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The crystal chandeliers of the Grand Palace Hotel threw fractured light across hundreds of silk gowns, tailored tuxedos, and crystal champagne flutes. It was the annual TerraSave Global Charity Gala; an event overflowing with wealthy donors, foreign diplomats, and corporate lobbyists whose pockets Claire Redfield was actively trying to pick for humanitarian aid.
To ensure things ran smoothly; and because Claire had relentlessly leveraged sisterly guilt; Chris Redfield and Leon S. Kennedy were both in attendance.
Dressed in fitted charcoal-black tuxedos that did very little to conceal the heavy muscle forged from two decades of bio-hazard warfare, the two agents stuck out like wolves standard-issued into a sheepfold. Underneath the tailored silk of Chris’s collar hung a thin silver chain bearing a plain silver band. Leon wore the matching ring tucked beneath his own crisp shirt, the cool metal resting against his collarbone. They’d agreed to keep the engagement quiet for the night; neither of them wanted the press or high-society gossips turning Claire’s fundraiser into a tabloid circus.
That, as it turned out, was their first mistake.
"Look, I’m just saying," Leon murmured, adjusting his cufflink while keeping his eyes trained on the room, "if you’re going to act as Claire’s muscle, at least stand somewhere where you don’t look like you’re waiting for an airstrike."
Chris shot him a sideways glance, taking a slow sip of sparkling water. "I'm keeping watch, Kennedy. Half the people in this room have offshore accounts linked to former Umbrella subsidiaries. Old habits."
"Relax a little, Captain. Have a canapé. Pretend you know what small talk is." Leon offered a faint, devastatingly handsome smirk; the kind that usually made Chris want to pull him into the nearest dark hallway and pin him to a wall.
Before Chris could reply, Claire swooped in, a glittering clipboard tucked under her arm and a triumphant grin on her face. "Boys! You look magnificent. Don't move, don't scowl, and whatever you do, don't mention B.O.W.s to the Senator. I need you both to circulate. Break up into corners and look approachable. People donate more when handsome men listen to them brag about their yachts."
"Approachable isn't really Chris's strong suit," Leon teased.
"And small talk isn't yours unless you're trying to extract passcodes from a cult leader," Chris countered smoothly.
Claire rolled her eyes, pushing them in opposite directions with a laugh. "Just behave. I’ll be at the main podium in twenty minutes."
Chris took up a position near the grand marble staircase, nursing his water and maintaining a mild, polite expression that took considerable effort.
It didn't take long for him to draw attention.
"You know, standing all alone by the stairs makes a man look terribly brooding," a smooth, cultured voice purred beside him.
Chris turned to see a tall, elegantly dressed man in a midnight-blue velvet jacket. He looked to be a high-ranking European diplomat or a green-energy tech mogul; the kind of guy who spent more on his hair product than Chris spent on rent.
"Just keeping an eye on the crowd," Chris said gruffly, offering a polite nod.
"Such dedication," the man smiled, stepping noticeably closer into Chris's personal space. He reached out, his hand hovering near Chris's lapel before sliding down to rest directly on Chris's broad shoulder, fingering the heavy fabric of his jacket. "Though a physique like yours seems wasted on standing guard. Are you one of the private security directors? Or perhaps... an ex-military man who enjoys finer company?"
Chris blinked, momentarily thrown off by the tactile approach. He didn't mind people touching his shoulder; he was used to soldiers doing it on the battlefield; so he brushed it off as overly friendly European social etiquette. "Former military, yeah. Now with the BSAA."
"Fascinating," the man murmured, leaning in close enough that Chris could smell his heavy sandalwood cologne. "I have a penthouse just three blocks from here, Mr...?"
"Redfield," Chris supplied, still entirely oblivious to the predatory gleam in the man's eyes. "Chris."
"Chris," the diplomat hummed, his fingers lightly stroking the side of Chris's bicep. "A strong name for an extraordinarily strong man. I’d love to buy you something much stronger than water. Somewhere far quieter."
Across the ballroom, Leon was dealing with a crisis of a completely different nature.
Usually, when Leon turned on the charm, it was a tactical play. He knew how to flirt, how to drop a smooth line, how to lean against a bar and flash a crooked smile to get a keycard or stall a suspect. He was always in total control of the dynamic.
He was not prepared to be the hunted.
"I simply insist you try the caviar, Mr. Kennedy," a wealthy heiress in a sparkling silver dress purred, pressing herself against Leon’s side so tightly he could feel the sharp edge of her sequined shoulder against his ribs. She had been cornering him for ten straight minutes, plying him with wine he hadn't touched and running her manicured nails along the sleeve of his forearm.
