Chapter Text
- “Love is friendship that has caught fire. It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing and forgiving.” — Ann Landers
—But BroTP Style—
2014
The Cul de Sac
Chris Redfield’s journal
I wasn’t sure what I expected when I brought Leon to my apartment for the first time beyond getting the sex we were both desperate for since leaving the bar. I expected him to run his mouth, which he did, of course. In record time, even.
But everything else teased even more of the truth of Leon Kennedy.
Stubborn. Playful. Proud, so god damn proud but a hell of a sense of humor. His thoughtfulness, a gentleman quality to the point of murdering my patience at times but cultivating a curiosity and desire. Enhancing the hints of the man I already knew and considered a friend, buried behind a wall carefully crafted.
For no one’s reasons but his own.
Even then I found myself wanting to poke at that wall. Leon’s company was giving me something I hadn’t expected when we first started fucking around. It brought me a sense of peace in a way. A longing for a connection, something I hadn’t felt since before the mansion incident.
But nothing’s free—the peace teased beautiful destruction as we started to learn how to handle one another.
I got my first glimpse of the tasmanian fucking devil I’d been so curious to unleash and he knocked me on my ass. Leon has me, heart and soul but everything else belongs to him—an effortless grace and shadow, a master, a king in a sense of dark presence that commands my willing obedience and obsession.
I’ll kneel to that throne, for as long as he allows that trust.
Ada Wong turned out to be just as complex a puzzle. The audastic properties of that bitch were made aware within minutes of meeting her. The greed. Pettiness and arrogance. A rivalry starting that burned for years.
But what struck me was the spark of knowing when I’m slipping into a muscle memory, a move set requiring little thinking beyond instinct and experience. The way she speaks even now in hints and riddles, carefully guarded motivations and games known only to her.
Over the years it felt a hell of a lot like talking to Leon at times.
April 2006
Chris’ Apartment
Chris Redfield
“Pretty much what I expected from the ultimate Spartan—what is there like five pieces of furniture in here—and why the hell does it sound like someone’s torturing a pigeon?” Leon moves around his tiny living room, slipping his shirt from his shoulders and tossing the ripped garment onto the easy chair. “What you got hiding under all this bare efficiency, Redfield? Should I worry I’m gonna end up on a milk carton?”
He sighs—not ten seconds in the door and already with the mouth.
“It’s just the furnace.”
Judgmental little prick.
“Hn.” Leon picks up his latest weapons catalogue from the glass of the coffee table, flipping through the pages. “Guess it was too much to hope it was a guy named Pinky wearing spandex and a credit card reader.”
The laugh bubbles against his throat as he sheds his jacket, moving to fetch a beer from the fridge. “Awfully specific, Leon,” he jabs. “Beer?”
“I’m good.” He twists the cap, Leon chuckling behind him, “Ever been to the lower east strip?”
On occasion—not exactly the place to go if you want to keep your self respect.
“Can’t say I have,” he lies, moving to hover like a guest in his own living room.
Leon hums, gazing at the magazine. “Well I wouldn’t really recommend it to you.” He suddenly huffs. “Now this model’s not bad when you’re hard up but the grip guard turned out to be a damn dirty lie.”
Curiosity lures him to Leon’s side, enjoying the lingering spice of the man’s scent. “Beveled not do it for you?” he teases, eying the basic firearm advertisement.
Another tiny huff, Leon closing the magazine and putting it back to the table. “Blisters didn’t seem to think so.”
He presses close to Leon’s spine, letting his breath puff across his neck. “And here I thought you liked it rough,” he cheeses—no way Leon can resist easy bait like that as he brushes his lips across the back of his shoulder.
“Depends on the activity, asshole,” Leon rumbles the expected tease. “But I want my weapons to make sweet sweet love to my hands.” He turns, snatching the beer bottle from him. “So how about you show me where the real magic happens since you wanted me here so bad.”
Leon wanders away with a wink, helping himself to his drink.
He’s not even mad at the theft, wanting his mouth back on the man and following him down the hallway.
But Leon pauses ahead of him, taking a slow pull of beer in front of the doorway to his office. “Well actually—” he lulls, teasing a side smile. “Mind if I continue the tour first?”
