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Rookie Raccoon City Police Department officer Leon S. Kennedy has a big problem. In the few months since he began his new position, he was making fast friends and impressing his colleagues and superiors with his helpful nature, his positive attitude and selfless acts of service. He threw himself in front of fire at any given moment if it meant helping someone in need; whether they be a civilian or a fellow officer, he proved himself to be a reliable, trustworthy, and empathetic professional.
That isn’t the problem.
Far from it, in fact.
No, the problem is that he is madly in love with an upstairs officer who smoked way too much in the elevator, slacked on his desk duties, and possessed a smile so perfect it left a permanent impression on Leon’s brain.
It started as any innocent crush would begin: a simple chance encounter in the elevator. Leon was tasked, as part of his first day, to introduce himself to the various department heads throughout the police station, and was making his way up to the STARS office to introduce himself to the notorious Captain Albert Wesker when he stumbled across him: The man that lived permanently in his head.
He had stepped onto the elevator same as him, carrying a rather large crate bound for the armory. The man sported a tight, military-style cut with a few strands of loose hair falling across his forehead with sweat. His built arms had struggled against the box, but he maintained a firm, steady grip. A freshly lit cigarette clung to his lips and held on for dear life. When he addressed Leon, he ducked his head in a polite nod.
“Goin’ up,”
Those were the first words he said to him, and he repeated them over and over in his head every chance he got. He carried a gruff, breathless tone to his voice that rang in Leon’s ears like music. Leon remembered stumbling over his response; the ‘y-yeah’ that slipped out of his mouth as he slammed the elevator button for the second floor made him curdle with embarrassment. Still, he clung to the precious seconds he spent in that elevator.
“You’re the new guy, right?”
“Yeah- Leon Kennedy. I’m in Officer Branagh’s unit downstairs,”
“With Marv, huh? Lucky you. I’d shake your hand, but…” he had gestured to the box, “Little full, at the moment,”
To which Leon laughed in a tragically higher octave than he intended to. “No, it’s cool. Uh, if you don’t mind- I’m trying to find the STARS office…do you know..”
And there it was. That smile that flooded his stomach with butterflies and struck him through the chest. The smile even reached the man’s warm brown eyes, and Leon was held captive by them.
“I’d be in a helluva lot of trouble if I didn’t. Why don’t you tag along with me a minute? I’ll get you where you’re going.”
He could still feel the heat radiating off his cheeks from how red they turned at that sentence. He was such a fucking idiot- of course the guy would know where it was, the damn name of the office was embroidered on his goddamn perfectly toned, shaped shoulder! It would have been entirely possible for him to notice said embroidery if he hadn’t gotten so damn distracted by the curve of the light flickering in the other’s eyes. Or the peculiar way his lip curved into that smile. Or the divet his lips made to accommodate the cigarette. Or the trembling tension in his muscles as he carried the weight of the box.
True to his word, once the elevator had stopped, the man with the crate gestured for Leon to follow him, making the long stretch past the library and into the esteemed STARS office. It was only when the two entered that office that Leon’s heart would make a leap it would never return from.
“Redfield- you’re late with those casings. Stock those up and ready yourself for the flight drill.”
“Yeah, Cap’n, I’ll get right on that…”
Leon recalls his breath stopping in his throat. Redfield. He shared an elevator with Chris Fucking Redfield. Even on that first day, as part of his orientation, he was regaled with stories of the various heroic missions completed by the award-winning STARS team. He marveled at their achievement at the time, but now, the poster child for Raccoon City Heroism has burned himself forever in Leon’s psyche.
He should have known he would wind up completely hopeless.
Ever since that day, he made it his mission to sneak glances and gain proximity to the gorgeous man in the STARS office at every opportunity he could. Unit needed a run to the armory for supplies? Leon was the first to volunteer. STARS needed uniformed officers for a city crisis? Leon Scott Kennedy, at your service. Had too many leftovers after lunch? Maybe the handsome STARS officer would want an extra helping of his enchiladas- he hardly ever saw them take a break in the lounge anyway, he was probably hungry.
He was almost grateful that Chris hadn’t begun to take notice of his antics.
Or if he did, he hadn’t said a damn thing to him.
After a particularly long shift full of parking violations, entitled shoppers at strip malls, and one very creative man using a wad of pencils as a defense weapon, Leon slams his aching body through the front door of his minimally decorated downtown apartment. His schedule hardly permitted a day off to go furniture shopping, so the apartment consists of a collapsible card table with two folding chairs, a worn-out couch he found for free on a routine beat around the block, a spotty television, and a mattress with no box spring tucked in the corner of the room. It isn’t much, but it’s his.
