other hand pressed to the entrance finding their way inside — two at the same time.
Leon's breath hitched: a bitterness in his throat—pleasant, warming, slowly inching upward.
Grunts flooded the room, Chris’s fingers clamping tighter at the base of the neck, no doubt leaving crimson trails in their wake. But Leon couldn't care less: he saw flashbacks of the most dangerous moment of his life — every monster that had choked him, had been trying to convince him in his fatal fate.
Every time, Kennedy had seized control, broken free, emerged victorious.
But now? He craved surrender. To relinquish that control. To feel it all the way through. Because now he had someone who could grant him that — the surge of adrenaline without the terror for his own survival.
He gasped as the grip constricted, air thinning to a delicious burn, pleasure spiking with every controlled squeeze.
Chris watched him, tracking every reaction, his expression flickering from worry to curiosity, and when Leon moaned — hoarsely, breathlessly — sparks kindled in Redfield's eyes.
Leon noticed.
Damn.
It was pressing well. Delightfully so.
Fingers inside him — from below, stretching, thrusting sharply, twisting to graze that sweet spot, igniting pleasure from both ends.
Leon arched again as those fingers swept over his prostate: once, twice, three times. The hand at his neck squeezed harder, but he made no move to stop it.
He was drowning. Seeing fucking stars dance before his eyes.
And of course, he didn't hold out long — he came, expelling the last remnants of air — a sweet, languid wave crashing over his body to the very tips of his fingers, his vision blinding to white.
Chris moved his hand away slowly allowing Leon to cough the tension out and to get himself together after a strong release. Redfield’s hand brushed Leon’s cheek, thumb tracing his lower lip then.
“Are you okay?” Chris asked with care in his voice. He always cared, no matter what.
Leon cleared his throat again, now having access to the air again, his chest going up and down quickly.
“See? Still breathing. Five stars, would trust again.” He let out a huff of laughter. But Chris wasn’t smiling at that, so he had to add now softer: “If I’m joking, I’m okay. That’s the rule.”
Chris shook his head chuckling quietly.
“You never change.”
“Well, you don’t want me to.” Not a question — a statement.
Chris smiled finally.
“Yeah,” his fingers slipped out of Leon’s tightness, now moving over his stomach spreading the traces of cum. “Don’t change.” It sounded too much like a promise, and Leon was ready to curse himself for falling for it too hard.
“We are not done yet, aren’t we?” Leon said in a low voice — from a recent choking and the tension all together. His hand reached the bump on Chris’s pants and pressed on it. Chris hissed, but didn’t rush:
“You sure you can handle?”
Leon scoffed like he was offended.
“If I can? The hell I can and still want.” He grinned, his grip hardened as Chris frowned. “Show me how you missed me, big boy.”
Leon tugged Chris for another kiss. His neck was still in pain — a pleasant one, each gulp of breath was giving off with burning.
It looked like he was addicted to it now.
They got rid of Chris pants and underwear quickly, the condom was unwrapped and worn, never stopping kissing afterwards — another way of losing breath. Leon lay on his back again, legs wrapping around Chris’s waist.
A thrust — deep, merciless. Just because Chris had prepared him well. Leon dropped his head on the pillow, a broken moan leaving his lips.
“Fuck—” Kennedy muttered, “yes, big boy, that way.” Demanding voice that was doing things to Chris’s mind. Redfield allowed them both to adjust for a few more seconds, before pulling back — just to slam inside with a new force, leaving Leon breathless again.
Leon’s fingers dug into the bed sheets, his gaze, blurry with lust, locked onto Chris badly. Kennedy was hard again, his hand embraced his own cock to match with Chris’s pace.
“I like the way you enjoy it,” Chris confessed, and in the moments like this Leon was ready to come only by this small gesture of honesty from Chris — rare and meaningful.
Leon gasped as the thrusts went deeper, rougher, just how he liked it.
“Hard to resist when you claim me so well,” Leon said in his voice low, his free hand suddenly grabbed Chris’s wrist, leading back to his neck.
Chris understood. Right away. With a firm hand at Leon’s throat, he thrust harder, their bodies syncing in a haze of dominance and surrender.
Leon managed to pass the control. Because he trusted. Because it meant so much more than they both were ready to say out loud.
The chokehold sent waves of dizzying bliss, Leon’s body arching in desperate submission. Chris was watching him with a damn hunger. The one Kennedy used to seeing when they were at the peak of their nights. Or cozy evenings spent doing nothing like an old couple. Leon loved both anyways.
The pressure built, Leon’s world narrowing to the heat of that hold and the ecstasy flooding his veins. The air was leaving the body with full pleasure, leaving that teasing burning emptiness.
Addiction.
Trust.
Boundaries.
Leon could see through his narrowed eyes — Chris was close too, he was enjoying the way the trust had been built to perfection between them.
“Fuck, Leon, I’m—”
Kennedy only panted under the pressure as they both found their release: Chris — by burying himself deep inside Leon, filling the condom hot, Leon — on their stomachs again, losing himself between the reality and something above it.
They collapsed together, his neck marked with faint imprints, a badge of their shared intensity.
A moment of quiet: only their hard breathing, heartbeats, sweat. Both left speechless, today they had definitely discovered something new about themselves.
Chris pulled Leon closer, leaving soft apologetic kisses over his bruised neck. Leon didn’t mind, but he didn’t need the apology — he felt like he was exactly where he belonged.
“You’re fine?” Chris asked again. He cared way too much.
And Leon loved it.
“Yeah.” He answered calmly this time, wrapping himself around Chris’s strong body. “Congratulations. You passed the unspoken psychological evaluation.”
Chris scoffed, only pressing his nose to Leon’s temple, then — a kiss to his cheek.
“We can repeat as many times as you want.” Chris promised.
Leon knew it wasn’t just caring about his pleasure.
It was about the recognition.
Acceptance.
Invitation to be his true self with zero judgments.
“Yeah. We will.” Leon murmured, finally accepting this side of himself.
In the afterglow, he nuzzled closer, the lingering ache a sweet reminder of their bond.
The rest of the world outside of the motel room 106 went silent.