Really just bottom quality content

Though Chris smiles sheepishly as Leon calls him out (had he been wearing nothing? Oh, God, is Leon wearing nothing underneath? Or is the fabric just delicate? And which one would fuck Chris up more?), the gentle pat of his boyfriend’s hands to his chest has him managing a weak, “You take such good care of me.”

And Chris wants to forgo dinner and stick his head under Leon’s dress, but at the same time, it’d be a damn shame to turn down a Kennedy casserole.

So he behaves. He lets Leon go and steps away, which is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do physically since getting that boulder to move in Kijuju, and then gives him one last look over before turning.

“Don’t take too long.”

And before he leaves for the table, Chris reaches back to give Leon a swift smack to the ass. He can’t have Leon forget about him, after all, not even when he’s being the absolute king of domestic bliss right now.

Leon loves watching the way the gears work behind Chris’ eyes, and he knew he picked the right type of undergarments. A dainty, lacy pair wasn’t easily going to be felt beneath the sturdier fabric of the dress. His smile only widens as the man speaks up. “Just trying to return everything you do for me.”

Beginning to pull away, he laughs sheepishly at Chris’ demand. “Wasn’t planning on it.” He turns to get the bottle of Pepsi from the fridge when he feels the swift hand slap against his rear.

“Someone seems to like his welcome home,” Leon teases as he continues to ready their dinner without pause.

Waiting a moment so Chris had a chance to get himself seated, Leon manages to grab a hold of the soda and casserole, everything else already being set up in the dining area, and heads in as well.

@tacticalvest​

Leon, moving to sit on Chris’ lap, recounting the day they had with their child: So, Daddy- Chris: *Has a reaction* Leon: Are you- Chris: No- Leon: Oh, I’m forever using this against you.

“Yeah, everything’s okay.”

The clickety-clack of Leon’s fingers on his computer is a calming sound, so Chris stays where he is. More subtly, being near Leon calms him too, but for different reasons– after over twelve hours without him, Chris had started getting antsy without his scent.

“An old friend showed up in town,” he admits, “I couldn’t really tell her ‘no’.

“How’s your morning been, huh? I hope nobody bullied you while I was away.”

Leon chuckles softly as he looks towards Chris once more.

“Me? Bullied? Never. Everyone here’s great,” he responds lightly, though, it’s only mostly true. Plenty of the other mentees are open about their exploits with their mentors, but Leon’s always maintained that he’s not one to kiss and tell. They’ll tease him that he’s just being prude and joke that he’s just covering for Chris, and in a sense, they’re not wrong.

After all, they still haven’t had their first night.

“Back home you know someone’s rich when you see their spread,” Jake says, popping another piece of fruit in his mouth as he holds his juice pouch carefully. He won’t go into detail about the houses he’s broken people or the rich fucks he’s killed in them, but the memory alone makes him click his tongue.

“Hoarding all that food…” He goes to pick up a chip from his bag, giving it an appraising look before popping it all in. “If everyone shared like this things wouldn’t have been half as bad.”

“Something tells me it wouldn’t be genuine, or, God forbid, luring people in to something worse.” Sherry can’t help but think about everything she had learned Umbrella and her own parents had done; of the testing done on her; of Simmons using her to create the C-Virus.

There have been few people in her life that genuinely were what they seemed, like Claire, who protected her and rescued her in Racoon City, and Leon, who took the bargain to join the government to ensure her own protection.

Even Jake wasn’t what he seemed. She might not admit it out loud, but she thought he was a selfish, opportunistic jerk when they first met. And yet, here they are, sharing fruit, enjoying one another’s company, Sherry knowing he’s actually one of the kindest people she’s ever met.

That content rumble in his chest starts up again, and Chris leans into Ethan’s hand as he murmurs, “I’m always really nice. About everything.”

The first time Ethan had looked at him like that since his infection, whole and true and with his gaze taking in all of him, Chris had shied away. Illogical as it was, he’d thought the change would’ve been too much. Thought that maybe Ethan wouldn’t want to see him, not like this.

But now he relishes the attention. Now, Chris knows just how much pressure to give to have his claw leave a white line along Ethan’s belly that’ll turn pink and raise after (and he knows, too, how hard he has to press to make Ethan bleed, but Ethan heals from everything serious, and the only real concern Chris has is that it’s always sad when his marks close up).

“Not this, though,” he says, rolling and moving until Ethan’s back is flat on the mattress. Chris is taller now, wider, his brown hair shaggy and long and his teeth sharp. He looms over Ethan with more ease than he already did before, and the hand that slips beneath Ethan’s shirt makes the fabric stretch the slightest bit around the size of it.

Chris dips his head, sniffing at Ethan’s belly. Kissing it.

“Still good.”

Kisses higher, his fingers now pinching the hem of his shirt to pull it higher up his torso.

“Really good.”

With Ethan’s shirt effectively bunched up to expose all of his upper body, Chris licks a hot stripe in the centre of his chest before setting his chin on it to look up at him, all expectant and pleased.

“Taste fucking amazing, too.”

Though a warm hand’s settled on Ethan’s inner thigh, it’s more an invitation than anything. At this hour, Chris won’t start anything without permission, even if having his mate close has his blood starting to burn a little hotter in his veins.