His little cave to retreat to.
His night consists of the same routine he’s done for the last few months: microwave a frozen dinner, eat it in front of the television despite having aforementioned table and chairs, and channel surf until he finds a channel with the least invasive static pattern and let it be background noise while he strips and showers. Then, he finds himself on the couch again, wearing one of three sleep shirts and holey boxer briefs, laying fully down, staring up at the ceiling while the sounds of The Late Show with Conan O’Brien filter through the air. He never truly listens to the television, but he appreciates the minimal light the screen provides.
As he watches the speckles of dust float through the air around him, his mind starts to wander…wander to work, as it often does…then to a particular colleague of his.
He wonders what Chris’s nights at home looked like. Do they look like his? Does he have a heavier decorated apartment from his hefty STARS check? Does he, too, have a favorite flavor of Lean Cuisine, or does he actually have real meals like a normal person? Does he have a girlfriend to go home to?
Leon shakes his head. He wasn’t going to unpack all that tonight. Tonight, he would let his mind be much kinder to him.
His mind continues to wander, perusing this path he set out for himself. Images bloom in his mind of Chris. Particularly, a domestic Chris at home in his imaginary apartment. His relaxed smile. His shining brown eyes. His strong jaw peppered with three-day-old stubble he is too lazy to shave. The smell of the cigarettes he smokes. The musky smell the smoke of the cigarettes makes when paired with his cologne.
Leon’s eyes shutter closed. A hand raises up above his head to hang against the arm of the couch. The other hand, he rests on the soft mound of his relaxed belly.
The mental image swirls and morphs before Leon’s closed eyes to a different scene. This time, Chris is at his desk at the STARS office, hunched over his ever-growing pile of paperwork. His brow crinkles in frustration. Strong hands ball into a fist on his desk, and he slams it down on the hardwood. He can practically hear the snapping of the wood under his strength in his ears, and it sends a shiver down his spine.
And then suddenly, without meaning to, he hears his own voice bubble through the picture.
“Officer Redfield?” Leon’s questions reverberate through the darkened, empty office as he steps inside. Not a single other soul other than them occupied the office at this hour, as everyone else had left for the night. Save for, of course, Chris, who had fallen behind on his reports and was not permitted to leave until they were finished. “You alright in here?”
Chris turns towards the sound of his voice, pivoting around in his chair to lock eyes with Leon. His eyes refracted in the lamplight at his desk- the only light source in the room.
“Well well, if it isn’t the new meat. Looking for some extra credit, Kennedy?”
Leon laughs, a much loftier, graceful laugh than he was ever capable of producing in his real body, “Hardly, think I got more than my fair share. Just happened to pass through. Didn’t expect anyone to still be up here this late,”
Even in the low light, Chris’s smirk remains bright on his face. Leon’s breath hitches. “Seems you’ve been ‘passing through’ a lot lately. Catching up on your midnight reading in the library?”
Leon’s boots scrape against the tile floor as he inches closer to the seated officer on the other side of the room. His legs feel weightless, as if he is floating through a sea of clouds.
“Wouldn’t say that’s what I wanna be doing at midnight, if I’m honest,”
Leon’s brow furrows. His eyes remain glued shut. The hand on his belly gently glides across his smooth skin. Goosebumps rise on his tickled flesh.
Chris raises a thick eyebrow. He leans his broad back in his chair while Leon floats closer to him, stopping only once he arrives at the front of his chair. Clouding blue eyes lock onto sharp brown ones. Chris’s smirk widens.
“Oh yeah?” Chris purrs, and Leon shudders.
The goosebumps trickles up his arms, down his legs. The front of his boxers swell as blood rushes from his head down to the head of his cock.
“Then what do you want, rookie?” The question sounds more like a challenge, a dare, than a legitimate inquiry. Chris is challenging him, indeed. Challenging him, even in his fantasies, to come to terms with what he really thinks of him, to stop lying to himself about what he truly desires.
Leon, ever the bold go-getter, leans himself fully into the seated man. He reaches over and grips hold of the armrests on either side of the man’s broad frame to balance himself. When he does, he practically hovers his body over Chris. Showing it off. Pushing himself into his space.
Inviting himself into his orbit.
