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“Leon fucking Kennedy.”
Leon stares at the man in the doorway to his safe house, wondering if he's having a stroke. Or maybe he did die back in that horror of a castle.
“Carlos,” Leon says dumbly.
He doesn't know how he can possibly be surprised at seeing anyone after what he's been through this night, but here it is. Carlos Oliveira. Another face that Leon hasn't seen since the chaotic streets of Raccoon City.
They'd bumped into each other only briefly, but Carlos had left enough of an impression that Leon had always wondered if Carlos had survived. The odds weren't in his favor, of course, but Leon had heard a rumor or two that Carlos had made it out with Jill Valentine of the BSAA.
Now, here he is in the flesh, greeting Leon as if they're the oldest of friends, a huge smile plastered on his face.
“I know,” Carlos says, tutting sympathetically. “I'm a lot to take in.” He looks ready to spin to show himself off.
Leon is still running about a minute behind in this conversation. Carlos finally takes pity on him.
“Come on,” Carlos says, taking Leon's shoulder and drawing him inside. “I've heard you've had a rough night.”
Leon goes only because he can't think of anything else to do. It's only once they're inside and Carlos is closing the door behind him that Leon finds his voice again.
“What are you doing here?”
“This is my house,” Carlos answers, amused.
“Why did they send me to your house?”
“Because I also happen to run a safe house for those of you fighting BOWs and, more often, Umbrella.” Carlos grins impishly at him and catches Leon's chin as if examining. “Did you get the smarts knocked out of you the same time you grew into those cheekbones, Kennedy? No more baby face there.”
“You run a safe house,” Leon repeats.
“Sure do,” Carlos answers easily. “I thought I'd give the fighting a try but then I realized that I'm good with people in a way that most of you aren't, and you lot never remember to take care of yourself. So, here I am. A friendly, charming face who can cook, do basic first aid, and am handy enough with a gun to keep the safe house safe, if you know what I mean.”
Leon nods, his brain starting to catch up.
“Now,” Carlos says, “not that you're still not pretty, but you reek. How about a bath and then a warm meal?”
Leon nods again. This still feels surreal – less so in that this is Carlos and more so in that Leon has never come off a mission and had anyone beside him. He's used to a quick drop off in D.C., a perfunctory look over by medical, and then his lonely apartment, which is accompanied by a shower that never gets him clean, fast food, and nightmares. He doesn't know what to do with someone in his space like this when he's coming down off a fight. He doesn't know how to let someone take care of him.
But Carlos is undeterred. He gently steers Leon toward the bathroom and gets the water running. He sits Leon down on the lip of the tub as he fetches towels and clean clothes. Leon is crashing hard now and all he can do is wordlessly watch Carlos.
Carlos is as good looking as Leon remembers. For awhile, he'd figured that Carlos' looks and charm had been exaggerated by the fact that Leon had thought he was going to die that night, and Carlos had been one of the bright spots in a hotbed of misery.
His hair is still absolutely outrageous. Apparently, he remembered that part accurately as well.
Carlos finishes setting everything up just so and then pauses to look at Leon.
“Holler if you need anything,” Carlos says with something akin to softness, as if he can read the exhaustion written across Leon's body.
Leon nods and Carlos retreats, closing the door behind him.
Leon strips his clothing off, not letting himself take stock of the bruises and sore spots that litter his body. He sinks down into the hot water with a groan and goes about the task of scrubbing off grime. He has to drain the tub twice before he can sit comfortably in warm water. He lingers there then, eyes closed. He wills himself not to think of anything. It's not easy, but he manages long enough to nearly drift off to sleep in the tub.
He's brought back to wakefulness by a clatter in the kitchen. He doesn't know what Carlos has made, but it smells good, and Leon's stomach rumbles appreciatively. He's used to shutting down bodily needs during a mission, but now that his body is beginning to realize he's safe, he's ravenous.
