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One Word Prompts - Still Accepting

Another day done and another night alone. Chris had long since lost interest in watching anything on the TV. Most nights he just sat in solitude, just as he was starting to do. He took a seat on his couch, boots still on, and flicked his lighter on to light his cigarette. He took a long drag, hearing the distant roar of thunder. He knew it was a nasty habit, but it was one of the only things that kept his mind from going to places he didn’t want it to go when he was alone.

A flash of lightning lit up the mostly dark room as he blew the smoke out. At least he’d have the ambiance of a storm to occupy him for a while. The rain began to pick up and the winds started to howl as he shifted to put his boots up on the table in front of him, scattered with various files and papers. He was taking in another drag when he heard a sound that didn’t quite match up with the storm. 

“The hell...” Nobody ever came here. Most people didn’t even know where he lived, but he was almost sure he had heard a knock at his door. Another crash of thunder echoed as he stamped out the cigarette and reached for a button under the table next to the couch. When a hidden compartment dropped and opened, he pulled the gun from it before closing it. 

Moving towards the door, the power flickered out with another bright flash of lightning. He shifted into all of his training and experience and was hyper aware of every single one of his surroundings as he approached the door. Checking the peephole, he didn’t see anything but darkness. After a moment, he unlocked the door and opened it, gun still at the ready. His gaze shifted down to meet with blood mixing with the rain that poured in sheets. Brown eyes widened as he saw who was there, bleeding and injured at his doorstep. 

“Piers...” The word came out like a choked whisper. He dropped to his knees, not caring that he was getting soaked in the storm. Instinctively, he touched the other man, a hand on his shoulder before his palm found the other man’s cheek. “Jesus Chris, Piers... It’s you...”

Snapping out of it, realizing the other man is wounded badly, he shifts, picking him up without even asking. Whatever or whoever caused this damage could be just around the corner. He carried him in, quickly shutting the door behind them and locking the house down. He moves swiftly to the couch, lying him down to survey the damage. 

"Deep breaths,” Chris coaxes, “in and out.”

Piers has just been through quite a trial, were one to put it mildly. He’s done his duty, protected his squad mates, provided overwatch, and allowed not a single undead, shambling corpse to reach the team. Still, it’s ugly, the first time you see a stumbling, groaning child. Squeezing that trigger cannot have been easy, but Chris is grateful to Piers for doing it. He’d had his hands full elsewhere and his second in command had taken charge of the situation admirably.

He takes Piers’s hands in his own and holds them tight, not caring who might be watching. “Look at me,” he says. “You did the right thing—you did fine. We are alive because of you. You hear me?”

Jill’s words echo in his head. There’s no reason for Piers not to believe her, but his brain hasn’t been all that logical lately. He rubs at his eyes, trying to chase away the sleep that clings to them. Waking up has easily become one of his least favorite things. There’s always a solid minute or two where he can’t remember where he is or why, and everything around him isn’t exactly a comforting context clue. “You sound just like Chris.” He leans back against the pillows, the adrenaline slowly fading out of his system. Hospital. C-virus. Right. He’s going based on assumptions, since he’s still not allowed out of the room. “Except I have a feeling that your bedside manner is much better than the Captain’s. He doesn’t handle people he cares about getting hurt all that well, huh?” Piers feels guilty that he’s causing so many people to pause their duties. He knows just how much paper work comes over a mess like their mission in China. His own situation probably added on a whole folder of work. He’s pretty confident in his guess that Chris won’t touch any of it and Jill is dealing with the fall out. "If I’m safe, why have you all taken shifts watching me? Did Claire make a spreadsheet?”

"Does anyone?" The question is posed gently, lacking any incredulity or skepticism that might have bourne it to anyone else, tempered by the grogginess in Pier's bearing and the concern and affection for Chris which his comparison hints at. "When you've been doing this as long as we have, the injuries to people you care about have a way of stacking up. Every one of them feels as terrible as the first." Injuries she says, rather than casualties, that the lieutenant has suffered the former and not the latter a miracle she does not fixate on, which she doesn't assume him to be as thankful for as everyone else. The few days he's had in and out of consciousness since the incident, on copious drugs and undergoing countless tests, could hardly have been conducive to processing and accepting the obvious costs of his survival, and she had not always weighed her own costs worthwhile.

A dark brow rises and Chris Redfield sucks his teeth, considering. “Hypothetically, huh?”

There’s a short, sharp exhalation of air from his nose indicating wry laughter. He moves closer, looking the lieutenant up and down and then—he is deceptively quick for a man of his size—reaches out to grasp one wrist, holding firmly, but not squeezing. It’s the one Piers has been favoring, just slightly, hardly enough to notice if you didn’t know him. But Chris does. He knows the young man well.

“Hypothetically, I’d say you were irresponsible, riding on adrenaline and hoping for the best… I might say you could put your team in jeopardy and that shit doesn’t fly. I might even suggest that you’d better take care of it before it becomes a bigger problem.

(I remember the meme was something along the lines of tell me what you think my muse is like in bed...)

Brown eyes opened, a sleepy grin sweeping over his face with a soft purr. He reached for the younger man, gently pulling him on top of him, blanket and all. He'd learned long ago to sleep with multiple blankets on the bed as his lover was prone to stealing them.

Subtle Spicy Starters - Still Accepting

The words almost made him laugh. Almost. After everything, years apart from each other, the last thing he was thinking about was the fact that he could be gentle with the other man. He'd spent years thinking he would never see Piers again and that he had watched him die. In Chris's mind, Piers was the most fragile thing in the world right now. Still, he knew that the other man had a point. He wasn't going to hurt him.

He nods, lips pressing rushed, needy kisses to the other man's lips and jaw. His voice was only a hushed murmur against warm, soft, familiar flesh. "Piers... If anything hurts just... Say the word." He wanted this-- needed it-- more than anything else in the world. The last thing he wanted to do, though, was to hurt Piers.