"I'm fine, really," Leon said, trying to employ his best polite-agent voice while subtly taking a half-step back. She immediately closed the gap. "I'm on duty tonight, Miss Potters."
"Oh, nonsense! A handsome man like you shouldn't be working." She giggled, placing her palm squarely over Leon's chest, right over his tie. "You have the most mesmerizing eyes. Are you single? You simply must let me give you a tour of the gallery after the speeches. Privately."
Leon’s brain stalled. What is happening? Is she trying to interrogate me? No, she's... she's actually trying to hit on me. He felt acutely, bizarrely awkward. Normally he had a witty quip ready, but being pursued by an overly aggressive socialite who smelled like a perfume factory was turning his sharp reflexes to sludge.
He glanced across the crowded room, instinctively looking for his anchor; for Chris.
He found him by the marble stairs.
And Leon’s blood instantly went from lukewarm to a sub-zero freeze.
Some slick, velvet-wearing bastard was leaning into Chris’s personal space. Not just standing near him; touching him. The guy’s hand was lazily tracing the thick curve of Chris’s shoulder, moving down toward the massive swell of his chest. And Chris; dense, giant, infuriatingly polite Chris; was just standing there, looking like an obedient golden retriever letting a stranger scratch its ears.
Leon’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth clicked. A dark, possessive heat flared right behind his ribs, sharp and blindingly hot. Who the hell does this guy think he is? Put your hands on my fiancé again and I'll break every finger on that hand.
Across the room, Chris happened to glance up.
Chris caught Leon's eyes; and then Chris’s gaze drifted lower, taking in the scene surrounding Leon.
Chris saw the heiress draped over Leon's arm. He saw her manicured hand pressed flat over Leon’s chest, right above his heart. He saw her leaning in so close her lips were practically brushing Leon's jawline.
Chris’s brain went entirely blank, replaced by a sudden, violent roar of pure instinct.
The stoic, polite BSAA Captain vanished instantly. In his place was a six-foot-two, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound apex predator who did not appreciate another human putting their hands on his mate.
Chris didn't even hear what the velvet-jacket diplomat was saying anymore. His eyes narrowed into dangerous, lethal slits. His bicep flexed so hard beneath the diplomat's touch that the man actually paused, surprised by the sudden rock-hard tension in the soldier's frame.
"Excuse me," Chris growled softly, his voice dropping an octave into a low rumble.
Before the diplomat could answer, Chris took a long, heavy stride away, cutting through the ballroom crowd like a battleship slicing through calm water. Guests instinctively parted out of his way, picking up on the absolute aura of menace radiating from him.
At the exact same time, Leon completely abandoned his cool agent composure. He grabbed the heiress’s hand by the wrist; gently, but with an iron grip that left no room for negotiation; and lifted it off his chest.
"I have to go," Leon said, his voice dropping its polite tone entirely, replaced by a razor-sharp edge that made the heiress gasp in surprise.
Leon turned on his heel and started marching straight toward Chris.
They met right in the center of the grand ballroom, beneath the highest chandelier, effectively converging on each other like two storm fronts colliding.
Chris reached Leon first. Without saying a single word, Chris hooked a heavy, thick arm around Leon’s waist, with a twist and a tug; he pulled Leon’s back firmly against his chest with enough force to lift Leon’s heels off the floor for a fraction of a second. Chris’s large hand clamped down over Leon’s hip, physically anchoring him, while his other hand came up to cup the back of Leon’s neck, fingers burying deeply into his blonde hair.
Leon didn't fight it. In fact, Leon leaned right back into Chris's solid heat, tilting his head back to expose his throat, his own hand reaching around to grip Chris's forearm; the one holding him tight.
"Having fun?" Chris growled right against Leon's ear, his voice dark, heavy, and dripping with possessive jealousy. "Looked like you were making a lot of friends over there."
Leon snorted, a sharp, dark smirk tugging at his lips as he turned his head, his blue eyes burning into Chris's hazel ones. "Me? You were two seconds away from letting that velvet couch cushion take you home to his penthouse."
"I was being polite," Chris gritted out, his grip tightening on Leon's hip until it was almost painful; though Leon clearly loved every second of it. "He didn't mean anything."
"He was touching what's mine," Leon whispered, his voice dangerously low, his eyes flashing with a feral edge. "And that girl over there was about three inches from finding out what a combat knife feels like."
