Work Text:
Chris Redfield wiped down the polished counter with a damp rag, his movements rhythmic, practiced, and entirely mechanical. He wore a crisp black button down shirt with the sleeves rolled tightly up to his biceps, the dark fabric straining against the massive, broad contours of his chest and shoulders. To the patrons sitting at the high top stools, he looked like a man who belonged behind the heavy oak shield of the bar, quiet, and perfectly capable of handling anyone who had one too many top shelf Liquor.
But inside, Chris’s mind was calculating numbers.
Five hundred more dollars. That was all he needed. If he picked up two more weekend night shifts this month, he’d finally have enough saved up to purchase the vintage, pristine leather and chrome motorcycle jacket he’d seen in the window of that boutique downtown. The one Leon had stared at for twenty minutes straight during their anniversary walk last month, his blue eyes wide with a rare, boyish longing before he looked at the price tag and dragged Chris away, muttering about rent and utilities.
Leon deserved that jacket. Leon deserved the world.
Chris smiled faintly to himself, his expression softening as he thought of his boyfriend. They had been together for a year now, a quiet, stable year of shared dinners, messy laundry, and sleepy morning kisses. For Chris, that year was nothing short of a miracle.
Five years ago, Chris wouldn't have believed he was capable of holding someone’s hand without flinching. Five years ago, his heart had been a smoking crater left behind by Albert Wesker.
Wesker had been Chris’s universe. They had been together for nearly four years during Chris’s early twenties a turbulent, consuming, intoxicating relationship that ended in a single, devastating afternoon. Wesker had walked into their apartment, packed a single leather suitcase, and left without saying a single word. No explanation. No screaming match. No reason. Just a cold, analytical glance from behind his signature dark sunglasses before the front door clicked shut forever.
The abandonment had fractured Chris. It left him with a deep, paralyzing trauma about intimacy, convincing him that he was fundamentally unlovable, that anyone who claimed to care for him would eventually realize he was a burden and disappear without warning. He had built a fortress around himself, shutting down his emotions, drowning his thoughts in heavy lifting and manual labor.
Until Leon S. Kennedy had systematically, patiently, and gently dismantled every single brick of Chris’s fortress. He hadn't pushed, he had just stayed. When Chris woke up in a cold sweat from nightmares of being abandoned, Leon was there, his strong arms wrapping around Chris’s thick torso from behind, anchoring him to the mattress, whispering that he wasn't going anywhere. Leon’s love was a steady, burning hearth compared to Wesker’s unpredictable, volatile wildfire.
But Chris’s fear hadn't entirely vanished. It manifested in small, foolish ways like right now.
Chris hadn't told Leon he was working a second job as a bartender on the weekends. Leon thought Chris was picking up extra shifts at the shipping warehouse where he worked his day job. Chris was terrified that if Leon found out he was working in a high end, sleazy nightclub, pouring drinks for wealthy singles and catching the eye of half the client, Leon would get angry. Chris feared the jealousy, feared the arguments, feared that a single crack in their perfect dynamic would send Leon running out the door just like Wesker had. So, he lied. He kept it a secret, telling himself it was just until he bought the jacket.
"Hey, big guy. Less daydreaming, more pouring. The VIP section on the second tier just ordered another round of old fashioneds."
The voice belonged to Jill, the floor manager and a close friend of Chris’s who had scored him the gig. She gave him a sympathetic look, tossing a fresh bottle of bitters onto his station. "You look exhausted, Chris. You sure you can handle the midnight rush?"
"I'm fine, Jill. Just thinking about the end goal," Chris said, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble. He reached for a mixing glass, his large, calloused hands expertly measuring out the bourbon and sugar.
"Leon's a lucky guy," Jill murmured with a smile before disappearing back into the crowd.
Chris picked up the tray of drinks, stepping out from behind the service bar to deliver them to the VIP servers. As he walked past the heavy velvet curtains separating the main floor from the private alcoves, his eyes instinctively scanned the crowd. It was a habit he couldn't break.
