—The 3rd Birthday—
I.
Flowers for Algernon
—
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of RE.
Pairing/Characters: Sherry/Wesker, Sherry/Leon, Leon/Claire, Sherry/Claire, Chris/Sheva
Rating: M for Mature. Blood, gore, future character deaths and, of course the main ingredient, sex.
Summary: AU, Post-RE5: Held captive since her childhood, she waited on a promise. But as the years past her heart darkened and she learned to embrace everything he was and everything he taught.
AN: Again, everyone, thanks so much for the support of this story. I feel flattered to know that you are all enjoying yourself and would like me to continue this. Really, my greatest passion is writing and it is always great to go back and read your reviews. As it is, this story is going to be a lot of fun to write especially since it is focused on Sherry's character and I have to really make everything fit the RE storyline. I'm also thinking of putting a little fem-slash in here, so if you can't handle, you should press the back button as it will be explicit.
Avarice, envy, pride. Three fatal sparks have set the hearts of all on fire.
~Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy~
—
Wesker was surprised at the touch of her hand, where it softly caressed down to his throat. He wasn't prepared for it, but he was underneath her, the lining of her silk dress caught up in his, where they twisted, turned, and where the black ribbon around her hair came loose, so that when she was riding him, moving slow and downward, thumb pressing down on his Adam's apple, he was bucking up into her. His cock clothed in her wet heat, her body pressing down hard where she has him right under her thumb—literally. So consumed was he until he realized he was choking, bucking at the same time, intense pain and fire singing his loins. She was using every skill in the book, knowing what he liked, what he desired. He was turning blue, his eye-sockets white and the gold flecks staring back at her, but he continued to buck back into her, where her vaginal walls gripped his long and thick cock hard, almost like an iron clamp. He was choking out her name, seeing multi-facets of her being over and over again, before she decided she would give into the orgasm.
In the end, he was staring back at her, glad to have been released from her black ribbons and the thumb skillfully pressing against his larynx.
It was the one time, that rare moment, where he would let her be in control. The first time they'd done this, she remembered fighting with herself or rather—the temptation, to pull a little tighter and just finish the job. Rid him off the face of the goddamn Earth. However, when she tried a sudden pang filled her chest, like she was committing a crime and she immediately stopped. That whole day, for once, she didn't give him a fight. It was on that day she had first realized that whatever he had done to ruin her—childhood, growing life, family—she had loved him in some sick twisted unnatural way. He had been the only person whom of which had been a constant in her life, the one person who didn't leave or let her down because regardless of their history, he taught her things that other people never could, what the world was really like and how they could fix it.
As crazy as it sounded, she believed him.
Sherry removed herself from atop of him and he followed behind. She stood up, smoothing out the small wrinkles in her form fitting strapless black silk dress that stopped right above her knees, her breast were pushed up revealing plenty of cleavage, a gold emerald necklace highlighting the area. Instead of tying her hair back into the black ribbon, she let her honey-blonde hair loose, the chin-length strands hugging her face and making her look husky and exotic. Turning to look at the man beside her, she bit down on her lower lip lightly, thinking how funny it was that he looked so calm and pristine as if what had just occurred hadn't.
Wesker straightened out his black tie before turning to the small woman standing beside him with a smug smile on his features. "We're going to be late."
Sherry shrugged—and she knew he caught the unfeminine action and took mental note of it—pursing her pink lips, simply replying with, "I don't care." Her large emerald earrings sparkled on her lobes as she moved to follow him through the long hall that lead them to the main lobby of the Opéra Royal de Wallonie in Belgium. The hall was massive and beautiful, completely pristine; a large chandelier stood above them, about as old as a wild west's saloon, where the dripping candles still kept flickering flames, smells of lavender, roses and a mixture of berries wafted in the air. Beneath their feet, there was only a wide expanse of shiny, clean expensive white-gold marble as if someone had waxed them before they came. The walls were high and white in color, on the ceiling a mural depicting multiple angels flying up in the clouds.
People walked passed them, all of them refined and certainly with expensive tastes. Most held hands, the women giggling while the men whispered sweet nothings in their ears; a picture perfect scene straight out of a magazine.
They walked up the stairs leading to the theater, sitting side by side in plush red velvet seats. It was noisy, filled with the exciting chatter of the others who occupied the gargantuan room as well. The crimson velvet curtains were closed on the wide stage in front of them and Sherry felt him put her small hand in his, holding it lightly as he reached over to whisper in her ear, "Happy birthday." He reached down to kiss her on the neck with warm, moist lips and Sherry let out a small sigh of appreciation; an action she had expected for it was something he had done since she was seventeen, a trademark movement that had occurred every year on her date of birth.
