Chris didn’t realize when it started to become a problem.
At first, Leon Kennedy was just another government agent with too much attitude and a tendency to throw himself into danger as if he had something to prove. Fast, reckless, with a somewhat brusque manner. Chris noticed those things right away.
But Leon moved differently than anyone Chris had ever worked with before.
Chris had spent most of his life surrounded by soldiers. Men built for endurance, strength, and resilience. When he trained with them, their movements were predictable, etched into muscle memory after years of training. Yet they were efficient and direct.
Leon dodged danger rather than charging headlong into it. He slipped through narrow openings before Chris could even figure out how he’d gotten there. He moved with such infuriating fluidity that fighting him hand-to-hand felt unfair. Each dodge flowed naturally into the next move. Every kick seemed to come from impossible angles. Even recovering from a fall looked elegant in some way, and Chris hated realizing it.
The first time it really stuck with him in some dangerous corner of his mind was in Lanshiang.
Back then, his memories were so fragmented due to amnesia that instinct had taken over long before reason could catch up. The first thing he remembered was irritation. The sheer frustration of trying to catch someone who moved like water slipping through clenched fists.
That man—because at that moment Chris still didn’t fully recognize who he was—ducked under his arm with effortless precision, spun around him, and struck fast and low before Chris could properly counter. Lean muscles flexing beneath the dark fabric. Long legs bending in movements that shouldn’t have looked so fluid during a fight.
And even through the confusion clouding his mind, Chris remembered thinking, “Jesus Christ.”
Because that man looked damn hot.
And suddenly, Chris knew exactly why his heart had reacted before his mind.
From there, things only got worse.
On every mission, every reunion, every moment they got too close to each other, Chris started noticing things he shouldn’t have been noticing.
The way Leon stretched before pre-combat briefings after long flights, his shoulders moving freely beneath his tight T-shirts. The way he crouched effortlessly with his forearms resting on his knees while discussing strategy. The way his body bent and twisted during training sessions, with a fluidity and eroticism that bordered on the obscene. At least that’s what Chris thought, staring at him without being able to help himself, feeling his crotch tighten in his pants every time he watched him move.
And, in the end, he stared at him for too long.
Training together after New York had become a habit for them, but also something unbearable for reasons Chris refused to analyze in depth.
Leon’s flexibility wasn’t just physical: it changed the entire rhythm of the fight around him. He adapted instantly and bent where others would break —at least he would. He’d wriggle out of holds before Chris could lock them down completely. Sometimes, Chris would grab his wrist during drills just to feel Leon twist gently beneath his grip, turning the position against him with frustrating ease.
The first few times it happened, Chris didn’t think much of it. But after a while, he started thinking about those moments later on.
There were certain training exercises that turned into pure torture. Especially the floor exercises. Leon’s body pressed against him as he showed him the leverage points. A knee trapped between Chris’s thighs as he explained the escape techniques in that calm voice of his. His hands sliding over Chris’s shoulders or ribs to reposition him, unaware —or perhaps painfully aware— of what such prolonged contact did to him.
And the stretches afterward were even worse.
Leon sitting on the mat with one leg extended, his fingers wrapped around Chris’s ankle as he leaned forward slowly, the T-shirt lifting just enough to reveal the warm skin beneath. Breathing more heavily after the sparring. Sweat soaking the back of his neck. Flexible in ways that sent Chris’s thoughts hurtling toward some dangerous place almost instantly.
And worst of all, his cock wasn’t just reacting to the slightest touch from Leon. It was also reacting to watching him perform those sensual acrobatics that were tearing him apart from the inside.
Chris began to realize he was imagining things he absolutely shouldn’t be.
How Leon’s body would feel against his without the combat gear in the way. How easily those long limbs would bend beneath his hands. What Leon would look like, immobilized for once, instead of constantly running away from everything around him.
Because Leon was always running away.
From bullets. From ruined cities. From infections. Sometimes, even from death itself.
But every now and then, Chris would catch him during training. A firm hand around Leon’s waist to stop a fall. Fingers interlaced around his wrist during a takedown. Their bodies colliding with such force that they pushed Leon briefly against his chest before pulling apart again.
And Leon would always freeze for half a second afterward.
Just long enough for Chris to wonder if maybe he wasn’t the only one affected by it.
And it was in those moments, when something inside him stirred and begged him to take a step forward, to take a risk for once in his life. And find out if Leon was as flexible in bed as he was in combat.
Because, at this point, there was no denying that Leon's flexibility was turning Chris on.
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