Chapter Text
the right time
No signature. No further explanation. Just those words in Jack’s sharp, controlled script. Leon’s pulse spiked so hard he felt it in his throat. The edges of his vision tightened for a second. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thinner. His fingers trembled against the paper. Jack had been here. Inside the building. Inside his lecture hall. The implications hit all at once; Jack walking the halls, knowing Leon’s — and maybe even Chris’s — schedule, leaving a message where Leon would find it right before standing in front of a room full of students. The threat wasn’t vague anymore, it was personal. Leon’s chest constricted, the familiar pressure began to build; rapid heartbeat, shallow breath, the rising sense that he needed to get out now. His free hand gripped the edge of the podium hard enough that his knuckles turned white.
He forced himself to breathe in through his nose, slow and controlled. Hold. Release. Again. Hold. Release. Again.
He folded the note with deliberate care and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket, out of sight. His hands still shook, but he locked his knees and straightened his posture. The door opened. The first few students filtered in, chatting quietly, dropping bags, settling into seats. Leon kept his expression neutral. Professional. He opened his laptop, pulled up the lecture slides, and focused on the screen as if nothing in the world was wrong. The low hum of conversation filled the room. Leon’s heart still raced, but he refused to let it show. Every time the panic tried to rise again, he pushed it down through sheer force of will. He would not give Jack the satisfaction of watching him break in front of his students. When the clock hit the hour, Leon cleared his throat and began.
His voice came out steadier than he expected. He moved through the lecture on a kind of autopilot — explaining case studies, answering questions, writing key points on the board. A few times his mind threatened to drift back to the note in his pocket, to the knowledge that Jack had stood in this exact spot, but Leon shut it down each time. He focused on the students. On the material. On the next sentence he needed to say. He made it through the full fifty minutes without cracking. When the lecture ended and students began packing up, Leon stayed behind the podium, gathering his things with careful, measured movements. His hands still weren’t completely steady, but no one seemed to notice. As the last student filed out, Leon finally allowed himself a longer breath.
He needed to tell Chris. Not later. Not after another class. Now. Keeping this to himself again wasn’t an option anymore. The last time he had tried to handle Jack alone, it had nearly cost him everything with Chris. He wouldn’t make that mistake twice. Leon pulled out his phone, typed a short message, and sent it before he could second-guess himself.
Found something in my lecture hall. Need to talk during the break. Important.
He stared at the screen until Chris’s reply came through a minute later.
Chris: I’m coming to your lecture hall.
Leon slipped the phone back into his pocket, the folded note pressing against his chest like a second heartbeat. His pulse was still too fast, but the worst of the panic had been forced down for now. Jack wanted a reaction. Leon wasn’t going to give him one alone this time. He picked up his satchel, squared his shoulders, and stepped out into the hallway to wait for Chris.
•
Both of them came to a stop in a quiet side corridor near the older wing of the building, away from the main flow of students. The moment Chris saw Leon’s face, he knew whatever this was, it was bad. And Leon didn’t waste time with small talk. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and held it out.
“I found this on my podium,” he said quietly. “Before class.”
Chris took the note and unfolded it.
You really didn’t want to listen to me. What a shame, Leon.
The handwriting was sharp. Controlled. Deliberate.
For a second, Chris just stared at the words. The meaning settled in slowly, then all at once. Krauser had been inside the university. Inside Leon’s lecture hall. Close enough to leave a message on his desk like it was nothing. Something hot and violent surged up through Chris’s chest. He turned away from Leon, jaw clenched so tightly it ached, and then he drove his fist into the wall beside them. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain up his arm, plaster dust scattered. His knuckles burned, but he couldn't care less.
“Chris—”
Leon was on him immediately, hands gripping his arms, his tone gentle. “Hey. Look at me, baby. Breathe.”
Chris’s chest was heaving. The anger didn’t recede — it only pressed harder against his ribs, demanding an outlet. He wanted to find Krauser. He wanted to tear him apart piece by piece. The thought of this asshole walking through the same halls as Leon, and leaving threats, made something ugly roar inside him.
