Warning: M/M
Title: Smells like Happiness
Short pieces of Chris/Wesker
In between the large monitor and the sound system there lay a small camera. It eyed the two bodies that lay almost listlessly on the wrecked bed; sheets crumpled and torn revealed the newness of the mattress below as the men slowly embraced: a reluctant younger man with short brown locks and the other, a more sharply honed blond man with surprisingly soft features owning a hard set of icy blue eyes which turned red and orange when angered.
His partner had asked him harshly before their quest on the torn bed: 'Where'd you hide those snake eyes, Wesker? It suited you.'
In return, he had gotten only another smack on the cheek; a painful reminder that the older man was and will always be stronger. Only because, Chris told himself, that Wesker was willing to give himself the benefit of mutated drugs to lace his degenerated veins. He'd never lower himself that option.
Wesker only smiled, cat-like of course and answered: 'You'll get a load of this inside you soon enough.'
And he had shown him how, by the rough tumble between the sheets, over the sheets, under and between and broke the bed several times when it had been broken the first time.
Neither got any sleep.
In the morning, the sun broke through the moist glass, penetrating the inside of the bedroom and the sound of a coffee maker clicked on as the timer beeped. Soon, the smell of coffee wafted in and mingled with the smell of semen, blood, sex and sweat.
Chris whimpered silently as a leaner and less masculine hand shadowed his naked body. The young man lay there, enduring the torturous past events that had unfolded; he had been severely torn up, taken like a dog in a dog fight that was orchestrated. The sheets were thin around their bodies, translucent white and stains of semen had penetrated through the miniscule patterns. The bed dipped in the middle, bringing the two together too close, breath against breath; a squeaky sound betrayed their every movement as a bounce jostled them and a spring sprung.
Wesker drew the younger man's body up against him; the soft murmurs of consolation didn't surprise Chris anymore, any longer than necessary, as his own hardened flesh became alive under the constant manipulation of touch and seduction. It was the cruelest and darkest of abductions and pretended rape that pinched the mind of its conscious moral existence. To the former S.T.A.R.S. member, it was a form of an unconsensual act that could never be forgiven.
The sun had melted away the ice that had formed during the night; frosty smoke curled up from the men's mouths as they kissed in the low temperature room which gave way to a fogged window. An aggressive hand had squeezed a buttock, pushing groin against groin in a soft action.
Redfield's muscular lanky form pleased the former Researcher of Arklay, bringing him pleasure as their bodies almost caused a friction. The electricity crackled above them, invisible particles of dust and raw energy hung menacingly.
'Coffee?' Wesker asked as he lay back, comforted by the fact that his partner in bed was in the throes of confusion. He lay his blond hair back and placed his hands over his head; folded arms and without sunglasses, he waited for the other man's answer.
'Yeah. I could use one.' Chris replied a minute later, bringing his body to lay back; feeling the wet sheet beneath, he felt disgusted yet the tingle of his loins burned and a vein ticked.
His jaw ticked as well as the events unfolded and the realization that Wesker had again fucked the shit out of him and he enjoying it wasn't all too pleasant.
Reaching over, Wesker picked up a pack of cigarettes, placing a single piece of cancer stick between his lips. He didn't even look over to Redfield but offered anyway. 'Smoke?'
Chris didn't think the man smoked, but didn't bother to ask; it would prove that he was interested in Wesker's personal life and health. At this point, why bother?
A signal of disapproval marked the younger man's face and Wesker only brought his hand over his blond strands, pulling the sweat away from his face. He had gotten up naked to saunter over to the kitchen with bare feet on the cool granite floor.
Chris just watched the departing figure of the man; the tight buttocks made him uncomfortable, knowing deeply how he had liked to touch it and look at it.
When Wesker finally returned, he brought a tray of two mugs of coffee with streams of smoke furling delicious smells and a plate of two croissants.
'Here, I thought you could use the strength.' Wesker chuckled; the wide grin on his face made Chris want to wipe it off none too sweetly.
Hunger came unto Redfield like a bang as he shoved the croissant down and waited for the coffee to cool down a bit before gulping it.
'No finesse, Chris, none, and you wonder why I had to be rough on you. You'll never change.'
'Don't count on it either, Wesker, I don't especially like you.'
Even in that room, with the sun pouring in and revealing the stains of the sheets, the cold disappated away and showed the masculine muscularity of two men sitting on the bed.
The smell of happiness poured in, even if it was just a pretense. One thing crossed Chris's mind as he allowed himself a glance at the blond companion:
It was a shame that he couldn't even have a decent relationship with a fucking psychotic asshole.