Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the following situation; once again, that honor belongs to the people at CAPCOM.
Note to Readers: This is a YAOI (think that's what it's called); my first attempt at such. To quote one of my favorite lines; "Oh, yes. There will be blood..." So if you're not into guy on guy action, fellas, then turn away, because once you cross that line between genius and insanity, there is no turning back.
The Lesson
Chris walked cautiously forward, his eyes roving the seemingly empty corridor ahead of him, sidearm at the ready. The florescent lights above him flickered, popping and hissing as power still tried to circuit through them; one hanging haphazardly to the side. He ducked around it, and a large spark flashed in front of his face, startling the B.S.A.A. Agent.
The Tri-Cell facility that himself and his team were investigating had reputedly suffered a bio-hazard; something had leaked here, killing most of the researchers in the underground building. Chris felt claustrophobic; why the hell would anyone bury a building? After all these years, he just didn't understand why they just didn't build up. Seems like it would have been just as easy to hide the activities in an above ground building; seeing as to the location. His team had been deployed to Pakistan, on the outskirts of some village he couldn't pronounce the name to. Not that it mattered one way or the other to him; he was here to do his job, not ask questions.
After downloading the schematics from the main frame computer system here, Jill had suggested that the team split up; which he hated doing even though it had made sense. While they could cover more ground, it also left them all wide open to attack, and without an extra pair of eyes beside himself, Chris felt paranoid. Accessing his com-link, he reviewed the small map, and turned to the door on his left. The knob didn't turn; big surprise there. Chris hauled back his leg, and delivered a few rough kicks to the door, before slamming his shoulder into the frame; splintering the door open. His taut nerves went into overdrive as a re-animated corpse flew at him, it's stomach contents trailing the ground and the skin around it's teeth chewed off; giving the thing a Cheshire cat type grin.
The head exploded as he pulled the trigger, and the blast from the gun left him momentarily blinded; the room was darker than the hallway had been. Chris curled his lips back in disgust as he wiped chunks of brain matter and gore off his face; the zombie had been close when it's face had erupted like an over-ripe watermelon. The stink was overwhelming, and Chris bit back the bile that had forced it's way up the back of his throat.
Moving forward, he searched the dank room, going through drawers, cupboards; anything that might contain a scrap of information to explain what exactly had happened here. His flashlight dimmed ominously; just fucking perfect. He hit the thing against a desk, and it brightened for a moment before clicking off with a certain finality. Clicking it into the off position, and back again produced no result, and he wished that he had an extra set of batteries. It was lame, really; perfectly cliché.
A noise in the hallway alerted him to someone's presence, and he quietly pressed his back to the wall behind the splintered door. Footsteps, brisk and unhurried, echoed, and Chris felt his heart jumping in his ribcage; he knew it wouldn't be one of his team; they had the com-links to communicate with, and had been instructed to search until either they hit a dead end; at which point they were to head back, or were called by himself or Jill to the rendezvous point. This was someone else, and as the footsteps continued down the hall, he slowly peered out from the darkness behind him; to catch a brief glimpse of a tall figure dressed in black rounding a corner.
Chris walked carefully, on the balls of his feet; following the unknown subject. He made no sound. A door clicked open, and he chanced a look around the corner, only to be roughly grabbed by the throat and tossed to the ground like a rag doll; the air left his lungs, and white dots clouded his vision. His gun hand came up reflexively and gasping for breath he fired three shots blindly down the narrow corridor. He heard the bullets pinging off something, ricocheting; before his gun was kicked out of his hand.
The B.S.A.A. Agent rolled backwards, regaining his footing, before he was backhanded in the face; causing another round of bright explosions to blur his sight. He gripped his aching jaw, his eyes searching for his lost weapon.
"Christopher," a familiar voice drawled out. "What an unpleasant surprise." Looking up, his vision still murky, he sneered at the figure in front of himself.
"Wesker." The name came out like an accusation; and Chris took a step back from his former captain, hand reaching for his knife. His digits never made it to his weapon, however, as Wesker's form was there all of a sudden, and his hand shot out and caught Chris' wrists in a crushing grip. Chris grunted as he felt his back hit something solid behind him; he was trapped.
"My, my, how you've grown, Redfield. Working out, I see." Wesker taunted, pinning Chris' hands to his own chest with one hand, and running his other hand down a muscled arm. Chris' heart jumped wildly in his chest, wanting freedom as badly as his body did. Fear invaded his senses, and his mind raced.
What the hell was Wesker doing? The older man leaned forward, his head a hare's breath away from Chris' face, and Chris pulled his neck back sharply, slamming his own head against the wall in his rush to get out of Wesker's space.
Wesker merely laughed, the short punctuated barks shaking Chris' courage. He felt cowed; so, hauling back in his throat, Chris launched spit into his former superior's face, his eyes filled with hatred. Wesker stopped laughing.
