Two shot or three shot maybe, but it seemed kind of fitting for my currant mood.
How was it Chris always wound up here? Standing in this beat up little hallway with nothing to do but recognize his shame at winding up here, night after blissful night? Inhaling the nicotine of a marlboro red, exhaling through his nostrils as narrowed eyes barely lifted to look before him, he felt like a part of his surroundings, and this place was beat to hell. If he had any remorse for what he was about to do, he might ask himself why someone who makes a perfectly respectable living working for the B.S.A.A. would wind up in a hell hole like this, but Chris deserved the hell hole. Outside it was an old style brick building, made up for a few dozen apartments, that on the outside and according to their neighborhood, was fitting of a crack dealer, or whatever else shameful acts you could envision for people who hid away in places like this. But then, just like what he was doing here, the outside wasn't always the best to look at, but you could instantly forget when the door opened and all the guilt of being here wore off and he found himself admitted into adultery. If only his former partner, Sheva, could see the 'superhero' she had thought of him as now. That door swung open and the world would disappear because he could see those non-judgemental, piercing eyes, and all the rest was forgotten. Lifting his scruffy jaw, he exhaled a small cloud of smoke before burly digits flicked the cancer stick over his shoulder, small cinders bursting against the stained wall like a tiny firework before it hit the ground, barely burning. A few uncomfortable seconds was worth getting a night where there was no expectations. That was worth something. Being able to look himself in the mirror was harder the next day, knowing that Jill had been at home thinking he was at the office somewhere and not downtown at some run down apartment that was like a hazy dream whenever he found admittance. She would forgive him a thousand times, and he would feel like shit, but as soon as that door opened.
"Captain."
Startling hazel eyes pierced Chris to his spot, and for an instant he was concerned by the younger man standing in the doorway, handle clutched in one hand while the other cupped his hip, an empathetic gaze in place. Like maybe he'd be turned away this time. Perhaps one of them would come to his senses and not give in to their baser instincts. Like maybe, with that look, Piers would turn him away. But the steeliness wore off once the sniper took in Chris' nerves and the all around displeasure at being forced to stand for him to inspect. With just a single sultry move, he stood to the side, head leaned on the frame waiting to see what the captain's choice would be. He never asked him to come. That was the order of things. Chris had a life, a wife... Yet the first time they had kissed, Chris found himself drowning in a sea of what that he used to recall when he kissed Jill. A kiss without any presumptions. An explosion had set the wheels in motion. Hurtling their bodies with heat and destruction, flying debris everywhere; and the force had thrown Piers clean over the edge of a building, dangling on the precipice, and he'd almost lost his partner. Just dangling over the edge by a single hand that grasped each other around each wrist, sweat making it slick with both gritting their teeth. He could still feel the ache of his muscles and burn from hauling the other soldier up over the edge, freed from the possible death of becoming a pancake twelve stories below. They'd been close to death on a hundred occasions, but this one had truly startled them both, knocked their worlds out of kilter and as he yanked the leaner form clean into his huge arms for stability and in that same instance their mouths had met. Gratefulness, want, death, life, whatever reason it had been, or a combination of all the shit around them, it didn't matter. It was electric. It was voiceless. Neither of them said anything before it or after it, just devoured each other in the haze. Adrenaline. Chris had started the affair really. Piers was just glad to be alive, it was shock. Chris was the one that asked if he could come by after they'd returned home from the mission a week later; completely unjustified or acceptable. He'd claimed he wanted to check up on the kid, make sure everything was fine. Captains shouldn't take advantage of life threatening situations, but Piers?
Oh, goddamn you, Piers. There was a true soldier. He was everything Chris remembered being and wanted to know again. And with all of that, the psychological stuff aside, he was everything, and everything was him. Chris couldn't share his life with his family; with Jill. She was out of the game and therefore out of the loop. And this whole, her wanting to be pregnant..., in a world like this? It was too much. Piers was everything she wasn't. So completely free. And there was nothing, that was more pure than when the creaking of that door hit his ears, opened like that, and the sniper took his sweet step to the side and gave him that voicelessness, that silent admission. Piers would say nothing. He would close the door behind them like he was now, grab his cup with both hands off the counter-top of his kitchenette, his fingers curled round its warmth and sit upon the spot. Apple cider. The only human being on the planet that Chris knew to drink apple cider instead of coffee. And one of two things would happen. Chris would lean back on the further set of cabinetry and start venting, like his partner was some kind of shrink he could share the world with. Or he'd watch maybe only one or two drinks, as liquid hit the back of Piers' throat, the slight cant of the head as he enjoyed the heat that warmed his body, admire how at peace the kid was in those seconds, and then act. But the taste it left when Chris claimed those sweet pillowed lips. The cinnamon on his mouth was addictive, but the heat. How coyly delicious the flavors played on his tongue when his partner took control was the sweetest. Jesus his mouth. Chris could get lost in every shameful, sinful act they committed with that mouth. Those fuckable, warm, depraved lips; so goddamned kissable.
