An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Piers Nivans/Chris Redfield
Characters: Piers Nivans, Chris Redfield
Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Between RE5 and RE6, Chris is still an agent, Piers is still with SFG, AU to most of my other stories, Mild OoC, Bondage, Interrogation, blowjob, who's teasing who?, Undercover Agent, Consensual Kink
Summary:
Tired in the middle of running intel ops, Chris Redfield checks into a hotel and crosses paths with his customer experience manager that eventually gets him tied up, spread eagled and pressed for his secrets. Luckily, Chris has himself a few tricks up his sleeves, even when he's not wearing anything.
Birthday fanfic to Chris of RedfieldandNivans. Slight rework and edits from the tumblr version.
7 and/or 19? (ya choose if ya want to do both or just one bud)
07. - Melody
(Because you didn't give me a ship, a fandom or a character, have a thing from something I'm working on)
A slow, quiet symphony echoes over the water and sand, and the head of curls in the guitarist's lap turns electric green eyes to his as the melody comes to a finish.
Exquisite as always.
There's a hint of a smile in his voice as he replies,
As are you.
A stifled snicker.
Will you teach me how to play?
In due time.
Which is.. when?
In due time.
An incredulous laugh echoes over the beach,
His touch is warm, and he runs his own fingers over the curve his ocean's cheek. Lips turn to press into the palm of his hand, smiling against the folds, dark lashes casting shadows against the seasalt white of his skin. Deep amber eyes look into down into green.
A hand pulls him down by the nape of his neck.
The kiss is soft, sweet, heartbreaking in its gentleness and he doesn't want to go, pulling him closer and the shoulders shake with mirth, moving his hands to press his knuckles against a warm mouth.
FUCK the sweet dad, can do no wrong, hundred-percent-good-morals, minimal mistakes Chase Brody, I want him grimy and crawling through blood and screaming at the world, getting drunk off his ass to spite what's allegedly good for him, picking random fights in alleyways, I want him as the pettiest, snarkiest motherfucker you'll ever meet, I want a man broken and bent who'll raise his fists at the slightest insinuation of weakness, a man who doesn't fall in love so much as throw himself off a cliff for the demon in his head, I want him sweaty and powerless and angry enough to land a punch on the Void's cheek, break all his fingers and not give a single fuck, clawing at silken suits and granite as he screams
Your interests were "Everything!" and I didn't really know what to do about it, so here's the opening clip from a future project. I hope you enjoy it ^^
=
"It's hot. Everything is hot. Understatement of the century, you think, and at the same time, an accurate description as to what it is without having to think too hard, and you're pretty sure it's the reason why you're blurring, and not the decently sized bleeding gash of the bandit's shot just behind you. The desert sun bears down on you, and of course you're nearly out of water, of course both your rented horse and your 'adventure date' had decided to abandon you for help and you're pretty sure that's a human skeleton facedown in the sand. There's a click of a barrel being reloaded, then the explosion of sand inches from you and you duck, spin in place, and dust scours your eyes and tongue, rough as sandpaper and rock and you manage, however blindly, to scramble into a narrow canyon, looking over the area for anything- anywhere to hide. The shouts of the men following you echo from the ends and you sprint- turn sharply into the first intersection, a wider clearing of red stone and dust, with hardly any shadows to hide in but if you just keep moving, if you can manage to confuse or distract them with enough stones, you might just survive. Just like the heist. Exactly like the heist. More shouts, the beat of horseshoes in sand resounding the pound in your chest and you crouch, in the corner of a shallow cavern, hopefully hidden by the too-thin stalagmite's shadow, breathing shallow.
Until the rock you'd leant against moves.
The unthinking gasp you let out is muffled instantly as you're pulled behind a hidden wall, a hand clamped over your mouth as a shadow blocks out the blinding sun and you're frozen, looking up at a face sparking with familiarity, a finger brought up to quirked lips. The warmth of that smile makes the desert heat seem cold.
