Work Text:
With a groan, Leon rips his reading glasses off and drops them onto his laptop, massaging his temples as his stress headache worsens.
Fighting the latest bio-engineered weapon to save a city? He can do that. Lead multiple helpless citizens to extraction zones? Sure, all in a day’s work.
Write a report that requires him to remember exactly what he’d been doing at one o’clock, balls deep in a warzone? Please shoot him. Put him out of his misery. He’ll even help you place the gun against his head to make sure you get an instant kill.
How does Hunnigan do it? Sitting in front of a computer all day is way more tiresome than fighting his way through a city.
Sitting back in his chair, he looks around. The clock, illuminated by the moonlight slanting through the curtains, reads 12:17 AM. Fuck. He’s been at this for hours, and he’s not even halfway through the report.
He grunts and presses a hand to his belly as it rumbles hollowly. Fuck. He also forgot to eat dinner.
Goddamn it.
Getting up, his socked feet slide over the floorboards as he shuffles into the kitchen. Looks in the pantry. Aside from a few packets of dry beef noodles, an old can of tomato soup, and some mystery seasoning packets, he’s got nothing.
The fridge is full of condiments and a singular rotting lemon that he throws into the bin immediately, disgusted. He knows there’s nothing in the freezer but ice, so he doesn’t bother checking.
A few cups of water for dinner it is, then.
He fills up a cup full of water and turns, resting his back against the counter, staring around at his dark apartment. At least when he chugs the water back, his stomach stops rumbling, though he’s left with a sick feeling roiling in his belly that makes him want to throw up.
Living the dream.
The report’s not gonna do itself though. Except when he thinks about going back to the laptop on his dining room table, he’s filled with such overwhelming fatigue that he can’t even think of moving. He’s sick and fucking tired of paperwork. Yet he knows if he doesn’t get it done before he goes to bed, he won’t sleep. He'll just keep thinking about it, slowly driving himself insane until he goes back to the laptop.
Pushing off the counter, he shuffles over to the kitchen window and peers down at the city streets below him. It’s mostly deserted at this time, since he lives far enough away from the city centre that the constant stream of nightlife doesn’t affect him much. In the span of three minutes one man and three cars passes by his window.
Leon gets bored very quickly with people-watching.
There’s nothing else for it; he’ll have to go back to work now.
Just looking at his laptop makes his headache worsen.
Suck it up, Kennedy, he tells himself, determinedly marching over to the table. He practically slams himself down on his chair, snatches up and puts on his reading glasses, and poises his fingers over the keyboard ready to type.
The blinking cursor at the end of his half-finished sentence stares back at him. Mocking him. Daring him to even try writing one more word.
Where was he even going with this sentence?
“Fuck sake,” he snarls. His stomach growls again, making everything worse. Maybe he shouldn’t have thrown that rotting lemon away. He might’ve been able to use it for something. Would rotten lemon juice pair well with plain noodles?
Fuck, that's disgusting.
His phone trills cheerily from the bedroom, startling him from his thoughts.
Well, he thinks ruefully as he fetches it, it’s not like I’m getting any work done.
Maybe it’ll be another mission and he’ll have an excuse to put this sorry excuse of a report behind him for a little longer.
Because of course work would call him in the middle of the night straight after a mission, dragging him back into the fray. No rest for the wicked, after all; he must be the wickedest person there is.
“Kennedy,” he snaps without looking at the caller ID.
“Whoa,” says the voice on the other end, male and decidedly not Hunnigan. “Did I call at a bad time?”
“Chris?” All the tension Leon had been carrying leaves like a plug has been pulled. “That you?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I was thinking about you, thought I’d call. If you’re busy, I can call back la—”
“No! No. God, no. It’s fine. I thought you were someone else. I’m not busy.”
“If you’re sure…”
“Believe me, I am. I was just writing a stupid report for some stupid mission. The thing’s a bitch, I’m barely through it. How the higher-ups think I can keep track of shit like time and place when I’m fighting for my life, I have no idea.”
Chris laughs on the other end. “Right? Those stuffy paper-pushers have no idea what it’s like.”