At the moment, it was the standstill. Piers had swayed passed him, grabbing a Rolling Rock from the fridge like every night, and popped the cap with a utensil from the drawer. Chris' favorite kind, that he'd never asked for, but had as a ready supply just for him. He would rest it right beside the electric stove; just on the counter with a thunk, before sliding up on the one opposite, beside his kitchen sink. Then the sniper would raise his cup to just in front of his mouth and sighing into his cup, breathing in the sweet perfume. It wasn't like Piers didn't have his own problems in life. But if he regretted his choice to get involved in this affair, he had voiced no complaints. He was always quiet, bottled up, even when Chris had started using him as a sounding board for all his problems. Work related or not, though mostly about others who couldn't or wouldn't do their jobs. He'd be off on some tangent or another, more often lately, involving Jill and her recent declaration that they should have a kid. Hell, he wasn't even sure they should be married, let alone bringing a child into the world. He wasn't the reliable type. And a man who would have an affair didn't desire a wife such as Jill Valentine. He was the kind of guy to have an affair with his partner of one year, on a woman he'd known all his life, because he felt trapped. It was good beer, though. Cold. Gripping the bottle neck, he took a nice long swig from the chilled beverage, but hardened eyes never left Piers. He was still looking, trying to find some hint in his face that gave away the way he really felt about all of this. About being the other man. It didn't seem to ever register for the sniper, that there was life outside the B.S.A.A., and in honesty, Chris preferred it that way. Preferred that Piers didn't question their relationship. Maybe Jill was right, maybe a therapist would call him damaged goods for wanting to be in the fray, rather than sitting in a cushy office, fighting the good fight another way, but it called to him, the steel, the smoke. They were soldiers in the war and there was no such thing as families and breaks. Piers chronic melancholy was endearing though, and all the more reason to forgo the beer, cross the room and shove the glass from his hands. To at least do the right thing for one of them. And it was exactly what they both needed, exactly what Chris did.
Placing his bottle on the tile, Chris stepped the one short stride across the kitchen, one hand taking the mug from dexterous fingers, to rest it in the steel sink, without retaliation. Calloused hands easily found a grip on those taut muscled thighs that he had become so use to, and with a firm shove at the knees, push his legs apart and stepped between them. Apprehension never crossed their faces, just heated, stumbling want as Chris lost himself. Gripping handfuls of those legs, he yanked one around his waistline, the other just palmed for something to hold on to as diligent sniper's hands wound up and under his shirt as soon as their mouths met. Soft, delicious lips. Fucking heaven. And so easy to dominate, while on the other hand, knew exactly when to push and take what they wanted. Piers always let Chris have the control of what they would or wouldn't do, but when it came to kissing, when it came to those lips, the sweet taste that invaded his senses while a moist slick tongue forced into his mouth, that was a testament that he wasn't alone. If he wanted just anyone to fuck around with, he wouldn't have. Chris hadn't done this because he wanted just some orifice to push his cock into. It was more about wanting someone to replace his feelings of insecurity with Jill. It was that this man wasn't just another warm body. Large calloused hands took a firm grip on his ace partner's backside and harshly caressed it. Moments like this was what Chris needed, to be physical without the demanding wife at home, who wants to have kids in this fucked up world. How in the hell could either of them raise kids properly when bioterrorism existed? What was he supposed to do, quit the B.S.A.A. and get some 9-5 in a cubicle? Chris was a soldier. It was all he knew and all he was ever going to know. Piers knew that, he was his partner in the field. Watching his six and being there for him no matter what, being for him now. Knowing what to say and when to say nothing at all. The Captain started this affair because he felt trapped with his marriage to Jill. And damn it all if the mind-numbing feeling of those plush soft lips while their mouths danced together, and hands quickly undid his jacket with ease and dropped it, wasn't keeping his thoughts at bay. Not tonight. It was getting harder, and harder to ignore those bad feelings, even in Piers' embrace.
