Archive of Our Own ^beta

For once he’s early, or not early but earlier than he normally would be to one of these things. Though virtuous as this might be, it does nothing to help his apprehension when Chris’s house comes into view. 

Light shines in the windows and the music plays so loud that even across the street Leon’s pretty sure he can make out the beat. He wants to laugh, or turn away, he’s not really sure to be honest. He’s a little too sober for comfort, having come almost straight from the airport. Another time he would have been happy spending his first night back home parked on the couch, but after learning that even Hunnigan had plans for this Friday night he’d caved.

Now though— Well, when he’d heard the words birthday party he’d thought something more along the lines of a get-together. But if general looks are anything to judge by, somewhere inside that house there must be a glass of something dubious waiting for him. Not to mention a certain someone with a familiar smile and sparkling eyes; and that alone is motivation enough.

He tries to keep it in mind when immediately after he steps across the threshold, a heavy hand lands on his shoulder. Instinct dictates an enemy, and Leon feels the hairs at the back of his neck rising, his body tensing automatically. It takes a few seconds for him to snap out of it, even though he knows almost without looking who the hand belongs to.

“I’m glad you made it,” Chris says amiably, a lazy smile on his face and a beer bottle in his hand. Christ , he looks even beefier than the last time Leon saw him. 

“Hey,” he replies in greeting, presenting him with a bottle of wine he’d picked on the way, back when Leon had thought this whole thing was a little less… casual. 

The other man’s eyes lift in amusement, flicking across the fancy label of the bottle. “My, you didn’t have to bring anything you know.”

Leon shrugs. The way Chris addresses him sometimes rubs him rather awkwardly; it’s not patronizing per se , but it still makes him feel as if he’s being talked to by a camp counselor or, well, an older brother. It also doesn’t help that the other man is at least a few inches taller than him, and that at this rate probably always will be.

“I thought it was a birthday party?” Leon asks, tilting his chin at the general ambiance, that is to say, loud music and bumping bodies. He can’t really help the edge of cheek that filters into his voice when he responds, “I didn’t know you were into this kind of thing.”

Chris’s eyes narrow slightly, his smile stretching wider. “I’m just following orders here, the birthday girl is in charge.”

“Did I hear my name?” comes a higher voice, not loud but still somehow clear even over the rumbling beat of the music. Jill Valentine emerges from the crowd, peering over Chris’s shoulder. With her shorn hair and narrow frame one might think she’d fade away, but there’s a certain self assuredness to her presence, a preternatural confidence that makes her stand out. “This is actually pretty nice,” she says, snatching the wine bottle from Chris’s grasp. “Thank you, Leon.”

Chris arches an eyebrow at her, shifting to make a gap that she seamlessly fills in. 

“See, that’s how you act when someone comes around with a gift,” she tells Chris, playful irony in her words. Then turning back to Leon she adds, “nice to meet you by the way.”

Leon nods, feeling his mouth tug up into a slightly baffled smile. Despite having had Jill described to him multiple times, he hadn’t pictured her like this. “Nice to meet you too,” he says and finds that he means it.

“Did you offer him a drink, partner?” she asks Chris sweetly, to which he only stares. 

Whatever passes then between them eludes Leon, yet even standing outside their private bubble he can see the tension between them; mutual and welcome if he had to guess. It’s strange; and a little embarrassing, for him that is, like watching two people make out in public.

“Come,” Chris says, speaking to Leon though his eyes don’t stray from Jill. “Let’s get you something to drink.”

Around forty-five minutes later, third beer in hand, Leon stands near the sidelines of the living room. A steady buzz is starting to build and he feels okay, relaxed, he might actually even be enjoying himself a little. Most of the people crowding every inch of the house are strangers to him, but he’s been introduced to the former S.T.A.R.S. and they seem nice enough. There is of course, a sense of unreality to it; these people would have been his coworkers had the world not turned out to be a crueler, much more uncaring place than Leon had imagined. 

Perhaps in that idealistic world they would have met organically, and would all now be partying at someone’s home in Raccoon City. If only. In that world he wouldn’t be trapped working for a government that would sacrifice an entire city to save face, the same people that would abandon a team of their own men with no remorse. But Leon doesn’t live in that world, and he can’t yearn for it; or even consider any of this for that matter. He was extracted from the Amazon merely days ago and still when he shuts his eyes he feels the jungle closing in around him. If he gives any of it more thought he fears a chasm might open under his feet.

So he sips his beer, feels the wall behind him vibrate with the music and listens to the former S.T.A.R.S. tell their stories from simpler times. It’s enough. It has to be . Never mind that the one face he’d hoped to see tonight hasn’t shown. 

Barry gesticulates wildly with his hands. He’s built like a fridge and for some reason this makes his flourishes even more comical and grand. Leon likes that he seems to purposefully seek any opportunity he can get to tease Chris. He can admit it’s a little petty, but even so it is honestly entertaining. 

