taste in your tongue, the smoke in your lungs
Leon S. Kennedy/Luis Serra
944 words | Gen | cw: smoking, scars
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82394521
Leon finally comes home to his husband. They kiss about it.
Leon can see the smoke curling away from the balcony long before he sees the man responsible. It spirals gently in the evening air, a coil of twisting white that's breathed to life by Luis' lungs, before dissipating entirely. The sun sinking low over the horizon glints off the simple gold band wrapped safely around Luis' finger, the burnt orange of the sky matched only by the orange burning at the end of the cigarette.
Leon slips onto the balcony quietly, arms coming to rest on the railing next to Luis', their body heat filling the small gap of space he leaves between them.
It's not quiet; cities never are, not even as the day comes to an end. There's traffic rumbling below them, voices echoing down the streets as the nightlife slowly wakes up, and there's the background strum of guitars from an apartment nearby. But all of it feels muted, muffled under layers of cotton and warmth, in comparison to Luis.
His shoulders are drooping, relaxing with every exhale of the nicotine, and his right hand taps an absentminded rhythm in time with the guitars. This close, Leon can see the streaks of grey threaded through Luis' hair, glittering under the dying embers of the sun. They're beautiful. A reminder of his age. A reminder that he'd been given the chance to age.
"You're alive, then." Luis murmurs behind his cigarette. Leon watches another puff of smoke spiral away. He hums.
"Good as new."
Luis' eyes slide sideways and linger on Leon's neck, tracking over the patch of ropey scar tissue left behind. The cigarette dangles from his mouth as he turns to get a better look. His fingers are gentle across the damaged skin, circling the edges of the scar before moving to rest over it completely. The ring casts a soft glow as Luis settles his hand on Leon's neck, and the cold metal is a familiar comfort. He places his own hand over the back of Luis', and their rings clink quietly amid the bustle of the city below.
"I feel good." Leon reassures, when the concerned furrow of Luis' brow doesn't smooth away. "Healthy. Better than I have in ages."
He pulls Luis' hand away from his neck, squeezing it in his own instead. Luis huffs a laugh, plucking the cigarette from his mouth with his other hand and turning his head to exhale softly. When he turns back his posture is more relaxed and his eyes shine under the sunset.
"Someone fixed you up then, eh príncipe? Should I be worried they're coming for my job?"
Leon smiles, shoulders loosening with every second he gets to spend looking at Luis' face.
"Grace. She's in the FBI. I'd like you to meet her soon."
Luis nods, eyes flicking back and forth between Leon's and the patchwork of scar across his neck.
"She must be a very special señorita to have cured you."
Leon chuckles, "She is." He squeezes Luis' hand and brings it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the ring, then letting go. "But I certainly missed your charms while I was out there."
"Ah well, that's the Serra curse, mi amor. Once you have a taste you can never go back."
He moves to take another drag of his cigarette, but Leon plucks it nimbly from his fingers and places the filter into his own mouth. It's been a long time since he last smoked, and the nicotine burns in his lungs for a moment. Then he exhales and the burn is blown away.
"Y'know, these things will kill you." He says, holding it loosely between his fingers. Luis smiles, and it feels like being injected with Elpis all over again.
"Sí, someone told me that a long time ago. I don't remember his name. Very handsome, though."
"And if I recall, he went through a lot of trouble to make sure you lived."
Leon's free hand drifts around Luis' back, finding the knotty scar tissue immediately. He's touched it in a thousand different ways since the day it was created. Touched it until the memory of the skin there, slippery with blood and newly shredded flesh, has been replaced with memories of it bathed in morning sunlight as Leon litters kisses over the long-healed wound.
"Mm, he certainly did." Luis steals back the cigarette and takes one last drag, eyes closing. The smoke curls from his mouth and up into the burnt sky, a small wisp of white against the orange backdrop. Then he's stubbing it out on the railing and flicking it away. "Wouldn't want his hardwork to go to waste."
With Luis' hands now free, Leon has no qualms with wrapping his arms around Luis' waist and pulling him for a kiss. Their mouths taste of nicotine and Luis cups his hand under Leon's jaw, spreading it possessively across the length of the scar tissue. Leon's own hands grip onto Luis' back more tightly, the decades old knife wound warm under his fingers.
"Mi amor," Luis whispers in-between kisses, "would you like to go inside?"
"I think I could be convinced." Leon responds, pressing biting kisses into Luis' jaw until his head is tipped back and he's putty in Leon's hands. Leon steps back just enough to grip Luis's sides, and then he's picking him up with a renewed energy he hasn't felt in years and Luis is wrapping his legs around Leon's waist automatically, a red flush high on his cheeks. "I've got a few charms of my own to show you."
They reenter the apartment and leave the darkening sky, the traffic, and the rest of the world behind.