|Not by Design
Author: Salysha PM
Following his arm injury, Krauser gets dismissed from army duty. Leon looks him up. Slash, yaoi, Leon/Krauser.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance - J. Krauser & Leon S. K. - Words: 3,423 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 7 - Follows: 2 - Published: 12-24-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8827314
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: Resident Evil and Resident Evil characters are the property of Capcom. This is nonprofit fan fiction.
Warnings: Slash, yaoi, m/m (handjob).
Not by Design
Gray streets, gray dirt, gray outlook. Jack Krauser strode on and cast a glum view on the city. This was all he had to look forward to now.
Krauser heard the shout and shrugged it off. The interested party'd pick another time if it was important.
"Krauser, wait up!"
Krauser debated with himself and ground into place. As he turned, he finally placed the voice and couldn't help a surge of mood: Leon Kennedy.
Leon jogged to his side. Leon had cut his hair, apparently bleached it a little. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. He looked a little more angular, hair sticking to his face from humidity.
"Krauser, I heard. I'm sorry."
"Shit happens," Krauser gritted out. "It's not the end of the world." Except it was. Without a working hand, he didn't have his military career or his merc hobbies, and without his military career, he had nothing. He had been thrown out like a used glove.
"Let's go for a drink. On me." The silent wall seemed to eventually faze Leon and strip him of his confidence. Leon recognized a brush-off when he saw one, and seemed struck down by it. "Unless you have something else."
Krauser sighed. "As long as you're buying."
The first round was just to get the thirst off, but when they took the second helping and Leon was still there, Krauser growlingly warmed up and let him broach the real subject.
"You left the military."
He had to hand it to him. Leon didn't pussyfoot.
"Discharged. Can't work the field with a crimp arm."
"Krauser, I'm sorry."
"What's it to you? You've got it made." Funny thing was, he might've even liked the guy if it wasn't for the...
Special Government Agent Leon Kennedy.
Leon glanced down, thought his words. "I thought about telling you."
"Why would you have? I wasn't privileged with the information; I wasn't dealt the information. Same difference." No use teaching a grunt strategy.
Krauser kept his sneer to himself and took a swig of beer. He was closing on the bottom of the glass now; a few more gulps, and he could leave with a legit excuse. He wasn't wasting breath.
"I saw your record." Leon's expression was guarded. "The missions you've run— I've never seen a track record that compared. It's not the same to go on a mission when your partner's the best there is, and you have nothing to show for yourself. It kind of puts the pressure on you. I should've trusted you from the start; I'm sorry."
Krauser stared at Leon in amazement, but Leon wouldn't look at him.
Leon said painfully, "I guess I was feeling a little self-conscious."
This was nothing Krauser had expected. The recognition, the acknowledgement, the apology—he'd have never expected anything like this. He didn't doubt the sincerity, but the emotions surprised him. He'd never considered Leon could be intimidated by him, or looking up to him. It wasn't as if Leon wasn't a hell of a fighter himself. Inexperienced, but loaded with potential. His arm burned, but he felt a touch of camaraderie. The disdain tempered, and somewhere it registered that it was a hell of an admission, and Leon was really struggling with himself.
While Krauser had no change of heart that his treatment had been shitty, Leon had been straight up with him.
"Hey," Krauser said, milder than usual. "Thanks for that, but you've nothing to apologize for. We're good, where I'm concerned."
His glass was empty. Leon was playing with his own.
"Whaddoya say we get another round?"
He didn't usually traverse down memory lane, but Leon was actually pretty pleasant company. He had a quick mind and a cool head, and he made for an attentive audience. He had this understated quality to him. Krauser got coaxed into sharing a couple of war stories and found he didn't mind the reminiscence that much.
Leon had listened. He had a thoughtful look on his face, and Krauser was curious to hear what his remark was going to be. He assumed it would be something challenging, and he wasn't disappointed.
"Why a knife?"
"You use one yourself," Krauser pointed out. With a pretty good grip, too, from what he'd seen.
"Yeah, but it's mostly a backup."
Krauser tsked. "Sure, backup's fine. The knuckles can only take so much punishment. But that's not all knives are good for. Take two men, a yard away from each. Who walks out, the man with a knife or a man with a gun?"