Rebecca on the other hand might be tiny in stature but her eyes spark with intelligence; and though she is much kinder, seemingly staunchly against making any kind of fun from another person, she does possess a quick wit that allows her to hold her own. She also seems thoroughly invested in gleaming as much info as she can from Leon’s job, and the behavior of the bio-weapons he has encountered on the field so far. If she were anyone else he might have flinched away from this, but he likes Rebecca, she reminds him a little of—

“Claire!” Jill calls out suddenly, her wry voice lifting at the end. “About time!”

Leon feels himself go still, before his eyes snap in the direction of the replying voice. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she says, her auburn hair peeking in between the crowd. “I lost track of time, and then the traffic was awful. I brought you this though,” she adds as she emerges from in between two dancing figures, lifting to shoulder height a gift box adorned with an oversized gold ribbon.

Jill takes the present from her and that’s when Claire’s sky blue eyes meet him, for the first time in weeks. Elation and foreboding mix within his gut. Oh. Oh no.

“Leon?” she asks, delight breaking over her face like the sun itself. “You’re back!” 

His heart does a somersault inside his chest at the sight of her grin, and he forgets for a moment about the people around them, about the party, about the chasm of gunfire and death that lingers in his memories. They stand there facing each other and Leon feels himself smile, the first real smile he’s given since he stepped down from the transport in Amparo.

“Hey Claire,” he says, then his eyes drop down her figure, snagging on the mini skirt that bares her legs right up to where they meet her boots. 

“How have you been?” she wonders, removing her jacket and throwing it over a nearby sofa. Her top, though long sleeved, rides up just a little, revealing the tiniest sliver of pale skin on her lower stomach. 

“Great,” Leon replies without thinking, forcing his eyes back up to her face, entreating himself to remember their audience. “Never better.”

Ah man. There was a moment when they’d parted back in Washington some weeks ago, sitting inside her car with the lights off, that he’d thought he might have had this under control. The fact that he’s starting to realize he doesn’t just like Claire, that is; that the wave of warmth that washes over him whenever her eyes meet his is not just the joy of friendship. Now as her gaze narrows, as her smile sharpens at his obvious bullshit reply, he wonders if he might not just be as transparent with it as a sheet of glass.

Suddenly she turns, replying to a question Rebecca had asked but that Leon hadn’t heard. Meanwhile Jill tears the wrapping from her gift. The sound she makes is a combination of chuckle and exhale. “Is this what I think it is?” she wonders, looking up from the wooden surface revealed by the torn paper. 

Claire tilts her head, a side smile unfurling across her lips. “Kendo sends his love.”

“Thank you,” Jill says, the wryness of her tone giving way for a moment, an uncomplicated smile gracing her face. 

Claire winks, obviously pleased. Leon wonders if he should try looking somewhere else. Rebecca cuts in, saving him the conundrum and solidifying his appreciation of her. “Maybe you should put that somewhere safer,” she says with a sideways glance at Barry’s glittering eyes, settled on the carefully packaged weapon.

Jill turns to reply, but Leon’s focus scatters when Claire slips into his side.

“So,” she begins, “were you gonna tell me you were back or was I supposed to find out second hand?”

He can’t help the way his mouth lifts at the mock offense in her tone. “I’ll have you know I’ve only been back for a day.”

She blinks, probably filing that away for later. That’s one of the things he’s come to expect from her over the years; she can be so perceptive, nothing ever escapes her. It’s thrilling to feel the full weight of her attention every time they speak. 

“In that case you should have definitely told me,” she says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I would have worn something nicer.”

Suddenly the urge to slide his gaze down her body is almost impossible to resist, though he makes a valiant effort. “I like your outfit just fine,” he says, blinking down at his beer. Leon hadn’t meant for his voice to go so low, but once the words are out of his mouth he can’t stuff them back in. Something shifts in Claire’s gaze in response, but though her lips part she doesn’t say anything at first. 

“How did things go? With your mission I mean,” she asks after a beat, clearing her throat. 

Now it’s his turn to hesitate. A dozen images flash across his mind. The glare of the sun through the trees, blood on freshly turned soil. Krauser. When he looks at Claire again there’s a tiny line carved between her eyebrows, her mouth twisted in concern. 

“I’ll tell you,” he hears himself say. “Just not now.”

She holds his gaze for a beat, then nods, and Leon takes a long swig from his beer, feeling it slide down his throat somehow cold and hot at the same time. 

“How did the move go?” he asks, because honestly listening to her talk has always felt strangely like a balm. 

Claire’s expression brightens at the question. “Ah, you know. I’m still living out of boxes.” She shrugs, the gleam of her eyes fizzling even through the nonchalance. 

“But you love it, the job,” Leon says, his spirits lifting as she bites back a grin. Despite the ruefulness he’d felt when she’d told him she was going away, he can’t help the wave of joy that assaults him at seeing her happy.

“I love it,” she admits quietly. “It’s better than I thought it would be, I feel— Good, useful I guess.”