He winks, the suave bastard, the achingly familiar crack of an unseen whip lost to the sound of boots against sand.
The voices outside die down, and so do you, just a little, on the inside. It's almost enough to make you forget you're bleeding out. Your lips stick to his palm a little as he lets you go, chuckling softly. He isn't looking at you,watching the sand settle beyond the cave and all of a sudden he is, eyes mischievous but kind, as carefree as he was triumphant.
(Okay yeah I know I said the EGOS! Venom AU would be next but I had to get this out of my system)
“Chase, oh, Chase,” Anti was a jeering lull in the back of his head, a dull throb in his chest. His grip on the revolver tightened. “When are you going to wake up?”
“Tell me where they are.”
A stream of uninterrupted giggling, then more silence. Typical cryptic bullshit. Chase turned the corner, shoulders tensed. Nothing. The path seemed to go on forever, unusually bright fluorescents feeling more and more like spotlights the longer he trudged on.
“I know you have them,” he tried. “And they- they know I'm here. They know I'm going to save them.”
“Do they?”
The hair on the back of his neck shot up and a bang rang out in the silence of the corridor, tiny pings of metal on metal pricking at Chase's already strained ears. The silhouette in static stared down in distaste at the broken fluorescent on the floor, then at the small hole in its chest. It lifted a finger and Chase stepped back, reaching for the trigger again, but it merely nudged at the miniscule circle until it disappeared into the TV noise. The finger pulled something out with an unnatural squelch that made Chase flinch, partly out of its suddenness, mostly out of disgust.
“Gotta be careful with that. You could kill someone.”
The hand reached for him, slipping the bullet into his shirt pocket. Color spread from where the monochromatic bars connected with him, details clearing like a video loading graphics. Chase kept the gun up, brows furrowed, as the silhouette mirrored his shirt, his hair, his face. The blue of his doppelganger's eyes gave a flash, and Anti's electric green glowed menacingly in the darkness.
“Hiya, Brody.”
His- his?- hand was still on his chest. Chase smacked it off, taking several steps back. Anti looked almost offended.
“Where are they?”
“We've been over this, ‘Rad Dad’.” The words still echoed eerily in his head, though Anti, thankfully, made no move to close any distance between them. He pressed further.
“Stacy, then. It was a weekend when you took Connor and Samantha, so she had to have been home.”
“Really? How'd you know she wasn't frolicking around with Office Man Dan?”
Chase swallowed, hands clenching into fists around the revolver. Anti's face was split in a largely amused grin, the sick bastard.
“Her babysitter doesn't work on weekends. She was home,” the words came out strangled, and Chase tried his hardest not to look fazed when Anti's grin widened.
“Aw. So you are an attentive father. Stacy might actually take you back,” Anti shot him a wink, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Emphasis on might, of course.”
He- he couldn't have- Chase found himself moving forward before the thought even registered, curled his fist in Anti's shirt, pushing them back into the wall.
“Where. Is. She.” He pressed the barrel of the gun into Anti's cheek. Anti looked as though he was about to burst out in laughter. He moved his hand from his shirt to his neck. Blood spurted from the uncovered wound a little, running over his fingers. “What did you do?”
“I didn't do anything. Haven't hurt a hair on her airy, little head, not an inch of her pretty, pretty skin.” Anti singsonged the last bit, snickering under his breath, and Chase saw red. The gun came down and Anti fell to the floor, coughing.
“Tell me where they are. Now.” Anti didn't answer, giggling from the floor. The laughing expression looked much, much more innocent than it should. Chase felt sick. The barrel of the gun pressed harder into Anti's skull. “Now!”
“Ch-hehe-ase-” Clawed fingers curled around the weapon, easing it off his head. Chase stepped back as Anti stood, brushing himself off. The glitching effect around his guise was faint, steady, solidifying. Within seconds there weren't any at all, and Chase felt his heart hammer against his chest as the corrupted eye flashed a calm blue before returning to its natural green.
