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If you would’ve told Chris an hour ago, right before he left to go drive to a possible abandoned Umbrella Corp lab the BSAA had gotten an anonymous tip about– that he was immediately going to get body slammed into a goddamn wall by none other than Albert Wesker,
Then he’d absolutely have believed you, no doubt about it! Because that is absolutely something that bastard would do, as demonstrated by the fact that he just did!
It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out sort of thing. It was a rather common occurrence to get tips about a possible hidden Umbrella Corp facility. At first, they’d been treated like they were all true, that it wasn’t just a misguided civilian that saw some rich person's unused summer home in the middle of a forest and thought it was more nefarious than it really was.
And at first, it had been that way. Most calls and tips they got carried some kind of truth, whether it was an old safehouse for a past Umbrella executive, an actual Umbrella lab, or a competitor's imitation of one.
Nowadays though? Not so much. Most Umbrella facilities have been busted by now, and the ones that weren’t were like finding a needle in a haystack. It’s not something a regular civilian can clock, either because it’s in some ridiculous and hard-to-reach location like the inside of a mountain; or in a place literally no one lives, like Antarctica or something.
The BSAA used to send in full teams to do these checkups, but not so much anymore. Most of the time they’d just send one, maybe two just to be safe, operatives to take a quick look-see and what-not. These were some of Chris’ least favorite kinds of missions, because the most it usually amounted to was a long drive there; look around, find nothing, and have to take a long drive back home because there was nothing to be reported.
This time though… this time was different, and not in a way Chris could’ve ever expected.
In reality, he really should start expecting these sorts of things. Wesker was all about the dramatics, about catching people off guard just because he thought it was funny. That it was funny to bat them around like a little toy, just for his enjoyment–
Chris has known (or was pretty sure, at least) for a long time that that’s all Wesker sees him as. In addition to a thorn in his side, of course– and maybe the way he treats Chris is different than he’d treat other BSAA operatives on account of having a personal background together,
But that was little more than a footnote in Chris’ mind. Wesker was still violent to him, still more than willing to rough Chris up– whether that be because Chris got in the way of yet another batshit insane plan, or just because he wanted to, didn’t matter much. It was all the same regardless of the intention.
It caught Chris off guard, the moment he stepped foot in the old, rundown Victorian manor, he felt hands grab at his tactical vest and whirl him around– drag him over and slam him against the wall right by the door. Wesker kicked the door closed with more force than necessary.
Dust flew up, and Chris tried his best not to sneeze his brains out at it. The lighting shifted, becoming a little dimmer as the only sunlight shining through was filtered through tattered, translucent lace curtains covering the various windows lining the foyer of the place.
Chris’ back ached, a pained groan bubbling out of his throat as he shifted his weight– feet still on the floor, but resting on the balls of his feet, Wesker not completely lifting him up just yet– to try and test if there’s any opening to squirm his way out. Wesker pulled Chris forward a bit, before shoving him back against the wall, trying to shake Chris up even more.
“My, fancy seeing you here, Christopher.” There was a teasing lilt to Wesker’s tone, as if they’d ran into each other at the supermarket or something– and not like Wesker had bodied Chris against the fucking wall during what was meant to be a routine, boring check in on an old manor.
“The hell are you playing at, Wesker?” Chris did well to keep the pain from his voice, but not exactly successful. He’d give himself a pass, though. It was just an edge to his tone, imperceptible if you weren’t searching for it.
Which Wesker obviously was, his face splitting into an awful, smug grin at Chris’ expense. Sadistic bastard.
“Oh, always so straight to the point, Chris.” Wesker pressed closer, a knee forcing its way between Chris’ legs– his face flushed a bit, maybe from anger, maybe from embarrassment. Wesker had to have known what he was doing, but it made Chris feel better if he just assumed as fact that Wesker was doing it on purpose. The placement of his leg and whatnot, what it pressed against– even as Chris stood lifted off the floor a bit,
He probably didn’t, if Chris was being honest. To him, it was just another way to keep Chris still, as his hands moved from holding Chris’ tactical vest to pushing against his shoulders. As a result, the weight shifted and Chris’ heels fell to the floor.