"Knife," Leon said unhesitatingly.
"Two men, five yards."
"Knife." At Leon's hesitating, Krauser repeated emphatically, "Knife."
Leon was dubious. Krauser brushed it off.
"Same scenario, ten yards."
"You got to be kidding me!"
Krauser glowered until his face pulled into a grin. "Yeah, I am."
Leon was craning his neck, shaking his head, mouthing ass. Krauser laughed.
"I'm not saying it's a panacea, but if you can only rely on yourself as a gunslinger, you can count yourself out of the survival game. Any raw recruit can fire a gun and even hit something with it. What then? Sooner or later, you run dry, even if you knew what you were aiming at. It helps if you're not the guy who just packed it for a souvenir. I'm telling you, Leon: a gun never beats a knife in close contact."
Faint smile. "I'll remember that."
"Knife's the finest weapon there is. It's an art. It sharpens the mind, too."
"You know way too much about this," Leon said with a sigh.
To their mutual surprise, Krauser wasn't offended. He laughed. "I guess I do."
"You're such a badass."
"The meanest there is."
It was Friday night. While they'd sat still, the bar had started to fill up.
Leon seemed to sober up. He consulted his PDA for time. "Shit, sorry. I didn't realize it was getting late. I didn't mean to keep you; you probably had other things going on."
Krauser shrugged. "Nothing much. Don't sweat about it."
Their neighboring seats had already been taken over. Another shrill noise cut the air. Krauser grimaced. "Shit, Leon, hate to whine, but that squeaking's really getting to my nerves. I'd vote that we move on."
Leon squinted his eyes. "Agreed. You know what, I'm just gonna hit the john."
They scooped up their jackets and cleared the table. The space they left behind was readily confiscated. Leon separated with a nod and dogtrotted to the men's room. Krauser took to leaning on the bar and studying the crowd. This is what people did: went out on their day off and had a good time. He didn't find the prospect enjoyable. The barkeep came raising brows at him. "Thanks, I'm good."
Leon came back, weaving through the crowd. The floors were getting tight. Just as he reached Krauser, he was elbowed in the back. He came smashing into Krauser and accidentally pressed against him.
"Watch it, punk." The perp who'd thought little of pushing Leon realized whom he'd pushed Leon against and was quick to apologize. Krauser finished the staring match over Leon's shoulder and glanced down.
Krauser smirked quickly, holding Leon by the shoulders. "Gotcha, comrade."
They were still stationary, the crowd behind them pushing them flush together, bodies matched by the inch, until Leon detached unsteadily and Krauser's hands fell.
The volume had picked up. The new arrivals rallying on the scene were taking up the last square feet of free space.
"We should go." Krauser had to raise his voice.
They managed to push through, with Krauser taking the lead, effectively clearing the way. They got past the bouncers and incoming queue before they stopped to pull their jackets on and take notice of the night air. At least it had stopped raining.
Even the slight fuss around left them in an awkward step, hovering between calling it quits or hitting the next joint. It had been a good evening. He'd actually really enjoyed himself. Leon, too, could've just said his piece and taken off, but he had stuck around and didn't seem to be hurting over it.
"I have a couple of beers at my place. I don't know what's on the cable, but if you wanted to come by?"
Leon's eyes flashed. With a quick smile, "I'd like that."
"Do you need to get your car or something? I was headed to my place anyway, so I'm on foot. It's not too far off."
"Nah, I don't think so. The car's fine where it is. Probably not the best idea to drive right now."
"Probably not," Krauser agreed.
Krauser turned the TV on and flipped the remote to Leon. He disappeared for refreshments and left Leon to flick the channels.
He had a couple of tall boys in the cold, as remembered. Krauser checked the expiration date, which thankfully wasn't at hand yet. The cans had been gathering dust in the fridge. He didn't usually drink much. His time was spent on missions, where it wasn't a good idea to get jacked up on liquor. He was in a mind for something salty, though, and he had just the thing: a bag of tortilla chips and sauce. He dropped the chips in a bowl and deemed an opened lid enough presentation for the jar. He snapped a few paper towels along and took the snacks and drinks to Leon, who was still surfing the channels intently.