Leon sags backward, lets his bed catch him. He almost groans at the feel of his plush mattress—his one real splurge in this apartment—catches him and eases the pressure off his aching lower back.
“I’ve been going at it for hours, too,” he says. “I dunno how people like Hunnigan can do this all day. Staring at a computer is a nightmare.”
“You’re just getting old, babe—wait, did you say ‘hours’?”
“I did. Why?”
“Leon, have you eaten?”
“I—” Leon breaks off. The guilty silence speaks volumes. “I was going to?”
“Leon…”
“I didn’t mean to break our deal.”
The deal is that Leon doesn’t miss mealtimes, not for anything short of an oncoming apocalypse. Too many times before he’s starved himself, accidentally or not, because of work.
About a year and half a year ago it came to a head when Chris found him passed out on the floor because he hadn’t eaten in three days and had been surviving on liquor because of a bad mission. A liquor diet on an otherwise empty stomach meant he’d been rushed to the hospital to have his stomach pumped.
Waking up to a distressed Chris had not been fun. Leon swore he’d never do it again. And now here he is, like a piece of shit, doing it again.
“It’s fine,” says Chris. “You can make something for yourself now.”
Yeah, about that…
“I…also don’t have any food in the house. Not unless I want plain noodles, which I don’t,” he adds quickly, in case Chris suggests just eating them anyway. “I’ll just go down to the convenience store and grab a sandwich.”
A heavy breath creates static over the line.
“Chris, I’m sor—”
“I’m coming over,” Chris says instead.
“The convenience store should still be open anyway, so—wait, what? You’ll—” Leon blinks in surprise. “Chris? You’re in the city?”
“My plane landed like an hour ago. I was gonna hole up in a hotel for the night coz it’s too late to be dropping by. I was gonna surprise you. But now I get to cook for you, which is way better.”
Warmth suffuses Leon. He sits up, wrapping an arm around his raised knee. He can’t find the words to express his love for Chris, so he hopes that Chris can just feel it anyway, even if he can’t see Leon’s face.
“What d’you feel like?” asks Chris.
“I’m down for whatever you feel like making. I’ll eat anything right now.”
“Depending on what I find, I could probably make a mean curry?”
As if it had been waiting for that cue, Leon’s stomach rumbles again. He grimaces and massages it to ease some of the pain. “Sounds nice.”
Chris’s shoes rap sharply against the pavement, proximity to the speaker making him louder than the bustling city life around him. A car horn blares deafeningly over the line, but when Leon pulls the phone from his ear with a grimace, he hears the dull echo of it from his own home. Chris must be in the city centre. It’s almost soothing to listen to the city noises as he and Chris lapse into comfortable silence.
"You know, you don't have to wait til morning to come home and surprise me," Leon says eventually. "It's not like I'd be mad if you came straight here from the airport."
“It’s the middle of the night. You could’ve been asleep.”
“You called in the middle of the night. I’m a light sleeper; you’d have still woken me up.”
“Yeah, well,” Chris mumbles awkwardly. Leon envisions him rubbing the back of his neck like he always does when he’s been caught out. “I just wanted to hear your voice, so I thought I’d try—and good thing I did.”
Leon winces. “I didn’t mean to skip dinner.”
“I’m not mad, Leon. Or disappointed. Shit happens; work’s a bitch.”
“Heh, that it is.” Especially when you’re subject to nothing but nightmare fuel day in, day out. So many horrors, so many deaths, sometimes it’s difficult to keep track of them all. Really kills the appetite. He sighs. “Thanks, Chris.”
They both know he isn’t just thanking Chris for coming over and making dinner. Chris hums, bad as ever at taking a compliment. Yet he must be grinning broadly like the dork he is.
“I hope you can handle your spice, Kennedy,” Chris warns.
“I can take whatever you dish out.”
As soon as Leon hears the front door unlock, he leaps over the back of the couch and runs into the hallway on silent, nimble feet.
Once he’d ended the call with Chris, he hadn’t been able to sit still, so he’d left the bedroom to watch TV and clean his apartment a little. He even took time out to put on his best pyjamas and a little cologne, just to be safe. It’s been three months since he’d last seen Chris, who’d been summoned abroad on an extended mission, so sue him for being a little eager.