“Chase.” His name rolled easily off of Anti's tongue, smooth as butter, and a tremor ran up his spine even as he aimed for his head.
“Lead me to them, or I'm blowing your holographic meatsuit open.”
“Chase, where are we right now?”
Chase balked, gun lowering a little, but kept his eye trained on him. “Where- what do you mean? You're the one who put us both here in the first place!”
Anti had the fucking nerve to fingergun him. “See, I know where we are. What I'm asking is, do you?”
Chase knit his brows together. He looked around in brief moments, taking in empty gray lockers, wide tiles, faded posters- “It looks like my old high school. Or any public high school really. Does it matter?”
Anti nodded sagely. “Did your highschool take three months to navigate?”
Three-? “What are you talking about?”
“Alright, uh, how many miles do your hallways stretch? You've been on this one for- fifteen now, rounded up.”
Fifteen. “No. No, I haven't. That's impossible.”
“How'd you know?”
Fuck. It was an annoyingly good point, given that the hallway didn't have windows or any indication of being connected to society, but you'd think he'd notice via starvation or something.
“Get to the point.”
“If Con-man and Sammy were here, don't you think you'd have found them by now?”
Chase froze. Anti stepped closer.
“Surely Stacy'd be calling for help right around now.” Another step forward from Anti, and Chase felt granite on his back. “It's not that hard, finding a grown woman and two kids in a long, rank hallway.”
Chase couldn't breathe. The hand on the gun quivered as Anti pressed forward, the muzzle digging into his chest. “Let me ask you again. When are you going to wake up?”
A bang, and Anti was gone, save the almost weary sigh in his subconscious. Chase let his hands fall as he leant back, eyes shut in relief, and wiped the cold sweat off his brow. Fuck. What the fuck.
“Who's there?”
Chase's eyes shot open at the voice, distinctly feminine, a heartachingly distinct lilt to her ‘r's. “Stace? Stacy, is that you?”
“Chase? Oh my God, Chase- where are you?”
There it was again. Chase pushed forward, into the near-blinding light of the next fluorescents when his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. “I'm here! Follow my voice!”
“Daddy!” Little Sam- “Dad! Dad, you're here!” Connor, oh God-
The voices were nearer now, and the metal of the gun was nowhere to be found, but it didn't matter, they were close, they had to be-
“I'm here! I'm coming!”
“Dad!”
“Chase!”
“I'm here!”
Chase felt weightless, adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream. His kids were here, Stacy was here, and Anti had been wrong, had lied, just like he had so many times before.
“Am I close?”
“Dad, keep going!”
“Daddy, Daddy!”
“I'm here, I'm here-”
The lights were burning into his eyes. Half the hall looked like a blur of white and gold, tiles like rubber under his sneakers.
“Dad, where are you?”
“Connor- Sam-”
“Daddy, hurry!”
Somewhere in the swirling hall, at the very back, something red. Rectangular, a glass window smack dab in the middle. Chase trudged on, head whirling, as his vision cleared to show a tiny little girl in blue overalls, smiling, a silver doorknob-
His palm hit the door and he wrenched it open.
Faded tiles, gray lockers, littered boxes. Too-bright fluorescents. In the distance, more tiles, more lockers.
No.
“Give them back!” He hurled the nearest box down the endless hallway, eyes welling up in frustration. “Give them back!”
Back? To you?
“Yes! Back! Back to me, give them back to me, please, please-” he choked the words out, unrestrained tears streaming down his face. Chase didn't realize he'd fallen until he felt paper under his hands. An old photo, depicting a happy family participating in a school festival. Connor's fifth grade triathlon. But-
Oh, Chase.
The mother was smiling, her red hair pulled back into the same bun Stacy had when she tried baking. The older boy in red carried the laughing little girl in blue overalls on his back. He turned to the father. He was tall. Built. Blonde.
Not him.
