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Leon grunted as his back slammed into the training mat. Again . He'd been at this all week and the only thing he had to show for it was being knocked on his ass more times than he could count. His lungs screamed with each breath, a persistent ache seeping deep into his bones.
But it didn't matter how miserable he was, he knew this was only gonna get worse from here.
He was the first of his kind, a government agent specialized in fighting the threat of B.O.W.s. There was no rulebook, no guidance. He was thrown a volley in the dark and told to go fetch.
And here he was. Months of combat training, and what did he have to show for it?
Leon sat up with a groan, wiping away sweat with his stained tank top. Just how long did he have to survive like this?
"Up on your feet, boy scout," a gruff voice called out. "We're nowhere near done yet."
Leon looked up to the wide palm being offered. For a brief flash he could swear it was the Tyrant's gigantic hand, shooting for his throat to finish him off for good. But then with a blink he was back. And it was just a normal, though still pretty damn large, hand reaching for him.
Leon absently rubbed at his throat and hesitated. It'd been happening frequently since his training had started. He was told it was fine, the doctors didn't see anything to worry about. And why would they? As long as he could still fight, what reason would they have to care about anything else? Leon sighed and accepted the hand, his tired body dragged back up in a firm grip.
"You're playing dirty, Krauser," Leon frowned, playfully brushing dirt off his shoulder.
"There's no rules out on the battlefield, Kennedy ." Krauser spat back, quickly sliding back into his fighting stance. "No one's gonna hold your hand and give you brownie points for trying."
Leon ground his teeth, jaw clenched. A flash of anger crossed his eyes, a vicious urge to shout, scream, bite the man's throat wide open. But he stayed silent, restrained, and got back into his own fighting stance.
He held the air in his lungs and focused his eyes, scanning the man in front of him. His muscles tensed, ready to strike as he waited for his instructor to make the first move. He'd learned to search for the subtle movements, for the twitches in the other man's massive muscles that give himself away.
In the short time Leon had known him, Krauser was always a mixed bag. He was fast as hell for a man his size, and he never kept to a single fighting style. He knew how to keep the enemy on his toes, seamlessly switching techniques on a dime. Krauser circled Leon slowly, prowling like a meticulous jaguar, searching for the best part of his trainee's jugular to sink his fangs into. He could spot any opening and strike like a viper, fast and sleek and deadly.
Leon hated to admit it, but he felt a pang of jealousy any time he watched the old soldier fight. He needed to be on Krauser's level a month ago, and yet he was struggling just to keep up. Leon could see the changes in his own body with the rigorous training, muscles gaining bulk and definition. But it didn’t matter how much stronger he got, he felt like a helpless kitten next to this fighting machine.
With a sudden flash of silver Leon ducked to the left, missing the blade’s edge by a hair. Krauser had firmly insisted on using real knives for Leon's training, wanting to show the agent what "true combat'' was like. As if Leon wasn’t already deeply intimate with the subject after that night in Raccoon City gave him a hell of a crash course. He didn’t need to be talked down to like a child when he was the only one in the room who really knew what B.O.W.s were like. He knew where to aim, where to plant his knives, how to arm grenades and how to get away when things got sticky. Sure, he snapped a few blades in half, but that didn’t make him completely clueless.
"You're acting like I'm just some spoiled dog waiting for his treats," Leon scoffed as he tested the water with a swipe of his knife at Krauser’s arm.
Krauser barked out a laugh as he easily dodged Leon's attack. "You're not just any spoiled dog, Kennedy. You're the President's lapdog.” He sneered tauntingly, “I just have to make sure you’re housebroken first."
Leon grit his teeth, body tense with adrenaline and anger pounding in his skull. Krauser had been wearing him down for hours, weeks even, mocking the rookie like it was his new favorite pastime. It took everything in Leon to keep his composure, to fight the tired ache in his bones that told him he should just snap already. But that’s what Krauser would want, wouldn’t he? He’d want something to prove that Leon was just as weak-willed as he’d been saying all along. He couldn’t let this son of a bitch win.
Leon got back into his familiar stance, ingrained into him back at the police academy. If he could win against a hulking monster in a fight for his life, he could win against some shitty instructor with an inflated ego. He steeled himself and slashed at Krauser’s open thigh with a deadly conviction. He got him this time, the guy never protected his legs; it should be an easy hit–
Leon gasped as a swift kick to the gut knocked the air out of his lungs and threw him back to the ground.