Quickly toeing off his boots, Chris drops the bag of groceries with a grin as Leon makes a running leap into his arms. Chris stumbles back into the door, but neither of them care; for the first time in months, they’re kissing, touching, holding each other in ways they’ve wished they could do over the scant phone calls they managed during the time Chris was gone.
Leon groans and arches his neck, hips twitching as Chris nibbles his way down his throat, hands rucking up Leon’s shirt to caress the warm skin of his back.
“Chris,” he gasps. “Oh, God. Chris.”
“Fucking missed you,” Chris snarls. He gets a hand in Leon’s hair—fuck it’s so hot that he can hold Leon effortlessly with one arm, like he hardly weighs a thing—and uses it to wrench his head back further, giving him more room to kiss and bite. “Missed you so fucking much.”
“Me, too. Fuck, fuck…”
They devour each other, relearning the feel of each other, the way they taste, smell. Leon can’t get enough of this man. Every time Chris comes back to him, he wonders how the fuck he managed to let him go in the first place.
It’s not until Chris accidentally kicks over the grocery bag and sends a pair of green peppers rolling across the floor that either of them remember that they’re supposed to be making dinner, not almost fucking against the front door of Leon’s apartment where his neighbours can definitely hear them.
Chuckling, Chris sets Leon back on his feet. They’re both red in face and deliciously rumpled. Leon likes the look of the bruise he’d sucked into the base of Chris’s throat.
“Down, Kennedy,” Chris warns, catching the look on Leon’s face and correctly interpreting the intent to continue where they left off. He picks up the groceries and leads Leon into the kitchen by the hand. “If we’re gonna fuck, I’m making sure you eat first. I’m not having you pass out on me.”
“I’ve gone longer without eating doing way more stressful things.”
“Yeah, well, that shit’s not on so long as I’m around. C’mon, I even bought you some chocolate milk.”
“Fuck, yes! I knew there was a reason I kept you around—other than your bulging muscles and devilishly good looks, of course. Oh, and your dick. Your dick is really good, too, I guess.”
“You’re such a child…”
“Don’t think I don’t notice when you drink my chocolate milk in the middle of the night, you heathen. Watch your words.”
Instead of helping with any part of the meal prep, Leon fills a glass with chocolate milk and hops onto the counter, kicking his bare feet and occasionally snatching pieces of whatever Chris happens to be cutting up at the time. It helps take the edge off his hunger pains and it ticks Chris off a little. Win-win scenario.
When he steals another piece of bacon off the chopping board, Chris flicks him on the forehead. He flinches back, scowling at Chris who continues cutting bacon, unrepentant.
“Keep eating all my ingredients and I won’t have any left over for this curry,” he says. But when Leon grabs another piece of bacon, all Chris does is roll his eyes and sigh. Leon grins wolfishly as he pops his prize into his mouth. “Fine, fine… Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I’m hungry.”
Setting down the knife, Chris steps in between the parted v of Leon’s legs, his hands settling on the counter beside Leon’s hips. They stare at each other.
“What?” Leon asks when the staring goes on for a bit longer than he’s comfortable with. His heart thunders against his ribcage. “Something on my face?”
Finally, Chris leans in and presses their lips together in a long, slow kiss. Moaning, Leon lets his bare feet slide up the back of Chris’s thighs until he can wrap them around his waist, pulling him closer, resting his entire weight on his left hand for balance whilst his right cups the back of Chris’s neck, keeping him where he is. It’s been so fucking long.
Chris’s hands work up under Leon’s sleep shirt, making him flinch and huff as fingers graze over the ticklish skin of his ribs.
“I love you,” says Chris when they break apart. A little kiss-dazed, Leon can only blink owlishly at him, earning himself a pecked kiss under his left eye. “Even if you are a gremlin.”
He gently pries Leon’s legs apart to step out of them. The loss of him leaves Leon cold and shivering a little. If he wasn’t getting fed, he’d reel Chris right back in and keep him there forever.
“What movies do you have, by the way?” Chris asks, picking up the knife again. “Anything new?”