He nods, taking in her gleaming eyes. It would be a lie to say there isn’t some sort of personal satisfaction in seeing her content. After all, the deal that landed him in this situation might have had Sherry in mind, but he was thinking of Claire also. Plus this makes the resentment that has been stewing within him for the past week feel distant, and that alone is worth its weight in gold.

“I’m glad,” he says honestly. He had told her before, but there truly is no doubt in his mind that she is the right person for the job. “What’s the name of the thing again?”

“TerraSave,” she reminds him with a chuckle. “A bit on the nose if you ask me, but then again, what isn’t?”

“Heh, it beats mine.” He shrugs. “At least it’s easy to remember.”

“That it is,” she agrees, and shakes her bangs away from her eyes with the back of her hand. Her lashes flutter for a second, though he doesn’t think she notices it; all the same Leon makes an effort to cast his own eyes to the middle distance.

“Is that where you were coming from?” he wonders with another drink from his beer. “Were you busy at work?”

Her smile grows a little, just a fraction, as if she were recalling some private joke. It pulls at a little freckle by her mouth, it’s only slightly lighter than the color of her skin, but he can’t help noticing it, even in the low light. “Nope,” Claire says, scrunching up her nose. “I’ll have you know I do wear respectable clothes to respectable events,” she tells him, echoing his wording from earlier. Is it deliberate? He wouldn’t put it past her.

“Are you implying this isn’t a respectable venue?” Leon asks, feeling he might be pushing it a little. Dancing a little too close to the edge of deniability that has, so far, circled their interactions.

Claire’s eyes flicker over his face, an edge of… Something —Could it be interest? —Passing over her expression as she answers. “It’s a house party my brother is throwing,” she replies, a lilt of irony coloring her voice as she rolls her eyes goodnaturedly. “How respectable can it be?”

Leon feels himself smiling and tries to clamp it down, though judging by the look on her face, he doubts he gets very far with it. Get a grip. To his detriment, he asks the first thing that comes to mind. “So, not work then?” A part of him knows he should let it go, yet the reckless one, the one who’ll venture into enemy territory with little more than a knife, won’t back down. “Was it a date?”

Claire arches her brows, but the expression isn’t smug, or teasing, more surprised than he would have imagined. “No,” she replies, stretching the syllable. “I only just moved, I don’t know anyone new.” Her voice is honest, though also a little quiet, and it makes Leon wonder.

“Could be someone from work,” he suggests, unsure of where exactly he wants to go with this.

She narrows her eyes slightly, mouth quirkying at the corner. “Come on,” she says. “You know you can’t shit where you eat.”

Leon snorts. “Do I?” 

A curious emotion crosses her face all of a sudden, though it comes and goes too fast for him to read it. Claire shrugs with one shoulder, and adverts her eyes towards the crowd. “I guess it depends on what you’re looking for. Though if I ever do end up with a coworker, feel free to remind me it’s a bad idea that will probably end in disaster.”

With as much solemnity as he’s able to muster despite his amusement, he tips his head. “Alright.”

Glancing sideways back at him, their gazes meet and hold for a moment. Something of the previous playfulness seems to strip down within that look. It feels more honest somehow, and for a second there Leon worries about his thoughts from before. The gnawing memories from his last assignment that are still a little too fresh for comfort. Can she see them in his face? 

All at once a loud peal of laughter echoes in the room, despite the music and the sound of conversation. It dispels the moment and Claire blinks as if startled, frowning as she looks around in search of something. “Shoot,” she says absentmindedly. “I should say hello to Chris.”

Leon nods, noticing now that the former S.T.A.R.S. that were around them before have apparently vanished. “Right.”

Stepping directly in front of him, Claire looks up with a sweet smile. It takes him aback slightly, the sudden closeness. A bit of her perfume lingers in the air between them. “Are you a gentleman, Leon?”

The way she says his name derails his attention, it feels remarkably soft. “I’ve been called worse,” he replies. 

She’s not that much shorter than him, but with the boots and the proximity they’re almost nose to nose. “Good.” She smiles wider, and plucks his beer from his hand. “Thank you.”

As she disappears back into the party with his drink in hand Leon feels a hint of vertigo seep in, some sort of sweet and sour anticipation gathering in his chest. He had wanted to see Claire, had wanted to call her as soon as he’d been given the clear, if only just to see her face. After Raccoon they had developed a quiet kind of companionship, born out of necessity, sure; but he would bet money on the ease of it being innate. Misery loves company they say, but the truth is that he isn’t sure either of them would have pulled through what happened that night if they hadn’t been forced to, for each other’s sake. And Sherry’s, that was a big part of it too, of course. 

He still feels that ease, like an echo through the years. That awkward smile the first night they’d shared a motel room outside a ruined city. Was it like this back then too? Be honest, was it ever different? Looking down at his empty hand he decides if he’s gonna go down that particular rabbit hole, he needs another drink. 