He drags himself out of the tub, towels himself once over, and then pulls on the loose-fitting, soft clothes that Carlos left him behind.
He's tired enough now that he's gotten over the shock of this being Carlos. Carlos seems to realize that and pulls back on the teasing. When Leon half collapses at the table, Carlos slides a plate of spaghetti and meatballs, complete with a crusty loaf of bread, and an enormous glass of water.
“All homemade,” Carlos says with a wink. “Enjoy.”
And Leon does. He feels dead on his feet and if he had gone to his own place, he certainly would have passed out before eating. But the normalcy and ease of this is reassuring, and Leon feels his body grow warmer and heavier with the meal.
“Leon,” Carlos says gently when Leon is almost done. Without speaking, Leon redirects his attention to Carlos without answering. “Are you injured in anyway that shouldn't wait until the morning for me to look at?”
Leon shakes his head without considering it, but he is pretty sure that there's nothing that serious. He's going to feel like hell tomorrow.
Carlos pauses.
“Is there a chance you're infected?”
Leon swallows a mouthful of food and is slower to answer. He's pretty sure that the plagas is gone. He can't feel it anymore. But he also knows there's a chance that they were wrong. Ashley is back Stateside with all the medical advances and doctors that affords, but Leon is out here in the middle of nowhere with just Carlos. And Carlos doesn't even know what to look for. He's used to viruses. He's used to the monsters of Raccoon City.
“It's unlikely,” Leon hedges, “but yes. It won't happen like what you've seen. It's something new. Watch for my eyes. If they go red, I need to be put down.”
Carlos nods, unflinchingly enough that Leon trusts that Carlos will pull the trigger if he has to – perhaps has had to in this new career of his.
For some reason, that's reassuring. It's almost nice to hand off the burden of making sure that he doesn't become a parasite-controlled monster. He doesn't have a death wish, but he knows now that if he should lose his grasp on himself, someone will be around to stop him.
Someone has his back. Even if it's just for a little while.
When Leon is done eating, Carlos guides him toward the bedroom with the same steady gentleness. Leon is only this side of awake by then.
“Leon?” Carlos says just before he leaves the room.
“Hrm?” Leon asks.
“I know you're probably one of those big tough types that needs to carry the whole world now,” Carlos says, “but if you can't sleep or have a nightmare or whatever, I'm in the living room. You can come get me. If you want to talk or just be near someone else or, you know, I can give you a cuddle.” He ends with the humorous note as if to distract from the fact that he just offered something very real and vulnerable.
Leon makes another noise to confirm that he heard Carlos, but even he doesn't know what it means beyond that – if he's terrified or grateful for the offer, if he can even think of entertaining it.
Carlos seems content just to be heard. He flips the light off and steps out into the hallway. Leon is gone almost immediately. He sleeps, dreamless, a small mercy.
…
When he wakes, it's to warm afternoon light. He's been asleep for hours and hours.
The end of the night before takes on a hazy sort of quality, and he's almost surprised to find that it all actually happened.
He sits up slowly. Carlos has left his things on the bedside table, including a single handgun, although his arsenal of weapons must be somewhere else. His communication device is still there, so Leon listens to a message left for him by Hunnigan – that he's expected to hold at the safe house for a week, be ready to head back into the Spanish countryside should there be further flareups, monitor his own well-being for any residual effects of las plagas, and, most importantly, to write up his report undisturbed and in as much as detail as possible. Carlos is under contract with the U.S. government so Leon is to let him know of any possible need he might have.
Huh. It's a strange mix of being cared for and still being a weapon. He supposes even the U.S. realizes that its weapons needs maintenance sometimes. He doesn't mistake what's happening for a sort of compassion. He's been in this too long for that.
Carlos has left him clean clothes – jeans and a T-shirt that fit him surprisingly well – and a toothbrush and toothpaste, as if afraid Leon wouldn't be able to find them in the bathroom. Leon smiles faintly, amused by the image of ruggedly handsome Carlos playing a mix of nursemaid and babysitter. Leon's not going to complain, though. This has outranked any other safe house Leon has ever been in.