“No, not really. Could find something on Netflix, or maybe YouTube? But I’ve no idea what’s good.”
Leon hops off the counter and heads into the living room to turn on the TV. The fact that tonight started so miserably and is about to end with a home-cooked meal and, apparently, a snuggle on the couch watching a movie has him excited. Look at him, having an almost normal date with his boyfriend! His younger self would be stunned that he could still do these types of things.
A lot of Netflix’s catalogue ends up being filled with bullshit, he realises quickly.
As a general rule of thumb, Leon tends to avoid most action and horror movies. Hollywood horror just cannot hold up to real life. Political mysteries are also out because he’s had enough of government bullshit to last him a lifetime, and spending two hours watching a fake American government operate better than the real one is nothing short of depressing.
“Why do I even still pay for this subscription?” he snarls. “Chris! Are you almost done in there? I can’t choose anything; it’s all shit.”
Something metallic clatters on the kitchen counter, then Chris comes out, wiping his hands on a cloth that he unceremoniously chucks over his shoulder when he’s done. If it didn’t land on the kitchen table, Leon would’ve been pissed at him for that.
“Surely it’s not that bad,” Chris says. “Gimme the remote.”
A few minutes of scrolling later, and Chris concedes the point with a grimace. He hands the remote back to Leon, who tries not to look as smug as he feels as Chris goes back to the kitchen.
“Food’s almost done, by the way,” he calls out. “So, pick something quick.”
When Chris comes back out carrying two bowls of curry, it’s to find that Leon, after browsing YouTube movies catalogue, has settled on The Devil Wears Prada.
“Ha! I remember Claire was obsessed with that movie when it came out,” Chris says, settling beside Leon. “I could be halfway across the world on a mission, and it still wouldn’t be far enough to escape it; she’d call me up and tell me all about Meryl Streep’s character and how cool she was, and how stupid Anne Hathaway’s character was for leaving a job where she could get Prada bags for free.”
“Eh, I picked it because it reminded me of this mission I was on once, maybe like ten years ago?” God, had it really been that long? Shaking his head, Leon mixes his food together with lazy swirls of his spoon. “This politician’s wife was a major executive of some fashion brand, or some shit like that, I dunno. She spent so much time trying to convince me to retire and come to her fashion brand and be a model. Said I had the cheekbones to die for.”
“Ha! What’d she say when you said no?”
“If her husband hadn’t distracted her, it would’ve been the tantrum of the ages. She said, and I quote,” he adopts a mockingly high falsetto voice, “‘Those cheekbones are a gift from the gods themselves! You’re going to waste them running through filthy sewers and shooting guns at monsters like an idiot?’ Forgot real quick that those guns saved her from being a BOW’s chew toy in the sewers I found her hiding in with her personal assistant.”
“Some people are idiots, man, what can I say? Though I can definitely see you as a model." Chris taps said cheekbones with his knuckles. "Your cheekbones are killer.”
“Yeah, right.” Leon rolls his eyes, batting the hand away. “Anyway, she gave me her number and told me to call her if I changed my mind. Never did. Only thing worse than running through sewers killing monsters for a living is strutting down a runway in a fur coat.”
“What’d you do with the number?”
“I gave it to some dude in a dive bar in Oklahoma who was hitting on me.”
Chris, who’d just taken a bite of his food, starts laughing so hard he chokes on it, pounding his chest.
“Jesus, Chris!” Leon surges upright and slams his hand across Chris’s back a few times until Chris draws in a ragged breath and waves him away. “Chew before you swallow, for fuck’s sake.”
“Y-you,” Chris finally gasps out, still giggling, “you gave the number of a rich and influential woman to some rando in a seedy dive bar? Leon, I love you. You’re one of a kind, I swear to God.”
“Thank you?” Leon doesn’t know why Chris finds it so funny, but whatever. At least the story made him laugh. “C’mon, dinner’s getting cold. I wanna see what the fuss is about with this movie.”
“Just remember; if you had taken up that old lady’s job offer, this movie probably could’ve been your life.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a comedic drama, not a horror movie.”
Chris thankfully doesn’t choke this time when he laughs.