She smiled like a loon, clutching at the pendant as if holding on for dear life. Her father stood behind her, large hands placed on her tiny shoulders and his smile widened to match hers, "It's beautiful, just like my little angel," She let it go and the gold gleamed as it hit her pubescent chest and she looked at her reflection of him and her in the mirror; a portrait out of a happy family photo. He made her promise to never let it go and she nodded, said she wouldn't and since then the only place she had ever let it rest had been right there—over her heart.
Sherry placed a hand over her chest at the sudden memory, the slippery silk underneath her fingertips somewhat comforting. Why? She didn't know. Maybe for the fact that it was a distraction, pondering on lost memories. He taught her there was no use thinking of the past—there was nothing anyone could do to fix the deep scars embedded in her. And in the end, she thinks, she couldn't complain.
Not when the outcome had been this one.
The curtains began to open, revealing the setting on the stage. A woman wearing a diaphanous long gown, her long dark hair flowing down past her hips, stood to the side, melancholy look lingering in her hazel eyes. The man beside her, covered in clean gleaming silver Armour reached out to her, opening his mouth and spewing out words in a beautiful foreign language that she could not understand. Beside her, Wesker sat straight, his attention focused fully on the scene playing out before him. For once, at her request, he had not worn his trademark black glasses, his beautiful pale-blue eyes displayed just for her to see. Sherry had grown to love looking into those eyes—red or blue—especially when he actually found something that astounded or amused him because it had let her know, in some way, that there had still been a part of him—however slight it might be—that was still human.
It was that one defining feature that had made her feel for him, made her think that besides all of the bad he had done, he still could understand human emotion somewhat. She remembered the first time he had ever tried to really reach out to her, walking up to her in that graceful manner of his as she looked up at him in trepidation and relief, clutching onto the red vest that she had given to her—
"I... I'll be back. I promise!" Sherry watched as she disappeared into the darkness, hoping that what the older woman said would come true. With tired blue eyes, she turned to look up at the cop and the cop turned to look down at her, a comforting smile appearing on his young handsome face. He trailed numerous circular patterns around her back to calm her nerves somewhat.
"Don't worry, everything will be okay." And even though the words kept on being repeated for reassurance, they never sat well with her. But they had saved her right? Protected her from harm... maybe, just this once, things would go just the way there were supposed to. Sherry hugged the red vest closely to her chest, encased it around her small frame. It had replaced the golden pendant that had been thrown into the melting pool, it had filled that empty void in her young heart. The place that had belonged to her mother and father.
—wondering just what in the hell was he doing there? She couldn't believe that she had seen him standing there, looking at her expectantly like she should've remembered just who he was. Not that she hadn't, he would be a hard man to forget. After two full years of being moved from foster home to foster home, she had never thought she would see a familiar face again. She almost thought that he was a figment of her imagination, a ghost of some sort, but then he reached out to her with a gloved hand and, in hesitance, she put her own small one into his, a smile adorning her lips as she felt the solid warmth that came from his touch. She'd even asked him if he were real and he didn't laugh at her like she thought he would. Instead, he had nodded, leading her away from the men in suits and dysfunctional foster homes.
That was the last time she had held onto the biker vest, leaving it in the facility he had saved her from and the memory of who it had belonged to in the lost confines of her mind, right there, next to her dead parents.
The mixture of the woman's voice—soft, piercing and strong—and the feel of Wesker's had covering hers was what had brought her back to the current reality. The opera singer stood in front of that stage, arms held out dramatically as her mouth opened to let out the beautiful music that covered the whole room. Her dress swayed as she moved, heightening her stage presence and for a moment, her hazel piercing eyes met Sherry's and held her gaze for longer than necessary before moving on. She heard her companion chuckle softly beside her and she turned to look at him, confused by his sudden exclaimed amusement.
He hadn't returned her gaze, even when he said, "So you've made your choice, I see."
The young woman ignored him as she turned her attention back to the stage, cold eyes focused on the female lead. She had indeed been beautiful, something straight out a fairytale book. Pity, Sherry thought, about what would happen to her in the end.
The rest of the show went on quite splendid. People on stage danced and sang their hearts out, dressed in such beautifully embroided costumes, masterful love scenes and the like. It had been a masterpiece, something that she had very much found herself enjoying. As the curtains closed and the audience started to disappear, Sherry slowly stood but before she could walk away she felt Wesker's strong grip locked on her arm. She stared at him with blue eyes, her naturally-rose colored swollen lips pursed in questioning. A self indulgent smile crossed the tyrant's face in response.
"You know what you have to do." the smirk hung on those perfect features, accentuating his already handsome exterior.