“Think that’s a bit obvious by now,”
Leon hears a huff burst from Chris, followed by, “Never been the best at subtlety. Why don’t you say it for me instead? You know…” Brown eyes wander away from his face, down to the plump curvature of Leon’s lips, then move back to their original position. Then, with a growl he’s only heard when he’s barked orders at the crew: “…with that pretty mouth?”
Leon gasped. The hand above his head comes down from its perch on the armrest to blanket over his mouth. The hand on his belly stills for a moment at the hem of his boxer briefs.
Leon’s mouth hangs open while he leans into Chris. He inhales his smokey essence. Lips dance across lips. In this perfect world, however, he knows exactly what to say, and exactly the way Chris would want him to say it:
“My pretty mouth’s all yours,”
A sweating hand clamped down on the hem of his boxer shorts.
Chris’s reaction is instantaneous. He easily closes the gap between them, molding his open- mouth onto Leon’s, wet and sloppy and hot. Tongue soaked in the taste of tobacco and mint clouds Leon’s senses and he lets him invade him, occupy his mouth, explore what is rightfully his now. Hands originally leaning back against the desk now grip his forearms on the armrests and he stands without disconnecting, and Leon finds himself rising up into the air and onto his feet by the sheer intoxicating strength of the man of his dreams.
A whimper echoes through the hollows of Chris’s throat. He aches in his arms, fighting the desire to wrap them around the taller man’s neck and pull him down to him until they’re sunken into the floor in a heap of tangled limbs. But it seems Chris- and by association, Leon- has other ideas in mind for their little rendezvous. Painfully, Chris parts from him, leaving only centimeters between their saliva-coated lips. Leon is nearly panting, his knees shaking and his feet stumbling from underneath him.
If he was like this just from a kiss, what else was in store for him?
Chris cocks his head as gleaming brown eyes stare down at the mess of a man cradled in his grasp. His voice is hoarse with saliva he swallows from his mouth, “So that’s one of your holes that’s mine now, rookie…tell me…”
Leon’s breathing catches in his lungs; his chest can hardly expand to its full diameter that he needs it to. The barrier had broken, and the hand roaming across his belly made it all the way past the impregnable barrier of his boxer shorts, and fingers gently caress the fine hair that lines his upper thighs. He drills his eyes further shut. The hand over his mouth forces him to swallow a soft whimper.
In a snap, Chris uses his finesse to spin them both around, pressing Leon forward until his back knees meet the edge of the desk. With a firm but gentle shove, Leon falls back against the heavy wooden desk, no doubt slamming into various office supplies strewn about the messy workstation. His eyes glass over as they fall onto the other officer’s massive body, and Chris looms over his rapidly deteriorating form.
The grin Leon’s brain conjured up for him to enjoy would permanently engrave itself into his DNA.
“Got any more holes I can take off your hands?”
Leon’s tongue rolls out his mouth, coating his drying lips in a new layer of spit. No matter how fast or hard he takes a breath he can’t catch up, and he finds himself panting like an overexerted animal. And the man had hardly even touched him yet. Wordlessly, shaking hands moved to his own dark blue uniform shirt to pluck each button free from its confines. The first, then the second, then the third, until the entire uniform shirt fell open, revealing his bare chest and soft stomach to the Herculean man cascading over him. Chris’s eyes won’t leave him the entire time; he drinks in the sight of him like a dying man in the desert. Hunger flashes through them like a lightning bolt.
Despite the pressure, he still manages to volley back a coy smirk to the officer, tilting his head to the side to mirror the other.
“I’m at your service, sir…all of me,”
The tip of Leon’s cock twitches against its cotton imprisonment. Teeth sunk into the bottom flesh of his lips. His hips slowly start to sway against the couch cushions. The static of the television electrifies the air around him.
All semblance of control collapses before Leon’s eyes. Chris dives into the meal set out before him like a rabid animal. He scrambles to throw a knee up on his desk to give him the leverage he needs to crash his lips back onto Leon’s, taking his mouth with his lips, his tongue, his teeth, any tool he has at his disposal. Leon lays and takes it, letting himself be captured. Invites a maddened tongue once again into his mouth to explore every inch it could reach from the ridges clinging to the roof of his mouth to down his throat. Crystal blue eyes roll in the back of skulls when Chris’s weight presses against his bare chest, fully enveloping him into the heat of his new destiny.
Frantic mouths part to find new respite on the fresh skin of his jaw when Chris pulls the skin into his mouth and sucks, emitting a groan from underneath him. He moves to his ear, licking a thick stripe against the shell of cartilage pressing against him. Strong, burly hands tear through the green STARS vest and white shirt clinging for dear life on his thick torso, revealing a chest chiseled from the hands of Renaissance artists. Leon only catches the fleetingest of glimpses before Chris begins his descent down his body.