When did they ever belong to you?
“No,” he blinked the shock away, threw the photo away. “No, that's not real, you're just in my head, you're messing me up again-”
“Bit hurtful, Brody. I haven't been this truthful in a while.” Hands crept up his shoulders from behind and Chase pushed him off, scooting away from his doppelganger.
“No. They're my kids. That is my life.”
“So why can't you find them, Chase? If you're such a good dad, why can't you reach them?”
Anti crept towards him, and Chase absolutely hated how cornered he felt in that moment.
“If you've searched every nook, every cranny, where could they be? If they're not even here, in the deepest corners of your subconscious, what does that leave you?
Chase looked deep, deep into the darkened pits of Anti's eyes, and the realization washed over him like a splash of cold water to the face.
Like he'd just woken up.
Anti noticed. “He finally got it.”
He shook his head frantically. “No- Shut up, I don't believe you-”
“No? Maybe you'll listen to Stacy then.” Chase watched in horror, as his face morphed, as his body shrank, as red curls fell around the familiar face, until he stared in disbelief into the electric green eyes of his former sweetheart.
“You- you're not-”
“Hi, sweetie,” It was the same voice, the same warmth, the same pattern of freckles across her nose. There was nothing out of place, and it terrified the fuck out of him. ‘Stacy''s hand reached up to caress his face, and Chase hated how comforting it felt, how familiar, how much he'd missed it.
‘Stacy’ moved closer and Chase couldn't look away. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, baby,” Chase felt arms wrap around him and he shut his eyes as he tried, tried so hard not to melt into them. “I'm sorry you had to find out this way.”
“Stop it-”
“Dad, come on, open your eyes.”
Chase forced his eyes open, looked up at his eldest. Connor stared down at him, arms still around his shoulders.
“You're still proud of me, right, Dad?”
“You're not- not my son-”
Connor shrank, remolding into a tiny, wide-eyed child, ginger pigtails bouncing, bottom lip quivering- “Daddy, dun’ go, dun’ go pwease-”
“STOP IT!”
The scream echoed off the walls, and the arms around him pulled away as Anti knelt back. Chase's breath came out as short, panicked gasps, choked sobs filling the silence. The hands clutching at him were his own now, as if trying to grab at some semblance of truth.
“They're real. They have to be. Some of it has to be.” If not, then what was? Was anything? Was Anti? Was he?
“I want to go home.”
"You are home."
Chase felt the tiled floor slip under him like a rug, felt it replaced with warm softness. He looked up to find himself back in Sean's room, curled up on the bed. Hands slid around his waist and shoulders, a contented whirring of white noise around his neck pulling him to a restless sleep.
Nivanfield AU. Romance. Boy meets boy. ~2200 words
Chapter 1 of ‘Partners against Crime’. Have some ideas for future chapters but we’ll see what happens.
Officer Chris Redfield is hungry for dinner after a long shift. Turns out he’s going to have a few surprises on the menu. SFW
It was a long day. Chris took a long shower at the end of his shift, finally feeling some rejuvenation at the cascade of hot water and fresh steam. He hung his uniform back in the locker room and changed back into civilian dress. He sighed as he rolled his shoulders, massaging the ache of the day’s work out from his tired body.
He glanced at his watch. 9:08 PM. Just enough time for a bite before turning in.
Exiting the police station, he headed home, preferring the brisk thirty minute walk that gave him more exercise than the bother of parking and driving more around town than necessary.
The night air was a welcomed breeze from the stuffy office. Whether on patrol in his vehicle or chained to the desk, either way he’d been sitting for far longer than he should. He walked at a steady pace, taking a detour to the shopping strip to see what options are still open to sate his hunger.
Indian place, Thai place, Burger King and that posh steak place that is nice but takes too long for food. His growling stomach reminded him he needed something quick. He saw the lights of a new diner across the street. “Jill’s sandwiches.’ Funny, his old partner was called Jill. A hint of nostalgia took his feet to the shop front.