Chris loved her, genuinely. Devoting his very life to her, endlessly looking for her for over three years when everyone else declared Jill dead, it had taken him down a dark, lonely road. Saving her from the clutches of Albert Wesker and in his triumph of reuniting with not only his best friend, but the only woman he had ever found himself loving, aside from his brotherly protectiveness over Claire, and so when she returned, healing from the injuries sustained to her chest and psyche, he proposed to her. Got on a knee and everything. She accepted, even a woman as strong as her, she had teary eyes. Why wouldn't Jill accept the man who went to the ends of the Earth for her? The marriage was a nice ceremony. The friends and family that were still alive were there. The honeymoon in Paris was so romantic. So perfect. Chris thought his marriage to Jill would bring his true happiness, but like all good things, they can come to an end. Jill wanted more out of her husband. To take fewer missions and stay behind a desk. Chris was offered the position of General and he turned it down over a year ago. Jill was so livid at her husband, as though it would make a difference to her, since it would still be all of his time spent in the bio-terror field. She wanted him out, like her. 'Why do you still have to be active in the field, Chis? Haven't we both been through enough? When do we get to live our own lives? When can we pass the torch to the next generation of people who can fight for the world we live in? We're MARRIED, Chris! It's time to think of our future. Think about that, OUR future! I want to have kids, raise them, know what it feels like to have a real family. I can't do that if you want to go risking your life fighting the next Frankenstein monster.' Always the same things with Jill. The same shit over and over, it got old pretty fast, particularly when you do everything you can to please the woman of your dreams, and suddenly nothing seems good enough to her. Marriage was not all it's cracked up to be and the moment Jill mentioned kids, Chris felt he was truly trapped. He vented to his A.T.L. Vented and bitched as if Piers was some kind of shrink, like he'd know what to do. The sniper did listen to his Captain. He listened like the good friend he was, offered him to come in, to talk about whatever he needed, or to not talk, but never gave advice since it wasn't really something he understood himself. That was the first night. Coming over with every intention of just talking, but suddenly, the venting stopped and Chris grabbed the lithe man and kissed him hard. He wanted to relive that same adrenaline, passion that he'd felt when he'd pulled the sniper into his arms that day from just over death. That was how he felt it, the sudden urge to drown out everything and bury himself into his partner. One thing led into the next and this affair started.
"I've got to divorce Jill. Forget this American Dream bullshit; I haven't fought this long to be trapped in a corner.. problem is, she's fought just as long. She wants kids, Piers. What right do I have trying to father a kid when the world is this fucked up?" Kissing the other man again, Chris picked him up off the cheap stained counters and held him their, hips flush, mumbling breathlessly between kisses, jerked from each sentence by a forceful hand gripping his stubbled jaw and a sweet talented tongue teasing over teeth and mouth; whilst lithe legs wrapped around his waist, rolling his hips. Fuck Piers didn't that well, moved him body in all the right ways to make the world disappear. And the captain could carry him, just as well, both hands full of of his full round backside and drag him toward the bedroom. He was just venting. They both knew it. Almost three months now of this behavior and Chris had been talking about getting separated from his wife for every one of them. Maybe it just made him feel better to say it out loud, or to say it at all because his tongue was getting eaten up in his partner's mouth. So it only seemed right to say, to make some effort at making Piers more comfortable or secure. It wasn't as though he could expect Piers to continue to be fine with him coming here at all hours of the night. There were times he would just drive over after work and they'd throw down so he wouldn't feel the pressure of going home right away. Other times, like this? He went home to Jill, listened to her justified complaints, and then came here at midnight or later, after his wife begged him not to go in to work so late. Hope he could stay home just for the night. Those were the kinds of nights he felt worst, because those nights he was leaving his wife, for waking up his partner. He could see it on his face, even though Piers never said anything. It would take him longer to open the door on nights like this,to make him stand in the hall and understand his lack of virtues. Or however long it took or Piers to loose the haggard appearance of having fallen asleep on his couch.
