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Description
Title: Liquid Courage
Fandom: Resident Evil
Pairings: Nivanfield
Word Count: 1,692

---

The recreation center was abuzz with the excitement of the coming holiday: soldiers celebrating in their civvies, six packs on ice, cold ones in hand, and blaring music that wasn't particular to Piers' taste. Multi-colored lights flashed, their hues reflected in the snow - red, blue, green, white - when Piers took a moment to step outside, and the thrum of the bass died down as he closed the door behind him. He'd indulged in the festivities for about as long as he could stand; it didn't matter how many drinks he had in him, if one more person tried to coax him out onto the makeshift dance floor there was going to be some issues. He much preferred the quiet that came the further he stepped away from the building.

He swung the two unopened bottles in his hand, mindful of his destination - this was more than just some impulsive walk around the base to clear the thumping bass of party music out of his ears. For three hours he endured the music and the chatter, the whooping and the hollering and all for what seemed like naught. Every member of Alpha team had made an appearance at the party, all of them except for their beloved captain.

Piers knew that Chris had his reasons and he wasn't out to play the blame game, just didn't think it fair that they all enjoy themselves while he was left to finish up paperwork. If that was what he was doing. Piers had considered the possibility that he was on his way to interrupting something and found that with the more he drank came the courage he needed to push himself out of his seat and make this daring trip regardless. If the latter turned out to be the case, he would apologize and call it his fault, but could he really be blamed for wanting to spend this free time with his captain?

By the time he made it to the compound where Chris' office and personal quarters resided he was shivering violently from the cold, cursing himself for neglecting to put on anything heavier than his jacket. The forecast had said snow, snow, snow, but he figured that he'd be spending as little time as possible outside.

Chris, at the very least, appeared sympathetic to his woes, stepping aside to allow him in almost immediately. Piers was happy to oblige, offering up one of the bottles he'd been toting along.

"'Isn't much," the sniper glanced around, hunched in his jacket, pleased to note that they were the only two present in the office. "But I thought maybe the captain deserved a chance to celebrate."

"Here I was trying not to drink on the job." Piers was actually worried for a moment until his captain's warm chuckles filled the silence between them. "What the hell, it's almost Christmas, right?"

Chris beckoned him over to his desk where a pile of reports lay scattered, an open dossier detailing a recent incident in Bhutan among them, so that they could uncap their drinks. Piers thought it might have been the few bottles he had earlier, but he couldn't noticing how incredible the other looked in a simple pair of jeans and a cashmere zip-front sweater.

The captain didn't indulge in casual dress nearly enough.

"Sounds like everyone's having a good time." Chris took a swig of his drink, indicating the general direction of the rec center. In the ensuing quiet, you could still hear the booming music. "Shouldn't you be over there?"

Piers stood awkwardly by the other's desk, gripping tight to his fifth or sixth (or seventh?) bottle of the night. "I've had my fill of the party life for tonight," he joked, downing a fourth of his beer in two steady gulps. "I... didn't see you there, thought you could use some company."

"Paperwork always seems to take longer this time of year," Chris lamented, settling down in his seat. "I'll be pretty awful company for the next few hours."

"Anything I can assist with, sir?" Chris glanced up at him, considering, before he swiped a couple of files underneath the one he'd been perusing.

"Normally I'd tell you to head on back to the party, but..." He smiled hopefully and Piers felt his heart skip a beat, a 'yes' on the tip of his tongue without him even knowing the task. "Would you look these over for me?"

Piers accepted the papers with a whole-hearted, "Sure thing, captain" and his breath stilled when their fingers brushed briefly. That, and the resulting pink tinge to his cheeks, he was positive he could blame on the alcohol.

He didn't move to take one of the chairs on the opposite of his captain's desk, instead leaning his hip against the surface as he flipped through the pages of the reports. They established a comfortable silence interrupted only by a few absent-minded comments from Chris as he worked on the Bhutan report and the occasional note of a Christmas tune being carried by Piers' thoughtless humming. He was pleasantly tipsy from his however-many-drinks, smiling and closing his eyes every time he leaned in close enough to his captain to catch a whiff of his aftershave.

