A lopsided grin slowly worked over thin lips, tired features coming to life with all the rapidity of a turtle as Chris wrestled with the idea of dragging himself from his rather oversized bed. Courtesy of the B.S.A.A., he was on leave, but that didn't mean that his body clock would ever turn back time and allow him a single day of rest where his eyes didn't bring themselves open every morning at four. Honestly it didn't bother him to rise early and continue with his daily rituals. The problem was if he wanted to get up and do those things alone. He didn't have it in him to wake the man tucked beside his broad chest, working at only his second hour of sleep. They had the same morning rituals, only varying slightly, and Chris, though perfectly capable of doing all those things alone, enjoyed his silent partner running with him in the morning, enjoying his bravado and ability to work unimpeded around him in the gym and the shower. He wasn't certain he was willing to move him just yet from him comfortable place over Chris' bulging bicep on their day off. He had collapsed so briefly ago into Chris, completely exhausted and worn, unable to raise his head or open his eyes. Chris had carried him back to bed from off the carpet and cleaned up after them. He always did. No matter what happened the night before he always made certain that everything cleaned up and put away to make certain his normally spotless apartments remained so. It was that, and what happened at night, was what happened at night, and he preferred that when he woke in the morning, apart from bruises, Piers didn't have the constant reminder of the things Chris did to him.

He was proud of how well his second in command held up to that kind of punishment, night after night. His men hardly questioning how they were with one another because they kept it completely civil. If it were Chris being beaten to a pulp, then he was certain there would be questions on how come he would be limping. Piers carried it all with grace. How a kid his age who had seen so much, still wanted to come back to Chris night after night he wasn't certain. This wasn't for Piers. Everything they did together Piers made certain that Chris got everything he needed, that he was sated before Piers was no longer able to raise his head. This was all for Chris. Piers loved him. How else could he possibly explain this relationship? A hum escaped from still raw tissue, Piers tipping his head against the broad pectorals, ignoring the change in the way lungs rose and fell beneath him. He was still such a boy in some ways, still so young. He hardly grew facial hair at all, and the feeling of his smooth skin on Chris' chest was just another reminder to the thirty-odd-year old was treating a child like punching bag.

Piers deserved kindness. Deserved love. It was just that Chris failed miserably at providing anything akin to love. He had tried so hard with Jill. She was the only person who'd gotten close to Chris, but even still she couldn't handle the repercussions to Kijuju. The nightmares that sent him jolting up in the middle of the night, the nights he couldn't bring himself to come back. He couldn't lie beside her at night to sooth away images of Wesker and all the torment he'd inflicted on them over the years because every time he looked at her he saw the scars of what being with him had left her. He couldn't escape the guilt he felt every time he saw Jill and it was easy to read on his visage, enough so that she walked out on him. Yet somehow, he'd gotten lucky. Chris Redfield had the luck of the Irish, meaning none at all. And yet how exceptionally lucky had had been. Who would have imagined so shortly after Jill had walked away, a man as honorable as Piers Nivans would have found him. And it really had been that way. He had sought him out with those enchanting hazel eyes and sinfully kissable lips and made Chris feel the hurt literally melt away.

He told Chris things he needed to hear. He wasn't afraid of any ramifications and whenever Chris was inclined to battle his points of views Piers stood his ground just as proudly, disregarding any ramifications. He relished in them and demanded that Chris see himself the same way rather than the image that Wesker had painted for him. Piers was always there, and he made certain to make it painfully obvious, he wasn't going anywhere.

"Piers?" He knew it was wrong to wake him so soon after having fallen asleep. But he needed to hear it. A second small nudge rewarded him with a grumble before one eye peered out from beneath sleep heavy lids, the tiny lip curled smile following it as the sniper dragged himself to sit up against the metal barred headboard. He seemed as always, completely unphased by the night before and greeted him only with that same adoring gaze that made Chris' skin shiver. "Tell me again?" Chris had to hear it, needed to hear how damnably sure Piers was without a quiver or doubt lacing in his voice like everyone before him. The request however made his partner sober immediately, sitting poised on the bed with elbows propped on his knees, leaned ever so slightly from his usual perfect posture.

"I'm never leaving you Chris." The tenor of his voice was so stoic and solid that it rocked Chris to his core, and he knew that it was worth having roused his partner just to see that dead certainty in his eyes. "I love you." He leaned forward, wrapping his calloused fingers about Chris' thick neck, pressing his lips to claim Chris as his own. No matter how young or submissive he was to Chris, he made certain the man was aware he belonged to Piers. Releasing him finally from his grip, slipping his fingers to card once through his captain's shorter brown locks. "Don't doubt yourself captain." He chuckled, pulling away the remaining blankets to reveal an assortment of bruises and bites that had been left behind while he rose to get ready for a run. He never missed a beat despite how Chris was staring at the new kind of mark he'd given his partner.

Chris was known to make irrational decisions when he was beating back demons. Certainly Piers was aware he should never have brought up Raccoon City, or implied that Chris could have stopped everything that had subsequently happened by killing Wesker instead of walking away when he had. Of course he hadn't been there, he didn't know, but just like Chris said, he was young and the information he had was the information that the government had allowed in writing. Chris didn't talk about Raccoon... ever. Still, he had always kept their relationship mildly safe. He encouraged, and sometimes regretted encouraging, Piers' sado-masochistic tendencies when they were together, and used it to rationalize his torment of the younger man, but after last night he wasn't certain how alright he was with the nonchalance which he seemed to take towards it. He'd never taken a weapon to Piers before in his life. Never had he so carelessly thought about the skin that covered his lover. Chris had hit him, punched him several times before. The first time they had been together he was almost certain he'd even raped him, and yet Piers was always so reassuring and bright the next morning, giving him the trust he bestowed on him in every facet in their life. But last night? The line of partly scabbed blood still clung to Piers' ribs marring his near perfect musculature. How could he ever do that to him? He'd cleaned his combat knife immediately afterward and sheathed it back in his nightstand, but the remaining mark could leave a scar if it was untreated. He knew Piers well enough to know he wouldn't leave it unattended, but that didn't make it okay to slice up his skin. After last night... he could never let this happen again. They would put this game behind them and he could never do this again, he couldn't allow this to get out of hand.

Not EVER.