He didn't notice the sleek, handsome blonde man sitting in the shadowy corner of the upper balcony, hidden behind a decorative partition.
But Leon noticed him.
Leon S. Kennedy froze, his glass of Scotch halting halfway to his lips. His sharp blue eyes narrowed, cutting through the flashing purple and blue strobe lights to lock onto the massive silhouette standing near the service station below.
Chris?
Leon’s heart hammered against his ribs. There was no mistaking those broad, boulder like shoulders, the thick column of his neck, or the rugged, handsome profile of his jawline. Chris was wearing a black uniform shirt that fitted him like a second skin, expertly navigating the crowded floor with a tray of drinks.
Leon’s mind raced, a dangerous mixture of confusion, shock, and a sudden, hot spike of betrayal flooding his chest. A warehouse shift? He told me he was supervising a late-night freight delivery on the docks.
Why would Chris lie to him? Why was he working at a nightclub, of all places, looking painfully attractive while serving drinks to a sea of handsy patrons?
"Leon? Are you listening to me?"
The smooth, melodic voice snapped Leon back to his immediate reality. He tore his gaze away from Chris, looking across the small, secluded table at the woman sitting opposite him.
Ada Wong looked effortlessly elegant, wearing a dark silk trench coat over a cocktail dress, a cigarette unlit between her manicured fingers. She was Leon’s ex girlfriend from his university days, a relationship that had ended mutually and amicably years ago, morphing into a strictly professional alliance. Leon worked as a corporate investigator, and Ada was a high level private security consultant who occasionally traded sensitive corporate data with him.
Tonight, Leon was meeting Ada to acquire a proprietary data drive for his latest fraud investigation. It was purely business, entirely transactional.
But Leon hadn't told Chris about the meeting.
Chris loathed the very mention of Ada’s name. It wasn't because of anything Ada had done; it was because of Chris’s deeply rooted trauma. Chris’s past with Wesker had left him incredibly insecure about "exes." The idea of Leon spending time with a beautiful woman he used to love triggered Chris’s deep seated fear of incompetence, making him spiral into anxiety that Leon would realize Ada was a better match and leave him. To avoid causing Chris unnecessary panic and emotional distress, Leon had chosen to handle the meeting in secret, planning to slip back into their bed before morning without Chris ever knowing he had breathed the same air as Ada.
And now, both of them were caught in a web of protective, foolish lies.
"Leon," Ada repeated, her sharp, calculating eyes following the direction of his previous gaze, landing squarely on the massive bartender below. A slow, knowing smirk curled the corner of her lips. "Well, well. It seems the domestic paradise has a few hidden basements. Isn't that your boyfriend?"
"Shut up, Ada," Leon muttered, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a dangerous edge. He leaned back into the shadows of the booth, his eyes glued to Chris, tracking every move the larger man made. "Just give me the data drive so I can get out of here."
"Oh, don't be so hasty," Ada murmured, leaning forward, deliberately resting her chin on her hand. "Aren't you curious why your devoted mechanic is pouring drinks in a den of iniquity at one in the morning? He looks rather... fetching in that shirt. I imagine he gets quite a lot of tips."
Leon’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. The jealousy was sudden and toxic, a protective, possessive territoriality that made him want to walk down there, grab Chris by his collar, and pull him out of the building. But he couldn't. If he confronted Chris, he’d have to explain why he was sitting in a dark booth with Ada Wong. They were deadlocked.
Down on the main floor, Chris returned to his station behind the bar, entirely unaware of the blue eyes burning holes into his back from the upper tier. He picked up his rag and began wiping down the counter again, trying to shake a sudden, inexplicable chill that had just run down his spine.
"A martini, Christopher. Dry. Three olives."
The voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It cut through the thumping bass of the club like a razor blade slicing through silk.
Chris froze. The rag slipped from his fingers, landing with a soft, wet thud against the mahogany. The blood drained from his face so fast his vision swam for a fraction of a second. His breath hitched, a cold, suffocating weight settling over his chest, trapping the air in his lungs.