He steps out of the bedroom and is smacked in the face by the smell of fresh coffee. He practically wants to groan.
Carlos leans past the kitchen wall so that he can see Leon and grins at him.
“Morning, princess,” Carlos calls to him. “How do you take your eggs?”
Given the chance to clean, eat a full meal, and sleep, Leon is done being a flustered 21-year-old around Carlos.
“Aren't you usually supposed to ask a guy that before he spends the night?” Leon shoots back. Carlos looks ecstatic.
“We can renegotiate terms tonight, agent,” Carlos answers. “How about a veggie omelette for this morning? Got some peppers from the garden this morning.”
Leon doesn't dare tell Carlos he would eat anything that's warm right now.
“That'll do,” Leon says instead.
Carlos grins at him, making it clear that he sees through Leon's masquerade of indifference. He ducks back into the kitchen.
“Since you can walk you can pour your coffee yourself!” Carlos calls. Leon heads into the kitchen as well where Carlos has already cut up the vegetables and is starting to crack eggs. Leon pours himself a cup of coffee but then lingers, watching Carlos work, because there's still something almost dreamlike about this whole scenario – and it's distracting enough that it drives out fixations on Krauser and Saddler and the squirm of the plagas –
“You feeling okay?” Carlos asks from underneath his hair.
“Yeah,” Leon says, “you know, for being kicked six ways from Sunday.”
“Just bruises, though?” Carlos says. “Nothing broken?” He catches Leon's chin without warning and turns his face so that he can see the slice left on Leon's cheek by Krauser. Leon almost tugs away. He can't say why he doesn't. It feels like Carlos can see that that particular cut is more personal.
“And I know you'll want to be a noble badass and say you're completely fine,” Carlos says, running his thumb briefly over the unblemished lower part of Leon's cheek. “But please remember that I get paid more if you're in better shape at the end of the week.” He winks at Leon.
Leon suddenly remembers why it was so comforting to be around Carlos during his first apocalypse. Carlos is so over the top in everything he says, but, somewhere in the middle of all of it, there's always a grain of caring. It seems like he should be making a joke at your expense but instead you're the one laughing with him. He's like a sun, the sort of warm person that just draws everyone around them without being entirely aware of the effect they have on others. Since Raccoon City, Leon has grown up and learned that those people are often careless with others. Not on purpose, but simply because they don't understand the pull they have on others is stronger than what most people are used to. They're just used to being a center of adoration. And so even though Leon wants to just bask in the warmth of Carlos' attention, he knows he should be a little careful too.
He's quiet for too long, and Carlos searches him for a reason as to why.
“I know it was a tough time,” Carlos says. “I mean, they don't tell me shit, but they were especially tightlipped about whatever you're coming off of, so I know it was bad. And I know you're not rookie cop Leon Kennedy anymore. That you're legendary badass agent Leon S. Kennedy now. But you can let the badass guard down a little bit here, Leon. You're safe. Let me take care of you.”
Leon has no idea what to make of this little speech, done in such earnestness. He suspects it's something he might have said a lifetime ago. It's strange that their roles aren't switched, he thinks. Carlos was the experienced fighter in Raccoon City, and Leon was the one who thought he was just getting into things to help people.
If this was Raccoon City, he would have been half in love with Carlos after that declaration. But Carlos is right: he's not rookie cop Leon Kennedy anymore.
Still, he nods.
Carlos grins.
“Besides,” Carlos says, flopping a near-perfect omelette onto a plate for Leon. “We're practically old friends. Now go eat your breakfast at the table like a good boy. And know that I would slap you on that pert ass if I wasn't afraid I would hit a bruise and you'd break my nose now.”
And despite their shared reminiscing about how tough Leon has become, Leon blushes as he accepts his breakfast.
