Was trying to figure out what couple would be best for this particular scenario and challenge and finally came up with an interesting answer. Heheh, this should be interesting. I don't know how in-character Chris will be, but hey, this is my fanfiction. XD
Title: Just Married
Summary: With no memories of the previous night, Prudence Barnett wakes up next to the one man she hates most, Chris Redfield. And they're both naked. And there's a ring on her finger? And what the hell is he smirking about? ChrisxOC Response to Aqua4044's challenge.
Ugh, my head was pounding like an epileptic drum, swirling swaths of light vaporizing from the dark. Softness around me, though I couldn't tell which way was up and which was down. I had no idea what time it was, but my boss could suck the nuts I didn't have. Fuck them, I'm not alive so early with hangover this bad.
I knew hitting the bars would be a mistake. Vegas itself was already a mistake. That was how they stayed in business, on other people's mistakes.
Grunting, I burrowed deeper into the warm bedsheets tangled about my legs, trying to ward off the migraine-inducing light, when I hit something solid and warm and most definitely not satin. Frowning, I reached out and felt my way along some expanse of skin that felt oddly familiar, something like abs, and that was when my hand brushed along something I'd rather not say.
"Hmmm," a rough voice hummed from somewhere above me, "You like exploring in the mornings?"
An all-too-familiar voice. I shrieked and bolted upright, knocking heads with whoever the hell was there with me; my mistake. Didn't I say Vegas was made on mistakes? Yeah, add that one to the list.
When the stars blinked out of my vision, I was left wincing at the sight of my fellow BSAA agent, Chris Redfield, idly rubbing his jaw but otherwise fine. He lounged easily against the pillows around him, haloing him with their deluxe, extra plump, satin-softness. The muscles of his arms and chest bulged as he flexed them experimentally. My eyes stayed glued to those muscles, my throat dry as I followed his exposed skin to where it met the sheets, and where those sheets tented as another certain muscle stood at attention.
"Holy fuck, Redfield! Why are you naked!" I hissed and backed away from him to the other side of the bed.
He stretched languidly, each muscle rippling beneath the skin like a cool stream of water, or molten lava. "Well, 'Good morning' to you, too. I'd have thought you'd be a little more welcoming after last night." He quirked an eyebrow at me and lowered his gaze.
That was when I realized that he wasn't the only one naked.
Grabbing as much sheet as I could to cover myself without exposing him—I did NOT want to see that; I'd already touched it by mistake and that was bad enough—and scooted further away from him, teetering dangerously close to the edge of the bed. "What the fuck happened last night?"
Chris shrugged, nonchalantly, turning on his side, propped on one elbow as as stared at me from across the bed. "Great, figures you wouldn't remember the best night of your life."
"Well," I snapped, irritably, "I guess it wasn't the best, seeing as it wasn't worth remembering!"
"Ouch," he feigned hurt as he put a hand to one gloriously defined pec, yet those blue eyes glittered with mischievious humor. That just pissed me off; my mouth hardened into a fine line.
"What's so funny?"
"You," he mused, simply. That odd smirk he wore just further served to infuriate me, combined with the fact that I had no idea what happened last night and what led to the both of us waking up next to each other, and naked, no less.
"Well, since you seem to have all the answers, care to fill me in on what went down last night?"
"Isn't it obvious?" His smirk stayed in place and he quirked an eyebrow at me. "You hold a gun better than you hold your liquor."
No wonder I felt sick, my insides heaving and rolling like a boiling pot. There was a strange ache running through my tired limbs, and with all the evidence present here, it should have been damn obvious what happened when last I was conscious. Still, I had to deny it all; this was just a big fucking coincidence, a nightmare I'd wake up from. I wasn't really in a hotel in Vegas, alone with a hangover and Chris Redfield, naked, in my bed. There was just no fucking way.
"You're joking," I grimaced, shaking my head in denial. "We didn't—"
Calmly, he reached across the space between us, and though I tried to scuttle backwards, he caught my left hand, my ass hanging off the bed. His strong fingers around my wrist served as the only link in the chain keeping me from tumbling head-over-ass on the floor.
Something caught the light from the floor-to-ceiling windows, twinkling delicately on the ceiling above me, and for a moment, I was transfixed by it. It was just so weird, almost like alien lights, until a sudden sense of dread flooded my bones and caused my head to jerk down.
There, resting delicately between my pinkie and favorite finger (the middle one), was a small, square-cut gem nestled in some fine goldwork entwined around my ring finger.
Shrieking in shock, I wrenched my arm free of his grasp and fell back off the bed, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor and knocking my head on the corner leg of the nightstand. A good minute of cussing and rubbing the offending new bump followed, all the while I felt those god-damned blue eyes on me. I scuttled back, dragging the sheet with me, until my back hit the wall and I stood, edging away while keeping him and the door in my line of sight.
"No, there is no way," I denied, glaring at him. The sheet slid off his body and I was rewarded with a full view of him; he made no effort to hide his arousal, in fact, he seemed proud to put it on display for me. I put my hand to my eyes to block out the image forever burned into my mind. He was well-endowed, I had to say, but that wasn't the point, now was it?
"Afraid so, Prue," he purred, crossing his legs leisurely, then uncrossing them as it caused him discomfort.
"Wipe that smirk off your face!" I snapped, hysterically, "I can't believe you—that I—that we—"
"Married?" Chris supplied, raising an eyebrow.
I wrenched the cursed thing off my finger and threw it at him as though it burned me. "We are not married, you prick! I'm going straight down and getting this straightened out, if I have to go to every fucking chapel in this fucking town!"