Slowly, with a dread that made his knees tremble, Chris lifted his head.
Standing on the other side of the bar, bathed in the bruised purple light of the neon sign, was Albert Wesker.
He hadn't changed a bit in five years. He still wore a flawless, tailored black suit that cost more than Chris made in six months. His pale, sharp features were as elegant and predatory as ever, and his eyes were hidden behind his signature midnight dark sunglasses, reflecting the flashing lights of the dance floor.
"Albert," Chris breathed, his voice barely a whisper, completely stripped of its usual gruff authority. The word felt like ash in his mouth.
"It has been a long time, Christopher," Wesker said smoothly, his tone dripping with an affected, icy elegance. He rested his long, slender fingers on the edge of the bar, leaning in just enough to breach Chris’s personal space. "I must admit, I didn't expect to find you working in a place like this. A bartender? How... pedestrian. I thought you had higher aspirations."
Chris’s hands gripped the edge of the inner counter to keep them from shaking. The ghost of his trauma flared to life, a roaring fire of inadequacy, shame, and fear. Why was he here? Why now, after five years of absolute silence? Chris felt like he was twenty-two again, small, helpless, and entirely at the mercy of the man who had broken his soul.
"What do you want, Wesker?" Chris managed to ground out, his voice shaking despite his best efforts to harden it. "I'm working. If you want a drink, order it. Otherwise, move along."
Wesker chuckled, a low, smooth sound that sent a shiver of pure dread down Chris’s spine. "Still so defensive. Still so quick to anger. You haven't changed at all, have you? You're still that same fragile boy underneath all that muscle."
Up on the balcony, Leon’s entire body went rigid.
He didn't know who the man in the black suit was from his face, but he knew the body language. He saw the way Chris had instantly shrunk, the way his shoulders had hitched, the way his massive frame had gone completely tense and submissive the moment that man approached the bar. Leon saw the stranger reach across the counter, his pale fingers brushing against the edge of Chris’s sleeve.
Leon’s eyes flared with an icy, lethal rage.
"Who is that?" Leon asked, his voice deathly quiet, a tone Ada had never heard him use before.
Ada peered over the railing, her smirk fading into a look of genuine, clinical intrigue. "Oh. That’s Albert Wesker. I didn't know he was back in the city. He’s the one who... well, the one who broke your boyfriend's heart years ago, Leon. The ex."
The word ex exploded in Leon’s brain like a grenade.
Leon stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor, catching the attention of a few nearby patrons. He didn't care. He didn't look at Ada as he bypassed the table, his stride purposeful, dangerous, his hands curling into tight fists as he headed for the stairs.
Down at the bar, Wesker didn't need to look up to know Leon was coming. He had cataloged Leon’s presence the moment he entered the club; a man of Wesker’s intelligence didn't walk into an establishment without mapping every player. He knew exactly who Leon Kennedy was the new boyfriend, the investigator, the man who had repaired what Wesker had thrown away.
And Wesker felt a twisted, territorial urge to break it again.
"You know, Christopher," Wesker murmured, his hand sliding further across the wood, his long fingers deliberately capturing Chris’s wrist. The touch was cold, precise, and entirely theatrical. "I've occasionally thought about you over the years. About how sweet you used to be before you got so... unmanageable. I wonder if you still cry the same way when you're pushed to your limits."
"Don't touch me," Chris choked out, his throat dry, his mind spiraling into a panic attack. He wanted to pull his arm back, but his muscles felt like lead, trapped in the amber of his old trauma. He was terrified Wesker would say something more, terrified of the memories flooding his brain.
"Let go of him."
The voice didn't come from Chris. It came from right behind Wesker, cold, heavy, and vibrating with an absolute promise of violence.
Chris’s head snapped up, his brown eyes widening in pure, unadulterated horror as he looked past Wesker’s shoulder.
Leon stood there. He had swapped his usual casual jacket for a sharp, dark coat, his blonde hair falling slightly into his eyes, but his gaze was entirely fixed on Wesker’s hand on Chris’s wrist. His expression was a mask of pure, possessive fury.