Sharp canines sink into the creamy skin of his neck, and Leon moans a sultry hymn unheard by any human ears- and unlike any sound he ever managed to produce inside his apartment’s four walls. Chris sucks at the skin, bent on leaving a bruise so bright and noticeable, Leon’s entire squadron will spot it from a mile away. Bites on his neck travels further down the expanse of skin in front of the brunette; he litters the younger officer in kisses, bites, licks to his clavicle, down the intent of his chest and to his pecks. He captures a nipple into his mouth and gives a particularly hard suck, wringing a yelp out of Leon. In turn, Leon arches his back to meet the assault on his chest with an enthusiastic fervor, rolling his head back and creating a wanton rainbow for Chris.
His new commander.
Another gasp cracks through Leon’s bitten lips. The hand circling his hips and thighs finally breaks the barrier and strokes against the front facing side of his cock. Coarse fingers trace over the bulging vein deep in his skin and he sighs breathlessly. Silently begging for it to be another’s fingers- Chris’s fingers- on him instead.
“Fu-ck…”
“Fuck- yes-” Leon’s languid moans pour out his open mouth while sharp canines scrape and bite against the protruding bones of his ribs in his chest. He feels like Chris is truly devouring him alive with each unhinge of his jaw on his flesh. The growls and groans emitting from the older man on top of him makes his cock twitch violently, now painfully pressing against his black tactical pants. He squirms against Chris’s frame, desperate for friction or freedom or anything to satiate his boiling need in his veins.
“Goddamn…” Chris breathed against Leon’s stomach, tracing his trail of dirty blond hair surrounding his belly button with a long, slow stroke of his tongue. “Fuck, Kennedy- you this easy for everyone that sees you like this?”
Leon’s laugh is breathy, sloppy and lazy out his throat, “God no- just you…”
Leon feels Chris’s back shutter, almost vibrate against him, and precum pools deep inside his underwear. A thick arm reaches up, and a calloused hand clutches the side of his head to lob him back up to look at him.
“Let’s keep it that way,”
“Yes, sir…”
He closes his fist around the throbbing head of his cock, squeezing it gently, lovingly. Testing the waters of how quickly he wants his rendezvous to end. He wonders how Chris would touch him- would he take his time too? Would he adore his body in the way he sees him in his mind? Would he tease him for how red his cheeks get when he grabs himself?
“Good,” Chris crawls back up the length of his body to plant another hot, wet kiss on his lips, pulling back before Leon could so much as grind against his front, “‘Cause once I’m inside you, you’re really mine,” Eyes capture Leon’s gaze and he trembles before the intense stare, “Think you can handle all that?”
Not even his soul moves for a moment.
The point of no return.
It’s up to him now what happens from here.
He squeezes his cock again, coating his hand in precum and sliding it down the length of his shaft.
“Make me yours, Chris…Please…”
Chris’s smile embeds itself into his soul. That goddamn handsome smile even takes his breath away within the confines of his own mind. In a flash, he removes himself from Leon’s chest, and before he could mourn the phantom warmth leaving him, hands grasp his tactical pants and pull them straight down his trembling legs, buttons and zippers snapping and fraying as he does so. He moans out in surprise as his cock is sprung free from the clutches of his boxers- familiar hands pull down the holey boxer briefs down to his knees, exposing his slickened cock to the dusty apartment air- and his pants are unceremoniously tossed to the side in the room. He doesn’t move to cover himself, however, because Chris’s eyes are on him in an instant. The older man coos, and he runs a hand down the twitching appendage.
Leon arches into the touch, immediately desperate for more. “Shit- Chris-!”
Chris’s laugh soothes his whimpers. His warm, textured hand wraps itself around his cock, cradling the head and sliding a thumb over the leaking tip. “Really packing down here, ain’t you, rookie?” He spreads the precum all around the tip and glides his hand down to the base, tightens his grip, and pulls back up in one fluid motion.
Said rookie cries out and rolls his hips to the beat of Chris’s squeezes. It isn’t enough- he needs more, he needs his grip underneath his skin, his flesh, his bones.
Leon’s hips lift off the couch cushions and into his hand while he pumps himself. His other hand anchors him by gripping the back cushion of the couch. His knees shake, and his toes curl.
It isn’t enough. It isn’t enough.
