Russian Roulette
One-Shot

It was all Wesker's fault. If he hadn't ordered her to kill him, she wouldn't be here. Then again, she had disobeyed him before, but for some reason, she chose not to this time. It angered her that she didn't. But he couldn't take all the blame for this. Her deadly playful nature had drawn her into this as well.

She didn't know how she had gotten both of them into the predicament at the moment, but somehow they had both been manipulated and were right where she wanted them. His arms were bound to the bed frame while she straddled his lower abdomen.

The revolver was in her right hand with a single bullet inside. She may have been sent to kill him but she knew that if she succeeded in the deed, she wouldn't live with herself. The same went with him. That's why she had only brought one bullet. No one would be able to destroy themselves after.

She had explained the scenario to him after she had tied him down and he was not happy with it. The disapproval in his eyes was blocking every other emotion even as she held the gun to his head. She had spun the barrel around already and had no idea where the bullet was.

This was not the way she wanted it to end though. The emotion in his eyes hurt. For all she knew, it was the final goodbye. She lowered her head and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. His jaw was hard with his unhappiness. She knew how she felt it. She felt the same way at herself.

She pulled the trigger only to hear a click. It was an empty barrel. She sighed her relief and pulled away from him. She hadn't killed him yet. She moved the gun to her own head, and looked down at him, watching his eyes.

The disapproval was long gone and replaced with desperate longing. He didn't want her to do this to herself.

She did anyways. Again, the gun only clicked.

She felt him relax underneath her. This only meant a heightened chance for him. Once again, she lowered the gun to his temple and her lips to his. She could taste the hunger this time. He knew one of their ends were near.

She tightened her own eyes and squeezed the trigger. Only a click. She couldn't express the relief from that. He could taste it, though. She didn't remove herself from him as she switched the guns location.

His mouth got desperate not wanting her to risk anything more. She could feel the tears begin to fill the insides of her eyelids. She would not open her eyes now, knowing that if she did, it would threaten the overflow of tears.

She pulled the trigger once more. Once more, the bullet did not fire.

She didn't want to move the gun, but she knew that it was necessary. Instincts took over and she replaced it beside his head. Her lust was beginning to match his, and it only inclined with time. He was pulling at the handcuffs holding him in place.

Oh, how he wanted to touch her. Touch her ivory skin before one of them was wiped from existence.

Before he knew it, she had pulled the trigger. Nothing had happened.

He knew what it meant. His kisses became desperate, begging her, pleading for her to not pull the trigger. It was too much for her to handle and the tears had escaped her eyes. They ran down her face, bringing her mascara with each one. They ran onto her lips and both of them could taste it.

He began groaning urgently, demanding that she stop. The tugging on the handcuffs became more frantic, demanding her to restrain herself. She sobbed once into him and he knew just how much harder he was making this for her. That didn't stop him from trying.

To his disadvantage, she ended the kiss and pulled away. "Goodbye, handsome." She whispered before pulling the trigger one final time. He was absolutely speechless to her actions as the gun clicked. There was no bullet. There were never any bullets.

She threw the gun into the wall and buried herself into his neck, her face wet with tears. Her breathing was ragged against his skin and he wished so badly that he could hold her in his arms, but they were fastened in place. As good as useless.

She drunk in his sent and it seemed to calm her frayed nerves. He just stayed where he was unable to do anything. It angered him.

"They're not real. Just use the quick release." He heard her murmur against his neck.

He was dumbfounded. This entire thing didn't involve anything real. Was she just playing him like a deck of cards? Eventually he maneuvered both of his hands and released the metal holding them in place.

He didn't care about the cuts around his wrists or the fact that they were still there. He wrapped his arms around her and held her. She wasn't going to escape his grip this time.

After who knows how long of lying there, she fell asleep in the embrace. He didn't. He refused to. He was keeping her here. Keeping her safe. That was his last thought before the constant rhythm of her heartbeat sent him into unconsciousness.

Don't ask how I come up with these ideas. I really don't know. I haven't been doing much updating on my other stories and I'm sorry for that. I'll get on it when I don't feel the urge to scratch my throat. Damn cold. Hope you enjoy this dark little story for now. Ciao.