Part of him wants to keep shoving the man till they reach the bedroom and get the rest of his clothes off. But the other part of him pauses—Leon’s actually asking permission for something.
Well that’s a fucking first.
“Be my guest,” he rewards the witnessed miracle. Getting to know Leon better was part of the whole point of inviting him to his home.
He just didn’t think it might actually work.
Leon vanishes into his office with a curious little hum as he flicks the light on. “So this is where you hide yourself.”
He steps in after. His office is a contrast to the minimalist style the rest of the apartment boasts—the room’s an organized disaster.
His filing cabinets line an entire wall, case files lined—meticulous and in order, display cases bursting with all his awards and trophies. Weapons and customization kits he hasn’t found time to fuck with yet. His heavy desk litters with discarded paper, drawings, beer bottles, whiskey and ashtrays overflowing with the time sink of slow weekends.
“Football?” Leon scoffs, pausing in front of some of his sports trophies, his autographed football still on its small pedestal.
He bristles. “Something to say?”
Leon’s quick to move on with a little sniff. “Not particularly.”
“Let me guess, you’re a baseball guy.”
A low chuckle, Leon turning back to him. “Depends—would that piss you off?” The glitter of tease and hope, offering the bottle to him.
He’s not even falling into that trainwreck, but the invitation pulls him over and he takes his beer back. “Die wondering,” he snaps without any heat, matching the growing smile he finds.
“Oh I’ll be sure to have it keep me up at night, Big Daddy.” Leon sizzles at him with another little laugh.
The gentle simmer of their back and forth sets him light and relaxed, leaning against the wall to enjoy his beer—but more so watching Leon wander his space like a curious bunny, fingers brushing at but not quite touching everything he comes across.
“You make these?” Leon gazes at the collection of notes pinned on the wall—pencil drawings and records in meticulous detail of every BOW he’s had the pleasure of dealing with. Strengths—weaknesses—a guide for engagement. “You’d find less accuracy in the database,” Leon almost whispers. “Jesus, Chris.”
He can’t help the little puff of pride swelling through him with the praise.
“The boogeyman’s more of a little bitch when he’s dragged into the light and dissected,” he explains with a little laugh. “Learn what makes them bleed, because they all bleed.”
Leon huffs softly, “Your sister—she said that to me once.”
He warms with his memories and the gentleness lifting at the side of Leon’s features.
“Claire—well she had a thing about the boogeyman when we were kids—and we’ll leave it at that so I don’t embarrass her.”
Leon breaks into carefree laughter. “Yeah something tells me you’d walk away with fewer teeth.”
He’s not fucking wrong—scars don’t lie.
“I’d bet on it. Claire, she’s—well you know.”
Even now he warms with his baby sister’s unbreakable spirit.
“Sure do,” Leon laughs a bit more but cuts off suddenly. “You read my report.”
There’s a horrifying ghost of awe in his voice and his eyes find it, the visceral loss of limbs and face, loss of humanity, tendrils of sinewy blades.
Las Plagas.
“My best guesses—based on your descriptions.”
“They’re—pretty god damn close. I’m almost sad to say I’m impressed,” Leon scoffs quietly. He turns to him, a smile taking over his face. “But content aside, you’ve got a hell of a talented pair of hands.”
He gets a bit lost in that smile—the genuine fascination that lacks the man’s usual ego. “Well thanks, Leon.”
Leon tilts his head a bit, his smile taming down even more. “Always gotta give a guy his due when it’s due,” he says, moving on with his tour. “—Well now we’re fucking talking.”
Pornstar-quality noise falls from Leon’s mouth at an alarming rate as the man ogles and moans along his weapons display.
“Hello beautiful,” Leon simpers, “Big Daddy certainly takes care of you, I see. Oh, and you get that extra special touch, hm? Well you’re a sexy minx, aren’t you.” His fingers graze almost timidly across the shiny wood of the display case. “May I?”
As close as he’s ever heard begging in Leon’s voice—it satisfies like a priceless whiskey, dragging his gaze across the honed, beautiful lines of his spine and the excited tension bracing along the muscles in his arms.
“I invited you in—didn’t I?” he husks against the dry of his mouth.