Landing his crotch directly against Wesker’s leg. Cool, that’s fun! That’s great, even– that now, Wesker seemed unable to stop fucking moving. It had to be on purpose, that Wesker shifted his hands to the top of Chris’ shoulders, pushing him down even further. That Wesker kept pressing forward, closer and closer– until their chests were pressed flush together, because he knew exactly what he was doing.
By now, Chris’ face was probably as red as a goddamn tomato. He’d like to think that Wesker was intentionally doing this, trying to rile Chris up. Humiliate him even further, but nothing else about how Wesker was acting suggested that theory. No mention of it, didn’t even comment on how flushed Chris was.
Wesker continued on as normal, just far closer than usual. Chris could feel the man’s breath against his face, as Wesker hunched slightly– looming over Chris, his presence more suffocating than Chris ever remembered. And that’s certainly saying something, because even in S.T.A.R.S, Chris was a little nervous around Wesker because of just how intimidating he could be, even without trying.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Chris snorted– for once, grateful that Wesker was speaking. It took his mind off the… less than ideal position, on Chris’ end at least. “You got someone to call in the tip, didn’t you? Knowing they’d send me?”
In lieu of a verbal response, Wesker lifted one of his hands from Chris’ shoulders. Before Chris could formulate any sort of plan to use it to his advantage, Wesker had pushed his sunglasses to rest on top of his head and quickly put his hand back into place.
In Wesker’s unnatural eyes, Chris found something eerily akin to pride in them, a sick sort of it. Wesker must take great pride in it all, knowing that the reason Chris was where he was today was because of him– because of his training during S.T.A.R.S, considering Chris still uses some techniques and moves that Wesker himself had taught Chris during their time together.
But something else lied beneath it, something Chris couldn’t really place his finger on. He doesn’t know if he wants to, actually. Maybe ignorance is bliss, in this kind of situation.
There were a few moments of pressing silence, the kind that made Chris’ heart sink to his stomach, as Wesker just… looked at him for a while. Not exactly studying Chris, but… appraising, maybe? Appreciative, if Chris is willing to go that far.
Predictably, it was Wesker who broke the silence. Once he was done staring into Chris’ soul it seems, he simply said “Still as sharp as ever, my dear.” in an almost lighthearted tone. One that definitely doesn’t fit with this encounter, one that doesn’t fit Wesker at all.
It made him appear more human than Chris knew him to be, almost like his captain was still lurking beneath the surface. Like his captain ever really existed in the first place, and wasn’t just a part Wesker played for the sake of meeting a goal.
Unsure of what else to say, Chris forced a “...Thanks, I guess.”, the words feeling acrid and rotten on his tongue; but what can you do? It’s obvious Wesker was expecting a response. Chris’ tone was flat, but he hopes it strokes Wesker’s ego enough that he doesn’t snap Chris in half right then and there.
Surprisingly, it seemed to do the trick– after a few seconds of no response, verbal or otherwise, Wesker’s grin lowered to a smile– just barely showing his sharpened canines now, but far more genuine than the grin had been. If that made any sense.
“You’re welcome, dearheart.” It was borderline a purr, laced with a playful kind of amusement. Chris’ face scrunched together, from disgust at Wesker, or disgust toward himself for his heart skipping a beat at it– he isn’t sure. “Don’t call me that.” Chris settled on, and Wesker only laughed.
“What, does it fluster you, dearheart?” Wesker said with a laugh, his hold on Chris’ shoulders let up– he could easily pull himself free now, but there was still the issue of Wesker’s leg shoved between Chris’. It’d trip him up for sure, and Chris doesn’t exactly feel good about the prospect of being sprawled out on the floor because he tried to make a run for it in his current standing.
“Quit it–!” Chris’ arms felt like lead weights, hanging by his side. Slightly numb from Wesker’s previous grip, an uncomfortable pins-and-needles sensation jabbing at Chris when he pulled his arms up. He doesn’t know what he’d do with them, doesn’t have enough time to decide the next course of action.
Between one second and the next, Wesker’s hands went from Chris’ shoulder to his wrists. He grabbed ahold of them, pulling the left one over the right and taking both wrists into one hand.
The other snaked its way up, gingerly– something Chris didn’t think Wesker capable of, past, present, or future– cupping Chris’ cheek. Even through the leather gloves the man wore, Chris is certain he could feel the heat emanating from the former pointman’s face.