The kitchen is blessedly deserted, colder in comparison to the rest of the house which brims with people and body heat. It’s surprisingly welcome. Curious, Leon stares for a moment at the pictures that Chris? Probably? Has stuck to the fridge with magnets. There’s one of Barry and him in uniform, and another of Alpha Team back in their S.T.A.R.S. days; a couple of receipts and a memo pad. Then underneath there’s a hazy polaroid of a two-story house in the background and a couple of kids in front. He blinks, surprised to recognize a tween Claire rolling her eyes at the camera. Her hair is a mess and she’s wearing purple tights underneath cutoffs. 

It makes him smile with a heedlessness that has nothing to do with the alcohol fizzing through his system. Shaking his head, he folds the sight of it at the back of his mind, ready to tease her over it when he sees her again, and pulls the fridge door open.

It doesn’t take long to find another beer, the lower compartment is full. The chill of the bottle is pleasant against his hand since the bruises on his knuckles haven’t yet disappeared completely; then again, he’s grown so used to bearing the occasional cut or injury that these sorts of things usually go over his head. Flexing his fingers, he’s rather distracted when he closes the door of the refrigerator, which is why he has to suppress a jump when Jill is suddenly revealed to be behind it. 

“Hi,” Leon says, out of sorts.

She smiles, a slow, knowing smile as she leans against the counter on the side, calmly tossing an empty can into the garbage. “Hey.”

“Happy birthday,” he adds. “Just dawned on me that I didn’t say it before.”

“Thanks! And that’s okay,” she shrugs. “Chris wasn’t sure you’d come, but I never lost hope. He owes me twenty bucks actually.”

“Oh?” Leon arches a brow, the buzzing giddiness bobbing its head up once again. “Well, I’m glad to please,” he says, feeling his mouth pulling up into an easy smile.

“Sure,” Jill replies, her lips twisting strangely. “Anyway,” she begins, her eyes flickering slightly even as they acquire a bit of a glint. “I think you should just tell her.”

Leon stares. “Pardon?” he wonders as his muddy brain scrambles to produce an answer. He is a little confused, but to be perfectly honest there is a remarkable inkling at the back of his mind, he just isn’t sure he heard her right.

Jill considers him for a beat, silent as her head tilts curiously. “Come on,” she says, apparently having made up her mind. There is just the slightest edge of teasing in her voice, and he knows despite having just met her, that she won’t let it go.

Leon breathes a shaky laugh. He feels on edge somehow, torn between acknowledging what she’s saying and playing dumb. Perhaps if he were sober he’d do what he always does, but well, sober he’s definitely not. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” he admits.

Jill’s smile grows a little softer when she replies. “I think you’d be surprised.” 

He frowns, blinking, yet never finds out what exactly he’d meant to say. Jill in turn, peers at him for a moment before nodding, seemingly satisfied with herself. “Think about it,” she adds finally, winking and disappearing back into the party.

Just like that her words linger around in his head when Leon himself rejoins the crowd. The pleasant buzz rises once more as he lays a hand along the wall, feeling it vibrate with the bouncing music. A chuckle bubbles at his lips. He hasn’t been to a party like this in years, perhaps even a decade. It baffles him, not that he was ever the one to enjoy such a thing as a teen, late bloomer that he was. 

It’s kind of funny now, watching some of the most serious, professional people that he knows jumping up and down to the rhythm. He’s aware of the grin currently plastered on his face, aware also that this is not the sort of expression his face has grown around and wondering whether he might not look like a maniac, when a familiar auburn head pops by beside him. 

“You look—

“Like a clown?” he finishes.

A laugh bursts from Claire’s mouth. It tinkles, joyful and carefree and he knows, from ear alone that she too is probably a little drunk. He marvels at this briefly. Could he say this about anyone else? That he knows the exact inflection of their laughter enough to tell their state of mind? Oh boy.

“I was going to say,” she begins, arching her eyebrows at him. “That you look like someone who wants to dance.”

He glances at her quickly, trying to discern whether she’s joking or not. Finding her eyes worryingly mischievous, he shakes his head. “No. Please. Don’t do this to me, Red.”

She grins and sips her cup, a plastic thing that wafts off like nail polish remover. “Why, agent Kennedy, I never would have thought you were easily scared.” 

He tries as hard as he can in his current state, to frown, to make it look serious, to find it in himself to make his discomfort stronger than the bubbly, pleased feeling he gets from having her attention on him. “I’m a terrible dancer.”

Claire tilts her head, eyes sparkling. “Who cares?” she wonders with a shrug.

Leon glances at the dance floor, if it can even be called that, and his stomach does a somersault, like he’s about to go on a rollercoaster.

“If it makes it easier,” Claire begins. “It’ll make a terrific story to look back on, when you’re trapped in a bunker somewhere in Siberia.”

He snorts. “Why would I be trapped in a bunker in Siberia?”

“Isn’t that the kind of thing that happens to you?” 