“Still—” Leon murmurs, “You don’t go putting your hands on another man’s toys without permission.” His fingers touch along the handle of one of his combat knives.
Like a brush against his cock his breath puffs free and he takes one last pull of beer to wet one of his whistles before plunking the bottle to a file cabinet.
The invisible lead brings him to curve and hover across Leon’s spine.
“No? Says who,” he breathes and challenges to the side of his neck, roaming his hands along the warmth of Leon’s ribs and abs, slowly tracing back and forth as he watches an expert handle his blade.
It spins and dances with fingers designed for lethality.
“Perfectly balanced,” Leon praises, letting his thumb graze the metal. “Whisper’s edge—easy weight—gorgeous.” He reverently sets it back in its place, his head tilting. “But she’s the pride of your collection.”
His eyes bounce to her—his STI Eagle 6.0—rescued from Raccoon City’s destruction by Jill and returned to him with a smile and one hell of a story.
Probably the most effort he’s put into a firearm. More than worth her weight in diamonds as his prized piece. Even now his pride swells against her beautiful assembly.
“Mm hm,” he mumbles against smooth, warm skin, breathing the spice and wanting to taste across every slight tremble he finds, his hands tracking in rhythm with Leon’s increasing destruction.
He senses, feels the respectful hesitation in Leon’s limbs and he drags his lips up along the shell of his ear.
“Touch it, Leon,” he whispers and the answering whisper of a moan can’t hide from him.
Leon carefully retrieves her, praising every detail with a growing breathless expertise, every spec measured and chosen, assembled to his standard.
“How did you manage to get your hands on this sight? The style and elite caliber is so customized and rare that it’s practically one of a kind.”
He smiles, running his palms down over Leon’s leather belt to curve around the sharp lines and shape of his hips. “I know a lady,” he rumbles, Kathy’s smiling face warm and familiar in his mind—her eye for quality is unmatched even by her husband.
A fact that Barry never fails to be proud of.
“Sounds like a hell of a lady.” Leon tilts and rolls his body with his wandering hands, chasing him. “So—where’s the fucktoy hookup, Redfield?”
He flutters with the low tones of the request but more with his unexpected and immediate urge to please the man—just for the sake of it.
Well that’s another fucking first.
It sparks his instincts like a danger—a threat.
“Thinkin’—” He palms over Leon’s dick, hard and pressed against his tight slacks. “—I could be convinced.”
There’s something desperate about these games he so easily falls into with Leon—he likes it.
A near silent hiss, Leon then whispering his laughs, placing the firearm back where she belongs. “Good to know.” He turns now, fingers reaching for him, grasping and working his belt and zipper open. “Got something—specific in mind?” he asks, ripping his shirt free from his jeans and shoving a hand in his pants to cup his cock in a firm, satisfying grip.
Nothing he hadn’t already planned on getting.
He heats up under Leon’s destructive gaze and inescapable hold, pressing close, wrapping his palms across a spine designed and shaped for his hands.
“Try just asking.”
“Thought I was—very nicely, in fact,” Leon whispers to his mouth, dragging open lips hot and treacherous along his jaw. “Nothing’s really free—not much of a hookup if I don’t hold up my part.”
He can’t argue that, or selfishly doesn’t fucking want to, raking his hand up to fist the silk of Leon’s hair, yanking back just enough to tilt his neck, just enough to piss off and please.
“Fair point. Guess I’ll let you be my little fucktoy to play with tonight—until I’m done with you.”
He likes it—the sex, attraction and flirting—the threat, the fun of their disrespect, bullshit and sarcasm.
The willingness.
Leon rumbles with the aggression. “Fantastic fucking sex is a hell of a hardship,” he scoffs, chuckling hot and breathless, all Kennedy arrogance as he squeezes and rubs at his cock. “Don’t know how I’ll ever handle it.”
He’s let Leon have the upper hand for too long, jerking him to force a kiss, claiming his wants without a fuck given, tightening his grip to keep him trapped.
But Leon lets him, fights him even, lips and tongue matching his force even as they shove each other across the floor in an awkward dance for the upper hand, Leon crashing back into his desk.