Chris's heart hammered against his ribs. The raw, unfiltered jealousy in Leon's voice was like gasoline poured onto a fire. Chris leaned down, digging his thumb firmly into the notch of Leon's collarbone, pulling up the thin silver chain from beneath Leon's shirt until the engagement ring glinted under the chandelier lights for everyone to see.
"Let 'em look," Chris muttered, his voice thick and rough.
Chris slid his hand down Leon's chest, snagged his lapels, and pulled Leon into a deep, heavy, uncompromising kiss right in the middle of the crowded charity gala.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was possessive, intense, and thoroughly territorial. Leon let out a low groan into Chris's mouth, wrapping his arms around Chris's neck, deepening the kiss until his fingers were tangled in Chris's short, dark hair. They kissed like they were the only two people in the entire building, completely ignoring the collective gasp from the high-society crowd around them.
Across the room, the diplomat froze, staring in stunned silence.
The heiress blinked, her mouth slightly open, watching the smooth agent she’d been harassing get practically devoured by the terrifying BSAA Captain.
From the podium at the front of the hall, Claire paused mid-sentence, glass of water in hand, watching her brother and Leon make out like teenagers in front of three hundred wealthy donors. She sighed heavily, pinched the bridge of her nose, and took a massive gulp of her drink.
"Well," Claire muttered into her microphone, her voice echoing through the speakers. "I see our head of security has found a reason to stay."
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their eyes flushed with dark heat and adrenaline.
Leon leaned his forehead against Chris’s chest, panting slightly, a crooked, triumphant smirk plastered across his face. "So much for keeping a low profile."
"Screw the low profile," Chris growled, his hand still resting possessively on the back of Leon's waist, thumb stroking through the fabric of his shirt. "You're coming with me."
"Oh yeah? Where?"
" Balcony. Coatroom. I don't care," Chris muttered, already dragging Leon by the hand toward the nearest exit doors. "Somewhere where nobody else can look at you."
Leon chuckled, letting himself be pulled along, his fingers interlocking tightly with Chris's. "Lead the way, Captain. But for the record... you look terrifying when you're jealous."
"Good," Chris grunted, pushing open the heavy wooden doors into the quiet, dim hallway beyond. "Because you're bad for my blood pressure."
"Likewise, Redfield," Leon purred, slamming the door shut behind them and locking it with a sharp, decisive click. "Likewise."
xXxXxXxXxXx
They reached heavy French doors a few rooms down that led outside; the cool night air hit them like a shock wave, carrying the distant hum of city traffic thirty floors below. The balcony was wide, lined with white stone balustrades, draped in trailing ivy, and completely secluded from the main hall.
Chris didn't waste a second.
The moment the lock clicked, he spun Leon around, shoving him back until Leon’s shoulders hit the cold stone wall between two floor-to-ceiling windows. Before Leon could even catch his breath, Chris crowded into his space, planting a broad palm on the stone right next to Leon’s head, blocking him in completely.
"Chris..." Leon gasped out, a breathless laugh dying in his throat as Chris claimed his mouth again.
This wasn't the performative, point-scoring kiss from the ballroom. This was heavy, urgent, and desperate. Chris’s lips were demanding, sliding against Leon’s with a fierce, possessive pressure that made Leon's head spin. Chris’s free hand came down to grip Leon’s waist, heavy fingers digging through silk and linen to press directly into the muscle of his hip.
Leon let out a shuddering sigh into Chris’s mouth, his hands flying to Chris’s chest. He didn't push; instead, he gripped the lapels of Chris’s tuxedo jacket, pulling the massive soldier even closer until there wasn't a whisper of air left between them.
"God, you're heavy," Leon wheezed when Chris finally pulled back an inch, resting their foreheads together, both of them breathing in ragged synchronization.
"You like it," Chris growled, his voice a low, gravelly rumble against Leon's lips. His hazel eyes were dark, dilated, and blazing with lingering adrenaline.
"I do," Leon admitted without a shred of shame, his hands sliding up over Chris’s broad shoulders, his thumbs lightly caressing the sides of Chris’s neck where a hot pulse hammered against his skin. "Though I have to admit... seeing you oblivious while that velvet-jacket guy stroked your arm was driving me out of my mind."
Chris’s eyes narrowed slightly, a faint flush darkening his cheekbones. "I told you, I didn't realize what he was doing until I looked at you."
"I know," Leon chuckled darkly, leaning up to bite softly at Chris's lower lip, enjoying the sharp intake of breath it coaxed from the bigger man. "That's what makes it infuriating. You walk around built like a tank, completely unaware that half the room wants to take you home. I wanted to drag him out back and show him what happens when you touch BSAA property."
