Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Leon  browsed the aisles of the clothing store, a little lost among the lace and satin. Finally, he found the area where the real underwear was kept.

Neutral colors, comfortable fits - the kind that women wore every day. Under the the eye of a nearby saleswoman, he gathered an armful of clothing, enough to get him through a few weeks, even if he didn't get a chance to do laundry because of missions. 

Most of his purchases were in sensible shades, ones that would be hidden under his daily clothes. But Leon couldn't resist snagging just a few flashier options - some frilly g-strings, a delicate lacy bra. Not a push-up one. He didn't have much of a chest on him.

Yet.

The cashier rang it up, smiling a little at Leon, flirting. "Are these for your girlfriend? Or a gift for someone special?" 

"No," Leon answered honestly, smiling back. Feeling brave. "They're not for anyone else."

One of his new bras, plain and white, was laid out on the bed with matching panties. He picked up both and hesitated, unsure. 

This....need for women's clothing, it wasn't new. Leon had crushed down that part of himself over the years, never able to truly escape it. Images of wearing skirts or a floating summer dress would surface at inconvenient times - at the shooting range as a police cadet, during military training under Krauser, once when Leon had been sitting in a bar, nursing a drink next to Chris. 

He crumpled the soft fabric between his fingers. There was a steady pulse behind Leon's left temple, a soft thrum-thrum that felt almost pleasant. He'd started having headaches a while ago, excused them away as a product of a stressful job. 

Certainly, the migraines and moments of blank whiteness had gotten worse during the final six months working under Simmons. The man had been a shit through and through, the world's worst boss, a bureaucratic monster turned - literally - into a monster by the end. 

His death had been ugly. Leon let out a small, satisfied laugh at the memory of it, the sound shocking in its cynicism. 

Maybe it was wrong, taking pleasure in what had happened. But honestly, fuck that guy. He'd had it in for Leon from Day One, a mutual dislike springing up instantly between them. From the very first, Leon's instinct had said not to trust Simmons. And Leon had been right. 

That was why he should always trust his gut feeling. And his feelings were telling him to put on the underwear. Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to do it, a lifetime's worth of inhibition making him pause. 

The throbbing in his head intensified. A brief flash - detailed and too bright - of Leon listening to a broken sound file, a security audio sent to him by Simmons months ago. No voices, just ambient noise followed by a looping classical track. 

Why had Leon been ordered to review the file? Something about security or intel?

He rubbed his temple, unable to remember much details now, just that there had been a lot of these files, all of them useless. Nothing but the same classical music until it played in Leon's head night and day, even when he was sleeping. 

Typical. That prick Simmons hadn't even been able to secure decent security audio for Leon. The man had been inefficient and unpleasant. Quite a combo!

Leon wondered if he had any of the recordings left or if he'd deleted them all after Simmons' death. It was a strange thought, almost a compulsion, to go digging through his laptop and find the files, to slip his headphones on like a good girl...

A car backfired downstairs, rousing the agent. 

He came back to himself, still clutching his new panties. With something almost like disappointment, he remembered that he'd gotten insanely drunk one night after his last mission and trashed his apartment. His laptop had been one of the many casualties, along with his iPod. 

Stupid. Replacing all of that hadn't come cheap. And Leon was trying to be careful with his money. He wanted to invest in full-body electrolysis soon. Using hair removal cream just didn't seem permanent enough.

That gave him pause. Sure, he'd tried on his mom's clothes once or twice as a young teenager, before his life went to shit. But it was simply adolescent experimentation, nothing more. He'd locked away away his inner girl once he'd started to grow stubble. Because Leon hadn't wanted to look like man in a dress. Growing up meant accepting reality. Realizing that some dreams needed to be downgraded to random thoughts. 

So when had those random thoughts started to solidify into clear urges? He kept a diary now, sparkly pink, with a list of items he needed, skills that he wanted to acquire. Handling a gun was easy compared to learning to put on make-up without turning yourself into a caricature. Had he always been so into this kind of stuff? Drag? Was that the word?