He takes full advantage, reaching down to snag his thigh and plant him up on the edge and at his mercy.
“You’re a handsy bastard,” Leon breathes and puffs to his mouth, fingers now raking and dragging across the back of his t-shirt.
“Can’t handle me, say so.”
Leon’s huff blasts across his tongue. “You’re about as intimidating as a kiddie pool on a hot day,” he pants and leans back onto his palm, bending with the hold on his spine to let him work his belt open one handed. “If I don’t want something you’ll be the first to know, asshole.”
Button pressing little prick.
Kiddie pool, huh.
“Noted,” he rumbles to the addictive spice of Leon’s neck, scraping his nails down the curve of his spine, palming and squeezing his trapped erection through the tight material. “I might even think about listening.”
“A toy does tend to have a short shelf life when it’s not handled well.”
He can respect a possible threat when he hears one, easing back to study the man.
There’s nothing he enjoys and excels at more than finding and exploiting every advantage he can on the field. Why the hell should his bed be any different when Leon makes for such a beautiful and rewarding god damn challenge. No one else has really compared, come close, even—his favorite adversary, he’s finding out.
He will learn everything that tears the man apart.
“I’ll respect a hammer down, don’t worry,” he promises, running his palm up away from Leon’s lap, tracing sharp abs to graze across a throat made for his disrespect but softly cupping his chin instead. “Guess I better be careful—” He runs his thumb in light lines across Leon’s lower lip. “Treat my toys with a more—gentle touch, maybe.”
He’s leveled with a glare so hot he could light a smoke off of it.
“Guess I misspoke—no one’s asking you to place nice, boy scout.”
The name brings a smile for the first time—there’s cracks in that precious fucking pride of his, the flush of indignation and disrespect so god damn beautiful.
“No?” he purrs it on thick, planting his other palm next to Leon’s hip to hover even further into his space as an overwhelming presence. He lets his lips brush light as a wink across the warmth of his cheek, almost thrilling with the micro movements of the man, Leon’s breath puffing hot and harsh against his thumb.
“So then tell me how you like to be handled,” he whispers, “How would you like me to play with you, bunny?”
He lets the smile drag as he leans back—bunny ought to get to him.
But there’s a stutter, the brief hitch of a pinched brow behind the sharp smoke of Leon’s stare, almost like he’s never heard a question like that in his god damn life. It swells his interest as the glitter of pride flashes back into Leon’s features now, recovering his ego like a mask.
Leon’s lips curve against his hold with an upper hand. “You can do whatever the hell you want, Big Daddy,” he purrs like it’s poison. “Unless I say fuck off.” His voice and smile then plummets to a knife’s edge, “But I’m not here to be fucking made love to.”
The violent outburst sparks against the tinder of his fuse—cocky little prick better remember who he’s talking to.
He digs his thumb into the flesh of Leon’s lip, pressing his fingertips against his jaw in ways he wants the man to fucking feel. “Should probably be careful, Kennedy—I could fucking break you if you let me,” he snaps, threatens just to flame the spark higher into his veins even as his instincts twitch for a cease fire.
“Ooooh, such confidence from the respectable Golden Boy,” Leon hisses and sizzles the taunt with an almost sinister quality he’s never witnessed in the man, a cocky grin re-taking his face as he snatches his wrist. “But maybe you could, Redfield,” he chuckles low, running his tongue in hot, teasing lines across his knuckles. His eyes shade to a glittered edge, the same sinister threat of his voice. “Or maybe I could let you—got the fucking balls to find out which?”
Do you, he wants to say and nearly does—but the call for a full tactical retreat pulses, screams across his instincts and he listens.
He crafts his own cocky smile, gently flicking his fingers against Leon’s tongue. “Guess we’ll see,” he rumbles, turning away and fishing a smoke from his shirt pocket. He lights it as he takes a few steps, keeping his back to the man.
Leon scorched the hell out of his fuse this time, his self control cracking in the face of the tasmanian fucking devil.
A tiny vibration of laughter, papers rustling behind him. “Need a minute?” Leon asks, cool as a fucking cucumber like he didn’t just crash his jet into the side of a mountain.
But yeah he does.