Comparing notes slowly gave way to casual conversations, Christmas stories of the past and tales of the holiday dinner that Chris had endeavored to cook a couple of years back. Piers couldn't remember a time where he'd felt so at ease, nearly in tears by the end of the recounting of the holiday disaster. Suffice it to be said, he learned quickly that his captain was no gourmet chef.

"You've got to at least let me make breakfast," Piers cut in, inadvertently boasting about his own culinary abilities. Any other day he'd be reluctant to discuss personal matters with a man he admired since he first joined several months back, but tonight was different for a number of reasons. "My family will vouch for me; breakfast on the 25th of December is on me."

Chris just looked at him then, eyes bright and expression conveying something like fondness. Piers ducked his head, sheepish suddenly, a growing warmth settling inside of him, spreading as far as the tips of his fingers.

"Alright," his captain said finally, and there was no going back. "I'd like that, Christmas morning it is."

Piers beamed instantly, relieved, startled even that his captain had agreed to the offer so promptly. Maybe later he'd worry about how audacious the act of basically asking his superior out for a breakfast date was, but for now he was happy, riding high on the promise of that future Christmas morning.

"Piers?" Chris spoke to him, sounding much closer than he'd been before and Piers hummed an acknowledgement, just now becoming aware of the shrinking distance between them. It was like he was being pulled in by some repressed subconscious desire to be closer to the older man, extricated and emphasized by the alcohol he'd consumed. He was helpless to it. "Are you okay?"

"It's a date-" The sniper stated, surprising himself by closing the short distance between them and curling his fingers around Chris' larger hand on the desk. Their nose brushed - the simplest touch - before Piers sealed their lips together, tasting like Blue Moon. "-don't be late."

"You're drunk," Chris whispered moments later, when Piers was no more than a breath away. It sounded like more of an observation than an accusation. The fact that Piers was a little tipsy, given his generally solitary and humble nature, had been a bit obvious since he'd stepped into the office, after all. "Maybe you should head back to your bunk."

Chris' subtle attempt to save the other some face was unsuccessful. Piers only smiled down at him, essentially in his lap at this point, and ducked in for another kiss. "Or..." he murmured, lips caressing Chris' with every word spoken, the warm weight of his free hand pressed to his chest. "Or I could keep you company."

"Or you could retire for the night." The captain supplied, gently pushing Piers back to put some distance between them. He wore a patient but sincere smile, something to show the other he wasn't angry. "On your feet, soldier, we have afternoon training tomorrow."

Piers laughed at the remark, probably because the thought of his fellow soldiers waking up after a late night like this was an entertaining one to reflect on, but complied with his wishes without seeming too disappointed.

"It is late," he conceded, rubbing at the back of his neck and glancing to the door. "You're right, I should head back."

Piers could see the hint of guilt when his captain met his eyes and knew that his expression must be something pitiable. That belief was only enhanced at the older man's next offer, "Let me walk you, it isn't far."

Chris stood and tugged his coat off of the hook by the door before Piers could protest, slipping his arms through the sleeves. The entire walk back was spent in silence and the sniper could feel his captain's gaze on him through his inner berating. He was already beating himself up over what had happened in the office, but that was inevitable. By the time they made it to the building where the soldiers' sleeping quarters were located, he could sense Chris was unsettled.

"I can see myself in." Piers spoke up, hand on the door. "Don't work yourself too hard, sir."

"I won't," Chris answered instinctively, even though he had a fair sized stack of reports on his desk to look through before the night was over. "Hey," he said suddenly, causing Piers to turn around and address him. He leaned in, the very definition of calm when he briefly pressed his lips to the younger man's forehead. "Don't worry, alright?"

To say that Piers felt an immense wave of relief wash over him was a dramatic understatement.

"Goodnight, captain."

The door closed behind Piers and he slowly slid down against it, left alone in that moment to contempt that night – and most especially, that kiss.