"You're going to go out naked?"
"Fuck you," I hissed, vehemently, still edging around him and keeping the sheet wrapped around me. Glancing around, I wondered where I might have stashed my guns and toyed with the idea of putting a bullet through his smug head. Oh, but BSAA wouldn't like that, no. They wouldn't want their golden child, their hero, dead; what sort of headlines would those be anyway? "Vindictive Vegas Bride Murders Husband in Cold Blood in their Vegas Hotel Room"
I'd still be labelled as his wife. I had to fix this.
"Prue, why don't you like me when you're sober?" he wondered, aloud, "You couldn't keep your hands off me when you were drunk."
"Because I'm smarter when I'm sober," I growled, making for the door, but as soon as my hand touched the knob and opened it a crack, his body pressed against me from behind, slamming the door shut and trapping me beneath him. I cringed away from him, but there was nowhere to go; there was so much of him and so little of me, and nothing between us. And what was worse, I felt a heat spreading through me. My body was betraying me.
"Don't leave," he chuckled, "Come back to bed."
"You're still drunk," I squirmed, "Get away from me, Redfield." I could feel the hard length of him pressed against my butt and I gasped when he made it twitch, which only caused him to chuckle.
"Don't tell me you're afraid of me, Prue. You don't have to be afraid; I'll be gentle."
Gathering myself up, I quickly jabbed an elbow into his ribs; he released his hold with a groan and I ducked out of his grasp, putting as much distance between us as I could. "You're pissing me off." But I didn't sound pissed off. I sounded freaked out, and turned on. I hated that; I hated him, I always had, from the moment I'd met him back at BSAA HQ. He was an intruder in my life; he could play whatever games he wanted, pretend to be my friend, whatever. I wanted none of that, and—
"Oh, god, we slept together didn't we...?" I moaned, slumping to the floor as nausea and pain flooded through me, washing out the tiny spark of arousal I'd just felt with ease.
He just stood there, staring at me from across the room, his head tilted to one side as he examined me. "You don't look so good."
"Just go away, Redfield," I moaned, clutching my stomach. Anything and everything left inside wanted to worm its way out, and if it didn't go one way, it would come out the other. I didn't know which end would be worse; at that point, I didn't really care. Either way, I was as good as dead with all the pain and horror in me.
I felt large hands curl around my shoulders and cup my ass, lifting me gently off the ground; brought up against his large chest, cradled there, he made for the bathroom, albeit wobbly and still drunk. I just groaned and curled tighter in on myself. "Chris."
"Wha—?" I asked, fuzzy and disoriented.
He sat me down on the toilet seat with surprising tenderness for such a giant of a man and looked in my eyes. "My name is Chris. Not Redfield. Well, Redfield's my last name, but—oh, you know what I mean."
I snorted in laughter and regretted it immediately after. Diving off the toilet, I spun and lifted the seat, sticking my head in and wretching until the vomit came up. He gathered the mass of my blonde hair in his hands and kept it from getting in the toilet. I could feel him pressed against my backside, still aroused, yet he didn't try to press me, sensing I needed something that wasn't sex. That surprised me, that he could be so kind when all I ever thought of him was a cocky jackass.
He just stroked back my hair with tenderness and rubbed my bare back as I wretched until I was done. I sat there, shaking from the effort of throwing up, while he pressed kisses into my back. I closed my eyes, frustrated tear rolling down my face.
"Just stop," I whispered, my voice raw and hoarse. I leaned my forehead on the lip of the toilet and pressed my thumb into my eyes as if that would alleviate the vigorous pounding migraine.
"Stop what?"
"This." I flopped my hand to gesture to him. "Everything. Stop kissing me. Stop touching me. Just stay away from me. Stop acting like you love me."
"I do love you," he pouted.
"You're drunk."
"What difference does that make?" he asked, indignantly, and picked me up to put me in the shower.
I scoffed. "You impossible man..." While we showered, I did my best to keep my back to him and wash myself, but he was persistant in helping me, which frequently resulted in him attempting to pinch or nibble on certain parts of my anatoym, and me threatening to rip his balls off if he didn't stop. Still, that didn't stop him from trying.
It was almost cute, the way he tried to drunkenly pamper me. I kept reminding myself of that; he was drunk, but he wasn't coming to his senses anytime soon. I half expected him to blink and realize what he was doing, but he didn't. He just kept on, carrying me out of the shower, towelling me off, carting me off to the bed again, setting me down carefully, as though I were made of glass.
He closed the curtains and crawled in beside me, attempting to get close, but I warded him off with a hand. "We are not married."
"We're not there yet, but until then," he said, grasping my hand and slipping the ring back on, "You are my wife. So says the state of California."
"We're in Nevada."
"Whatever."
I grumbled to myself as he pulled my up against his chest. I had to admit, though, those abs of his made nice pillows. "And what are you going to do until then about my hating you?"
Chris looked down at me and gave me a lop-sided grin, such a boyish look. I couldn't help the odd flutter in my stomach as he said, "Well, then, I'll just have to keep loving you until you fall in love with me." That roguish look came back as he stroked my body and brought it to life. "I'd better start now so I don't lose progess."
"Progress?" I scoffed. "What makes you think you've made me even start to fall in love with you, Redfield?"
He grinned. "You're still in my bed, aren't you?"
Please review and tell me what you think. 3 This was fun to write. I like the idea of drunk Chris being... well, drunk and horny. XDD And yeah, that's my character, Prue, who might be featured in a Resi fanfic of her own. Not much on her no, but this is just developing. I've got some ideas of my own. Heheheheh...