“He was in your lecture hall,” Chris ground out. “He walked in there and left this on your desk like a bouquet of flowers.”
“I know, honey,” Leon said, still holding onto him. “I know. But you need to calm down. Do it for me, okay?”
Chris forced himself to drag in a slow breath. Then another. The pain in his hand helped ground him, sharp and real. Leon’s grip on his arms stayed steady, not restraining, just present.
“I’m fine,” Chris muttered after a moment, though the words felt thin.
“You’re not,” Leon said quietly. “Please, Chris. Please don’t do anything stupid.”
Chris finally looked at Leon. “I want him gone.”
“I know.” Leon’s hands slid down to Chris’s wrists, gentler now. “Which is why I think we need help. Real help.”
Chris frowned. “What kind of help?”
Leon hesitated not for a second. “Alyssa. Maybe we can talk to her on the weekend.”
“Alyssa?”
“She’s someone I’m very close to,” Leon said. “I’ve known her for decades, and I’m the godfather of her daughter. She works for the police, so this note is a piece of evidence that will be useful to her.”
Chris processed that in silence. Police. Someone Leon trusted. Someone with actual authority. The rational part of his brain knew it was the smart move. The rest of him still wanted to hunt Krauser down himself. Leon was watching him carefully, waiting.
Chris nodded. “Okay. We talk to her.”
Leon’s shoulders eased a fraction. “Okay.”
Chris flexed his hand. His knuckles were already reddening, skin scraped. Leon noticed and carefully took his hand, turning it over to inspect the damage.
“You’re going to bruise,” he murmured.
“I don’t care.”
Leon didn’t argue. He held Chris's hand for a moment longer, then gently kissed his slightly bursted knuckles before letting go.
They stood in the quiet corridor for another few seconds, the folded note still clenched in Chris’s other hand. The anger hadn’t left. If anything, it had settled deeper, heavier, coiled tight beneath his ribs. Krauser had crossed into Leon’s workplace. Into the one place that was supposed to be normal. Safe.
Chris wanted to make him regret that. But for now, he forced himself to stay calm. To focus on Leon. To agree to the plan that didn’t involve breaking more than a wall.
Leon eventually said: “I’ll text Alyssa and ask if she’s free on Sunday, yeah?”
Chris nodded and handed the note back to Leon. After that, they left the corridor together. Chris stayed close to Leon’s side as they walked back toward the busier parts of campus. Students passed them without a second glance. The ordinary noise of the university continued around them.
But Chris’s hand still throbbed, and the words from the note kept repeating in his head.
You really didn’t want to listen to me.
Krauser was escalating. But so was Chris, if this son of a bitch ever showed up in Leon’s life again.
•
Leon’s phone lit up just after seven in the evening.
Chris: If you need me, I’m at the gym next to the university.
That was all.
Leon stared at the message longer than he needed to. The day had already pressed down hard enough — the note on his podium, the weight of knowing Jack was still circling. He should have stayed home. Instead, the need to see Chris hit him sharp, so he grabbed his car keys and left.
The gym was empty when he arrived. The only sound came from the far corner: the heavy, relentless thud of fists against a bag. Leon followed it. It didn't take him long to find Chris.
He stood in front of a thick red punching bag, shirt already discarded, skin slick with sweat. His hands were wrapped tight. Every strike landed with raw force; no finesse, just pure, controlled violence. His jaw was locked, shoulders rigid, eyes fixed on the bag like it had personally wronged him. Leon stayed at the door and watched. Chris didn’t notice him. He drove combination after combination into the leather, the chain above rattling hard. Then he planted his feet, drew in a sharp breath, and slammed his fist into the bag with everything he had. A short, rough sound tore out of him — half anger, half release.
Then, the anchor gave way.
With a metallic snap, the bag ripped free and crashed down in front of him, red leather hitting the floor with a heavy finality. Chris stood over it, chest heaving, fists still clenched. Sweat ran down the line of his spine.
“Chris.”
He turned. For a second the raw edge in his expression stayed, then softened when he registered Leon.