No, drag was more theatrical, he mused, gliding stockings over his smooth legs before he started on his underthings. Maybe crossdressing was the right term? Except Leon didn't dress up to feel kinky. It didn't make him want to lie on his bed and jerk off. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd touched his coc....his private parts. 

Well, he wasn't getting any younger. Maybe the libido changed over time. Or maybe you got tired of running away from yourself. 

''Maybe you need to get fucked.' 

Leon started. It was like someone had stood right beside him and spoken directly into his ear. His hands were shaking as he reached back to fasten his bra. Despite being called a pretty boy all his life, Leon had always considered himself straight. The closest he came to anal lately was letting Ada play around with a strap-on. And that was a thing of the past now she'd pulled one of her famous disappearing acts. As for sneaking the odd glance at guys in the gym shower...come on, everyone did that!

Alright, there'd been those on-off hook-ups with Krauser, starting in the army barracks. Both of them keeping quiet while the other soldiers snored on, oblivious. Krauser had always touched Leon like he was something precious, his rough voice tender as he fondled Leon's nipples and whispered, "You're so pretty, you're so damn pretty." Best sex of Leon's life. But that didn't make him queer. 

Yet here he was, dressed in girl's underwear and thinking about poor, lost Jack. That hurt too much so he shifted his thoughts to Chris Redfield instead. They were both survivors, had both passed through the same Hell, more than once. Both lost people they had loved. 

Trying to lighten his gloom, Leon called up an image of Chris.

The other man's boyish grin, the hopefulness that had never quite died in his warm brown eyes. They went way back but lately, there was a new charge building between them. Agent Kennedy, with his kill count and cynical streak, found himself giggling around the BSAA soldier whenever they hung out together. The same giggle Leon had forbidden himself years ago, back when he saw the disgust it provoked in those around him. Guys didn't giggle, flutter their fingers, cross their legs. But Chris never looked at him with anything but kindness and a growing heat. Despite his size, there was a gentle side to the soldier. 

A big gruff guy with a big heart. Like Krauser. Both men giants in their own way, built on a heroic scale. Next to Chris, Leon didn't feel like a jaded killer. He felt slim, petite, a fresh young girl who'd never been properly kissed. 

Jesus Wept, where had that thought come from?

Trembling a little, Leon barely managed to apply a layer of lip gloss. Nothing obvious - just enough to make his lips glisten. No one at work had mentioned it or his lack of scruff these days, all stubble removed by a recent facial waxing. It had hurt like hell but the technician had assured Leon that he was good for at least a few weeks. 

A few weeks! It hardly seemed worth the pain and effort. Maybe he needed to consider facial electrolysis too?

'Pretty faces should be smooth.' 

Leon dickered over applying mascara but decided against it. That might look a little too obvious. Of course, the DSO had a no-prejudice policy in place. Simmons had rushed it through himself not long before his death. Surprising but maybe the man had just been a maniac, not a bigot. He'd been smirking when he'd oozed over to Leon and mentioned it, watching the agent with those heavy-lidded eyes and standing too close. Like he was waiting for Leon to squirm.

Sleazy old Simmons, always trying to get his top agent to work late when it was just the two of them or join him for a drink, glowering whenever Leon made his excuses. 

"You think you're better than me, Kennedy?" Simmons had whined after Leon's last refusal. "You'll get yours one day. Just wait and see. I'll be sending you some sound files soon, pulled from a crime scene. I want you to review them. Yes, all of them. Be useful for once!" 

The headache was gathering momentum now, like a drum solo done by a musician on speed. 

Leon reached for the mascara and unsteadily applied just a touch. Immediately his eyes looked bigger somehow, more noticeable. With his hairless cheeks and light make-up, the agent appeared...not just younger. But fresher, a little androgynous even. He had the right bone structure to make it work. 

At least I can pull this off, Leon told himself, shrugging into a white button-up shirt. Also brought recently, also from the woman's section. Not that you could tell - it looked close enough to a guy's except for the pearly buttons and subtle difference of the cut. 