He side eyes her, amused despite his best interest. “That’s… Not exactly untrue.”

“Come on,” she pouts, actually pouts, even though he’s never seen her do anything of the sort before. “Please? For me?” She extends a hand towards him. And to be honest it would probably take some apocalyptic catastrophe for him not to oblige. 

Embarrassment does twist his gut the second they step among the other jumping bodies. And it takes him a full minute of barely moving his arms and legs, feeling like a fool before he gets any semblance of a groove going, the awkwardness never fades completely, but it recedes enough for him to ignore it for a bit. Then Claire smiles, throwing her head back, and when she loops her arms around his neck he places his hands on her hips. It’s not so bad, though he would only admit that through gritted teeth. A part of him, the one that is always alert, always mapping entrances and exits, is very aware of absolutely everyone else in the room, colleagues, quasi-colleagues, etcetera; Leon can only hope everyone else is too drunk to notice him making a clown of himself.

“You’re doing good,” she says, scattering his thoughts as she bobs her head to the music with ease.

He lets out a bit of a huff, trying to loosen his movements a little. “Am I? How does anyone know how to dance to this stuff?”

“Nobody knows,” Claire replies, shrugging with one shoulder. “It’s not about that anyway, it’s about having fun.”

Leon chuckles, a little strained but still amused. “And are you? Pleased, I mean?”

“Extremely,” she says, grinning, jumping up and down, letting her arms loosen around his neck, her hands brushing down his chest with the movement.

“You’re laughing,” he notes, unsure if it’s okay to be glad that there is no space for him not to lean into her touch.

“Well yeah,” she responds with a playful roll of her eyes. Leon snorts; his own hands trail up her waist almost unconsciously. 

This is the most they have touched in years, outside of hugging, and the mix of thrill and embarrassment is heady, too much for his already overstimulated brain. Claire’s smile grows a little wider, it coaxes one just like it from him.

“Pull me closer,” she says casually.

Jill’s words from before hurtle across his mind like a train. No way. Choosing to ignore his self-preservation instinct, he does as requested. “Like this?” he asks, fingers curling in on the thin fabric of her top as their stomachs meet.

Claire's smile sharpens slightly, her lips part. A faint strawberry smell registers; is that her lipstick? She nods almost imperceptibly, and he doesn’t know whether she’s answering his question or something else entirely.

That feeling of vertigo he’d gotten a moment ago grows. If he leant in—

Unfortunately, he’s put out of his misery fast and decidedly, when suddenly Chris steps out of the kitchen, Barry in tow, carrying the most spectacularly ugly birthday cake he’s ever seen. Someone cuts the music and people disperse a little, as much as possible in the cramped space in order to make way for the two men. Claire, still standing very close to him, lets out an amused little sound. 

Leon glances at her, leaning in to speak quietly. “Is that a tire covered in ice cream?” 

She bats him on the shoulder, but he can feel her shoulders hitch as she holds in her laughter. “Don’t be an asshole. They made it themselves.”

“Clearly.”

Someone shushes them just as Jill steps out, looking as sly as she did back when she’d spoken to Leon in the kitchen. “You gonna sing, Redfield?” she asks Chris. 

The man’s smile tightens just a fraction as he makes a noncommittal sound. If this was all happening a few years ago, Leon would have probably just taken that for a refusal, but hard as it might be he’s actually learnt to read Chris a little better. So he knows now, there’s a little bit of embarrassment in there as well. Before he can really be put on the spot though, Claire saves him by bursting into song. 

She has many talents, but singing isn’t one of them. Out of the corner of his eye Leon sees her cringing at herself and without really considering it he starts singing too. More people join in, until their individual voices are lost, but she catches his eye in the middle of it, and squeezes the hand that still lingers on her waist. 

A quiet giggle shakes her shoulders while a small distance away, Jill blows her birthday candles and shrugs off the questions about her wishes. Leon finds that a small sense of contentment gathers at his chest; suddenly the memories of his latest assignment, the blood and bruises, feel very remote, like something that happened to a different person. 

Time becomes a haze after someone starts distributing pieces of cake. He watches Claire’s face very closely as she takes the first bite of her plate. To her credit, she only scrunches up her nose slightly at the taste, and when he opens his mouth to joke about it again, she only smiles benevolently. 

They end up in a nearby couch, squeezed on one side while the other is occupied by a couple men Leon guesses might be soldiers. 

“What are you thinking of?” she asks as he gathers their empty dishes and sets them upon a nearby cabinet. 

He shrugs. In truth his head is blessedly empty but for the bubbly buzz of combined drinking and smiling. It almost feels like peace. “What are you thinking of?”

Claire tilts her head a little, her eyes seem to sparkle as she considers her answer. “I’m thinking I’m glad you came.”

Leon’s smile stretches wider. “Oh? Jill told me Chris owes her twenty bucks because I did.”

Her laugh twinkles, he feels it against his arm now that they sit pressed so close together. 