"Leon?" Chris whispered, his voice cracking, his heart completely stopping. Oh god. He’s here. He caught me. He knows I lied. Panic, thick and suffocating, clawed at Chris’s throat.
Wesker didn't flinch. Slowly, deliberately, he let his fingers slide off Chris’s wrist, turning around to face Leon with a mocking, smooth smile. He adjusted his cuffs, entirely unbothered by the younger man's lethal aura.
"Ah. Mr. Kennedy, I presume," Wesker said smoothly. "The current caretaker. I was just reminding Christopher of old times. We were just discussing how some habits are... impossible to break."
Wesker reached back, his hand moving with agonizing slowness, his fingers lightly tracing the side of Chris’s thick neck, his thumb brushing over the stubble of Chris’s jawline. It was a blatant, explicit provocation, a display meant entirely to drive Leon over the edge.
And it worked perfectly.
Leon didn't say another word to Wesker. He stepped forward, his body moving with a fluid, terrifying speed. He didn't strike Wesker; instead, he bypassed the older man entirely, reaching across the wide mahogany bar to grip Chris by the collar of his uniform shirt. With a sudden, immense display of leverage and strength, Leon pulled Chris forward, forcing the larger man’s chest against the outer edge of the bar.
"We're leaving. Right now," Leon growled, his voice a low, gravelly command that brooked absolutely no argument.
"Leon, wait I can explain" Chris stammered, his mind in a complete tailspin. He was caught between the terror of Wesker’s return and the sudden, overwhelming dominance of his boyfriend’s fury.
"I said, now, Chris," Leon repeated, his blue eyes dark, burning with a possessive authority that completely pinned Chris in place. Leon’s grip on his collar tightened, pulling him slightly higher. "Vault the bar. Or I'm coming back there to drag you out myself."
Chris swallowed hard, his large body trembling. To the patrons watching, it was a shocking sight—the massive, muscular bartender completely yielding to a smaller, leaner blonde man. But to Chris, Leon’s anger wasn't something to fight; it was a heavy, suffocating wave that left him entirely powerless. Chris nodded weakly, his submissive nature in their relationship taking over completely under the weight of Leon’s command.
Chris turned, throwing his heavy legs over the counter, vaulting the bar with a clumsy, panicked movement. The moment his boots hit the floor on the outer side, Leon’s hand descended onto his wrist, his fingers digging into Chris’s skin in a bruising, iron grip.
Leon turned his head slightly, giving Wesker a single, icy glare. "If you ever look at him again, I'll destroy your life piece by piece. Try me."
Wesker just chuckled, leaning back against the bar as Leon pulled the massive mechanic toward the exit, his stride aggressive and unyielding.
As they stormed past the VIP stairs, Chris’s eyes, wide with panic, flicked upward for a fraction of a second.
And there, standing by the railing, watching them go with a neutral, calm expression, was Ada Wong.
Chris’s heart completely shattered. Ada. Leon was at the club with Ada. The lies were on both sides, the betrayal ran deep, and Chris felt the cold, familiar hand of his old trauma wrapping around his throat, whispering that this was the end. The fortress had collapsed, and everything was about to burn.
The drive back to their shared apartment was a nightmare of absolute silence.
Leon drove with a terrifying, precise aggression, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, the engine of his sedan roaring through the rain, empty streets. Chris sat in the passenger seat, his massive frame curled inward as much as possible, his hands clamped tightly between his knees to hide their violent shaking.
Chris wanted to speak. He wanted to scream, to cry, to explain about the jacket, about the money, about how he had only lied because he loved Leon so much he was terrified of losing him. But every time he looked at Leon’s rigid, unyielding jaw, the cold fire in his blue eyes, the words died in his throat.
And then there was Ada. Chris’s mind kept flashing back to her image on the balcony. Why was Leon meeting his ex girlfriend in a dark club? Had Leon finally realized Chris was too broken, too plagued by his past, and decided to go back to someone easier?