The things teased and desired sparks him with warning strikes, the growing lure of his attraction, his rivalry to Leon—the things the man could let him do just out of pride or fucking spite. It warns of a slippery slope he could crash on, pushing boundaries he has no business pushing further.
“In a hurry?” he covers instead with lazy laughter.
No one knocks him off balance like Leon does. Except Wesker—for entirely different reasons. But no less fucking potent, he’s finding out.
A heavily curious hum behind him. “Well not now.” More rustling. “Don’t mind if I fucking perve,” Leon purrs his laughter, clearly finding his other drawings, his more personal collection of past lovers recorded to his whims.
He welcomes the distraction—relaxing with his smoke and getting the fuck hold of himself.
Those drawings were never meant for anyone else to see but he won’t stop him.
Or can’t—really.
He turns, blowing smoke, Leon stretched along his desk, relaxing on his stomach and rifling through his papers. It’s kind of cute, coaxing a smile to his face—nosy little bunny.
He sighs another drag free from his lips—the man’s beautiful as hell, lithe limbs and with a feline quality to his powerful body and curious nosing in his art. Leon’s lure is still too much but tempered now with control, taming himself as he steps up to plant his free palm to that spine, caressing and indulging with touching every perfect curve.
“More specimens for study, hm?” Leon snickers and he relishes the vibrations.
“Just some things that caught my eye,” he rumbles down to the body pinned inside of his crosshairs, sucking another drag. Leon’s a puzzle he’s really struggling with—a challenge to be sure.
He huffs his smoke from his lips. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde if he’s fucking honest—times two if he hadn’t stopped himself back there.
“Well you’ve—really got an eye for quality,” Leon snickers again, tiny moans of appreciation sneaking from his lips. “Got a good looking line up here. If this is what you got hiding in your desk, it makes me real fucking curious what sexy treasures your other office holds. Makes your late night work activities a little more understandable—Jesus—there really is porn in the reports.”
Leon’s casual amusement lacks his usual judgement—a friendly temptation teasing his guard back down. He finds the man’s genuine appreciation of his more personal truths and talents warming through his bloodstream.
“No—there isn’t,” he admits through his dry throat, dragging his palm to cup along the swell of Leon’s ass, his tight slacks coating him like a silky skin. “Keep looking.” Smoke streams from his lips to dance and curl around them, letting his middle finger press and trace along Leon’s crack with every upward drag of his hand. “Maybe you’ll find something you really like.”
Leon’s silence sits heavy and rare, a damage he’s not used to existing with as the man browses through his papers.
But Leon can’t ever be truly silent—his body is always loud with life. His spine pulls even now with gentle effort, his hips shifting in tiny rolls, bouncing and almost chasing his palm with every stroke.
He smiles. It might not even be conscious—one thing he’s learned and filed is that Leon’s a fucking wiggle worm even outside of sex but especially with his pleasure. His body is never in a calm state for long, like he tries to make love to the surrounding air itself—or murder it for being in his way.
Holding Leon down through all his destruction is just a little too much fun, even when it’s a quiet violence like this.
Leon stops shuffling through the papers, lingering on the current one.
He’s not gonna find a pornographic drawing in the way he’s probably expecting.
“A bit of a different style, I see,” Leon’s voice curls with neglect and sex, his body falling still. A rough chuckle creaks from his throat. “Not—entirely convinced I make that face.”
He curves his palm to lightly squeeze one of his asscheeks. “You made it for me.”
“Hn.”
The surrounding details of the drawing were left vague with an unfinished quality, even his own hand exists as a faint, penciled phantom against the heavy detail of the side of Leon’s face.
Leon’s eyes sketched in a vacant glaze, relaxed lips, fever skin, hair wild and tangled in his fingers—violence at a stand still—pinned down to his desk that first night in his office. He needed to capture that moment before time stole the details from him.
The moment Leon trusted him.
“Yeah…like that.”
Leon’s voice drags lower, “Sure you weren’t just—imagining things?”
The subtle jab, the call out lures his lips to curve around his smoke.
He takes a drag before crushing the butt to the nearby tray past Leon’s hip. “I’m a soldier, Leon.” The smoke blows heavy with his truth and deflection. “I know and recognize every detail of a surrender.”