“There it is,” Carlos coos. “That Kennedy red. Glad that's still in there somewhere.”
“I can break your nose now,” Leon informs him.
“I know, baby,” Carlos says. And he pats Leon gently on the ass twice as Leon turns to head toward the table.
...
He eats his breakfast and they head outside for awhile, wandering along Carlos' property. It's the first time that Leon has been outside in hours where the air doesn't feel damp with rot. He breathes deep, reassuring himself that the rest of the world is still fine. Alive.
He takes a nap after that and when he wakes, Carlos has another delicious meal waiting for him. Leon is afraid of getting too used to this.
Their conversations take a more relaxed turn now – Carlos mostly sharing stories from his day-to-day life and tidbits about the town over. He asks Leon what he can about Leon's “personal” life and doesn't press when Leon has precious little to offer in return.
Carlos offers Leon a beer that night and then leaves Leon to start writing his report. It seems like it's been literal years since he got the order to go into Spain and find Ashley Graham – when there was a chance that it could have still just been a “normal” kidnapping.
Carlos cleans the kitchen as Leon writes, creating soft background noises. He sings a song in Spanish under his breath that Leon doesn't know.
Despite the, frankly, gratuitous amount of sleep he's now had, he dozes at one point and wakes, heart pounding, skin crawling, to the sensation of las plagas in his chest. He's on his feet in an instant, chair clattering to the floor beneath him.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Carlos says, trying to get a hold of him to calm him down. But Leon is back to running on instinct, and he grabs Carlos' wrists and pins him effortlessly against the wall, breathing harshly. It takes him an additional moment to recognize Carlos.
His heart is still thumping in his ears, and he pushes one of Carlos' hands to his torso.
“Do you feel anything?” he asks, unable to hide the urgency in his voice. And Carlos doesn't tease him. He looks seriously at Leon's face and then down at where his hand is pressed.
“No,” Carlos says, gently. “Just your heartbeat. Let's sit down and I'll take a look, okay?”
Carlos guides him over to the couch in the living room. He presents both of his hands to Leon, moving slowly as he starts to ruck Leon's shirt up so that he can see his chest. Leon knows, by that point, he should be embarrassed as hell. But he's still not.
“What am I looking for, Leon?” Carlos asks as he clinically presses his fingers along Leon's chest and stomach.
“Just,” Leon struggles. “Movement. Do you see or feel anything moving beneath my skin? Around here.” He guides Carlos' hand toward the bottom of his rib cage. When Carlos presses there, it feels tender like it had after he and Ashley had finished with the radiation machine, and that grounds Leon a little.
“No,” Carlos says, shaking his head. “Everything feels normal.” He pulls back and Leon nods, so Carlos rolls his shirt back down, covering Leon up again.
Leon's fear starts to fade, leaving a lick of shame.
“Man, I went to the dentist like 15 times after Raccoon City,” Carlos says abruptly. Leon shoots him a questioning look.
“Yeah, you never did see Nemesis, did you?” Carlos says, shaking his head. “That thing just had the most fucked-up teeth. Like, sometimes, when I see the monsters that came out of those viruses, I have to wonder if the scientists don't just add a little fucked-up factor just to up the scary, because I swear, there are no benefits to a lot of the things that pop up on those creatures. What the fuck are you going to do with teeth that long? Were its back teeth that long too? How the fuck did it eat anything?”
Leon snorts.
“You're an idiot,” he says.
“I'm a goddamn marvel, Leon Kennedy,” Carlos answers, and he spreads his arms wide. “Now bring it in.”
And Leon, god help him, leans in and lets Carlos give him a hug.
…
They fall into a rhythm that's easier than it should be – in reality, they barely know each other. They both live the stuff of nightmares, and Leon isn't here that long, really. Regardless, it becomes easy. They eat their meals together, and Leon helps Carlos in his garden, teasing him over how domestic he is. They spend their afternoons outdoors, even one stormy afternoon. After dinner, Leon works on his report, scanning through his horrors with a microscope.