Leon didn't bother trying to get up this time. He rolled onto his back, panting as he stared blankly at the ceiling. God, fuck this.
"Think with your body, not just your knife," Krauser scolded, crouching down on his haunches next to Leon. "Could've knocked me down with a sweep of the leg, not stabbing me in my damn thigh for fuck's sake."
Leon groaned, slapping his hands over his heated face. He was sick of it. Sick of Krauser, sick of being mocked like a belligerent schoolboy. Sick of the stench of sweat and body musk that never seemed to go away no matter how much he showered. He was even sick of the smell of the cheap cigarettes Krauser smoked, that clung to his shirts and stuck in Leon’s nose. He was so fucking sick of everything.
"Come on, get yer ass up, boy scout. You're letting your emotions get the better of you." He gruffed, "Shit, kid. You're gonna have to do better than that if you wanna survive in this damn war, it's not a fucking tea party." Krauser slapped his hands on his knees and made a move to stand back up.
No . Leon was sick of taking his shit. He wasn’t gonna sit here and take any more insults. Before Krauser had a chance to stand, Leon grabbed the front of his instructor’s shirt and threw him down onto the mat. The soldier was clearly caught off guard, barely having time to react before Leon was straddling him. Or maybe he let Leon do it.
"What, you getting tired already?" Leon smirked, his own voice sounding exhausted as he gripped Krauser’s shirt with shaky hands. "Didn't know you were such an old man."
Krauser huffed, his calloused hands firmly gripping Leon's thighs. "Don't be such a cocky brat. If you can only win when your enemy is caught off guard then you're not a good fighter.” he spat, “You're just a useless coward ."
Leon's blood boiled, and the thought crossed his mind about how easy it would be to kill the man right here and now. Krauser was just a shitty instructor, probably with no friends and no one to miss him. Would the government even care if he killed the man? They’d probably sweep it under the rug, just like they did with Raccoon City. Claim it was an unfortunate accident and quickly shuffle in a new instructor. The rush of endorphins Leon felt at that realization, at that new sense of power…
It was the best he’d felt in months .
"I could slit your god damn throat right fucking now you know." Leon leaned down closer to Krauser’s face, an edge of desperation sneaking into his voice that he felt ashamed of, “maybe that’d finally shut you the hell up.”
"Please, like you'd even have the guts to do it.” Krauser sneered back. “Don't make me laugh."
Red flooded Leon’s vision.
Before he even realized what he was doing, Leon grabbed at Krauser's throat, squeezing the man’s trachea with as much force as his aching muscles could muster. His blunt painted black nails dug into the pale skin, creating a sharp contrast. Krauser’s icy blue gaze never left Leon's, even as his face began to flush red and slowly melt into purple from the lack of oxygen. He was challenging him. Leon was killing him, and he was still playing the fucking macho games.
Leon didn’t even know why he was choking the man. He was just angry , angry at the world, at his circumstances, at himself. Angry that Sherry got taken away from him, angry that he couldn’t even protect a little girl. Angry that Krauser didn’t care about him, or what he’d been through, angry that the man just kept being smug even while he was being strangled to death, like it was all some sort of big joke to him. Leon bared his teeth, grinding them together so hard he almost cracked a tooth.
And then Leon noticed it. Noticed the subtle twitch of Krauser’s hips, the swell of the man's hardening cock pressing against his cunt. Blood rushed to Leon’s head in a dizzying culmination as he realized this had all just been a game to Krauser this entire time. Just some shit cheap game, and Leon was the one made a fool all over again.
Leon scrambled off the man’s lap, his mind racing. "You– you're a fucking pervert ," Leon spat out, gasping for breath and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Krauser gave a cut off laugh through his coughing. "Says the slut rubbing up against me."
Leon's face burned with a bright red. Had he– No , Krauser was just making that up to get to him.
Krauser got back up, waving a hand noncommittally at him. "You're dismissed, Kennedy. Hit the showers and come back tomorrow. And you better be on time, got it?"
Leon's own throat was closed up, like he'd been the one strangled instead. His gaze lingered to Krauser’s neck, watching the bruises start to bloom from his hard grip. And all Leon could feel was shame. Shame and humiliation. He couldn't get himself to speak, and he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. He gave a stiff nod, and quickly left for the locker room, his tail between his legs.
What the fuck was happening to him? He needed to get out of his own head. Maybe he just needed a hot shower, followed by a bottle of cheap vodka and his favorite dildo. Maybe then he could take his mind off the thought of just how huge the man's cock felt.