By the time the car slammed to a halt in the underground garage of their building, Chris was on the verge of a full panic attack. His breathing was shallow, his chest heaving under his black shirt.
Leon shut off the engine, pulled the key out with a sharp click, and got out of the car without a word. Chris hurried after him, his heavy boots dragging against the concrete, following the blonde man into the elevator. The silence inside the metallic box was suffocating, the tension so thick Chris could hear the rapid, frantic thudding of his own heart.
The moment the apartment door clicked shut behind them, the storm erupted.
Chris turned around, his hands raised, his eyes wide and bright with unshed tears. "Leon, please just let me explain, I swear to God it's not what you think—"
"Explain what, Chris?" Leon turned around, tossing his coat onto the floor with a violent motion. He strode toward Chris, his steps predatory, his body radiating a raw, dark authority that filled the entire living room. "Explain why you lied to me? Why you told me you were lifting crates at the warehouse when you were actually wearing a tight shirt, pouring drinks for strangers, and letting your ex lover stroke your face in a crowded club?"
"I didn't let him!" his voice cracking. He backed up until his spine hit the hallway wall, his massive frame trapped between the drywall and the oncoming force of his boyfriend. "He showed up out of nowhere! I didn't know he’d be there, Leon! I swear to you, I haven't seen him in five years!"
"But you lied about the job, Chris," Leon said, stepping directly into Chris’s personal space, his chest almost touching Chris’s broad pectorals. He didn't touch him yet, but his shadow completely swallowed the larger man. "You’ve been sneaking out on weekends. You’ve been keeping secrets from me. Why? You think I’m an idiot? You think I wouldn't notice you slipping out of bed?"
"I did it for you!" He looked completely undone, his chest heaving, his hands clutching the front of his own shirt. "I needed the money, Leon! I wanted to buy you that leather jacket from the boutique... the one you wanted. I didn't have enough saved up from my day job, and Jill offered me the bar shifts. I knew you’d be mad if you found out I was working at a club, I knew you’d think... I was terrified you’d leave me if we started fighting about it!"
Leon froze. The raw fury in his blue eyes flickered, replaced for a fraction of a second by a profound shock. His gaze dropped down to Chris’s shaking hands, then back up to the older man’s tear-stained face.
"A jacket?" Leon whispered, his voice losing some of its sharp edge, though the intensity remained.
"Yes! A jacket!" his head dropping forward, his forehead resting against Leon’s shoulder as his strength completely deserted him. He felt so small, so pathetic, a massive block of muscle crying over a stupid lie. "I just wanted to give you something nice. I wanted to make you happy. And then... then Wesker walked in, and I couldn't move, Leon. I was so scared. I felt like everything was happening all over again."
Chris’s voice cracked into a whisper, his broad shoulders shaking violently as he slumped against the wall. "And then I saw you on the balcony. With Ada. And I thought... I thought you were leaving me anyway. Because I'm broken. Because I'm a liar."
Hearing those words, hearing the deep insecurity that still plagued Chris’s beautiful soul, shattered the last remnants of Leon’s anger, replacing it with a fierce, burning, protective possessiveness.
Leon reached up, his hands strong and unyielding as he grabbed Chris’s face, forcing the larger man to lift his head. Leon’s thumbs wiped away the tears on Chris’s cheeks, his grip tight, dominant, but entirely grounding.
"Look at me, Chris," Leon commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rumble right against Chris’s lips. "Look at me right now."
Chris blinked through his tears, his brown eyes wide, fixed entirely on the blonde man.
"First of all," Leon said, his voice firm, leaving absolutely no room for doubt. "I was meeting Ada for work. She had a data drive for my investigation. It was strictly business, and the only reason I didn't tell you is because I knew you’d spiral into anxiety about her being my ex. I was trying to protect your peace of mind, which was stupid. We both lied to protect each other, and it was stupid."
Chris’s breath hitched, a faint spark of relief cutting through his panic. "For work?"