“Why should I?” Wesker moved his head down, Chris’ pulse racing even faster as the man nosed at Chris’ neck. Face pressed against it, turning this precarious position into more of a lover’s embrace than something meant to restrain an enemy. “I think it quite suits you, Chris.” At that, Chris shuddered– it was too much, the proximity, Wesker’s chest pressed against Chris’ own, face pressed into the crook of Chris’ neck for whatever reason–
Wesker’s leg still pressed against Chris’ clothed cunt.
Breaths coming faster and faster, chest heaving as Wesker began to nip at Chris’ neck. There didn’t seem to be any intention to harm hiding beneath the action, Chris couldn’t think of it as anything other than playful.
In the end, it wasn’t Chris’ fault that he moved his hips like he did. It was instinctual, the need to shift away from Wesker; it went against Chris’ better judgement, completely forgetting why he hadn’t tried it before. He just needed to get the fuck away from the asshole–
The noise that followed wasn’t his fault either, he’d argue. It was a completely normal response to the friction, that punched out little groan that shattered the silence like a bullet to glass. Chris froze, hoping, praying to a God he didn’t believe in that Wesker would just ignore it. Better yet, that he didn’t notice it at all.
With how Wesker stopped dead in his tracks, mouth hovering just above the junction between Chris’ neck and shoulder, Chris knew he wouldn’t be that lucky. That it was never a viable option in the first place.
Chris isn’t sure how he expected Wesker to approach it– but nothing he could’ve ever come up with would be anything close to what Wesker actually did. Wouldn’t compare to the absolute shock it was, when Wesker pressed in closer.
When Chris felt Wesker’s hard-on pressed against his own leg. The tiny, barely-there hitch in the man’s breath as he commended “Do that again.” And Chris is gonna be honest here, he kind of considered it. For a second, maybe– a couple, actually. It was tempting, Wesker’s offer for Chris to get off on him. It was something Chris used to fantasize back in S.T.A.R.S, now that he thinks about it– during sparring.
This exact position would’ve been right out of a dream for Chris back then, but now it was… well, not exactly a nightmare, but it wasn’t a very pleasant situation given the context.
Chris cut off his own train of thought with a bitter laugh, mocking. Trying to cover up his own desire, by telling Wesker “I’m not going to do that, you perverted son of a–” And Chris should’ve expected that Wesker wouldn’t take that as an answer, and in a way he did.
He thought Wesker would lash out at him for going against an order, not…
Not cant his hips forward, press his face further into Chris’ neck and growl “Please.” against the younger man’s skin. It threw Chris off so monumentally hard, everything about it. How Wesker was just as affected as Chris was, how he didn’t seem angry at Chris’ refusal or his insult–
How he was begging. It did something to Chris. Did something for chris too, having such a proud man stoop to something like this. It was all so confusing, Chris felt lightheaded at the prospect– this has to be a weird wet-dream, can’t be real.
But, oh god, did it feel real. Chris couldn’t help himself, despite the shame he knows will follow if he makes it out of this alive. If this was really happening, then it has to be a ploy. Any second now, Wesker was going to pull out a syringe and jab it into Chris, or push the barrel of a gun to Chris’ head when his guard was down.
Chris doesn’t think he cares, though. Not now, not when he was already in this deep; if Wesker was going to pull something, then Chris might as well have a little bit of pleasure beforehand, yeah? Since it was offered to him and all.
When Chris dragged his hips forward, the sudden flood of mortification was too much for him to handle right now. It felt good, but at what cost? Chris wouldn’t say he was a very prideful person in the egotistical way, more like he had certain standards for himself. This very much went against said standards,
“I can’t do this,” Chris was going to say more, before he was cut off by his own filthy, strangled moan when Wesker moved his hand from where it held Chris’ face to his hip. Wesker took it upon himself to make sure Chris followed the order, his grip firm but not bruising as he drew Chris’ hips back, then forward again–
Throughout the whole thing, Wesker still hasn’t pulled his head from Chris’ neck, but Chris can fucking feel that smug little smile. He’d taken to sucking hickies and leaving little love bites all along the column of Chris’ throat, no longer satisfied with his little nips– Chris grimaced,
There wasn’t a guarantee he’d make it out of here soon, might get taken and held as a hostage afterward. Or that he’d leave at all, but if he did, then he’s not looking forward to his higher-ups questioning the marks– they’d leave him be if he was prickly enough about it, but he knows they’ll razz him about it for the rest of his life.