“I just, I don’t know,” Claire begins, looking off into the crowded living room. “I thought that maybe since I was moving away, things would change.”

Something about her tone of voice gradually soothes the rush in his veins. He hesitates only briefly. “They don’t have to, change I mean.”

Claire turns towards him; there’s something of a flush on her cheeks, perhaps brought on by the alcohol, it makes her eyes suddenly very blue in contrast. “Will you come visit me?”

“If you want me to.”

It’s not a conscious decision to make the offer so… honest, it just comes off his mouth, emboldened somehow by the dim lights, by her attention shining so decidedly on him. 

“Do you want to?” she wonders.

A hundred words gather at his lips. Yes, he wants to. Of course he does. His gaze drops from her knowing one and falls almost unbidden to her lap. Her left leg is pressed against his right one, the fabric of her miniskirt snagging slightly on his jeans, riding up just a little, revealing smooth, pale skin underneath. His fingers curl in on themselves; this close he can smell her perfume, light and sweet, he can feel the warmth of her body pressed along his own. He swallows.

“You’re my best friend, Red. Yeah, I want to.”

She’s silent for a beat and not for the first time he fears she has read his thoughts as surely as if they were written upon his face. Then slowly, but not tentatively, she places her hand over his, where it lies on his knee.

“Is that all you want?” she asks.

The answer is only skin deep. “Not even close.”

Her fingers squeeze his, anchoring him in the present amid the looseness of his brain. When he raises his eyes to hers once more there’s a wicked glint in her expression. A slow smile draws itself upon her mouth and she stands, pulling him with her by their joined hands. 

He breathes out a chuckle when they tilt upon unsteady feet, his arm goes out to keep Claire from falling, but she rights herself, tugging at him by the hand. He follows her, slipping around the other guests. There’s a bit of a baffled laugh brimming from his chest, she can’t mean— No, no way.

With a breathless sigh, she tugs him into a less crowded hallway, more an alcove really, leading up the stairs to the second floor. A bubbly squeal when they almost collide with a woman on her way down causes Claire to trip. Leon, right behind her, darts to avoid stepping on her boot and they both grab onto the banister before they topple. A giggle erupts from her mouth when Leon looks down at their tangled limbs. Lifting their joined hands he closes his eyes for a second, to keep from… Laughing? Grinning? Spilling his guts right then and there?

Claire shifts, idly moving the leg she has trapped between his, her bare skin brushes against his inner thigh through the fabric of his jeans. As his eyes move over her waist he notices the tiniest sliver of skin, where her top has risen up again. He bites the inside of his cheek. 

They’re close enough that he can feel her exhale on the side of his face, he blinks, momentarily caught in the lazy flutter of her lashes. Claire tilts her head, looking up at him, that rosy flush still dusted over her cheekbones. Fuck. At the back of his mind his common sense is flailing, muffled by the alcohol and deafened by the music. His eyes linger on Claire's lips, and at once he knows that this is the point of no return; if they kiss now there’s no way he can go back to pretending he doesn’t want her like this. 

Suddenly the music changes and a Britney Spears song starts playing. Leon grins, he can see Claire’s mouth moving as she murmurs along to the lyrics, perhaps even unconsciously. A rush of affection lifts his chest; she laughs again, bright and infectious and he squeezes her fingers, still twined with his. 

When he bows his head, her lips slide across his cheek. “Agent Kennedy,” she says, the teasing obvious, even in the hush of her voice.

He laughs, perhaps more freely than he would ever allow himself were he not in this situation. “Heh, don’t call me that.”

She turns, her smile passing only a hair's breadth away from his own mouth. “What then?” she wonders. He shrugs, watching as the line of her mouth stretches into a beam. “Leon?”

That again, so soft. He exhales, both in defeat and reassurance, finally leaning in. Their mouths meet for the first time and it feels like fireworks going off under his eyelids. Like a warm bath, like relief. A tiny sound spills from Claire and he angles his head, kissing her in full.

Her arms go around his neck, like they’d done when they were dancing, and just like then he moves deeper into her embrace, crowding her against the wall, unthinking, all instinct. At the same time his hands find her hips and pull her towards him. The walls of the house throb with the music but he’s only absently aware, as if the sound was coming from the end of a tunnel. Claire tastes sweet, like the strawberry from her lipstick. Her hands slide across the back of his t-shirt, nails sinking into his shoulders eliciting a full body shudder from him. 

His own palm brushes down the side of her, over her top and that wretched, terrific miniskirt to reach her bare thigh just below. Her breath hitches, growing slightly shallow as his fingers dig a little into her skin. His grip tightens, pressing her flush against him just as her lips part for his tongue. A little whimper pours from her and it loosens something within him, an already crumbling wall he’d put around thoughts of this. Leon’s almost surprised to find that he doesn’t care, nothing else matters but the way her fingers brush his face as they come to twist into his hair. 

