A/n's: A one-shot scene from a bigger RE (movie-verse) inspired piece I've been working on…but haven't decided whether or not to post.
The whole shebang is inspired by the cards of the Tarot, this particular snippet derived from The Devil card, obviously.
"As a person, the Devil can stand for a man of money or erotic power, aggressive, controlling, or just persuasive. This is not to say a bad man, but certainly a powerful man who is hard to resist…the important thing to remember is that any chain in freely worn. In most cases, you are enslaved only because you allow it." - Tarot Story, The Devil
Consider it a hoorah (hopefully, if I've done my job right) for the Wesker fangirls.
Have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. ;)
Disclaimers: I don't own Resident Evil (movies, games, books, or otherwise) and obviously I don't own Albert Wesker (unfortunately). I'm just having a little fun with them, I promise to give them back when I'm done (though I'd happily wrestle you for Wesker). The summary is borrowed from The Devil card tarot. It was too fitting to pass up.
The Devil
"I am the god of your strongest desires. Inhibitions can enslave as easily as excesses. They can keep you from following your passion to the highest heights."
-Tarot Story, The Devil
"Are you afraid?" he asked her, standing in her doorway, the black of the hall to his back, the flickering candlelight throwing moving shadows over his face. His wide shoulders all but spanned the width of the door. There would be no getting around him. No escape.
But did she even want to?
Some instinctual, self-preservative part of her said yes, urged that running would be a very good idea, warned that staying would result in the loss of something she couldn't afford…but the rest of her, some dark part of herself she hadn't even known existed, quivered in excitement.
Heat rushed, swelling in her blood, pooling low in her belly as a trembling took up in her thighs.
"Should I be?" Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears. She'd never heard that breathless, throaty, quality in it before. "Are you going to hurt me?"
He was already moving into the room, moving closer, crowding, and taking over, when he spoke. "Yes."
His voice was in her ear, his breath hot on her skin. How he'd gotten that close, that fast, she couldn't say…and whether her gasp was from the shock of his sudden nearness or his answer, she also couldn't say.
"I'm going to take you, from you, over and over." One of his hands was in her hair; she could feel the soft, brush of leather against the back of her neck, her scalp. He pulled, forcing her head back, eyes up to the ceiling so she could barely see him – he was nothing more than a dark blur in the corner of her eye.
His mouth was on her throat, his teeth scraping at her pulse.
Her heart slammed against her ribcage so hard she was certain she would die from that alone. Her eyelids fluttered and her vision darkened, giving way to senses more demanding – touch: his lips and teeth dragging over her flesh, his hand wrapped in her hair; sound: his voice, deep and dark, stealing sense from her; scent: him, feral and wild, washing over her, into her, with every breath.
She whispered, speaking unconsciously, the words choked from her without thought. "Oh, God…."
And he chuckled, lips against her ear again as he shifted, body pressing into hers. "He can't help you. No one can."
Cornered…trapped…lost.
His.