“There,” Wesker mumbled, sinking his teeth in just enough to leave a mark– not enough to break skin, before continuing “See? You can.” Chris wasn’t sure if Wesker was being purposefully ignorant, or if he was going stupid from all his blood rushing to his dick.
“It wasn’t a physical issue.” Chris stated blankly, before he gasped and threw his head back. The back of his skull colliding against the wall with a soft thud!, when Wesker pressed even closer. If he tried to get any closer, then he’d have to literally fuse with Chris.
“I know it wasn’t,” could’ve fooled me Chris wants to say, but can’t on account of his half-assed attempts to smother his borderline pornographic sounds. “Your morals are so annoying, dearheart. They serve you no purpose, especially not here, not with me”
Chris barked out a laugh, shrugging his shoulder to try and jostle Wesker away from his throat “I don’t think–”
Like most things with Wesker, it happened so fast that Chris didn’t have any time to react– one second he was pressed against the wall, humping Wesker’s leg like a damn dog,
And the next, he was pulled from the wall and set– not slammed, but set– him on the chipped, tiled floor. Wesker straddled Chris’ waist, and Chris tried to ignore the fact that he missed the friction the man had been providing.
Wesker’s hands were off of Chris for more than a few seconds. Chris propped himself on his elbows and pushed up, only to have Wesker’s hand land on the middle of Chris’ chest, pushing him down insistently, but not roughly.
“Oh, Chris. You don’t have to think, just enjoy it.” On one hand, Chris was happy Wesker wasn’t mauling his neck anymore; on the other hand, Chris didn’t like how he had to look at Wesker’s satisfied little smile because of it. “Like hell I am.”
Wesker pouted, overdramatic and put-on, as he pulled himself from where he was straddling Chris. His hand stayed on the man’s chest for a moment longer, before pulling back as well. Chris was stock still, tensed up– it was too easy.
It was almost like Wesker wanted Chris to try and pull himself up, just so Wesker could push him back down again. The kind of powerplay that Chris has become more than accustomed to over the years of trailing after his former-captain-turned-bioterrorist.
Chris made no move to get up, and Wesker didn’t comment on it. Instead, he remained kneeling next to where Chris was laying, leaning forward until their noses bumped together “Your stubbornness won’t get you anywhere, Chris. Just enjoy it. I know I will.”
Trust him when he says that he was going to spit in Wesker’s face and call him a creep (rightfully so), but that plan came to a crashing halt when Chris felt a hand, large and warm– press over the crotch of his cargo pants. The palm of Wesker’s hand grinding against Chris’ clit while his pointer and middle finger pressed harder– feeling the soft flesh of Chris’ labia through the layers of fabric.
It was like his brain was melting out of his ears or something– he knew he had a bit of a thing for Wesker back in S.T.A.R.S, but he was under the assumption that it’d died alone with any trust he had with the man. this is so fucked up, Chris’ mind supplies.
He knows. He knows it is, it’s beyond demented– but still, Chris doesn’t fight it. Right now, with the position changed and his arms free, it’d be so easy to kick at Wesker. Would it bring any results, besides pissing him off? No, but that’s never stopped Chris before.
Without any conscious input, Chris’ legs spread just a little wider– give Wesker more access, giving him enough of a go ahead for him to switch his tactics. Change the position yet again, as grabbed Chris by the hips and pulled him until his legs rested beside Wesker’s hips.
Of course Wesker wouldn’t move himself– that he’d opt to move Chris instead, making the other man bend around his will instead of him bending to accommodate Chris. If that didn’t sum their relationship (or whatever you’d call it) as a whole, then Chris doesn’t know what will.
Wesker waited for a bit before doing anything– Chris couldn’t understand why, too dizzy with lust to form any real thoughts within the 5 or so seconds Wesker stayed still for. Maybe he was waiting to see if Chris would fight it.
After that few second long grace period ended, Wesker had no trouble manhandling Chris however he pleased– making quick work of Chris’ combat boots and pants, but when he reached for Chris’ boxers, that’s when Chris tried to back away. Wesker looked confused, brows furrowed with a bewildered smile on his face “It’s a little late to start feeling guilty again, dearheart.”
It’s not that he felt guilty really– his brain wasn’t capable of that right now, too choked up by need to process an emotion as complex as that in his current state. Wesker let Chris pull himself back a little– and that’s when Wesker noticed the little wet patch on the man’s boxers.