Neat, clean and almost empty. This is it.
The door opened before him as the last customer exited with paper wrapped packages. It smelled of fresh bread and rustic kitchens.
He strolled his way to the counter, staring at the menu above. The logo had Jill’s trademark beret. Hmm.
“Good evening Sir, may I take you order?” He’s not usually that unobservant, but he was almost startled by the young, slightly coarse voice that greeted him.
“Good evening.” He looked down, checking out the young sandwich hand behind the counter, smiling and eager to please. He wore a green beret as a hairnet, a crisp green shirt with cleanly pressed lines and neatly rolled up sleeves beneath a dark green apron. He profiled the attendant out of habit. Height about 5’10, lean but athletic build. Probably a college kid, early twenties. Wheaten brown hair, the slightest olive complexion, eyes that are green or ochre, no, more like hazel, and a set of teeth that could star in a dentist’s commercial. Two small moles on his left cheek that strangely seemed to add to his charm on a smooth if somewhat broad jawline. He caught the name badge on his chest.
“Just, uh, gimme a moment. Piers.” Their eyes connected, and Chris stared for a second longer than he had, feeling a stirring of something that interested him. After scrutinising the menu, he gave a nod, indicating he was ready to order.
“What kind of bread would you like, sir?” His voice had tangible warmth, an ingrained kindness that seemed to be born and engrained rather than trained.
“Dark rye.”
“Your size sir?”
“Wh.. excuse me?” Well, that escalated quickly.
Piers blinked. “The bread, Sir- six, nine or twelve.”
“Twelve, thank you.” He said, unconsciously licking his lips, but biting his tongue not to say anything else because Piers probably has heard and been annoyed by them all.
He watched intriguingly as Piers pulled out a long roll from the bread oven, his long, slender fingers gripping the bread in transparent gloves, slicing it open with a serrated knife with a practiced, deliberate stroke.
“Cheese?” He asked?
“Swiss.”
“And the type of sandwich?” Inquisitive eyes again distracted Chris’ thoughts. He looked up again at the menu, already forgotten what he wanted, not that it really mattered right now
“Number 2: ‘The Bear’s Favourite.” Chris said, with a hint of embarrassment. “Lots of salad too, if I may.”
“Nice choice.” Piers nodded approvingly, as his sharp hazel eyes flickered once over him from head to toe. Chris rubbed his hair. Ok, so he happened to be slightly hairy, bulky in frame and muscular in build. It’s not the first time someone called him a bear. In fact his old partner started it all. He learned to roll and grow into it. Bears are cool, and cuddly, even cute, to the right guy.
Someone like this. He gazed absent-mindedly as Piers sprinkled herbs and started toasting the bread.
“Long day at work, Sir?” He asked, flashing a smile of his that showed off cute dimples and the dazzling teeth again.
“Too long.” Chris said, trying to mask the weariness on his face.
“Hopefully it’s the end of the shift then.” Piers said, checking his watch.
“Yep, late dinner and bed, and do it all again tomorrow.” Chris said.
“Are you… a personal trainer?” Piers asked, looking over his bulky frame with biceps bulging against navy polo shirt sleeves.
“I’m a cop. Actually.” Chris said, crossing his arms over his chest at the trademark stance.
“Wow, an officer.” Piers said, sparkled eyes looking up at Chris for a moment with what seemed to be admiration, then quickly glanced downwards at his black tactical boots. Then he turned and retrieved the bread.
Chris watch him expertly roll up slices of smoked salmon and stuff it generously over the bread, then toss together tomato wedges, baby spinach, butter lettuce and a few shakes of freshly ground pepper.
“Any dressing sir?” He turned with bottle in hand.
Chris studied the options. “Low fat yogurt.”
Piers smiled to himself, and squeezed clean lines of dressing along the roll with the bottle he’d already picked, then slicing it in half and wrapping it neatly.
“To go or have here? Any drinks?”