"For work," Leon affirmed, his eyes darkening again as his grip shifted from Chris’s cheeks down to his chin, lifting it slightly, exposing the thick column of Chris’s neck. "second... we need to address what happened at that bar. We need to address the fact that Albert Wesker put his hands on what belongs to me."
Chris let out a low, shaky whine, his lower belly instantly tightening at the sheer change in Leon’s tone. The gentle comfort was gone, replaced by a dark, heavy dominance that made Chris’s blood run hot.
"Leon..." Chris whispered, his large hands coming up to grip Leon’s forearms, his fingers digging into the fabric of Leon’s sleeves.
"You belong to me, Chris," Leon growled, his face stepping closer until their lips were almost brushing. "Every single thick, heavy inch of this body is mine. I built a life with you. I crawled into your bed, I held you through your nightmares, and I tore down those walls. You think I’m going to let some ghost from your past walk in and touch you? You think I’m going to let you think, even for a second, that anyone else could have you?"
"No," Chris breathed, his eyes fluttering shut, his heart hammering against his ribs in a completely different way now. The raw, possessive authority in Leon’s voice was like a physical drug, wiping away the lingering, cold taint of Wesker’s presence, replacing it entirely with the heavy, burning reality of Leon’s dominance.
"You lied to me because you were scared I'd leave," Leon murmured, his hand sliding down from Chris’s chin to wrap tightly around the front of his uniform shirt, pulling the massive man off the wall and leading him down the short hallway toward their bedroom. Chris followed blindly, his heavy boots shuffling against the floor, his entire body yielding to Leon’s direction. "I'm going to make sure you never forget exactly how bound to me you are, Commander."
Leon pushed the bedroom door open, walking Chris backward until the back of Chris’s knees hit the edge of their mattress. With a firm, forceful push against Chris’s broad chest, Leon sent the larger man tumbling backward onto the sheets.
Before Chris could even adjust, Leon was over him.
Leon crawled up between Chris’s thick, muscular thighs, his movements fluid, precise, and entirely predatory. He sat astride Chris’s heavy hips, his weight settling against Chris’s lower belly, effectively pinning the massive mechanic to the bed. Chris looked up at him, his chest heaving, his brown eyes dark and blown out with a mixture of submission and intense desire. His black uniform shirt was wrinkled, a few buttons straining against his massive chest.
Leon looked down at him, his expression cold, severe, but his eyes burning with an intense hunger. Slowly, deliberately, Leon reached down and began tearing open the buttons of Chris’s shirt. One by one, the plastic snapped, revealing the vast expanse of Chris’s torso.
Chris’s chest was magnificent heavy, thick slabs of muscle covered in a light dusting of dark hair, a body built for hard labor and heavy lifting. It was a torso that radiated heat, but right now, the muscles were twitching, trembling under the intense focus of Leon’s gaze.
"He touched you here," Leon whispered, his voice rough as his hand slid up Chris’s forearm, tracing the exact path Wesker’s fingers had taken at the bar. Leon’s grip tightened, squeezing the thick muscle of Chris’s arm until it left a red mark. "And he touched you here."
Leon’s hand moved up to the side of Chris’s neck, his fingers wrapping around the thick column, his thumb pressing firmly against Chris’s jawline.
Chris let out a shaky gasp, his head dropping back against the pillow, exposing his throat completely to his partner.
He leaned down, his mouth slamming into Chris’s neck with a fierce, biting intensity. He found the exact spot where Wesker’s thumb had rested, and he sank his teeth into the thick muscle.
Chris let out a loud, sharp cry of mixed pain and pleasure, his back arching off the mattress, his large hands reaching up to grip Leon’s shoulders, his knuckles turning white. Leon didn't break the skin, but he bit hard, sucking the flesh into his mouth, marking him with a deep, dark bruise a physical brand that would tell the entire world exactly who Chris belonged to.
"Ah... Leon! God," Chris groaned, his eyes rolling back as Leon’s tongue soothed the ache before biting down again, moving along Chris’s collarbone, marking him over and over until Chris’s skin was flushed a deep, burning crimson. The sheer intensity of Leon’s possession was overwhelming, completely obliterating the ghostly, cold memory of Wesker, replacing it with the white-hot, heavy reality of Leon’s love.