He did that. Chris was under the impression that Piers never slept for a very long time. It seemed every night that he came here the bedroom was flawless. Never touched or slept in unless Chris was there, then the bed was used. But Piers to his knowledge never changed gears. Until not so long ago he hadn't cared to know either, but after a night they had spent together, with his wife conveniently out of town. He experienced his first night sleeping in the sniper's house, rather than coming and going like always, and in truth it was revealing in its own. It said more about Piers than Piers ever said about himself. He either had insomnia, or nightmares. But the kid didn't sleep, and when he did, it was when he was passed out on the couch in full gear, sometimes in just his fatigues. Other times his rifle was taken apart on the coffee table from hours of cleaning it, disassembling, over and over until his fingers practically bled. Piers was as messed up as Chris was, if not more. But Piers seemingly had no expectations of this affair other than physical gratification, and he did it anyway. Because they needed something, contact maybe. Someone who knew everything, and asked no questions. "You can't leave your wife, captain..., you love her." He said it, even as his shirt was bunching up between their bodies, and Chris' hands were invading all the soldier's personal space. Chris could be as rough as he wanted with his sniper and the other man loved it, or hated it. He never said. That was the strangeness. What made this so awkward. He had no idea how Piers felt about any of this. Just that the kid needed something, anything. Maybe that was the reason he kept coming back? He felt guilty? Guilty for leaving Jill for long nights to come here, and for leaving Piers to go home. It was his partner, and he had no idea how to get inside his head and understand what all this meant to the sniper, why he acted in such a manner. It was all getting too heavy. Piers was right. He loved Jill, so much, too much or her own good that he wanted to keep her locked away and same like some precious China doll and never let harm come to her again. She'd seen enough of hurt and pain. He wanted to protect her. Protect her passed the point of just a loving husband. He could be that, but he couldn't be that and a soldier. He needed to pick one, and change..., it was goddamn terrifying.
"What if I told you it was you or her, Piers? After everything we've been through, covering each other's six. Would you be so goddamned understanding, then?" He wanted some reaction. To understand him better, how he felt about all this. For him to get pissed and outraged. To beg for him not to leave. Something. To rage about what a horrible husband he was being, or maybe, just ignore him and keep kissing. There had to be something, he had to feel something for him with everything going on. Something to make the decision of leaving him easier. But he didn't get ignored. Quite the contrary, those sinful lips that had attached themselves to his neck and started sucking, kissing, and groping of hands on a muscled body halted immediately, and Piers was out of his arms with such a languidly simple move. He hadn't expected it, the placid look on Piers' face as though they were discussing anything in particular. His conviction. That beautiful, goddamn conviction that was such a testament to his personality. Chris only wished he could be that steadfast with his emotions, or his judgment. He use to be. What was it that made Piers so certain of himself, and Chris so lost?
"I'd tell you to go home captain. Make love to your wife, give her a son. Have the family you deserve, and the life that you've always fought for."
Hazel eyes never wavered or blinked, his tone so convincing. Jesus, he meant it. He would just let him walk away like nothing had happened between them. Without asking him to stay, without compromising his stability or threatening to tell his wife? Without any expectations. They stood there a long while, in Piers' livingroom, on the shabby carpet, halfway between Chris throwing a punch and Piers kicking him out. Just standing there. How could he say that? How could he just pull away from this with such ease and tell him that what he knew the captain aught to do. Why was this son of a bitch always so fucking sure of himself? Of Chris. He demanded him to be this better person. As though he knew somewhere in Chris' heart, he was always the hero he wanted. God and the kid was right. So right. He should be at home, holding Jill, comforting her and telling her everything would be fine and that nothing would ever come between them again. And Piers was okay with that? Wanted that? Wanted him to walk away from their partnership and everything they had? Why didn't he seem more pissed? And after all of that, it was everything Chris wanted to hear. He wanted to hear the guy who stood by him, tell him what kind of a man he was. A good man. He needed to hear it. To hear all those things, that he could be that person that Jill wanted. Piers believed it, and seeing that conviction in those hazel eyes, the way his chest rose and fell in such easy measured breaths he knew right then it was true. "I... should go." There was a rise and fall of lean shoulders, and a nod, the sniper moving passed him as quietly as always and grabbing the door frame, throwing back the oak. "Piers, I'm... sorry." Nothing. No registered response, no nothing. Just an understanding cast of the eyes at him and out the door as the captain grabbed his coat uncomfortably, marlboros in pocket. Ushered out by his own stupidity, out the door and into the grungy disgusting hall that was an external tapestry of how his insides felt. And at that it was over... ended. As though it had never happened. Like it didn't matter. Chris would go home to his wife..., and the world would keep on spinning.
Piers or Jill, Piers or Jill...