Chris was going to take away, but he found himself saying ‘If you’re not in a rush to close I’ll have them here, and an iced tea please, unsweetened.’
“No problems at all.” Piers smiled and assembled the order on the tray. Chris handed his card over, unconsciously flashing his badge while doing so.
“Thank you, Officer Redfield.” Piers gave him his card back with a smile, and Chris felt a rush of warmth as their fingers brushed against one another.
“Oh, wait.” Piers grabbed a brown paper bag and stuffed some slices of banana bread sitting on the counter and popping them on the tray. “Something extra for you. A gift.”
“Woah, thanks! It’s a lot for dinner.” Chris said.
“Oh.” Piers blinked, but he continued. “They’re quite nice for breakfast too, toasted with a hunk of butter.” Chris swore he saw a wink beneath the sweet innocent smile.
He picked a spot not far from the counter and watch Piers clean up when he thought he wasn’t looking, opening the warm, wrapped package.
It smelled wonderful, and the first bite told him he’d be coming back often.
He glanced up in appreciation to see Piers also looking in his direction. Caught in the act, he gave an awkward thumb up and both men smiled.
Maybe it’s the late night scene, the monotony of working late, or being a lone diner in a sandwich shop that’s about to close. He just felt alone. Perhaps that was why it suddenly felt to Chris as if he got far more from a sandwich than mere nourishment. A sense of- companionship, strange as the concept may be.
He thought about making conversation to the young man closing the shop. It must get boring this time of the night, right? Maybe when he comes around he’ll say something, they’ll have a short chat or something, just a tad beyond the typical small talk. Maybe find out if he has a ride home. If he works out. If he still goes to college. He looks fit, still slender but with good definition, that classical college athlete look. Maybe he plays a sport. Or he’s a swimmer.
Bet he’d look good with that shirt off.
Woah there. He chastised himself. He’s a cop. He’s not supposed to think of others like that.
He put his head down, blushed lightly and continued eating. Trying not to think of the guy who made his sandwich.
Piers. It’s a slightly less common name, but it suits him. He likes the sound of that.
“Well well, look who’s here!” A familiar voice sounded out from the quarters. Chris had just enough time to put down his sandwich when a familiar face came over for a hug.
“Jill!” He caught himself in time and swallowed the usual ‘what are you doing here.’ Jill was not one to suffer the obvious.
“Jill’s sandwiches… it all makes sense now.” He smiled as Jill sat with him. He could see out of the corner of his eye an amused Piers pausing what he was doing and trying to listen in.
“Still wearing the trademark beret, I see.” He eyed Jill up and down. She had grown her brown hair to a ponytail, but her features were still pristine and youthful.
“I thought I’d take up Barry’s suggestions after our first stint at the R.P.D.” She said. “It’s a good change of pace. From protecting to serving. Only this time, no shooting is involved.”
“Isn’t this a bit too… mundane for you?” Chris asked, taking another bite.
“Quite the contrary. A sandwich shop is fun. I get to put my own spin on things, design the menu, test the sandwiches, dress up my little shop to how I like it. I like the laid back nature. I have good returning customers, it’s nice to connect with people behind a cuppa and just relax. I’m proud of my staff.”
Chris took his time to swallow. “Yeah, pretty talented sandwich artist you got here.” He nodded his approval. “Easy on the eyes too.” Well, she didn’t need to hear that, but it’s true.
“So you’ve met Piers. My star employee.” Jill smiled and winked at Chris. “He feeding you well?”
“Hits the spot.” Chris smiled sheepishly. Jill is up to her antics again. He knew it.
She took a good look at the roll he was having. “Number 2: The Bear’s Favourite right?” She giggled. “I designed that one with you in mind!”
“So I’m still that predictable, huh? Guess you should pay me royalties or something.” Chris shrugged, taking another bite, watching Piers sweep and wipe the tables. He looked delightful bending over.
