Krauser x Re2 Leon
summary: AU where the Raccoon city accident didn't happen. Leon is a promising rookie cop, and Krauser is temporarily assigned as a guest instructor to the city's police tactical training program.
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In the department's tactical training room, Krauser surveyed the eight men standing in a semicircle with their hands clasped behind their backs. One of them caught his attention. Puffy cheeks, blue eyes bright with determination, light brown hair, that almost pouty lips begging to be— He realized he'd been staring and forced his gaze away.
"I'll see how you handle knives first," he said. Then nodded toward Leon.
"You. Come here."
Leon clearly hadn't expected to be singled out. His eyes widened for a split second but he recovered quickly and stepped forward. "Yes, sir!"
A few trainees chuckled and traded knowing looks until Krauser's death stare silenced them. He didn't miss the way their eyes lingered on Leon. He gave Leon a quick once-over. Lean and fit, but soft, he thought.
Leon drew his combat knife and moved to strike. Krauser reacted instantly, knocking the weapon from his hand before the motion was complete. The knife clattered against the floor. Leon blinked in stunned amazement, also embarrassed of his performance. The other trainees were impressed as well.
Too slow, Krauser thought, and was annoyed by the flicker of disappointment he felt.
He nudged the fallen knife toward Leon with the tip of his boot. "Pick it up." The room was quiet except for the soft shuffle of boots on the mats. Leon obeyed quickly, his fingers tightened around the handle while the other trainees watched with curiosity.
"Wrong already," Krauser said. He stepped in and caught Leon's wrist before he could move again.
"Your grip's sloppy. You're squeezing like you're afraid it'll run away." A muted chuckle came from somewhere behind them. Krauser didn't look away from Leon as he adjusted his hand, turning his wrist until the blade aligned with his forearm.
"Control it. Don't strangle it." he instructed and Leon nodded.
"And your stance." He tapped Leon's ankle with his boot. "Too narrow. If you fall like that, you're done." He pushed Leon's foot back into position and squared his shoulders with a firm hand at his side.
Leon stiffened under the attention, not just Krauser's but everyone's, yet he held the stance.
"You're telegraphing," Krauser continued. "Every move you make is written on your face before it happens." Leon's cheeks warmed. He could feel the weight of the others' eyes, but he didn't look away.
"Watch."
Krauser took the knife and settled into the corrected stance. The trainees leaned in slightly. His strike was sudden and clean, stopping a breath from Leon's chest. A few impressed murmurs could be heard.
"Again," Krauser said, pressing the handle back into Leon's palm. "This time, do it right."
Leon focused, replaying the instructions in his head. His stance settled, more confident now. He moved without hesitation, swinging the knife toward Krauser's chest.
Krauser caught his wrist mid-strike.
For a moment the room went completely silent. The trainees stared, surprised by the speed, and by how close Leon had come.
Krauser almost smiled. "Good."
He released Leon and stepped back. "Now get in pairs and start practicing."
As they paired up, Krauser circled the room with deliberately slow steps. His expression was serious as a stone as he watched the pairs.
The only sounds in the room were strained breaths, boots scuffing against the mats, and clangs of steel.
Then something caught his attention.
Leon's partner was smirking.
Leon, oblivious, was focused entirely on his form. He stepped in cleanly, his knife angled right, but his partner played dirty. The man twisted Leon's wrist harder than necessary and swept a kick into his shin.
Leon's breath hitched in a quiet groan and he lost his balance. His knife wavered.
A few trainees glanced over but didn't interfere. It was training. Rough happened.
But Krauser was already moving.
He crossed the distance in three silent strides and caught the partner's arm in a grip that stopped the motion.
"We're not brawling," Krauser said. "You're practicing technique."
The man muttered an apology and stepped back. Leon straightened, trying to shake off the sting in his leg.
Krauser assessed Leon in a quick glance. No real damage. Good.
"Keep going."
Half an hour later, Krauser called it. "That's enough. You're dismissed."
Everyone relaxed, sheathing their knives and loosening their shoulders. The trainees turned toward the exit in a loose cluster.
"Not you."
Leon froze mid-step.
A few heads turned towards him. Leon's jaw tightened as he faced Krauser again. He hated to be the center of attention.
"We need to fix your grip," Krauser said. But it was just an excuse.
A couple of the trainees exchanged looks on their way out, murmuring under their breath. The door swung shut behind them, and their voices faded down the hall, leaving the training room uncomfortably quiet.
Leon stood where he was, knife still in hand, unsure what he'd done wrong this time.
"Yes, sir."
Krauser approached slowly. Without the audience, the space felt bigger, and somehow smaller at the same time. His focus settled entirely on Leon.
"Show me," he said.
Leon raised the knife and took his stance. Krauser watched the tension in his fingers, the way his wrist angled just a fraction off. He stepped in and closed his hand over Leon's, guiding the correction with steady pressure.
"Here," he murmured. "You keep drifting."
His thumb pressed against the line of Leon's wrist, anchoring it. Up close, Leon could feel the heat of him, the solidness of his grip. And he could smell him. Pine and musk... unmistakably manly. It almost made him feel dizzy. His breath caught before he could stop it.
"Relax," Krauser added, voice lower now. "You're fighting the blade instead of using it."
Leon forced himself to exhale and adjusted. The knife settled more naturally in his hand.
"That's it," Krauser said.
He didn’t move right away. For a moment they stayed like that, Leon acutely aware of the hand still wrapped around his, Krauser aware of everything he shouldn’t be noticing.
Then Krauser finally stepped back.
"Better," he said, professional. But his gaze lingered a second too long. "Try it once more."
Leon nodded, cheeks warm, and moved through the strike exactly as taught.
This time, Krauser didn't have to stop him.
"Good, rookie. What's your name?"
Leon's eyes lit up at the praise. "Leon, sir. Leon Kennedy."
Krauser smiled, like he wasn’t used to doing it.
"Well, Leon," he said, stepping back into Leon's space. "One more thing."
Leon straightened instinctively. "Sir?"
Krauser caught Leon's chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his head until their eyes locked.
"Don't let anyone manhandle you during drills," Krauser said with a low voice. "If they try it again… you make them regret it."
Leon's breath hitched. Heat rushed to his face, but he didn't look away. He hated when people invaded his personal space but now he almost... Wanted more?
"Understand?" Krauser asked when Leon took too long to answer.
"Yes, sir," Leon finally answered, with a cracked voice. Damn, he felt pathetic.
Krauser held him there a second longer than necessary, thumb pressing lightly against the line of his jaw before he finally released him. His expression snapped back into sharp and professional.
"Dismissed, rookie."
Leon turned toward the door on unsteady legs, pulse ringing loud in his ears. He didn't dare to look back, but felt his gaze on his back.
Behind him, Krauser watched the door swing shut and sighed.
"The fuck is wrong with me,"
...