“Ah, that’s it then, isn’t it?” The confusion was long gone, replaced with… well, Chris wasn’t really in a state to be able to get a read on Wesker’s tone, but it sounded endeared.
“It’s alright to be aroused, it’s perfectly natural.” Wesker cooed, grabbing Chris by the hips and pulling him back– pulling him closer than before, as Wesker sat on his haunches and pulled Chris until his hips were lifted onto the man’s lap. Chris covered his face with his hands, face burning hot with mortification. “Stop talking,”
For a second, Chris almost couldn’t believe it was him who’d said that. It was so whiny, and when he thought he couldn’t be any more embarrassed, he yet again proved himself wrong. It didn’t bother Wesker at all, who just chuckled and cryptically said “If you insist.”
Before Chris could fully register what Wesker said, and long before he could try and untangle what he meant by that– Wesker had pulled Chris’ boxers off, and unceremoniously tossed it aside, paying no mind to where it landed.
Chris shifted his fingers to peek an eye through, not wanting to fully uncover his face just yet. “What’re you doing?” He asked even though he knew he probably wasn’t going to get an answer. But in a way, he did– when Wesker moved their position once again, hands still holding onto Chris’ hips, arms under his thighs to keep his legs up;
His head prevented Chris from closing his legs, as Wesker latched onto Chris’ cunt like a starved man. It startled Chris enough to uncover his face, one hand flying down to grab Wesker’s gelled hair– the other hovering over his mouth. Just in case he felt he was getting too loud.
“Asshole!” Chris hissed, devolving into a moan as Wesker pressed his tongue inside. God, it was too much– but at the same time, not nearly enough. The bridge of his nose kept bumping against Chris’ swollen t-dick, making his legs shake as Wesker tongue-fucked the poor guy.
As an afterthought, Chris finally pressed his hand against his mouth. His noises had been rising in volume over the past 10 minutes Wesker had been eating Chris out like his last meal, Chris was too horny to realize it until now. It muffled the noises, but did little to stop them. Either way, Wesker didn’t seem too keen on Chris keeping his sounds to himself–
He pulled back, sinking his teeth into the meat of Chris’ thigh. Breaking skin, he pulled his teeth out to lick at the blood. Chris was caught halfway between a whine at the loss, and a yelp from the pain– pulling his hand away, he questioned Wesker with a breathless tone “Why’d y’stop?”
Regrettably, Wesker seems to have really taken Chris’ demand for him to shut the fuck up to heart. Figures, that he’d find a way to twist it to his liking. Leaving Chris in the dark, his fingers digging into Wesker’s scalp as he gripped the man’s hair tighter. He tried to yank him forward, but no dice.
Chris frowned, hand hovering just above his mouth so he could speak, but easily press down to cover his noises if need be. Wesker just stared at him, pupils blown so wide that he looked almost human now. The pupils rounded, leaving on a thin, hard-to-see ring of his unnatural iris color.
“You can talk.” Chris grumbled, and when Wesker didn’t immediately respond, Chris felt a little pang of fear that Wesker would stay quiet. He doesn’t know when it happened, when he began to think that he’d miss Wesker’s voice if he never got to hear it again.
Whether it was luck working for or against Chris, Wesker broke his silence with a sly grin and a smug “I thought you didn’t want me to talk?” Chris huffed, sending a pointed glare to the man “I want you to fucking tell me why you stopped.”
Wesker hummed, pressing his cheek against Chris’ thigh– the uninjured one– as he continued to stare up at Chris like he was a five-course dish. “I want to hear you, dearheart. It’s no fun if I can’t hear how good I’m making you feel.”
“It strokes your ego, doesn’t it?” …When did Chris’ voice lose its edge? When did he start feeling comfortable enough to tease Wesker back? Why doesn’t it upset him more that he is?
The silence that followed was all the answer he needed, as he rolled his eyes and let his arm fall to his side. “There, you happy?”
“Very.” Wesker purred, before diving back in.
It didn’t take long for Chris to start feeling that coil forming deep in his gut, for him to start squirming and bucking into Wesker’s mouth– his hand still curled in the man’s hair, pressing him closer. He was probably suffocating Wesker, in all honesty; not that the fucker minded. Probably getting his rocks off to the idea of being smothered to death by Chris’ cunt (if that was an option, which it sadly wasn’t).