“Leon.”
Leon stepped closer, eyes moving from Chris’s knuckles to the fallen bag. “That was about him.”
It wasn’t a question.
Chris flexed his hands. “I needed to hit something that wouldn’t break the law. And I didn’t trust myself anywhere else ”
Leon stopped in front of him. The heat rolling off Chris’s body was impossible to miss — residual fury, and adrenaline coiled tight under the surface. “You’re allowed to be angry,” he said quietly. “But that doesn't mean you should damage someone else's property.”
Chris’s throat worked. “You’re right…”
Leon reached for one of his wrapped hands, turning it over carefully. The knuckles on the hand that Chris had previously used to slam against the wall at the university were now even more swollen than before. Leon brushed his thumb across the edge of the wrap, then looked up.
“Come on, shower. And then we'll go to my place, where I can take care of your hand.”
Chris didn't argue.
•
Half an hour later, they left the gym and were on the way to Leon's apartment. Chris sat in the passenger seat with his head tipped back, eyes closed, the red marks on his knuckles already darkening. Every few minutes Leon glanced over, watching the tight line of Chris’s jaw slowly ease.
By the time they reached Leon’s place, the worst of the raw fury had settled into something quieter — still present, but no longer sharp enough to tear another bag from its chain.
Inside, Leon flicked on the overhead lights. He pointed Chris toward the couch. “Sit. I’ll get the first-aid kit.”
Chris obeyed without argument. That alone told Leon how drained he was. He returned with the small kit, a clean towel, and a bowl of warm water. He knelt on the floor between Chris’s spread knees and carefully took one large hand in both of his. The knuckles were scraped raw in places, the skin split along the ridges. Leon dipped the towel into the water and began cleaning the wounds with slow, precise movements. He worked in silence, dabbing antiseptic that made Chris hiss once through his teeth. Leon’s thumb stroked the uninjured skin of Chris’s wrist in silent apology each time.
“Sorry,” Leon said softly.
“Don’t be. It’s fine.”
Leon looked up. Chris was watching him with an expression that made something warm and tight unfurl in Leon’s chest. There was still anger there, yes, but underneath it was softness. Leon finished the first hand and moved to the second. He applied a thin layer of ointment, then loosely wrapped the worst knuckles in soft gauze. When he was done, he didn’t let go. He simply held Chris’s hand between both of his, thumb tracing the edge of the bandage.
“You scared me a little tonight,” Leon admitted. “Not because of the bag. But because you're losing your temper so much.”
Chris’s free hand came up and brushed a strand of hair from Leon’s forehead. “I’m sorry.”
Leon turned his face into the touch. Chris’s fingers were warm, careful despite the fresh injuries. The simple contact sent a slow current down Leon’s spine. He leaned in without thinking and pressed a kiss to the center of Chris’s palm, just above the gauze.
Chris’s breath caught. And the air in the room shifted.
Leon rose onto his knees, closer now, and kissed him properly. It started soft — a quiet press of lips meant to soothe — but Chris made a low sound in his throat and deepened it almost immediately. His hand slid into Leon’s hair, holding him in place as the kiss turned hotter, wetter. Leon’s hands settled on Chris’s thighs, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric of his sweatpants. When they finally broke apart, both were breathing harder.
“Leon… You rea—”
“Shh.” Leon’s forehead rested against his. “I want this. I want you. Just you.”
Chris’s eyes searched his face for a long moment. Then he nodded once, slow and certain. Leon stood and held out his hand. Chris took it, rising from the couch with a quiet grunt. They walked to the bedroom without turning on more lights,l; the city glow through the half-open blinds was enough. Clothes came off in stages — Leon peeled Chris’s shirt upward, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and faint old scars. He pressed open-mouthed kisses along those scars, tasting salt and just Chris. Chris’s hands settled at Leon’s waist, steadying him, then slid higher to help him out of his own shirt. When they were both fully bare, Chris guided Leon down onto the bed and followed, bracing his weight on his forearms so he wouldn’t put pressure on his hands. The careful consideration made Leon’s throat tighten.