“I promise you will get treated like royalty here anyway.” Jill said, peering into the brown paper bag that Piers gave him.
“Ooh, I see you’re gonna get another pick at Piers’ cherry.”
“Excuse me?” Chris snapped back to Jill’s playful eyes.
“Piers bakes the best banana bread. Even better than what I can do. You’re gonna get hooked on this, Bearfield.” She poked him at the waist. “Better watch that gut.”
Chris chuckled, and he thought he could hear Piers laugh likewise under his breath. “Oh goodness, it’s been years someone called me that. But don’t you worry, I’ve still got my body of steel.”
“You’ve bulked up some more.” Jill brushed her hair back, looking him over approvingly. “Matured well with age, Chris.”
Chris was slightly self-conscious at all the attention. “Not as finely as you Jilly, maybe you should teach me your secrets.”
“Ha thank you. I’m 30 now, let’s see how it holds up. Come in everyday and we can catch up for nostalgia’s sake.” Jill said. “Let me guess, you must be in the station nearby. Doesn’t hurt having a police presence here, not that I don’t itch for some action. I’ll get Piers to send you guys coffee and orders once in a while.
“Ma’am?” Piers called, hearing his name.
“Piers, come say hi to Chris. Chris, Piers Nivans.” Jill called him over and let them be comfortable with each other as they shook hands. Piers had large hands, delicate, but firm and confident in his squeeze. He fought the urge to fondle the hand and let go reluctantly.
“Chris used to be my partner on the field.” Jill said. “I took a break though, Chris is no doubt some big scary copper now.”
“Just a captain.” Chris shook his head. “Prefer getting out there than pushing paper and wrestling with the heavyweights up top honestly.”
“Heavyweights.” Jill laughed. “Pity we don’t serve donuts, else they’d be all over us!”
“Well, I’ll drop by more often, and maybe get morning tea from you guys once in a while so the others frequent this joint.”
“Sure, one never says no to business.” Jill said, and Piers continued his routine. “Come back for dinner tomorrow. I’ll let Piers make you something.”
“Deal. Serve me all you want.” Chris said, suddenly excited with anticipation.
“I’ll leave you to it Chris, have a good night.” Jill said, checking the kitchen counters.
Chris sipped his tea as Piers came over to collect his tray and wipe the table.
“Thanks again, Piers. I liked it.” He said. Feeling a slightly flush at the tips of his ears watching Piers lean in. His neck was smooth, white, like marble, and so inviting.
“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” He replied, greenish hazel eyes suddenly betraying a hint of nervousness.
Chris stood up, clutched the bag of banana bread and patted Piers on the shoulder on the way out smiling away.
It’s suddenly going to be a promising week. He walked home with a spring in his step.
The hazel eyed boy watched behind him strolling athletically down the street, a hand clamped over his own shoulder as if to hold on to the tangible warmth and desire he felt from the touch.
“Thank you, Officer Redfield.” He said, to nobody in particular. “Please come again.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1 (2013 words)
Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Piers Nivans/Chris Redfield
Characters: Chris Redfield, Piers Nivans, Claire Redfield, Jill Valentine, Barry Burton, almost everyone else at the BSAA, Sherry and Jake, Leon and Ada
Additional Tags: happy reunion, Mid Autumn Festival, Moon watching, Nivanfield
Summary:
It’s Mid Autumn Festival, three months after the first of July, 2012. Chris doesn’t quite know how to face such a celebration of reunion without his trusted partner. Right up until his unexpected return.
Related to The Ultimate Weapon universe, but can also be considered a stand alone work.
Happy mid autumn festival everyone!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Piers Nivans/Chris Redfield
Characters: Piers Nivans, Chris Redfield
Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Inspired by Fanart, Post Resident Evil 6
Series: Part 4 of Nivanfield Inspired by art
Summary:
Piers greets Chris after a long day at work. Featured on my tumblr to celebrate 100 banters.
AO3 version with some small edits.