Leon moved up to Chris’s mouth, capturing his lips in a deep, bruising, suffocating kiss. It wasn't a gentle reassurance; it was a dominant claim. Leon’s tongue slid inside, taking complete control of Chris’s mouth, tasting the copper tang of his bitten lip, driving the older man into a state of breathless surrender.
Chris groaned into the kiss, his large arms wrapping around Leon’s back, pulling the blonde man down against him, needing to feel the full weight of Leon’s body crushing his chest. He felt so safe beneath Leon, so completely consumed by the intensity of the younger man's passion.
Without breaking the kiss, Leon reached down to the waistband of Chris’s uniform trousers. He unbuckled the heavy belt with practiced ease, unzipping the fly and sliding his hand beneath the cotton briefs to capture the hot, rigid length of Chris’s desire.
Chris shattered into a loud moan against Leon’s lips, his hips hitching upward instinctively, seeking the friction of Leon’s strong hand.
"You're so hot for me, Chris," Leon murmured against his lips, his hand moving in a slow, agonizingly steady pace. "Look at you. Crying for me, shaking for me. You think anyone else could ever make you feel like this?"
"No... no one... only you, Leon" Chris chanted, his face flushed, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as Leon increased the speed, his thumb rubbing over the leaking crown, driving Chris to the absolute edge of delirium. "I'm sorry... I won't lie... just don't stop..."
Leon stopped. He pulled his hand away entirely, leaving Chris stranded on the very precipice of release.
Chris opened his eyes, a small, pathetic whimper escaping his lips as he looked up at Leon with pure, unadulterated longing. "Leon? Please... don't tease me. I need it."
Leon looked down at him, a dark, satisfied smirk finally breaking through his stoic expression. He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a bottle of lube, and poured a generous amount onto his fingers.
"I'm not teasing you, big guy," Leon whispered, his voice deep, full of a dark promise. "I'm just making sure you're entirely open for me. Lift your legs."
Chris flushed a deep crimson, a wave of intense vulnerability washing over him, but he didn't hesitate. He lifted his heavy, muscular legs, draping them over Leon’s shoulders, opening his lower body completely to his partner. He gripped the headboard behind him, his knuckles turning white as Leon’s lubed fingers pressed against his tight, pulsing entrance.
"Relax for me, Chris," Leon murmured, his tone softening just a fraction, the lover returning through the dominant facade. "Take a deep breath."
Chris let out a ragged breath, trying to consciously relax the heavy muscles of his thighs and pelvic floor. He watched Leon, his heart pounding in his throat, as Leon slowly pushed one finger inside him. Chris gasped, his eyes widening as the slick heat entered him, stretching him open.
Leon didn't give him time to adjust. He added a second finger, then a third, his hand moving in a deep, curling motion that caught Chris’s prostate with brutal, calculated accuracy. Chris screamed out, his head thrashing against the pillow, his body shaking violently as waves of intense pleasure rippled through his spine.
"Leon! Oh my god, Leon!" Chris cried out, his legs shaking against Leon’s shoulders, his vision going blurry with tears of pure ecstasy.
"That's it, Chris. Take it all for me," Leon whispered, watching Chris’s face intently, cataloging every flush of color, every tear, every broken sound that escaped the older man’s lips.
Satisfied that Chris was sufficiently prepped, Leon pulled his fingers out, earning a wet, desperate whine from the mechanic. Leon quickly freed himself from his own trousers, his own length rigid, aching from the prolonged view of Chris’s complete submission. He positioned himself at Chris’s entrance, his hands moving down to grip Chris’s thick thighs, locking them into place on his shoulders.
"Look at me, Chris," Leon said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Look at exactly who is filling you up."
Chris forced his eyes open, his vision swimming. He looked up, locking his brown eyes with Leon’s burning blue ones, and nodded frantically. "Do it, Leon. Please. Make me yours."
With a slow, powerful thrust, Leon pushed himself all the way inside.
