Author's Note: Reposting all of my RE works under this pseud~
Warning: Story has elements of non-consent / dubious consent
*** Prologue is inspired by Anne Rice's Sleeping Beauty Quartet ***
"Softly rip me up
Gently embrace me
Kindly save me"
A little over two years.
The file before him recorded the start of her stay in cryostasis — August 30, 2006.
He scribbled the end date of her 'treatment' at the top of the page — September 7, 2008.
He had almost forgotten about her existence. The only thing that set her apart from the other experiments was the fact that he knew her before.
She was just a test subject with a corresponding number...
And a name.
Jill Valentine.
Uroboros consumed most of his time.
It was perfect with how lethal it had become.
Uroboros wasted most of his time.
It continued to fail its purpose — the selection of the worthy.
It remained a puzzle in need of its lost piece.
A code needed to be cracked. A mystery needed to be solved.
Jill's blood could temper its lethality.
He had almost forgotten how she looked like.
The researchers took her out of the stasis chamber. On a steel bed, they laid her out for his inspection and secured metal restraints on her limbs.
She could easily be mistaken for a corpse.
Skin starch white. Hair lackluster and dry.
Her breaths were too soft and shallow.
The sound of chatter around him increased. Every lab rat in the room seemed to have something to say about her.
"Leave."
Assistance was no longer required.
Stillness surrounded her.
Her vitals were stable. But she wouldn't wake.
He freed her from the cuffs after a while of observation. His fingers brushed a few stray strands of blonde hair so pale, it appeared almost white under the bright lights.
The chill of her skin seeped into his gloves.
He snatched his hand away after a long minute or two.
Disturbed by the sense of calm emanating from her.
Nothing could disrupt her silence.
Not the howling of the Lickers. Nor the raging of the Majinis.
Various mutagens were tested on her. But she persevered, sweating the infections like they were nothing but a seasonal flu, and sleeping on in peace.
Half of him hoped she would turn like Lisa Trevor. Half of him hoped not.
The scientists had developed a fascination for her, submitting requests to acquire her as their subject, and brimming with confidence that with her — a breakthrough was within reach.
He ordered them to take her out of the laboratory and bring her to his private quarters.
It seemed he had found a suitable partner.
Eight days.
It had been eight days since he tried to stir her from slumber.
She lay on his unused sheets, barely clothed and attached to the right apparatus to provide her sustenance.
Every night he spent some time studying her.
But this night, a mistake was made.
He touched her.
The coolness of her body roused him.
It had been such a long time.
And it was so instantaneous that the feeling caught him by surprise.
He had forgone nourishment, respite, and sex after his rebirth.
A god had no need for those.
Eyelashes so pale and long they tickled her cheeks. He traced the shape of her face with a gloved finger.
It was as if he was seeing her for the very first time.
Thumbing the pout of her lips, he briefly wondered if she could taste the leather.
There was no change on the rise and fall of her chest.
How long would it take until she wakes?
He palmed a full breast. The peak was a pale rose.
Her skin held a coldness against his warm hand, slowly dissipating.
She melted against him.
An experimental press.
Her flesh was heating up.
He rubbed her nipple between his fingers until it pebbled.
Before he dared to steal a breath from her mouth.
He didn't expect her to wake with his kiss.
But he still found himself affronted by the aftermath.
Her flimsy gown was fixed back in place, all the while he was wrestling with his own want.
A picture of her dirtied with mud and blood entered his mind.
He never took her for a self-sacrificing one.
She had always been composed and level-headed.
Practical even.
Like him.
Practical Al — Marcus had called him once.
Now he had Practical Jill in his hands.
Useful to him in more ways than one.
Ninety-nine percent death rate. The nines glowed red while a single number glowed green.
A one percent difference was unimaginable before.
But here they were.
Around sixty eight million people would survive.
All because of her.
He disliked the arousal that build in him whenever she came to his line of sight.
A loss of control over her meant one thing.
She was somehow gaining power over him.
And he could not allow such a scenario.
It was a kind of torment, watching her sleep.
Pure and unmoved.
And he was unbearably hard where he sat a few feet away from her.
His hand brushed against the strain in his pants, breath hitching at the contact. His eyes never left her still form as his fingers slid over the throbbing flesh under his clothes.
He didn't let himself release.
For he liked the punishing thrill of it all.
She started invading his thoughts on times where in he was most occupied.
Agitation came first before realization.
She was his.
He could do with her as he pleased.
His decision now made.
He came to her.
His hands were steady as each button on her sleepshirt was undone. Polished lilac was a lovely color on her pallid complexion.
She was almost alive...
Like a flower in spring.
Not an inch of her went untouched.
He was nearly inexperienced in his lust.
The tips of her breasts hardened with his lips and his spit.
Her body responded to his need.
His nails scratched over the thin strip of hair on her mound. She was moist to the touch. His digits parted her labia, sliding on that delicate bundle of nerves, pulling the clitoral hood so he could stroke the sensitive glans.
Stimulating her.
He wanted to stretch her cunt with his fingers.
But he believed he could open her up well enough with his cock.
She was mostly bitter on his tongue with that chemical taste.
The only noises in the room were the wet sounds made by his lapping mouth that went along with his hungry groans.
The insides of her thighs were so smooth... smooth like satin. He littered that smoothness with bruising bites.
She made little noises of her own, nearly imperceptible without his enhanced senses.
She was feeling everything and that knowledge urged him more than it should.
The initial thrust tore into her, making her bleed around him.
He chose a pace not too hurried despite his desire burning.
He was sweating... and so was she.
She lay lifeless and full of life beneath him.
He gave her his seed, filled her to overflowing.
Kissing her slightly parted lips, he knew he was far from done.
And with a roll of his hips, the previous rhythm resumed.
He had her for hours.
And he thought that it would be enough.
His curiosity satisfied.
He only found himself eager for more.
For three consecutive nights, he sought gratification with her body.
It was almost telling with the tinge of pink on her skin.
He was fucking her awake.
Her eyes moved restlessly behind her lids. Brows furrowing together. Lashes fluttering.
She finally gazed at him, panting above her.
He came undone with the sight of clouded pleasure on her face.
Breathing even again, he claimed her lips in a chaste kiss.
And in her confused state, she reciprocated.
The small action caused him to deepen the touch, tongue teasing the seam of her lips.
A smile bloomed on his mouth when her tongue shyly met his.
"Did you rest well, my dear?"
"How short a time the fire of love endures in a woman
if frequent sight and touch do not rekindle it."
― Dante Alighieri, Purgatorio