He just likes reminding Ethan who he belongs to, that’s all. (Mutt, indeed.)

Admittedly, it took some getting used to, seeing Chris in a mutated state. Ethan truly wanted nothing more than a normal, stable, quiet life, and having a lycan partner was the antithesis of it.

But then, so was dying, becoming molded, and not too long later having a daughter who was also molded.

But as time goes on and he adjusts more and more to their new life, he finds that he doesn’t mind being a bootleg Addams Family so much. The two most important people in his life are safe, their infections are managed, and fears regarding the frailty of humanity is pretty much out the window. And Chris’ nails and animalistic growls are certainly a positive point in their love life.

“Mm, you are an absolute sweetheart, yes,” Ethan hums with a soft chuckle in his words.

A huffed laugh puffs from his nostrils as he allows Chris to lovingly manhandle him onto his back. He gazes up at his partner affectionately and watches as he dips his head and begins to kiss along his abdomen. A delicate breath stutters in his throat as he feels the lick between his pecs.

He reaches a hand up to lovingly comb through his partner’s hair, his dark eyes meeting his blue ones as he silently recounts their crazy, messed up life. Sure, he’s still hurt that Mia had mislead him and hid major aspects of who she was from him, almost as much as he feels like a fool for not seeing her for who she really was, but he’s got a surprisingly happy and full life because of it, and in a sense, because of her.

“I don’t need apple juice all the time,” Jake says with a roll of his eyes, even if, deep down, he’s pretty happy about the prospect. He doesn’t intend to stay in America long, but if he can have juice all throughout, that’s a pretty damn good deal in his book.

He wonders if they know how lucky they are to have it.

Still, for all his argument, he yoinks the pouch Sherry offers and stabs through it again. This time, though, he savours the taste.

“I love fruit,” he says unprompted, nabbing a slice of what Sherry had prepared. “Can never get enough of the stuff.”

“Maybe I really like apple juice and like having an excuse to keep it on hand,” she countered coyly. It was very obvious that it wasn’t the case at all, but she had to play into Jake’s denial.

He had a reputation to maintain, after all.

She pulls out a water for herself, leaning back in her spot as she basks in the sunshine.

The sentinel smells it before he sees it: the acceptance of the mutamycete’s gift, the promise. In his head he hears the commands of all that came before– without the Cadou, this is the only way to create more. Without Miranda and her Four Lords (not that he remembers, really, who they were or what they stood for), it’s up to him to make sure they don’t die out.

This one’s scent is so much sweeter than all that came before, he realises, and it has nothing to do with the inconsequential perfumes the humans above ground had doused him in.

As the young man goes limp, the sentinel comes forward with the water rippling around him. Most of the tendrils from the mutamycete withdraw, but two remain loose around his wrists to hold him up.

Even all the way in the centre, the water remains chest deep for the sentinel at most. His nostrils flare behind his mask, a growl builds in his chest, and as he takes both the man’s thighs in hand, he comes close just as he spreads both legs apart and takes his place between them.

Their audience howls. There is the sound of thumping chests, of rocks thrown into the cavern walls, of some landing on the ground on the outskirts of the lake. None of them are strong enough to hit the centre, and none of them dare step in.

The sentinel moves his mask– not to remove it, but for it to rest on the side of his head. His face would be close to human if not for the jut of his canines on his lip, or the ethereal silver of his beard (and the slightest smattering of brown in it), or the points of his ears and the grey pallour of his skin.

Most strikingly, his left eye is gone, four jagged lines kissing his eyelid and half his cheek, but his right eye glows gold as he lifts the young man’s chin up.

Those flushed cheeks make his blood boil. He growls, lip curling, and without a word he mutters, “Mine.”

Then he turns the boy over.

Leon’s body is heavy as he tries to continue to tug and pull to get out somehow, but it’s to no avail. He’s been on suppressants for so long that this forced heat is already taking so much out of him physically.

His heart still pounds vigorously against his rib cage, only picking up pace as he hears the hoots and hollers of the other lycan surrounding them.

A scared yet needy choked whine fled him as he felt the hands on his thighs, hating that a part of him was grateful for the touch to his skin. He wants to beg him to stop, to let him go, but he’s scared of the sounds that might flea his lips if he parts them.

He doesn’t want to look at the beast as he comes closer and does everything in his power to avert his gaze. Though, when he grips his jaw and forces his head up, he can’t help the way his eyes go wide.

Leon’s gaze is hazy as the heat begins to overtake him, but even despite of that and the warped, scarred, and mutated features on the other, he’s spent plenty of times looking at his face in photographs. Whether it was shots of the S.T.A.R.S. team hanging around the precinct or Claire showing pictures of her dear, amazing, missing older brother, there was no doubt in his mind who this was.

“Chris?” he gasps just in time for him to be flipped around.

Shit, is this where he’s been all this time? What happened to him? Who did this? Why had they done this?

There were so many questions running through his mind, but what stood out the most was that he might be able to break through the mold seemingly entangling his mind. Maybe if he got through to him, reminded him of Claire, he could escape.