“...And how did it compare?”
His palm stills against Leon’s ass with the quiet sniper shot.
He’d expected offense or a smart ass remark.
“It’s Show and Tell Friday,” he rumbles and promises through his pride, rewarding the precision strike. But not without risk. “But nothing’s free, asshole.”
Leon carefully rolls in place under his hands, propping on his forearms, drawing still clutched in his hand.
His eyes are damaging ash, smoldered with sex and left for ruin.
“Well your reputation as a tactician is certainly well fucking earned, Redfield,” Leon husks, slow and measured.
“You’ve got some skills of your own, Kennedy.”
A killer on a mission and he feels it again like a pin prick to his spine.
“Come here and claim your price.”
Not even a blade could stop him from slowly leaning and planting his fist next to Leon’s ribs, the man’s neck tilting back because he already knows what he’s after. He closes his eyes but pauses, lips warming with shared breath.
An out, if Leon wants.
Leon’s breath petals across his face, “I didn’t tell you to fuck off, Chris, I said come here and take what you want.”
Gentle drags of payment then tease his mouth, making love with a growing thunder that has his knuckles trembling against the wood of the desk, a hand snaking to the back of his neck as Leon pushes and pulls up against him.
He’s paid every god damn cent owed and then some, Leon’s wet heat smothering and taming any pride or ego he could have left with a decisive victory on the field. And he asked for it, let him—lets him—roaming their lips together for as long as Leon’s willing.
Leon eases back down with one last little pull of his lips. “Satisfied?” he whispers, “Or should I keep going?”
He can’t find an acceptable way to say both—and so he claims the debt as paid. His eyes open to the teasing glitter of Leon’s ego, shiny on his lips and gaze.
Nothing he can do but smile and spill his guts to it because it’s an earned victory.
He rumbles gentle notes, “You’ve spent a lot of time on my mind. Before, during and after that night. It turned out my mind never did even an ounce of the justice you deserve.” He plucks his drawing from Leon’s grasp, watching the man’s face shift and hide with unfamiliar shades of turbulence and beautiful flush. Subtle destruction as he lays the paper back to the pile, running the curve of his finger across Leon’s jaw. “Until you showed it how.”
Leon sucks in a breath with his embarrassment but he’s quick to recover in an impressively crafted swagger of presence.
“Yeah alright, Fabio, don’t hurt yourself,” he snickers, swinging his feet to the floor and escaping his space.
He smiles with watching Leon’s own little tactical retreat—another little blow to that precious wall of Kennedy Pride. It’s interesting for his notes—the man responds to aggression and violence like it’s fucking candy but show a little tenderness and he hisses and scratches like a pissy tomcat.
Or bolts like a terrified rabbit.
Leon spins with a bit of flourish as he yanks his belt free from his slacks. “It’s one hell of a compliment coming from you, Redfield, and more than worth the price—but it’s not what we’re here for.”
He respects the hammer down even as laughter rumbles around in his throat.
What’s wrong, Leon—can’t handle romance? Or is it hearing what you don’t want to? Why did you ask, then—if you’re so afraid.
But it’s better to have the boundaries drawn and reminded. More organized and easy to control. A clear directive to follow—seemed easy when they walked into the apartment not even an hour ago.
“Just giving a guy his due,” he tells the truth. “And don’t worry, I’ve got enough problems on my plate without adding you to the mess, asshole.”
It’s sex—fantastic sex but that’s where it ends. Leon’s fun to play with but he doesn’t really have the time to deal with anything more—he’s already proving to be a bit of a nightmare one day out of the fucking week.
His skin races with a little greed for a little night terror.
Leon’s grin grows. “Now he’s getting it. And hey for the record it might’ve been a hell of a love story—the boy scout and the whore.”
He scoffs through his grin. “Christ. Is that what you call having a constant parade of plans?”
“No need to be polite.” Leon winks, discarding his belt to the carpet. “I’ll take slut—I’m an easy kind of guy like that.”
He groans and laughs—Leon can never resist low hanging fruit, the cheesy prick.
Leon retreats to the doorway. “Now c’mon—think we’ve cock teased around enough tonight. It’s about time you help me pound out a little tension. People don’t know that most of it gets carried in the ass.”