Mindlessly his mouth trails down her jaw to kiss her neck, biting her there, suppressing a gasp as she shifts her leg between his again. Then suddenly there’s a distant crash, the sound of a glass or a dish tearing against the floor. They both go still, tense. In a second yells of surprise and amusement flow in from the living room. A soft snort pushes from Claire’s nose, her shoulders shaking with stifled glee all at once. Leon closes his eyes, biting down a grin of his own at the surprise in her gaze. 

His hold around her loosens, slacking their haphazard grip on the banister and almost causing them to tumble down the steps. Claire presses a hand to her mouth to muffle a yelp, which only makes him want to laugh louder. 

He meets her gaze again, her eyes glittering while she carefully extricates herself from him. As she continues to climb up the stairs she looks at him over her shoulder. “You coming?” 

As if he would ever say no.

They tumble into a random door, which Claire shuts with a flick of her heel behind her back. Neither of them bother finding a switch, but she does grasp for the nearby cord of a standing lamp right as he grabs her waist again, bringing her near. 

The light of the lamp casts a hazy glow over the two of them. Leon’s hand spreads over the small of her back, climbing several inches up underneath her top, incensed by the warmth of her skin and the gasp that lifts from her mouth as his lips resume their path down her neck, kissing the mark he’d left there before. 

Claire’s hands bunch on his t-shirt, pushing him slightly. He glances up, meeting her blown up gaze as she guides him towards the bed. He sits at the edge of it, tugging her closer as an answer. He might be buzzed, but he can be honest, and he’s wanted this for a long time.

Her hands settle on his shoulders, the tension in his stomach growing heavy as his head tips backwards a fraction, just to watch her. Leon’s thighs fall apart and she steps in between them, her fingers trailing up his neck to brush over his jaw. There’s a curious edge to the glint of her eyes, almost like a question. His throat bobs, right hand coming to cup the back of her thigh again, thumb brushing slowly over the inside of it.

A quick smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “Into skirts?” she murmurs.

“Honestly,” he admits. This draws another chuckle from her. Crazy, how even in this moment it sends a pleased spark down his spine to see her laugh.

“I’ll take off my shirt if you do yours,” she says, that wicked gleam returning to color her expression. 

Bowing his head, he obliges, grabbing his t-shirt and dropping it to the floor. Taking a second to pull the elastic from her hair, Claire does the same, discarding her long-sleeved top. He swallows thickly, not wanting to miss the way her eyes are mapping his chest, while at the same time he can’t tear his attention from the thin material of her bra, so sheer it’s almost transparent.

The line of her mouth twists, trying to bite down a grin, while she carefully slips a knee over his hip. Leon’s hands wander up to hold her waist, settling to take her weight as she slides her other knee up as well, sinking into him. He tilts his head for her, catching her mouth with his once more, biting her lip, deepening the kiss. Wanting to hear her whimper again, he drags his hand down her back, pulling her closer, fitting them together.

He drops his mouth to her sternum and trails open-mouthed kisses along her chest, following them with his teeth. Claire arches into him, breath shallow while he tightens his grip on her. There are no thoughts, no conscience flaring warnings in his head, he’s past that point. Leon pushes the straps of her bra down her shoulders just to have more of her to see, to touch and Claire dips her hands into his hair, pulling at him to kiss her again. 

They’re pressed flush next to each other, her breasts against the bare skin of his chest, her hips shifting with his the longer they continue to make out. She shivers atop him; he’s hard, he can feel it whenever she grinds into him. God. He’d never thought he would see her like this, that she’d want this.

She moans into him as he pushes her skirt up to cup her, just as he whispers her name at the hinge of her jaw. Need stretches across his body, but it only flares, only becomes unbearable when he hears the quiet, “please,” she murmurs, canting her hips into his.

Leon lays them on the bed, shifting so she can rest on her side. Claire reaches up for him, coaxing him down to her lips again. “Alright?” he asks, hand trailing up the silky inside of her thigh. Christ, she’s so soft. A shaky laugh rumbles against his mouth when she nods. 

His head lolls over her shoulder while she undoes the waistband of his jeans. His fingers slide past her underwear. Her breath catches, eyes closing; his teeth graze the space underneath her ear, hearing her quiet gasps quicken as he strokes her, keeping the motions easy but firm. She says his name again, barely a whisper but nevertheless burnt into his brain at this moment. Hitching her leg higher up his hip, Claire wraps her arms around him, both of them groaning when her breasts press up against him again. 

“Like this?” he hears her ask, it sends shivers down his spine. “Please?”

“Yes, I—” he rasps, reaching for his pocket to grab a condom from his wallet. Claire goes still next to him. Eyes snapping back to her, he freezes, the foil package caught in his fingers.

She looks up at it, a thoughtful expression crossing her face like a ripple before she shakes her head. “Don’t use it,” she says.

He blinks, taking in her meaning. “Are you sure?”

“I’m on the pill,” she says. 