"You keep a clean place," Leon commented.
"I'm not around to mess the place too much. Haven't been around..." Krauser trailed off. "Did you want a glass for this? I ran out of hands."
"It's fine. Though would you mind if I grabbed a glass of water? It might be a good idea to water down a little."
Leon seemed a little sheepish, but Krauser nodded. "I could use some myself. Hang on."
He made another round to the fridge and found the ice situation suitable for hosting. He returned with two filled glasses and a pitcher. He held out a glass for Leon.
"Lose the Krauser already, huh? It's Jack."
Leon had planted himself on the couch. It was the best spot, and Krauser really couldn't be bothered to crank his neck in a recliner. He plopped down next to Leon, who had settled on a channel, although the volume was turned so low it almost dissolved into a background hum. Some black-and-white flick was playing.
"What's this? Couldn't find anything made this century?" he asked good-naturedly.
"It's got to be a classic, right? Black-and-white and all that?" Leon didn't wait for Krauser's grin. "It's some old detective film, I think. Film noir."
Krauser stared at the screen hard. "Yeah, I might've seen it at some point. Ages ago."
"We don't have to watch if you'd prefer something else."
"I don't mind. Anything's fine," Krauser admitted, waving off objections. He followed Leon's suit in digging into the chips and salsa as they both kept a lazy eye on the movie. The volume tuned down even further almost unnoticed.
Leon kept chewing thoughtfully, looking down at his hands.
"I'm still really sorry about your injury, Jack."
Krauser sighed. "Nothing you can do about it."
He could tell Leon was upset. He needn't be, but the concern still took the edge off from his comments.
"Do you have plans after this?"
"Heck, Leon, I don't know. It's all a black canvas now." He didn't have answers. His arm hadn't fully healed yet, but the prognosis hadn't left room for guessing: it wasn't going to heal. He'd be able to go on to a civilian life, but a soldier's career was closed for him.
"There must be something good ahead— something decent that came out of this."
Leon was grasping at straws. They both knew it, but Krauser humored him with a noncommittal shrug.
"I'm guessing a soldier's life didn't leave time for a lot of things. Some hobby you can put more time on? More dating?"
"Nothing I can think of."
Leon was looking at him intently, but Krauser snorted. He didn't mean it in an unfriendly way, though. They sank into silence and staring at the TV. The story had probably progressed; it was hard to tell, but the flick passed for a good pastime anyway. They relaxed gradually, sitting so close that their thighs almost brushed.
Something different drew his attention. The sensation registered, but he needed a visual to confirm it. Krauser made the confirmation with his own eyes and flipped to Leon, who met his gaze unwaveringly. Leon had placed a hand on his thigh.
"Do you mind?" Leon was treading carefully.
Krauser felt almost sorry for what he was about to say. He was looking for the words because he recognized the delicate situation for what it was. He shuffled in his seat and said not harshly,
"Uh, Leon. I'm not gay."
"Neither am I."
Leon's voice was light. Head tilted, his balmy baritone held a touch of amusement.
Krauser returned to staring at the movie, but the TV could've been off. Only the flickering monochrome told him there was life on the screen, though he wasn't the sure if it was the same movie anymore. His senses were heightened. His tactile sense was working on overdrive; he could feel Leon's presence acutely. They stayed like that, thighs touching against better sense.
Leon's hand moved up, squeezing his inner thigh.
He didn't place sex on a high priority, but he wasn't impervious to it. A pleasurable twitch shot straight into his pants.
You sized up other men when you constantly lived in crammed quarters. You evaluated everything: you sized up muscles, judged stamina, measured performance, assessed leadership. You breached all kinds of intimacy without thinking there was anything to it. And if you sized up dick when you were changing, that was fine, too. It meant you knew what you were up against.
"Do it," he grunted and slid down, giving more room.
Leon nodded, pressing firmer and curling fingers against his thigh, before sliding a hand between his legs and outlining the pants fold. He worked the fly open and slipped a hand in.
Leon was kind of soft, felt a little ...feminine... at times, but there was nothing soft about his touch. His grip was firm and all man. He wasn't afraid to touch dick like most women were.
Krauser gave in and took his ease.