Chris grabs hold of Leon’s cock from the hilt and gently, teasingly, pats it against the bulge of his stomach. He grins even wider at the puff of light embarrassment Leon throws up at him in response. The glint in his eyes told Leon that he enjoyed watching him squirm underneath him. Where he belongs.
Using his other hand, Chris maneuvers his waistband down his taut ass, shimmying his pants down to his ankles, alongside his boxers. Temporarily letting go of Leon’s cock, he uses both hands to grab hold of his knees and spread his toned legs, hooking them up on either side of his hips. He steps closer, and Leon feels the press of his presence against the most intimate parts of himself. He sinks back further into the desk’s hardwood.
His other hand leaves the couch, and he trails a line between his legs down past his balls, to echo against his puckered hole. He whimpers softly against his clenched teeth.
Chris takes hold of one of his spread thighs, and with his other hand, raises his own thick, hard cock and presses it against Leon’s. His hips roll lazily, smoothly; hardened flesh on top of hardened flesh, grinding and chaffing. Leon can feel his length and girth against it and he moans.
“Like what I’ve got too?” Chris’s breathless voice is sin in his ear, and his legs unconsciously spread even wider. His hole, slickened in his fantastical realm after already being prepared for such a scenario, twitches and aches, silently begging the rest of his body to respond in kind to its pleas. “You want it inside you, Kennedy?”
“Yes Chris- Please-” All shred of confidence he built up inside his own brain melted into the cold reality. Fingers lubricated with his own slick ghost over his entrance, dripping in anticipation for the inevitable answer to come. Toned legs shake the boxers all the way down to the ankles, and a leg hoists itself up on the back of the couch. Anything to get as delicious of a stretch as what he imagines in his mind.
Strong fingers reach down between Leon’s spread legs and spreads his cheeks open, nice and wide for him. Brown eyes fixate on just how little Leon’s body resists his invasive touches; a pleased sigh rattles his chest and Leon’s heart flutters in his ribs. Stepping closer, Chris grasps hold of himself to the hilt and adjusts. Lines himself up with the tight, slick ring of muscle. Catches Leon’s eyes and, once again, flashes another heartstopping smile.
The tip enters him without so much as a hitch and Leon’s scream echo through the walls of his skull.
Slick fingers slowly slip slow, deep into his tight hole. The prep work he did in the shower paid incredible dividends to add to the experience. His head slams back against the couch’s armrest. It isn’t enough.
Chris bottoms out within seconds, pressing himself inside to the hilt. Skin slaps against skin in a lewd soundtrack and Leon cannot contain himself. He grips the desk with as much strength as his hands could carry. He feels like he is being split in two, full to his ribs, and he feels so good. He wants to be good. Wants to be good for Chris. Chris leans himself down onto the desk, looming once again over Leon’s exposed form, anchoring himself by placing his hands beside Leon’s on the desk. His biceps eclipse his in every way imaginable.
“Fu-ck, Leon,” Chris’s pleasured groans shot through his spine. His name. His first name finally escapes his lips, and he soars into the air like a eagle in flight. Chris’s hips retract for just a moment before he pushes back in, long and slow as he adjusts to the tightness, “So goddamn tight- shit…So good…”
“Fuck Chris…Yes…” His fingers pump in and out long and slow. Stretching him with each press inside of himself. His other hand furiously squeezed and pumped his cock in time with his thrusts. He is lost in a sea of sensations he forgot the names of a long time ago.
Gradually, Chris’s movements sped up- long and languid movements soon turned vicious, and Chris slammed his body into the desk with each thrust heightening in brutality. Grunts and groans spurt from him despite his futile attempts to silence them against Leon’s skin, but it only served as an echochamber directly into Leon’s ears. Leon, in turn, wanted Chris to hear him. Wanted to hear his wanton confessions to him with each pound to his insides. Chris! Chris! Yes! Fuck! Was he saying that in his head? Was he saying it for real? Did it matter now?A shaking hand raises up from the desk to cling to Chris’s back, nails digging into the ripped flesh in his grip. Chris’s teeth scrape against Leon’s purpling bruise.
Leon emits a loud sob once his fingers graze his prostate buried deep inside him. A graze quickly turns to a solid beat against the flesh. His vision is already blurring, his tongue is tying. Beads of sweat cling to his forehead, his chest, his arms. But it’s not enough- it won’t ever be enough for him.
He needs more.
He needs Chris.