Sherry nodded, ridding herself from his grip. He simply watched as she walked away, a confident sway held in the way she walked—she had learned to handle herself like him when it came to her work. After all, he had taught her how to be bad and he was the best of the best.
"You do not want to be useless to us," he had explained, his eyes never leaving the stretching road before him as they drove away. He tried to say it in the nicest and simplest way he possibly could. "Being useless is a very bad thing around here." Sherry stared at him with rapt, obedient attention. She understood and though she didn't know the details, it was then that she had become certain that her parents had become useless. And look what happened to them.
She was a master of her craft, he had taught her to never be anything less. Twenty-three and she could recite a whole virology book with her eyes closed while putting a bullet straight between someone's eyes. No high school education, naturally, but the one she had been given had far surpassed that. Wesker had told her that she was very adept naturally, that it hadn't taken her long at all to soak up information like a sponge, she had been fortunate—that she knew. She took after her parents genius, but she wouldn't find herself in similar circumstances. That much she had promised herself.
So, it was no surprise how she easily found her way to the dressing rooms backstage without any problems. Reaching for the pistol secured safely in a black holster on her thigh, she turned the knob to the door with the large golden star embedded on it. Once inside, Sherry closed the door softly and quietly behind her, careful not to let her target aware of the intruder in her room. She gripped the silver pistol just a little tighter, a reminder of what it could do and would do as she looked around.
There was a bed looking as grand from a mid-century chamber out of a photograph, perhaps from some castle. It was a four poster canopy with a mattress so thick and plush that it required the use of a step stool to climb into it. The coverlet was a design of blue and silver flowers and the material was the finest silk, she could tell as she ran her fingertips over the embroidery. The pillows were filled with down, soft and heavenly and a diaphanous gown was laid on top of the sheets. And from there the room continued in the same fashion. There was a vanity, complete with cushioned seat, double mirrors etched with beautifully carved detail, crystal perfume bottles and an ivory powder box that had a matching brush and comb. On the far side of the room stood a desk made of fine cherry wood. It almost seemed as if someone had been awaiting her.
Such splendor was almost too grand for Sherry's taste. "What the fuck?" she whispered under her breath at the sight of it all. She'd never before thought that dressing rooms could be so luxurious, she'd never seen or heard of such a thing.
Sighing, she brought her attention back to the more important objective at hand, moving lightly on her feet. She heard a door open and she immediately turned her attention to the noise only to see the opera singer stare back at her, a distressed look illuminating her face. Her dark hair was flowing beautifully past her waist, heavy and full of great silky density. Her lashes were full and curled, her eyes showing the intense intimidation she had felt, her cheeks flushed. Her left hand, small and very feminine, clutched at white towel wrapped around her petite pale body and with her right hand she hugged her own form as if to shield herself.
She looked at Sherry as if she didn't know what to do and sighing, the latter placed her gun to her side to help ease the situation. They stood staring at each other in silence until Sherry's mouth loosened into a small smile as she leaned her head to the side in a innocent gesture. The singer seemed surprised by this action, her arched brows rising in confusion, but she kept still, not wanting to elicit any type of action from the blond female across from her.
"Are you her?" She asked.
"Yes." Sherry answered simply and honestly.
"Are you going to hurt me?" This time her voice, soft like velvet, seemed to tremble.
Sherry seemed to think on this for a moment. Debating on whether or not she should expel that information or not, she hesitated just for a second. A slight sign of weakness on her part no doubt, but Wesker was not there to tell her otherwise. "Yes."
The singer started to cry, a pained sob escaped her lips. Her body started to shake and all Sherry could do was watch, her icy blue eyes emotionless. The blond took in a deep breath as she watched the woman weep, trying her best to keep patient. A large part inside of her wanted to tell the singer to shut up, but the small part—the one that slipped through rarely—let her mourn. She'd seen enough of this to last her a lifetime.
"But... I don't understand. Wasn't Umbrella disbanded?" she asked, weeping in between words.
Sherry rolled her blue eyes at the question. "Why yes, it was, at least to the public eye, but you cannot really think that the information you posses is not one of extremely high value to others? The longer it took to find you, the more aggravated my benefactor became and that never ends very well."
It was sudden, but the crying had finally stopped. The woman stared at Sherry with swollen hazel eyes after wiping the tears away ungracefully with her arm. She made her way to the bed as if in a sudden trance, moving as sly and sensual as a black panther. The blond's curiosity was piqued at the expeditious change of emotion, biting down on her lip as she watched the singer remove the towel that was wrapped around her body; revealing a soft slim body that was curvy with enormous, overflowing breasts. The areolas were pink and large, the nipples hard.