Leon checked him under half-lidded eyes, stroking along the shaft lazily. His gaze was admiring, and a pang of arousal jolted in Krauser's brain.
As the ministrations continued, Krauser found he was enjoying himself royally.
He forced his eyes open, grunting. He uncoiled his neck and straightened up, glancing at Leon's crotch. He wasn't selfish like this. Krauser reached over and massaged over the bulge roughly. Leon rewarded him with gratifying yowl. Maneuvering into skin contact wasn't as easy. Leon sported a tight pair of jeans and Krauser was working the fly at an awkward angle.
"Lose the pants already," he said gruffly. He replaced Leon's hand on his dick, giving just a few restive strokes of his own.
Leon gave a lingering look before he drew up. He kicked the shoes off and snapped the button. He made a show of pulling the zipper down, standing in front of Krauser, and worked the tight pair off himself. Krauser kept lazy strokes on himself, keeping the interest alive, half-smirking. Leon hesitated, but instead of planting himself back on the couch as Krauser had expected, he approached cautiously. Krauser didn't spook.
Leon worked himself in a loose straddle, a knee beside Krauser's parted legs, a leg between them. They were closely associated and not quite touching. Krauser nodded his approval and hooked fingers under the band. The underwear hitched down, exposing a view. Leon reached back for Krauser's dick and Krauser returned the favor with his good hand, except their arms got in the way awkwardly. Leon immediately switched hands.
Leon was smaller than him, but he was in top shape. All sinewy, lithe muscle. No laxness would accomplish a body like that. Hell, he'd seen the fighting abilities, and secretly, Krauser was impressed. Leon was staring at his lips, mouth slightly parted, but he didn't move in when Krauser didn't seem so inclined.
Leon was playing with him languidly, thumbing down the underside of his shaft and rubbing at the head. Krauser himself took down the aggressive route and jerked him off unapologetically. Leon was a cool customer, but Krauser enjoyed hearing the little cracks in his breath and grinned at the effect he was making. Leon took the hint, too, and picked up the pace.
They hit peak almost at the same time. Krauser shook the euphoria off and finished the job for Leon. Breathing heavily, a hand past Krauser's shoulder to steady himself, he shot his load.
It left them in an odd space in-between: messy, stupefied in a good way, still entangled in close proximity. Leon pulled to his feet first, fumbling his briefs back up and examining his hand with flustered discomfort.
"Over there." Krauser nodded to the bathroom, and Leon disappeared. Krauser lay back, deliciously spent.
He found the willpower to push up shortly after, running a hand over his chest and scowling a little, without real annoyance. He moved to clean over at the sink, and went on to scoop up an extra towel. He gave a light knock on the bathroom door. "Hey, Leon. I'll leave a towel by the door. Take the time you need." He left the terry on the floor, satisfied after hearing a faint thanks from behind the door.
Leon finally emerged from the bathroom as Krauser had finished cleaning with a damp towel, barely able to hide his amusement as Leon padded to his jeans in his underwear. He had some mercy, despite the chuckling, and he left Leon to wrestle back into his jeans without an audience. Upon his returning, Leon appeared put-together again, flashing a tentative grin, which he returned.
"You can crash if you want to. On the couch," Krauser cautioned.
"The couch." It was just a joke now.
The offer was gratefully accepted, and Krauser pulled out a pillow and a blanket. Leon reassured him he was fine.
Krauser slipped into bedroom and left Leon to get comfortable. He didn't bother to strip for bed himself, only kicked his shoes off and pulled the cover on himself.
It was well into the morning when Krauser woke. He grunted a little at being fully clothed, grimaced at the sting in his arm, and remembered about his guest in the same breath. He ventured out.
Leon wasn't on the couch. The blanket had been skewed on the couch and the pillow was still in place. Krauser automatically folded the bedclothes away. "Leon? You here?"
With a little looking, he found a piece of paper that had been ripped from a printout.
The meter ran out.
See you around?
The bottom of the note had a phone number scribbled on it.
Krauser chuckled. He folded the note and pinned it on the fridge with a magnet. "See you around, comrade."
Please say the word if you took interest. Thanks for your time!
Cordial thanks to Gypsie (Gypsie Rose) for the proofreading!
Published December 24, 2012.