"Is that what I am?" Chris murmured, his grip shifting. His hand slid beneath Leon’s jacket, finding the small of his back and lifting him slightly off his feet, pressing Leon's pelvis firmly against his own. "BSAA property?"
Leon gasped, his grip tightening on Chris's shoulders as he felt the prominent, hard ridge pressing against him through their trousers. "You... know what I mean, Redfield."
"Yeah. I do," Chris said, his tone turning dangerously soft. He reached up, untying Leon’s black bow tie with a single slick tug, letting the silk ribbon drop to the stone floor. He immediately popped the top two buttons of Leon’s crisp white shirt, exposing the smooth, pale skin of Leon's collarbone; and the thin silver chain nestled there.
Chris hooked a finger under the chain, pulling the silver ring into the moonlight. "This stays out."
"Chris, we're on a public balcony..."
"I don't care," Chris interrupted, leaning down to press a hot, searing kiss right over the spot where Leon's ring rested against his chest. Leon’s head fell back against the stone wall, a soft moan escaping his throat as Chris’s lips dragged up the column of his neck, kissing the sharp angle of his jaw before nipping at his earlobe. "Let 'em look if they come out here. I want everybody in that damn room to know who you go home to."
"Possessive bastard," Leon breathed out, his fingers tangling tightly in Chris’s short hair, pushing Chris deeper into his neck. Leon arched into the touch, his knee instinctively sliding up between Chris’s thighs, friction sparking a sharp, electric shock through both of them.
Chris groaned, a thick, primal sound, and bucked his hips forward once, pinning Leon’s raised leg between them.
Leon’s breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as a wave of heat flooded his lower belly. "Chris... ah... we're supposed to be on duty."
"Claire said to circulate," Chris rasped, his hand sliding down to gather the heavy fabric of Leon's trousers, squeezing his thigh firmly. "I'm circulating."
"Smartass," Leon choked out a laugh, but it was quickly cut off as Chris’s mouth found his again, swallowing the sound whole.
They lost themselves in the shadowed rhythm of the balcony; the contrast of the cool night breeze against the feverish heat of their skin, the contrast of expensive silk against rough, calloused hands trained for violence. Chris shifted his weight, easily hoisting Leon up so he was sitting on the wide marble balustrade, Leon's legs wrapping tightly around Chris’s waist to hold himself steady thirty stories above the pavement.
From this angle, Leon could look down into Chris’s eyes, his blond hair wind-blown and messy, his cheeks flushed and his breathing heavy.
"You're mine, Kennedy," Chris gritted out, his thumbs tracing the waistband of Leon's pants, his broad chest rising and falling violently against Leon's chest. "Every inch of you."
Leon reached down, taking Chris’s face in both hands, framing his rugged jawline, his blue eyes fierce and completely steady. "Always have been, Captain. You don't need to mark your territory to prove it... but I definitely don't mind when you do."
Leon pulled Chris in for another kiss; slower this time, deeper, full of a fierce, unspoken tenderness that had sustained them through years of bio-hazard nightmares, lost comrades, and near-death missions. Out here in the quiet dark, away from political games and flirting socialites, they belonged entirely to each other.
When they finally separated twenty minutes later, their tuxedos were thoroughly rumpled, their hair was a windblown mess, and Leon’s lips were swollen and red.
Leon leaned back against the balustrade, resting on his elbows, a faint, lazy smile on his lips as he watched Chris attempt; and fail; to neatly re-button his shirt.
"Claire's going to kill us," Leon noted mildly, watching Chris try to smooth down his jacket.
Chris paused, looked down at his wrinkled clothes, and then looked at Leon, whose collar was completely undone and missing his tie entirely.
Chris let out a low, rare chuckle; a warm, rich sound that made Leon's heart swell. "Let her try. She got her donor money. I got what I came for."
"Oh, really?" Leon smirked, sliding down from the balustrade, his polished shoes hitting the stone floor with a soft thud. He stepped close, reaching out to fix Chris's collar with practiced ease. "And what's that?"
Chris caught Leon's wrist, lifting his hand to press a soft kiss to his knuckles; right over the spot where the silver ring belonged.
"You," Chris said simply.
Leon’s smirk softened into something warm, real, and undeniable. "Come on, Redfield. Let's go sneak out the back before the heiress or the diplomat tries to find us again."
"If they do," Chris grunted, taking Leon’s hand and locking their fingers together, "I'm throwing them off the balcony."
Leon laughed, pulling Chris toward the side exit leading to the stairwell. "Now that sounds like a BSAA report I'd love to read."