The first time she'd ever touched a woman was when she was sixteen and it was beyond her control. He had told her to do it, forced her to touch at the woman he had caught for his pleasure. The elder woman was held up in wires, wrapping all around her naked body, her black hair matted to her skull, and tears streaked down her cheeks. Her mouth was muffled with wires, not permitting her to say anything, but Sherry with her eyes wide lifted her virgin hands to the swell of the woman's breasts causing the captor to whimper. Wesker had chuckled in the background at the clumsiness of his young mentor. "No, no, no," he had reprimanded, grabbing her hand and guiding her to the opening, "Touch her like this, picture someone you adore and touch her softly... gracefully." Sherry had closed her eyes and a woman with red hair with eyes piercing and blue came to mind.
Sherry eyes snapped to the opera singer's face and a disgusted sneer found it's way to her lips at the sudden memory. She abhorred thinking back on those thoughts, it brought a mixture of feelings that had still been alien to her. It had made her feel disgusted and horny; the thought of taking someone like a dog instead of being taken had riled her up and put her thoughts in overdrive. On the rare moments that Wesker had let her be in control, she had loved the feel of him writhing beneath her body, moaning as she let him come inside of her. But what she had been taught with woman was to always be in control, to be the man—to fuck and not stop even if there were cries or screams of pain.
She'd never really given into that demand fully, however.
Moving back, and averting her gaze away from the woman's naked body, Sherry opened her mouth to speak, "They never did tell me your name."
"Lucy Pindler." her voice was breathy as she said this, watching the younger blond look uncomfortable though trying very hard not to make this obvious. "Did they at least tell you why you were sent to kill me?" Her little pink tongue slid out of her bow-shaped lips as she reached to put her a silky strand of her brown hair behind her ear.
"You ran away after they killed your husband and your son. Shot them dead in the face right in front of you, correct?" Sherry said without missing a beat. "And you changed your name and your profession, disappearing for quite a while. You really didn't think that you'd get away in the end, did you?"
Lucy blinked twice, her face blank as if she began to recall this information. Sherry could only look on at the older woman, thirty-seven years old and incredibly beautiful, on all fours though no longer looking at the young blond woman sent to kill her.
Sherry approached Lucy, silently, watchful….
"Tell me, Pindler, tell me how you feel…what do you want to do?" Her eyes burned blue coal fires into the older woman, voice provocatively egging the singer on.
The predatory look quickly made it's way back to Lucy's face as the blond disturbed her train of thought. It seemed as if the older woman had had more than a few screws loose, but then again, Sherry knew she had been anything but normal herself. She grabbed roughly at the long tendrils of hair, the feeling like silk through her fingers, before pulling down harshly and earning a startled yelp from the older woman.
"Open wide, Lucy. You're going to have to earn your freedom." Sherry punched the older woman, sending Lucy flying off the bed and against the wall.
The singer went slowly down on the wall, crumbling in a heap as the pain sharpened. The older woman watched through half lidded eyes as Sherry confidently walked with a elegant stride towards her. The blond chuckled, stopping only inches from the singer's trembling body. Pity that Pindler hadn't been a fighter like herself, Sherry mused—else Lucy would have at least some equal standing to fight her. Another blow to her gut sent Pindler down again, and she grunted in severe pain before another punch landed on her jaw, sending her back on the ground. Sherry wanted to wipe the pathetic look off of the older woman's face—yet, something in her, something so profoundly grand needed to do be done to Lucy. Because humiliation was the best way to break a woman. Or anyone.
With the hushed sound of his zipper being pulled down, Wesker pulled out his cock, and Sherry's half closed eyes had shone with a disgusted glint. She lifted her hand up, as if to ward off Wesker's advancement, pushing herself back despite the severity of her aching pain. Only managing to pause Wesker once when suddenly her arms were being pushed aside and bounded quickly above her. Sherry moved her legs to push at the man's body, struggling violently until Wesker's strength overpowered her, sitting on his groin. "There there, little Sherry, I actually like it that you fight me. I wouldn't want a perfectly willing partner. What fun would that be?"
"Go to fucking hell!" Sherry raged, then spat on Wesker's face, receiving a hard blow to her face afterward for the insult.
He pushed Sherry's head down, didn't care if she gagged or if she could take his entire manhood down, but she did. Sherry was gagging, but she forced herself to take it all the way down her throat. Wesker moved his hips up, his fingerless gloves on top of that honey-blond head, gently urging now. "Ah fuck, yes… oh yes… that's it, that's how you do it." He grinned.