It’s a good fucking movie Leon decides halfway through. They’ve discarded their empty bowls on the floor. Warm thanks to the comforter Leon grabbed from his bed, they cuddle on the couch with Chris spooned behind Leon, fingers idly stroking a patch of exposed skin on Leon’s waist.
“The friends are fucking stupid,” Chris says after a while. “They’re getting all this designer shit for free, and they’re complaining about not getting to see her that much anymore? Like what did they think she has to do in order to get them this free stuff?”
“She needs to cut them off.”
“I can’t believe this movie ends with Andy throwing the phone away and going back to these shitty ass friends.”
“…Chris, I should kick your ass for spoiling this for me.”
“This is a ten-year-old movie. It’s your own fault for not knowing.”
“You’re a bastard…”
“You love me.”
“You wish.”
Warm and more comfortable than he’s been in a long time, Leon struggles to keep his eyes open. As much as he wants to see the end of the movie for himself to judge how stupid Andy’s decision is, he also really needs to sleep. God, but he feels so safe in Chris’s arms. He smiles drowsily as he feels Chris’s lips press gently on the back of his neck, rubbing a foot over Leon’s ankle.
He can’t believe that only a few hours ago he’d been struggling with his report, alone, pissed off, hungry, and ready to cry.
“Best surprise ever,” he mumbles.
“Hmm?” Chris whispers. “What’d you say, babe?”
But Leon’s already asleep.
A full bladder wakes Leon up at dawn. Yawning, Leon gently extricates himself from Chris’s grip, tucking him back in before the cool morning air disturbs him, then goes to relieve himself.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise to feel as well rested as he does, but when he comes back from the bathroom to take in the sight of Chris asleep on his couch, the TV having turned itself off sometime in the night and left the apartment in a state of quiet contentment, he finds that he is.
It’s been a long time since he got a good night sleep; probably as long as he and Chris have been forcibly separated by their jobs. If only they got to have nights like this every night.
Well, he thinks with a sigh, there’s no point in complaining about it. He’ll just have to cherish it even more when they happen.
He takes their cups and bowls to the kitchen sink and leaves them there, not in the mood to wash them. There’s more leftovers in the pot, he notes happily. Chris wasn’t wrong when he said he makes mean curry.
His phone, left on the kitchen table last night, chirps with a text message.
HUNNIGAN 6:24
Don’t mean to rush you, but the higher-ups
are getting on my ass about your report. Any
chance you can get it to me by midday?
LEON 6:27
Tell those good for nothing dickwads
that they can shove the report up their asses.
But yeah, I’ll have it to you shortly. I’m almost
done.
HUNNIGAN 6.29
As much as I’d like to, I need this job. And
you need me as your handler. Looks like
we’re just gonna have to suck it up and keep
kissing corporate asses.
Thanks, Leon.
“Should I be jealous?” comes Chris sleepy voice. “Who’re you texting that’s got you smiling like that, huh?”
“Hunnigan.”
Throwing off the blankets, Chris comes over to stand behind Leon, wrapping him in a bear hug. “Ooh, stiff competition.”
LEON 6:33
Chris says hi.
“Heh, hardly.” Leon surrenders his weight to Chris, letting his eyes slip closed with a grin as kisses are nibbled up the column of his throat. “All she does is make me work. At least you wine and dine me first.”
Chris pouts. “She asked you to go into work?”
“Nah, just to send her the mission report because the bigwigs are raising a stink. But I don’t wanna fucking do it.”
“Mission reports suck,” Chris agrees. “When does she need it by?”
“Midday.” Fingers ghost over Leon’s stomach. Twitching, he grabs at Chris’s hands, threading their fingers together. “Kill me now, Chris. End my misery. I’m only halfway done with the piece of shit.”
“How about I give you an incentive instead?”
“Yeah?” Leon gasps, knees weak, as Chris takes their joined hands and rubs them over the growing bulge in Leon’s sweatpants. “What kind of incentive?”
The words are snarled into Leon’s ear: “Quicker you get that report done, the quicker I can eat you out like the feast you are.”
“Oh, fuck!”
Leon has the report done by eight o’clock.