Leon swallows. Stomach tightening at the idea of getting all of her, of getting to have her with nothing between them. “Okay.”

He drops the package, melting into her as she grasps at the back of his neck to bring him close enough to kiss. For a while he continues to stroke her, driving it up until a tremor works its way up her body and their unsteady hands do away with enough of their interfering clothes. Her eyes close again, when he pushes inside her, and he himself moans at the feel of it. 

Nothing has ever felt so good. She’s so tight, so warm. He almost loses it as she rocks her hips against him, meeting him every time, as if by some miracle she has waited for this too, wanted it as much as he has. The pace is quiet but urgent, she gasps into his mouth, small sounds pouring from the back of her throat. With a shudder, he pushes harder, earning him a small cry. All the while Claire holds on to him, her thumb passing over the sensitive scar of the wound she herself had mended for him years ago.

Opening his eyes to watch her feels almost surreal, the fact that it’s her with him— It doesn’t last long enough, not nearly. She comes undone in his arms, shivering helplessly, and it drives him over the edge. Bowing his face over her chest to stifle the sounds he wants to make as he spills inside her.

They lie there for a moment, shallow breaths deepening, growing even, until Leon rolls away and onto his back. A beat of silence stretches on as they both stare at the ceiling, painted golden in the light of the lamp. 

The blunt edge of common sense is starting to pierce through the haze that still envelops him, right as the full scope of what just happened settles in his mind. He can’t help glancing at her, just as Claire herself looks back at him. It holds for a moment, the eye contact, before she clamps her lips shut, even though her shoulders shake with mirth. 

A chuckle of his own lifts from his mouth, growing into full on laughter. 

“I just—” she begins, lips twisting as she bites down a grin, “I had to get it out of my system.”

Leon arches a brow at her. “Oh?” he wonders, “Maybe we should do it again, to make sure it’s all out.”

She gives his shoulder a half-hearted shove, and for some unexplainable reason it obliterates his anxiety like fire to dry grass. 

“Has that line ever worked?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, I’ve never tried it before,” he replies. “Is it working on you now?”

She casts him a disbelieving glance. “Your sense of humor is unparalleled.”

“You like my stupid jokes.”

It’s probably a testament to the lingering afterglow that he can throw that last part out with confidence. But well, the evidence is there. 

Biting her lip, Claire turns back towards the ceiling. “I do,” she agrees.

Another stretch of silence, more comfortable this time, familiar, settles around them. Contentment expands across Leon’s chest, the same as before but sharper, stronger. Jill’s words from back in the kitchen return once more; a brief flash of embarrassment passes through his mind. To think that it was so obvious to everyone but himself, well, maybe to Claire too. He turns, wanting to ask her just that and finds her distracted.

Absent-mindedly she untangles her bra from where it hangs half-on-half-off her shoulders, and tosses it towards the edge of the bed. Turning on her side she casts him a thoughtful glance. “Are you gonna tell me now? How your mission went?”

Making an effort to peel his eyes from her breasts he gives her a wry smile. “Is that what you wanna wear to this conversation?”

“It was digging into my side,” she explains, eyes dancing. “Did you want me to wear something different?”

“I’d ask if you have anything smaller, but I guess that defeats the purpose.”

She snorts, and reaches out for a discarded pillow, placing it over her chest. “Alright. Better?”

“Not sure,” he says honestly. 

She rolls her eyes, but a smile lingers on her lips for a moment, though all too soon her face grows serious again. “You know, you can talk to me about these things.”

“I do,” he replies with perhaps more solemnity than he’d meant to put on those words.

Claire frowns, her gaze wandering up to the ceiling again, she bites her lip. “This doesn’t have to mean anything,” she says more quietly.

Leon’s eyes snap back to her. She’s always had an excellent poker face, which right now isn’t reassuring in the least. He turns on his side to look at her properly. 

“What if I do want it to mean something? How would that work?”

Surprise flickers across her expression. A sliver of his previous vertigo suddenly returns. He will probably look like a massive clown if Claire tells him her interest in this is purely on the physical side. It’s a possibility, he’d gone on a few dates that ended up on the “Just sex, thank you very much” side of things, especially in late adolescence. Yet he finds that as possibly embarrassing as this is, he’s unable to keep the words to himself. 

It’s probably the worst of times anyway, she’s just moved away, his job is as unstable as it’s ever been. They’re probably not gonna be able to see each other for weeks on end…

There’s a speck of thoughtful silence, then she responds slowly. “Well, then I’d say you should buy me dinner, but I think we’re past that, aren’t we?”

“I can buy you breakfast,” he suggests, the beginnings of a smile already pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

She grins. “How about lunch?”

He leans in, grabbing the pillow from her chest and throwing it beyond the bed, making Claire laugh when they kiss again. 

Downstairs the party continues and at the back of his brain Leon wonders distantly whether Jill actually got her twenty bucks after all. He might have to add a substantial donation to her wallet too, if he ever makes it out of the room.