It was enough to make her want to bite down on Wesker's cock, but she dared not to for fear of getting raped. She didn't want to feel the ripping skin of her womanhood stretched painfully. It was worse than anything. What was worse was the feeling afterward; a slow building up of sexual intensity that she was hard pressed not to recognize it. It made her sick to her stomach. It made her feel vile and impure, but she continued to suck down on the thick appendage, gagging as she went down.
Leaning down, she hissed into Pindler's ear now, her strong fingers digging into the brown hair, now gripping each strand harshly, roughly pulling out from the scalp.
The singer yelled out in had her lips against the other woman's cheek; a deadly whisper along the hard lines along the older woman's jaw. "Yes, I understand completely why you disappeared. How no matter what you do, you'll never forget that day. How the old you is dead and you're nothing but a shell of what you used to be, but a job is still a job Lucy and I always do mine right."
Grabbing her by the face, Sherry lifted Pindler off the ground until she stood shakily on her feet, slightly stumbling forward. Hazel eyes met icy blues and the former Umbrella researcher's naked and beat body trembled visibly as the tears filled her eyes and fell past her cheeks. A moment of weakness entered her soul and she pleaded despite herself. "Please, I'll do anything. Just... don't kill me. All I wanted was to try and live, to forget and move on. Is that so bad? Is that really so bad?"
"Pity…" Sherry scowled at the pathetic person before her. She felt for the older woman, but she knew there would be nothing else that could be done. Orders were orders and she had long ago learned the consequences of not following them. The cold hard truth was, in the end, even if Sherry did let her go they would find her again and do much worse. Death was inevitable, regardless of the path that was taken.
"Please." Pindler croaked. "I beg of you... please."
Sherry pushed herself closely against the older woman until there had been no space between them. Burying her hands into Lucy's soft, soft hair, she trailed kisses from the brunette's neck, past her jaw and when she landed on her lips, Sherry opened her mouth against hers and the older woman followed suit, letting out a moan of ecstasy in the process as their tongues met and they kissed hungrily.
There above her was Wesker, with the slick blond hair, the strongly masculine fine facial features, and the white teeth gleaming as he grinned maliciously. "Spread those legs, Sherry or I'll rip them apart for you."
The slight parted lips from the blond brought a harsh breathing, her clothed body over the smaller soft brunette below her. Taking the older woman's legs apart and touching her wet and ready womanhood, Sherry rubbed the tip of her clit with concentrated ease a few times, causing the older woman to create small cries of delight. Pindler leaned in to bite Sherry's bottom lip, flicking out a hot tongue, running her hands eagerly through the blond's short strands, an action that Sherry very much appreciated.
Sherry slowly reached for the pistol she had between her thigh with her free hand, careful not to make the other woman aware of her actions. As badly as she had felt, she had decided to at least do it in a way where she would die without knowing—death without fear was a rare prize to come by nowadays. And as Sherry finally pulled the trigger, a silenced bullet going straight through Pindler's temple—the blond finally removing herself from the now-dead woman's lips and watching as her body slid against the wall, a trail of blood following suit—she was surprised to feel a slight saddening jolt in her chest. Only when she cleaned herself up, making sure there wasn't anything about her that was out of place, putting her pistol back in it's hidden place and leaving the room, did it finally stop.
And when she met with Wesker outside of the opera house, her blue eyes connected with his and she threw her head back as she laughed haughtily. Wesker's own smile almost went unnoticed, a glint of teeth on those perfect lips.
A black limousine stopped in front of them a minute later, a sinister smirk decorating the young woman's face as she entered, her mentor following behind. The benefits of following orders had always been incredibly good. She deserved it for she had acted like a good pet and did just as her master had requested. Taking his hands in hers, a first since the first time he had made her apart of his family, and looking across from her into blue eyes, she noticed that he was calm, "I'm glad." She suddenly spoke, breaking the silence.
He squeezed her hand lightly, but didn't say a word in response. The message had been sent and understood and that was all that mattered.
It would all be short-lived, however, when she would hear of the news that he was dead and she would be going back to being all alone.
AN: Oh my! This chapter had a mind of it's own I tell you! For one, unlike Wake of Darkness the chapters of this story are not planned... which makes it much more fun to write since I just go with the flow, as they say. While this story is going to be—it already is—I am having so much fun and cannot wait to implement the other character's into the mix, especially Leon considering that he sold his soul to the US government to ensure her safety.
He's going to be in for a very unpleasant surprise, no? Oh! And Divine Arion I just wanted to express my thanks for letting me know about the new Darkside Chronicles trailer. Sherry looks so beautiful, like a porcelain doll, with the new graphics. Made the image of the older her in my mind that much more vivid.
flight of the conchords