And when he can't take anymore for a night, he lets Carlos hold him.
When he thinks about it too long, he doesn't understand it. So he tries not to examine it. He tries to let himself be just gone in the warmth of Carlos' touch. Carlos usually will keep up a steady but useless conversation, so Leon fixates on the burr of his voice, on the way part of his hair is always touching Leon, on the strength of his arms.
On his second-to-last night, Leon finishes his report and doesn't know what to do with himself. Carlos is already in the living room, drinking hot chocolate and eating popcorn, watching a movie in Spanish that he promises Leon is a classic.
Leon pauses for just a moment, looking in on Carlos. He feels caught between so many versions of himself. He wonders if this is closer to what he would have been – if Raccoon City had never happened or even if he hadn't been snatched up by the American government after Raccoon City. It's nice. He can't deny that. But he doesn't feel any particular sense of loss just then, because this life is just far away enough still that he can't fully imagine it let alone want it. He's watching it from a distance, firmly anchored in the life he did end up in – monsters and betrayals and infections or not. He is what he is.
Carlos looks up at him and Leon crosses the room. With a sure, fluid movement, he straddles Carlos' lap and sinks into it, tilting Carlos' head up so that he can kiss him. He tastes like chocolate, and Leon sighs softly into his mouth.
Carlos braces one hand against Leon's lower back and the other he lifts to push through Leon's bangs. He touches Leon gently, like he's something precious. This is the closest thing to love Leon has had in a long, long time.
He puts both of his hands against Carlos' jaw and kisses him with a slow, familiar laziness. They stay like that for a long time, nipping and sucking at each other's lips, tracing each other with their tongues. Leon can't remember the last time he's been kissed for this long. It feels like it could go no further and this would still mean something.
But then Carlos gently tilts his head and runs his heated mouth up Leon's neck. He takes Leon's earlobe and begins to tease it, the hint of teeth making Leon gasp faintly.
“Hey beautiful,” Carlos breathes warmly into Leon's ear. Leon can hear his smile. He's never a met another person whose smile he can hear so often.
Carlos traces the shell of Leon's ear with his tongue, taking his time, while Leon starts to shiver and fall apart in Carlos' lap. He would be happy to take this fast now, to just kiss Carlos roughly and ride him until it practically hurts.
But Carlos refuses to be rushed. He keeps one hand on the back of Leon's neck, holding him in place. He drags his mouth over Leon's cheekbones and nose, being careful of the scabbed cut from Krauser.
Slowly, Carlos shifts their bodies and presses Leon back down against the couch. Leon goes without complaint, lifting his arms obediently to allow Carlos to remove his shirt. His pants follow almost immediately afterward, leaving Leon bare beneath Carlos.
Carlos takes his time looking Leon over, and Leon feels the heat in his cheeks from Carlos' gaze. Carlos presses one of those big hands against his chest, just feeling Leon breathe for a moment and then moves his hand, fingers circling over all the yellow bruises that spatter Leon's torso. Leon wants to be impatient, to insist that he's fine, but something about this is different than Carlos just being overly cautious with him. So, he's quiet. He lets Carlos do what he wants.
Carlos slides down and presses a kiss to the hollow of Leon's throat and then goes to work putting his mouth on every inch of Leon's body. He's slow and methodical, tonguing and sucking on each one of Leon's nipples until Leon is panting beneath him, trying to grind himself up against Carlos.
“Beautiful,” Carlos says again, grinning crookedly down at him. And then he goes back to work, tracing Leon's stomach with his tongue, the sensation almost ticklish. He scrapes his teeth along Leon's hips. He only briefly swallows Leon's cock, setting Leon on fire, before going right back down Leon's body, over his thighs and knees and calves until he reaches his feet. When he sucks on Leon's big toe, Leon isn't sure he's still breathing. He's never understood why people have a thing for feet before.