“That’s it, rookie, take it” Chris sings in his ear, his cock pounding into his prostate like it was made for it. His tongue desperately runs over the curvature of his ear. A hand rushes from the table to wrap itself in Leon’s tawny locks and pull, exposing more of his neck. Leon lets him, pleads for him to, “Take it so well for me-” each sentence is punctuated with a hard thrust into his trembling body, “Look at you, fuck- not gonna last- if you keep feeling this good,”
“Please-Cum in me, Chris…” His pleads scrape the walls of his empty apartment. He begs that he is heard in the movie playing in his mind. He only picks up his pace faster, his own climax swiftly around the corner.
He hears him. He hears him and relishes in the words that hit his ears. Chris starts a punishing pace, fucking into Leon with the fervor of a heated animal. The desk stutters across the floor and splinters with the pressure of their bodies joining together. Skin slaps against skin in a delicious tempo keeping to the beat of Leon’s slamming heartbeat. His screams and moans, an outpour of his devotion to his new keeper, the man he longs to be devoured by. He presses Chris to his body, wrapping his legs around his waist and pressing him to himself and he is deep inside his core when he finally lovingly cums. He splatters his insides with his white hot seed, and Leon follows swiftly afterwards, untouched, coating them both in his essence.
“CHRIS!”
Stars explode in his vision. One more pump of his cock and he splatters cum all over his exposed thighs, stomach, and hands. Droplets are even caught in their trajectory on the back of the couch. Leon pants heavily into the night air, and he opens his eyes. The popcorn ceiling stares right back at him, as unflinching as the passage of time. He turns his head for the first time in a while, twinging in pain at the stiffness of his neck. Conan is mid-conversation with Mira Sorvino.
Everything is as it was before. The version of Chris he dreamt of has vanished from his sight.
But not fully erased; rather, archived to be pulled out on a rainy day.
His breath finally catches up to him as he allows himself to take a deep breath- in through the mouth, out through the mouth too- and he wipes his dirtied hand on his thighs. Perhaps having a shower first didn’t turn out to be the best idea, but he can’t afford to keep running the shower so often.
As his leg sank back down to the couch, a familiar ringing sounded from the belt of his pants thrown across the room. Leon recognizes that ringing as the shrill tune of his work-issued Motorola Timeport. Shit! He scrambles up to his feet, grabbing his ratty boxer briefs from the floor and hopping into them, yanking them back onto his waist and throwing himself across the room to the pile of dirty laundry. He finally locates his utility belt the phone was strapped to, pries it from the holder and hits the ‘Talk’ button.
“Go for Kennedy,”
“Leon? S’at you?”
Leon gasps.
No, there’s no way.
“O-Officer Redfield?”
A small laugh emits from the shitty speaker, “Hey, I told you, that’s Chris to you. Listen, I-uh- I’m really sorry to bother you this late-”
No. Bother him.
Bother him any hour of any day until time stops.
“No, no- not like I was doing much anyway. What’s going on?”
“Listen, I promise I won’t make this a habit, but, uh-..” there is a short pause on the other like, like the other is trying to find the right, professional words to say, “Kinda ran into a bit of a situation at the station here. Wesker’s got me staying late inventorying this fucking ammo shipment by hand and I completely lost track- if I gotta look at one more casing I’m gonna go mental,”
“Jesus,” Leon chuffs a laugh. He hopes it wasn’t loud enough to be detected on the other line.
“Yeah, I’ll need him after this. So this is my roundabout way of asking- if you’ve got an hour to spare, if you wouldn’t mind lending me your eyes for a bit. And as payment, how’s…i dunno, a few beers on the west side sound? Got places down there open till 4, if we live that long. My treat, of course,”
Nails sink into the outside flesh of his hand. To ensure he is awake and not actually dreaming. Words fail to reach his mouth in a timely manner- only stutters that sound like a buffering connection.
“Did I lose you?” the sexy voice on the phone calls for him once again, which is enough to rattle Leon from his dazed state enough to reply back,
“Yeah- sorry- was-” he glances down at the pile of laundry at his feet, “-looking for my uniform shirt. Absolutely, I’ll- I’ll be there in ten,”
“You’re a lifesaver, buddy. See you soon- drive safe, okay?”
“‘Course. See you then,”
The line cut dead, and Leon stands, utility belt in his hand.
Buddy. He is upgraded from ‘rookie’ to ‘buddy’ in just a single sentence. And as he scrambled to grab all the other parts of his uniform, contrary to his fellow officer’s desire, he genuinely- desperately- hopes a habit is formed from these last-minute requests. Requests he will always answer, as often as he can, and whenever they arise.
“At your service, sir.”