Description
Title: Liquid Courage
Fandom: Resident Evil
Pairings: Nivanfield
Word Count: 1,692

---

The recreation center was abuzz with the excitement of the coming holiday: soldiers celebrating in their civvies, six packs on ice, cold ones in hand, and blaring music that wasn't particular to Piers' taste. Multi-colored lights flashed, their hues reflected in the snow - red, blue, green, white - when Piers took a moment to step outside, and the thrum of the bass died down as he closed the door behind him. He'd indulged in the festivities for about as long as he could stand; it didn't matter how many drinks he had in him, if one more person tried to coax him out onto the makeshift dance floor there was going to be some issues. He much preferred the quiet that came the further he stepped away from the building.

He swung the two unopened bottles in his hand, mindful of his destination - this was more than just some impulsive walk around the base to clear the thumping bass of party music out of his ears. For three hours he endured the music and the chatter, the whooping and the hollering and all for what seemed like naught. Every member of Alpha team had made an appearance at the party, all of them except for their beloved captain.

Piers knew that Chris had his reasons and he wasn't out to play the blame game, just didn't think it fair that they all enjoy themselves while he was left to finish up paperwork. If that was what he was doing. Piers had considered the possibility that he was on his way to interrupting something and found that with the more he drank came the courage he needed to push himself out of his seat and make this daring trip regardless. If the latter turned out to be the case, he would apologize and call it his fault, but could he really be blamed for wanting to spend this free time with his captain?

By the time he made it to the compound where Chris' office and personal quarters resided he was shivering violently from the cold, cursing himself for neglecting to put on anything heavier than his jacket. The forecast had said snow, snow, snow, but he figured that he'd be spending as little time as possible outside.

Chris, at the very least, appeared sympathetic to his woes, stepping aside to allow him in almost immediately. Piers was happy to oblige, offering up one of the bottles he'd been toting along.

"'Isn't much," the sniper glanced around, hunched in his jacket, pleased to note that they were the only two present in the office. "But I thought maybe the captain deserved a chance to celebrate."

"Here I was trying not to drink on the job." Piers was actually worried for a moment until his captain's warm chuckles filled the silence between them. "What the hell, it's almost Christmas, right?"

Chris beckoned him over to his desk where a pile of reports lay scattered, an open dossier detailing a recent incident in Bhutan among them, so that they could uncap their drinks. Piers thought it might have been the few bottles he had earlier, but he couldn't noticing how incredible the other looked in a simple pair of jeans and a cashmere zip-front sweater.

The captain didn't indulge in casual dress nearly enough.

"Sounds like everyone's having a good time." Chris took a swig of his drink, indicating the general direction of the rec center. In the ensuing quiet, you could still hear the booming music. "Shouldn't you be over there?"

Piers stood awkwardly by the other's desk, gripping tight to his fifth or sixth (or seventh?) bottle of the night. "I've had my fill of the party life for tonight," he joked, downing a fourth of his beer in two steady gulps. "I... didn't see you there, thought you could use some company."

"Paperwork always seems to take longer this time of year," Chris lamented, settling down in his seat. "I'll be pretty awful company for the next few hours."

"Anything I can assist with, sir?" Chris glanced up at him, considering, before he swiped a couple of files underneath the one he'd been perusing.

"Normally I'd tell you to head on back to the party, but..." He smiled hopefully and Piers felt his heart skip a beat, a 'yes' on the tip of his tongue without him even knowing the task. "Would you look these over for me?"

Piers accepted the papers with a whole-hearted, "Sure thing, captain" and his breath stilled when their fingers brushed briefly. That, and the resulting pink tinge to his cheeks, he was positive he could blame on the alcohol.

He didn't move to take one of the chairs on the opposite of his captain's desk, instead leaning his hip against the surface as he flipped through the pages of the reports. They established a comfortable silence interrupted only by a few absent-minded comments from Chris as he worked on the Bhutan report and the occasional note of a Christmas tune being carried by Piers' thoughtless humming. He was pleasantly tipsy from his however-many-drinks, smiling and closing his eyes every time he leaned in close enough to his captain to catch a whiff of his aftershave.