Chris has long since been tuning out his own noises, sure that if anyone passed the outside, they could hear it. Faintly, but they’d probably hear it– even through the heavy oak door.
“‘M gonna cum,” If he was any more there than he was, then he would’ve recoiled at how whorish he sounded as he said it. Wesker obviously didn’t care, humming in response– the vibrations driving Chris insane.
When the tension broke, Chris’ entire body pulled taut and his back arching so far it looked almost unnatural– eyes rolled to the back of his skull, there was an immense, immediate relief from the mind-numbing horniness he’d been feeling for the past 20 or so minutes.
He immediately came crashing back to reality, when he realized Wesker just wasn’t stopping. Did he even realize Chris came? He had to know, with how Chris absolutely soaked Wesker’s face with his release.
Hips twisting, stomach tensed as Chris withered– trying to push Wesker’s head off to no avail. “I came–” Chris wheezed out, kicking at Wesker’s shoulder with no avail. He refused to let up at all. If anything, he doubled his efforts; he moved his hands from Chris’ hips for a moment, Chris taking that opportunity to buck more wildly than before,
Then, Wesker placed his hand– only one– back on Chris’ hip, before deciding to press the flat of his palm against Chris’ abdomen. Far more effective at keeping his hips flush to the ground with just one hand. Chris blanched, when he felt the noticeably gloveless finger pressing against his hole, Wesker’s tongue turning its attention to Chris’ puffy clit as his fingers busied themselves with Chris’ hole.
Chris cried out, saying it was “Too much–!” and thrashing, and by the time he arrived at his second orgasm, his eyes had started to water. Tears ran tracks down his face by the time Wesker pulled a third one out of him, and Chris was hardly aware he even existed when the fourth and fifth one rolled around.
Still, Wesker didn’t stop. The sun was starting to set– god, that meant they’d been there for literal hours. Around two and half, maybe three. Chris doesn’t know, he’s not in much of a headspace to keep track of the time in any capacity.
He feels like he’s having some kind of out-of-body experience, so overstimulated that all of the sensations meld into one. The discomfort of the hard tile floor, the shock of pain every time Wesker thumbed at Chris’ t-dick, the pleasure hidden just below the pain– it all melted into one indescribable sort of feeling.
Chris isn’t sure when he stopped being able to talk, to do more than babble near-unintelligible begging– for Wesker to continue, to please don’t stop, but it was a miracle Wesker understood him at all. His legs wrapped around Wesker’s head, refusing to let him move more than an inch– not like he was going to do that any time soon.
Early one, between the second and third orgasm, Chris considered the idea of Wesker killing Chris with this. You can die of overexertion, can’t you? Dehydration too, from how much Chris was cumming. How he was laying in a puddle of his own cum, Wesker’s entire lower half of his face absolutely drenched in it– his hand, neck, and probably chest as well.
When Chris hit his 6th orgasm, when he passed out for who-knows-how-long, probably just a few minutes. Woke up to find Wesker laying on top of him, going back to sucking marks into Chris’ neck and shoulders.
It was a miracle that Chris was able to get out such a clear, though incredibly slurred, “What?”, bringing Wesker’s attention to the fact he was awake. Wesker pulled away– he must’ve wiped his face on his sleeve, it was cleaner than before. Still, some of Chris’ release(s) seemed to cling to him, his neck particularly.
“Good morning, dearheart.” Chris grunted, still extremely out of it from the absolute roller coaster that Wesker just put him through. He was still shaking from it, tears still running down his cheeks, though he doesn’t pay them much mind. He feels all too present and not present at all, like he’s experiencing his body through a funhouse mirror or something. Distorted, but still obviously him.
Wesker laughed, one hand resting on the back of Chris’ neck as he hauled the man's head up just a bit– so their lips caught together in a kiss, deceptively sweet. Chris could taste his own cum on Wesker’s lips, but he wasn’t lucid enough to really care, even if he definitely recognized the fact.
They stayed like that for a while. Kissing, just enjoying each other's presences, even if Chris obviously wasn’t all there. His mind having floated off somewhere far away– Wesker didn’t seem to mind at all, though. They kissed until Chris felt lightheaded, just for Wesker to full back for a few moments before diving back in.