I’ll pound you into a fucking puddle if you let me.
He chases the voice and shadow, the thumps of Leon’s boots hitting the carpet in the hallway. “Must be why you’re such a carefree guy,” he teases.
A soft snicker. “Good possibility.”
The mess trails his hallway, a boot here, the other one further up, a sock and then the other, Leon leaving his messy presence with his usual flavor of pushing his organized buttons.
Almost like a reminder left for him—of who he’s dealing with.
He admits to finding it a little bit adorable as he chases Leon into his own bedroom, the light flicking on ahead of him.
Leon wanders the small, neutral tones of the room, gazing at his uniform and running his fingers along his tactical equipment spread across the dresser, his slacks loose and hanging around his hips.
“Not a bad spread. Looks comfy enough—kind of stiff,” he comments at the bed as he slips his small bottle of lube from his pocket to toss to the comforter. “What—no toy box? Tch, boy scouts for you.”
The return of the fucking mouth.
“Well how much help do you need, dickhead.” He laughs low as he sheds his shirt and boots, piling everything neat to the small laundry basket.
“Come on, Chris, we both know it’s not about help, it’s about enhancement—even the best and sexiest weapons can be upgraded.”
“Fine—fair,” he concedes, stripping the rest of his clothes as Leon noses around his open closet.
Sex toys aren’t really his style, though.
“Mind if we turn on the News?” Leon suddenly asks, gaze bouncing to his tv in the corner. “Not used to playing with my food quite this much—or this long,” he adds with a side smile. “But a bet’s a bet.”
“Could’ve said no,” he reminds him with a soft chuckle, tossing his smokes to the bedside cabinet and grabbing the tv remote, stretching onto his side of the bed and relaxing against the headboard.
But god forbid Leon willingly lose at something.
The ball game comes to life with low, pleasing noise and he checks the score scrolling along the bottom of the screen.
He flips to the News channel.
“He’s got class,” Leon hums, fingering a few of his jackets. A small snickering huff follows shortly after, plucking at the sleeve of one of his floral shirts with an almost disdain. “At first glance, anyway.”
“Ever worn one?” he defends the garish shirts, tossing the remote back to the cabinet. “They’re comfortable as hell.”
“Hn. I’d rather stick my dick in a blender.”
He snorts.
“Comfort’s overrated,” Leon sighs like he’s talking to a fashion pedestrian, slipping a pair of handcuffs to dangle in his lips.
His handcuffs—didn’t even see the theft from the dresser.
He’s not serious.
Curiosity licks into arousal.
Leon almost pours himself along the foot of the bed, shedding his slacks like a smooth snake with his movements. Smooth, sexy and impressive up until they get caught on his foot and he flaps at it a few times before they fling free.
He laughs again quietly. “Not as cool as you hoped?” he jabs as Leon crawls his way across the bed to him.
Leon mumbles and grins around the metal chain in his mouth. “Not gonna make my Greatest Hits album but you can’t win ‘em all.” He lets the cuffs free to fall cold against his stomach, hands wrapping around his thighs. “So come on, Redfield—” He yanks, leaving him flat and tempting fate with his touch and his whispers. “Or are you afraid to lose control?”
We should be.
“Are you?” he counters as Leon slithers up his torso, warm heat and soft skin, collecting the cuffs as he goes. “Fear’s a choice, we both know that. It’s how we all stay alive.”
Leon smooths his palms up his arms, forcing their hands to rest together against the headboard. “Yeah we do,” he says, trailing his lips along his jaw. “Everything’s permitted—a choice. Everything.”
“And which is it for you?” he whispers as Leon brushes their mouths together.
“Nothing’s free—not even curiosity.” Leon rumbles and laughs with quiet thunder. “Doesn’t mean we can’t get off on a little terror.”
Nothing’s free but everything is permitted.
He closes his eyes to the luring damage of Leon’s kiss and to the cold of the metal clicking around his wrists. But how far can they stretch this game of chicken when neither wants to win.
Leon’s moans warm across his lips, his tongue, drawing him closer to chaos with every swipe, with firm drags of lethal fingers back down his captive arms.
But can’t stop playing?