Comparing notes slowly gave way to casual conversations, Christmas stories of the past and tales of the holiday dinner that Chris had endeavored to cook a couple of years back. Piers couldn't remember a time where he'd felt so at ease, nearly in tears by the end of the recounting of the holiday disaster. Suffice it to be said, he learned quickly that his captain was no gourmet chef.

"You've got to at least let me make breakfast," Piers cut in, inadvertently boasting about his own culinary abilities. Any other day he'd be reluctant to discuss personal matters with a man he admired since he first joined several months back, but tonight was different for a number of reasons. "My family will vouch for me; breakfast on the 25th of December is on me."

Chris just looked at him then, eyes bright and expression conveying something like fondness. Piers ducked his head, sheepish suddenly, a growing warmth settling inside of him, spreading as far as the tips of his fingers.

"Alright," his captain said finally, and there was no going back. "I'd like that, Christmas morning it is."

Piers beamed instantly, relieved, startled even that his captain had agreed to the offer so promptly. Maybe later he'd worry about how audacious the act of basically asking his superior out for a breakfast date was, but for now he was happy, riding high on the promise of that future Christmas morning.

"Piers?" Chris spoke to him, sounding much closer than he'd been before and Piers hummed an acknowledgement, just now becoming aware of the shrinking distance between them. It was like he was being pulled in by some repressed subconscious desire to be closer to the older man, extricated and emphasized by the alcohol he'd consumed. He was helpless to it. "Are you okay?"

"It's a date-" The sniper stated, surprising himself by closing the short distance between them and curling his fingers around Chris' larger hand on the desk. Their nose brushed - the simplest touch - before Piers sealed their lips together, tasting like Blue Moon. "-don't be late."

"You're drunk," Chris whispered moments later, when Piers was no more than a breath away. It sounded like more of an observation than an accusation. The fact that Piers was a little tipsy, given his generally solitary and humble nature, had been a bit obvious since he'd stepped into the office, after all. "Maybe you should head back to your bunk."

Chris' subtle attempt to save the other some face was unsuccessful. Piers only smiled down at him, essentially in his lap at this point, and ducked in for another kiss. "Or..." he murmured, lips caressing Chris' with every word spoken, the warm weight of his free hand pressed to his chest. "Or I could keep you company."

"Or you could retire for the night." The captain supplied, gently pushing Piers back to put some distance between them. He wore a patient but sincere smile, something to show the other he wasn't angry. "On your feet, soldier, we have afternoon training tomorrow."

Piers laughed at the remark, probably because the thought of his fellow soldiers waking up after a late night like this was an entertaining one to reflect on, but complied with his wishes without seeming too disappointed.

"It is late," he conceded, rubbing at the back of his neck and glancing to the door. "You're right, I should head back."

Piers could see the hint of guilt when his captain met his eyes and knew that his expression must be something pitiable. That belief was only enhanced at the older man's next offer, "Let me walk you, it isn't far."

Chris stood and tugged his coat off of the hook by the door before Piers could protest, slipping his arms through the sleeves. The entire walk back was spent in silence and the sniper could feel his captain's gaze on him through his inner berating. He was already beating himself up over what had happened in the office, but that was inevitable. By the time they made it to the building where the soldiers' sleeping quarters were located, he could sense Chris was unsettled.

"I can see myself in." Piers spoke up, hand on the door. "Don't work yourself too hard, sir."

"I won't," Chris answered instinctively, even though he had a fair sized stack of reports on his desk to look through before the night was over. "Hey," he said suddenly, causing Piers to turn around and address him. He leaned in, the very definition of calm when he briefly pressed his lips to the younger man's forehead. "Don't worry, alright?"

To say that Piers felt an immense wave of relief wash over him was a dramatic understatement.

"Goodnight, captain."

The door closed behind Piers and he slowly slid down against it, left alone in that moment to contempt that night – and most especially, that kiss.