Once it was on, you couldn't really see his bra straps, especially when he threw on a jacket. His jeans were black and plain, unisex, a little tighter than what he normally went for. He frowned at his bulge, reaching under his waistband and adjusting himself until his crotch looked flatter. 

The boots, of course, were a disappointment. If you were doing fieldwork, you needed practical footwear. But he'd allowed himself some pretty socks, black but subtly embroidered with hearts, both to cover his stockings and get him through the work day. No one would notice them and they made Leon feel a little less drab. 

Lots of girls must do that, he thought dreamily. Wear a pretty little secret tucked away under their clothes, something to remind them that they were still women under the uniform of day-to-day life. Not sexless worker bees. 

Feeling happier, he ran his fingers through his hair to give it a bit more body. He should get it dyed soon, go blonde again.

"Like in Spain," he told his reflection, smiling, pleased at what he saw. 

He might not be a Spring Chicken anymore but he thought he looked pretty cute. You could barely notice his adam's apple in the right light. And there were lots of options to make it less conspicuous - operations, tracheal shaves. You probably didn't even have to stay overnight for that kind of procedure and if you did, well, Leon had barely touched his accumulated sick leave.

The pain in his head, the longing for those audio files, was melting away. He didn't need them to feel good. Not when he finally felt at home in his own skin. 

As he was stepping out of his apartment building, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Fishing it out, he saw a text from Chris. The man was lonely these days, a little more shattered by recent events than Leon. Maybe that's why they were spending so much time together.

Beers at my place tonight, little buddy? Catch the game together? read the text. 

It was nothing special, just the offer of a casual get-together. But Leon felt almost giddy when he typed his reply:

Sure, big guy. Can't wait!

Humming, he bounced down the sunny street. His migraine had evaporated as if by magic. Even the weather seemed to match Leon's good mood. Everything was lit up. Feeling buoyant, swinging his hips slightly, Leon started to whistle.

The same snatch of classical music over and over again, all the way to work.

Chapter Text

Leon's quiet joy lasted until he was in the elevator at work. 

The other passenger looked vaguely familiar. Not another agent, just some guy who rode a desk on one of the lower floors. Leon knew his face but his name remained elusive, just out of reach.

They exchanged friendly nods. The man's gaze dropped to the shine on Leon's lips, the slight contour of the bra under his shirt. They both looked away at the same time. 

"Nice weather, right?" Leon said, trying to put him at ease. "Thought it'd be colder this time of year but we're lucky."

Instead of answering, the clerk fiddled with the clasp of his briefcase, unable to even meet Leon's eyes. Ignoring any of his other attempts at conversation.

Looking straight through him. 

Just like that, the light went out of the day. Leon's stomach flip-flopped. When the elevator ground to a halt, he got off, not caring that it was the wrong floor.

The bathroom was another trial.

Leon wasn't sure if he even belonged in the Men's anymore but he couldn't use the Ladies. Breathing hard, he ducked inside the male toilets, hoping like hell that they were empty, not knowing how things would go if anyone saw him.

After the incident in the elevator, Leon had stayed in his office all day, catching up on paperwork in blissful isolation, drinking cup after cup of black coffee until his tummy burned.

Now his bladder felt swollen and tender like a rotten fruit about to split its skin.

He paused by the urinal, relieved that he was the only one in the bathroom. He started tugging at his zip and stopped. What if some guy walked in and saw him there, all exposed? Caught a glimpse of his panties while his fly was half-open?

What if things turned ugly and some ape with more testosterone than sense decided to put the fairy in his place? High school had taught Leon that you couldn't fight worth a damn with your pants around your ankles.

The pressure inside increased, growing painful. He dashed into an empty stall, making certain to lock the door behind him.

That was better.

Alone, he eased his underwear and pants down his thighs and sat. Felt a needling in his temple, sharp enough to distract from the relief of finally being able to piss in peace. Heard a familiar voice, staticky and cruel, a digital ghost putting him in his place:

'Pathetic. Show everyone this side of you so they can hate you. You deserve it. Pathetic.'