Leon's never felt so relaxed and aroused at the same time.
Carlos grins devastatingly down at him and takes a firm grip of both of Leon's knees and bends him practically in half.
“You flexible fucker,” Carlos breathes in admiration before ducking down. He gets Leon's knees over his shoulders and uses his thumbs to spread Leon. Leon knows what to expect and he still chokes when Carlos licks his hole.
His arousal flares hotter and hotter, the relaxation burning away as his needs grows. Carlos still refuses to be rushed though. He licks at Leon, teasing at him before shallowly penetrating him with the tip of his tongue. Leon bites at the inside of his cheek as Carlos starts to suck on his rim.
“You're killing me,” Carlos says from in between his legs, sliding a finger inside. “I always imagined you'd be very loud.”
And Leon does, indeed, groan at that. He grabs a handful of Carlos' hair in retribution – his often-imagined action.
“There you go, baby,” Carlos says, and he goes to work making a mess of Leon. He's finally as filthy as Leon always imagined he would be, and Leon gasps uselessly against the couch as Carlos gets him slick with spit. His cock is leaking against his stomach. All he can do is pull on Carlos' hair every now and then – usually when he's whining. Carlos hisses against his ass when Leon pulls particularly hard.
“Carlos,” Leon begs when he's on the edge, able to feel his orgasm tugging at his insides.
“You close, sweetheart?” Carlos asks. Leon moans in answer. And Carlos grins the devil's grin. He pushes three fingers back inside of Leon and crooks them, giving Leon an unrelenting amount of pressure against his prostate. Leon's hips lift off the couch, and he comes with a shout, spilling himself across his stomach.
Carlos lowers his legs from his shoulders and just hovers above Leon for a moment, looking insanely pleased with himself. He drags his fingers through the mess on Leon's stomach and sucks on them as Leon's brain works on getting back online.
“You want me to fuck you now, babe?” Carlos asks. Leon still can't manage words, but he just whimpers and nods.
Carlos leans in to kiss him almost chastely on the lips and then gets up, temporarily leaving Leon alone while he goes to retrieve lube. He's back seconds later. He undresses before climbing back on the couch, and Leon can't resist raking his fingers through Carlos' thick chest hair.
Carlos finishes prepping him with the lube, slicks up his cock, and then presses inside. The glide and slight pressure of it is perfect to Leon, who is just this side of too sensitive from coming once already.
Carlos is fearless in his gaze, staring down at Leon with warm intensity, a smile always curving his lips. He works his way up slowly, just rolling his hips at first, deep and steady. Leon clings to his shoulders, and they move together.
He picks up speed as they go until he's absolutely snapping his hips against Leon, drawing a sharp sound out of Leon with every thrust. It blots out everything else in Leon's world, restricting his awareness only to Carlos.
Carlos lowers his mouth to Leon's ear once again and murmurs words in Spanish that Leon can't translate – in his defense, he doesn't think he could understand English at this moment.
Carlos bites his ear and Leon comes again, practically sobbing this time. His blunt nails drag across Carlos' shoulders, and Carlos groans, low and gutturally, and comes as well. He lazily thrusts a few more times, riding out the aftershocks.
He presses a kiss to Leon's cheek, and Leon can practically feel his grin.
“Can I interest you in a bed for round two?” Carlos asks, voice low and teasing. Leon laughs.
…
Leon figures it's a good thing that he's being picked up. Otherwise, he would be slow in his departure. As it is, there's a car idling outside for him while Leon gathers up his gear and the hard copy of the Kennedy Report.
Carlos catches him just before he reaches the front door and kisses him again, slow.
“Take care of yourself out there, Kennedy,” he murmurs. “And when you can't, come back and visit.”
“I will,” Leon promises. “Thanks, Carlos.”
“Anytime,” Carlos answers. And he slaps Leon on the ass as Leon heads out.