Chris’s mouth opened in a silent scream, his chest heaving as his body stretched to accommodate the thick, unyielding length of his partner. The fullness was incredible, a deep, heavy ache that centered Chris completely in the present moment, anchoring his fractured mind to the physical reality of Leon’s body. He felt stretched to his absolute limit, entirely mastered by Leon’s incredible strength.
Leon paused, letting Chris adjust, his own chest heaving as he fought to maintain his own control. The heat inside Chris was incredible tight, pulsing.
"You okay, big guy?" Leon asked, his voice rough, a flicker of genuine tenderness breaking through.
"Yes... yes, please, Leon... move," Chris begged, his hips twitching upward instinctively, trying to force Leon into motion.
Leon didn't need to be told twice. He began to move, pulling back almost all the way before plunging back inside with a heavy, rhythmic force. The sound of their skin slapping together filled the quiet bedroom, a raw, primal soundtrack to their reconciliation.
Leon didn't hold back. His thrusts were deep, hard, and entirely possessive. He hit Chris’s sweet spot with every single downstroke, driving the massive man into a state of absolute, mindless ecstasy. Chris was completely loud, his usual stoic discipline entirely shattered as he cried out with every thrust, his heavy body shaking under the impact of Leon’s rhythm.
"Leon! Leon! oh god, Leon!" Chris sobbed out, his hands moving down from the headboard to wrap around Leon’s neck, pulling him down, needing to feel the weight of Leon’s body pressing against him.
Leon let himself be pulled down, his chest slamming against Chris’s, their sweat slicked bodies sliding together in a frantic, desperate rhythm. Leon buried his face in Chris’s neck, biting and kissing the branded skin, his hands moving down to grip Chris’s hips, lifting him slightly to meet every single deep, devastating thrust.
The pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming. His vision going dark at the edges, his entire universe narrowing down to the feeling of Leon inside him, filling him up, owning him completely.
"Leon... I'm gonna... I'm gonna come," Chris gasped out, his hips jerking erratically.
"Come for me, Chris," Leon growled into his ear, his pace becoming frantic, a desperate, final push for completion. "Come for me and remember exactly who you belong to."
With a final, deep, echoing cry, Chris shattered. He came hard, the friction and the intense prostate stimulation driving him over the edge without even needing to touch himself. His release spilled across his own chest and Leon’s stomach.
The sudden, intense tightening of Chris’s body was the final trigger for Leon. With a low, animalistic growl, Leon buried himself as deep as he could inside Chris, his body locking up as he released inside the older man, filling Chris with his own warmth.
Leon collapsed against Chris’s chest, his breath coming in ragged, exhausting gasps, his forehead resting against Chris’s shoulder. Chris lay beneath him, his arms wrapped weakly around Leon’s back, his body still trembling slightly as the aftershocks of their release rippled through them.
The silence returned to the bedroom, but this time, it wasn't suffocating. It was warm, heavy, and completely peaceful.
After a long few minutes, Leon slowly lifted his head, looking down at Chris. The older man’s face was soft, relaxed, the lines of tension and trauma completely wiped away. He looked tired, beautiful, and utterly content.
Leon reached up, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he brushed a stray lock of brown hair away from Chris’s forehead. The anger was gone, burned away by the raw intensity of their connection, leaving behind only the deep, unshakeable devotion he held for the man beneath him.
"You're an idiot, Redfield," Leon whispered softly, a small, genuine smile finally touching his lips.
Chris let out a weak, raspy chuckle, his arms tightening around Leon’s back. "Yeah. I know. But I'm your idiot."
"Damn right you are," Leon murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to Chris’s lips, a kiss full of promises and protection. "Don't ever lie to me again. If you want to buy me a jacket, we save for it together. And if Wesker ever steps into your line of sight again, you tell me. He doesn't get to have a hold over you anymore, Chris. I'm your anchor now."
"I know," Chris promised, his eyes drifting shut as he finally let go of the heavy burdens of his past, safe and completely secure in the arms of the man who owned his heart.