Defiantly, Leon waited until he was done and then struggled out of his bra. He'd watched enough YouTube videos to figure out how to remove it without taking off a t-shirt. He crushed it in one hand, unsure what to do with it.

Throw it in the nearest dustbin? Pull it apart and try flush the scraps of fabric?

He was strong enough to do that and it wasn't like the bra was an underwire. Just comfortable cotton and elastic, soft, easily damaged if you really put your mind to it.

After some thought, he shoved it into his jeans' pocket instead, trying not to feel like he had failed some unspoken test.

Cold water on his face, dashing away his mascara. It took more effort than Leon would have expected. Black streaks down his cheeks. He looked like a strange clown, the kind who scared children.

'Freak.'

Another icy splash and the make-up was finally gone, along with the happy pixie from this morning. Replaced by a middle-aged man with puffy lids and a quivering mouth. Leon set his jaw, pulling his face taut and mean.

"Welcome back, Agent Kennedy," he said to himself, dropping his voice, putting steel in his eyes. A trick he'd mastered in his late adolescence, a way to mask. After a while, masks became prisons.

The face in the mirror belonged to a lonely killer who passed out in a trashed apartment, a weapon that could be discarded once it broke.

'A hole to be used.'

Somewhere in the wide, cold world, Ada was moving through her web of shadows, never once looking back. Somewhere, Krauser's bones were crumbling into nothingness, picked bare by time. 

Somewhere Chris was probably sighing to himself, regretting asking Leon over, wondering why he'd let pity get the best of him. Why he'd decided to be nice to the deviant.

'No one stays with a hole. They just use it and move on.'

Leon's right hand came up, hard and rough against his own cheek.

"Get it together," he gritted out. "Stop being crazy and get it together, Agent Kennedy."

'You can't hide what you are and they're all laughing.'

This time, he hit himself harder, tasting iron between his teeth. The pain cleared his head a little.

And he deserved. He deserved all of it and more.

Chapter Text

Ada was crouching on a rooftop, her legs going numb, and thinking about Leon. 

Leon S Kennedy, the world-weary idealist. The same sweet boy from Raccoon City, just with a few more lines. Trying so hard and always falling short.  It was a shock to think he'd be forty in a few years. 

They hadn't been together since the confused time around Simmons' death. That was the last time she'd actually laid eyes on the agent. He hadn't looked good, bags under his eyes and his chin dark with stubble. A haunted man. 

Well, they all had their ghosts. Thanks to Carla, Ada's life had tilted on its axis, tumbling her from the outskirts of bioterrorism into the center. She had her scars. Just not where they could show.

How she wished she was with Leon right now. It wasn't even the sex she missed. Just the closeness, the tender warmth that he brought to their encounters. He never expected Ada to be the femme fatale, the bitch in the red dress. He never even expected her to spend the night.

He took what little she could give him and was grateful. 

"Thank you," he'd sigh when she parted her legs and let him lick her heated cleft. "Thank you" when she pulled his hair or put him in one of her dresses. There was a satiny ease to their encounters - it made her think of the times she'd fooled around with her college room-mate, the pair of them giggling like the girls they were and pretending nothing had happened come morning.

If you wanted your fucks rough and hard, you didn't go to Leon. He was a thoughtful lover, happy to stroke her for as long as she wanted, willing to go along with whatever she wanted. Balking only whenever she tried to go down on him. 

"What kind of man doesn't like blowjobs?" she wondered aloud.

Krauser looked up from his place next to her and grinned. "Dunno. I've always been keen on them myself."

"Oh, please, Jack." She gave him a smack on one meaty shoulder. "I was thinking about Leon. You slept with him a couple of times. He was....different, wasn't he?"

The soldier rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That's one way to put it. Normally, I like my guys a little more masc, you know? I used to joke about that, tell Leon that he was my 'army girlfriend.' He'd blush but I could tell it made him happy. He once told me that he sometimes felt awkward about his dick, like it wasn't really part of him. Can't remember his exact words now."