“You're always being so gentle,” Leon whispered.
Chris kissed the corner of his mouth. “You deserve gentle.”
The words settled deep. Leon pulled him down into another kiss, legs parting so Chris could settle between them. Leon arched up, seeking more contact, and felt Chris’s cock slide against his own — already hard, already leaking. Chris reached toward the drawer in the nightstand; he knew Leon had left a bottle of lube in there. Chris coated his fingers carefully, then returned to Leon’s mouth while one slick finger circled Leon’s hole and pressed carefully inside. Leon exhaled shakily against Chris’s lips. The stretch was slow, deliberate. Chris watched Leon’s face the entire time, adjusting the angle, the pressure, until Leon’s hips began to rock down to meet each gentle thrust of his fingers. A second finger joined the first. Then a third. Chris scissored them gently, curling until he found the spot that made Leon’s breath stutter and his thighs tremble.
“Chris —”
“I’ve got you,” Chris murmured. “You’re doing so well. Just breathe.”
The praise landed like a direct hit. Leon’s cock twitched hard against his stomach. He nodded, eyes half-lidded, completely given over to the careful way Chris opened him. When Chris finally withdrew his fingers and slicked himself, Leon reached down and guided him into place. The first slow push drew a shared, shaky breath from both of them. Chris sank in inch by careful inch, giving Leon time to adjust, until he was fully seated and they were pressed together as tightly as two people could be.
Leon’s hands framed Chris’s face. “Move. Please.”
Chris did — deep, measured thrusts that rolled through Leon’s entire body. There was nothing frantic about it, every movement felt intentional. Every kiss pressed to Leon’s throat or jaw carried the weight of what they had survived to reach this moment. Chris’s bandaged hands stayed carefully braced beside Leon’s head, protecting the fresh wounds even as his hips worked in a steady, powerful rhythm. Leon wrapped his legs around Chris’s waist and held on. The pleasure built in long, rolling waves rather than sharp spikes. He could feel every shift of muscle, every controlled breath Chris took, every quiet sound of effort and want. When Chris adjusted the angle and began hitting that perfect spot on every stroke, Leon’s head tipped back against the pillow with a loud moan. It felt good, so good.
“That’s it,” Chris whispered against his ear, voice thick with emotion. “You’re perfect. Taking me so well like the good boy you are.”
Leon’s eyes burned. The combination of the deep, filling thrusts and the soft praise was almost too much. He clung tighter, nails digging lightly into Chris’s shoulders as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter at the base of his spine.
“Chris, I’m…”
“I know. I’ts okay. Come for me.”
Leon shattered with a quiet, wrecked sound, spilling between their bodies as Chris continued to move through it, drawing the climax out until Leon was trembling and oversensitive. Only then did Chris’s rhythm falter. He buried his face in Leon’s neck and came with a deep, shuddering groan, hips pressed flush as he emptied himself inside him.
They stayed locked together afterward, breathing hard, hearts pounding against each other. Chris carefully pulled out and shifted to the side so he wouldn’t crush Leon, but he never fully let go. One arm stayed draped over Leon’s waist. Their legs remained tangled. Leon turned his face into Chris’s chest and pressed a soft kiss there. Chris’s hand — the less injured one — stroked slowly up and down his back.
“Thank you,” Leon whispered after a while.
Chris’s voice was almost sleepy. “For what?”
“For this.”
Chris pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re the one who dragged me out of that gym before I could destroy anything else.”
Leon smiled against his skin. “Someone had to.”
They cleaned up slowly, neither willing to rush. Chris’s knuckles had started to ache again, so Leon insisted on reapplying ointment before they settled back under the covers. When the lights were finally out, Leon curled into Chris’s side and closed his eyes. Chris’s arm tightened around him in silent answer.
Jack was still out there. The note still existed. The threat hadn’t vanished. But here, in the dark, with Chris’s heartbeat steady under his ear and the pleasant ache of being thoroughly, carefully loved still lingering in his body, Leon felt completely safe.