Eventually, all good things must come to an end. Wesker pulled away– Chris went to follow him, not wanting it to end just yet– but Wesker was too quick. In much better condition than Chris, he pulled himself to set back on his haunches between Chris’ legs.
Behind him, one of the few windows that didn’t have any curtains, no matter how tattered and moth eaten they were, obscuring the glow of the moon. It backlit Wesker, appearing more like a halo than anything. Wesker’s eyes glinted in the dim lighting, glowing, but the pupil was blown so wide that his irises were almost non-existent.
“Did you like that? Being mine?” Wesker asked, tilting his head as he spoke. Chris’ chest heaved, his vision blurry as he couldn’t register much more than the fact Wesker was there at all. He didn’t quite process the question– the blood rushing in his ears made it hard to hear, and he was so out of it that trying to figure it out now was out of the question.
Wesker seemed quite pleased, though, when Chris nodded his head tentatively– hoping to appease the man. Even in this vulnerable, raw state, Chris still vaguely remembered how dangerous the man before him can be. Even if he doesn’t remember the specifics of it. The tension in chris’ shoulders vanished, as he let out a sigh of relief.
“That’s good to know.” Chris hardly felt his own body, but became painstakingly aware of it when Wesker took hold of his shoulders and heaved him up to sit. Everything ached, his back, legs, and neck were the worst off, but everything else wasn’t that much further behind.
He let his discomfort be known, by a whining sort of keen that he would never be caught dead making if he was in his right mind. Wesker cooed his sympathies to man, one hand rubbing the small of Chris’ back, as the other hand pressed his head to Wesker’s chest. “Oh, I know. You must be so sore. But this was a necessary evil, I'm afraid.”
The only thing Chris was paying attention to at that moment, and the moments following, was how warm Wesker was. He nuzzled against the man’s chest, sighing as he relaxed into the embrace. It was soft, gentle, the way Wesker was holding him. There was a disconnect between that fact and the way he knows someone like Wesker has hardly capable of such an action.
Another whine followed from Chris’ lips, when Wesker moved his hand to cup Chris’ chin oh-so-tenderly and lift his head, which felt like a load of bricks– lolling to the side before Wesker readjusted his grip to compensate.
“Look at me, my dear.” That was one of the few things Chris could process– if only for the way Wesker pulled Chris’ attention to him, ducking his head to follow Chris’ line of vision whenever his eyes moved. Chris got the hint, and kept his eyes on Wesker.
It was getting hard to keep them open, though– fluttering closed, then open. Chris’ stubbornness being the only reason he wasn’t out cold right now. Wesker laughed, and Chris felt it more than he heard it. The rumbling from deep within the man’s chest. It made Chris want to sink back into his embrace and fall asleep for the next century.
“How would you like to be mine for good, hm? I’d treat you well, my dear. We could be captain and pointman again; wouldn’t that just be lovely?” There was something… off, about the way he said it, that Chris recognized– even in this state. Only later, when he woke up in a large, plush bed with a warm body pressed close to him; tall, slim and muscular– would he realize exactly how much he’s doomed himself.
That the edge to Wesker’s voice was because he knew Chris was in no state to deny him, that he wasn’t even processing what Wesker was saying in the first place. Just responding in a way he thinks would please the man.
Chris tried to nod, but Wesker’s grip held him firmly in place. Wesker didn’t let up, taking immense pleasure in toying with Chris just that much more.
“...uh-huh.” Chris spoke, tongue feeling like a useless lump of meat in his mouth. He should be given an award or something, for being able to get out even that much. Truly, a show of his unending bullheadedness. Wesker immediately rewarded Chris by letting go of his chin and letting the younger man’s head loll forward once again.
It thumped heavily against Wesker’s chest, who let Chris keep it there– even as he pulled Chris to stand along with him, and managed to let Chris keep his face pressed against Wesker’s slow, functionally useless heart. If it calmed the man like it obviously was doing, then Wesker didn’t have a problem in indulging it. Even as he picked Chris up bridal style, he did it in a way that kept Chris’ head relatively where it was.
Before they were even out the door– hell, before Wesker had even opened it– Chris was out cold. Wesker couldn’t be any happier, with how today’s events had gone; Chris playing right into his hand, going even well than Wesker could’ve predicted.
Though, his Christopher was never much for change, was he?