Ada didn't know what to say to that. Of all the weird rooftop discussions she'd had in her long, illustrious career as a spy, this definitely fell into her Top Three.

"Hey!" Krauser grabbed the binoculars from her, squinting slightly at the tiny figures in the warehouse below. His night vision was awful these days but he refused to consider glasses. "Okay, they're unloading the stock. Soon as the guard goes for a piss, we'll swoop in and grab what Al needs. Think he'll be pleased?"

Ada winced. "Depends. Some days he's almost like the old Wesker, others he barely knows who you are..."

""Yeah, I told Al not to pull that fucking Kijuju stunt. Said it was bound to end badly. But why listen to me? I'm just the muscle. We had this whole fight about it when I wouldn't get on the plane with him." He passed her back the binoculars, stretching slightly. She could hear the slight creak of his joints. "You shoulda seen what he looked like when I finally tracked him down in Africa. Nothing but a blackened skeleton and organs and spite. 'Redfield, Redfield, fucking Redfield.' That was all he could say for months. He's getting better though. Nowadays, he's back to looking like a GQ model and bitching if I put too much sugar in his morning coffee. Messing around in that basement lab of his. Betcha in a few years, he'll be back to trying to take over the world or save it, whatever the hell he was trying to do."

A fond chuckle and shake of his graying head. At some point, the Major's hair had started to turn from blond to salt-and-pepper. He was getting older. They all were. 

"I know Albert saved you after Spain." Ada paused, trying to be tactful."But you didn't sign up to be a live-in nurse, Jack. You could hire someone to watch him, leave, have a real life of your own."

The look he gave her was pitying. As if he felt sorry for her. "You don't just walk out on people, Ada."

There was an awkward silence, broken finally by Krauser clearing his throat. "Hey, you oughta come over after this," he said apologetically. "Al's always asking about  you. He'd love to see you."

Wesker didn't seem remotely pleased to see her. 

His first words were "Where's my equipment, Jack?"

"I'm having it delivered," Krauser grinned. When he saw Wesker's brows drawing together, he relented. "It's out in the van, Al. Okay if I make our guest some coffee before I bring it in?"

The scientist looked grumpy. "Oh, I suppose," he complained, accepting a kiss on the cheek from his soldier. 

Krauser shot Ada a wink. "You two catch up. I won't be long."

He vanished into the kitchen, leaving the spy with her former lover. Seeing Wesker now provoked none of the old dizzying lust, the heady mix of desire and fear. His good looks had survived the volcano and his resurrection, thanks to his accelerated healing. But he no longer looked like a would-be God. 

With silvering temples and new lines bracketing his mouth, he looked more like the man he would have become if he'd never left the STARS, never become superhuman. A retired academic, a former police Captain with his glory days behind him. 

He looked his real age, even if he wore it well. 

But he had his books and his private experiments and Krauser's absolute devotion. It wasn't a bad form of retirement, Ada supposed, certainly more than someone like Wesker deserved. Although it was strange to see two bioweapons living in the suburbs under assumed names instead of out there wreaking havoc. 

Wesker narrowed his eyes - mismatched now, blue and scarlet - at her. She wondered if he recognized her. His little dip in lava had taken a toll on him. Sometimes he seemed to think he was still working for Spencer or waiting for STARS reports from "bloody Chris Redfield, that lazy boy."

But now Wesker watched her steadily, assessing. 

Krauser was right. The scientist was recovering, even if it was taking years. He'd probably never be a global threat again but he'd found something more enduring than power. He and Krauser had found a modicum of peace together. 

"Ada," Wesker said at last. "How nice to see you. What are you doing with yourself these days?"

It should have been an easy question but it snagged in her chest, a fishhook under her ribs. She always carried Carla's ghost with her, an invisible wound, as permanent as a limp. Ada crossed her legs to buy herself time before answering.

"The best I can," she said honestly. "The best I can."

Wesker laughed and reached forward to pat her hand.  His touch was dry but not unpleasant. "Aren't we all?"