"Still haven't learned your place, I see," Wesker wiped his hand over his cheek where the fluid had landed, and then rubbed his gloved hand on Chris' chest lingeringly.
"Get your filthy hands off of me, Wesker." Chris' voice commanded. His head came forward abruptly, delivering a jarring smack on the other man's forehead, sending the sunglasses on Wesker's face flying.
"I guess since no one has taught you any manners, that it is up to me. Pity. I don't really have time for you today; but I suppose that it wouldn't hurt any if I were a little late." Wesker threw Chris down at his feet, kicking the B.S.A.A. Operative in the gut, making him cry out sharply. Chris regained his composure quickly, grabbing his knife out of it's sheath; he made to swing it at Wesker's shins, only to have his hand crushed cruelly beneath a boot.
"Relax, partner. I'm just getting started." Looking up into Wesker's eyes, Chris felt a sense of unease pass over him as Wesker leaned over his body, grabbing his shirt front. The older man slammed his lips down onto his own, and Chris' eyes flew open wide, before he swung a fist at his ex-captain's shoulder; Wesker ignored the blow. Again and again, Chris swung, landing hit after hit; and still, no reaction; Wesker lowered himself over the struggling man on the ground, and bit his lip hard, drawing blood. Chris opened his mouth at the pain, and Wesker wasted no time in slipping his tongue into Chris' mouth.
Chris could feel the bile from earlier resurfacing as he pushed at Wesker, trying to move the man off of himself. This time, Wesker reacted, slapping his face to the side abruptly, before capturing his lips again, his fingers digging into Chris' chin to hold him there.
Meanwhile, Wesker's other hand ran along the length of Chris' side, grabbing at his ass and squeezing roughly. Chris arched his back to try to throw his attacker off, but all that did was allow Wesker to slide his knee in between his legs, prying them apart.
"Eager, are we?" Wesker rasped out, his hand catching Chris' wrists and pinning them over his head. Grabbing Chris' discarded knife, Wesker sliced open Chris' shirt deftly with his other hand, cutting a shallow line along his chest. Chris winced.
"You sick fucking homo!" Chris screeched, trying to free his hands, writhing and bucking to try to gain some leverage on his opponent. In return, Wesker pressed his hips down firmly against Chris', the evidence of his erection pressing against Chris' own limp member. He felt nothing but disgust at what was happening to him.
"My sexuality has nothing to do with this," Wesker sneered, then continued. "This is about power. Revenge. Dominating you will be my ultimate triumph. Don't you see?"
"I see that you're an insane, sadomasochistic homosexual." Chris gritted out, his chest heaving, sweat clinging to his brow. His answer was rewarded with a bite to his cheek, he felt blood trailing down his face; hot and stinging.
Chris screamed then, turning and twisting in Wesker's grasp, trying to crawl away from this monster that had him at his mercy. Wesker released his iron grip on Chris, pulling himself to his feet to hover above the B.S.A.A. Agent, regarding him coldly. As Chris crawled forward, panic clutched at his stomach as he felt Wesker's fingers graze over his back, tearing at the remains of his shirt. Chris shrugged out of it, trying to climb to his knees, only to be kicked between his shoulders harshly. Wesker removed his gloves, flexing his fingers; the knuckles popping.
"You really have turned into quite a fine specimen, Christopher. Does Jill approve of your increase in muscle mass? Is that why you've bulked up?" Wesker grabbed Chris' ankle, pulling him back to where they had started; pressing his prey's face hard against the cold metal floor. He covered Chris' body with his own, and cut the belt from behind, licking the side of Chris' face.
"Get OFF me, you son-of-a-bitch!!!" Chris roared out, his arms trying to push up, the muscles straining as Wesker's palm pushed into his back. Wesker laughed again; the sound sending chills up and down Chris' spine.
"You can't fight me, Chris. I'm much too strong now. But I'm flattered that you still try." Wesker yanked Chris' pants down just enough to expose his posterior, and Chris heard a zipper sliding down. Tears coursed down his cheeks helplessly, and Chris sobbed as Wesker used one hand to spread his ass cheeks, before he spit down his crack, the warm liquid oozing down slowly, dripping off of his balls.
"Hold still, Christopher; this is going to hurt." Wesker thrust into Chris' opening harshly, making the younger man scream; not cry out, but really scream. Chris' hands flew forward, his hands reaching out to try to pull away from Wesker, who only grunted and pulled his quarry back to himself, slamming roughly in and out of his former subordinate. Chris attempted to close his legs, twist away, all to no avail.
Sweat beaded Wesker's brow, and he leaned forward to bite Chris' back, making the hulking form arch against him, twisting his torso to try to hit at his attacker. Wesker just slapped Chris' ass hard, pumping into him faster, burying himself to the hilt in Chris' tight opening, blood running rampant, spattering more and more with each stroke.
"STOP! STOP! PLEASE, DEAR GOD, MAKE IT STOP!" Chris bellowed out, tears falling in a puddle beneath his face. It hurt so much, and he cried brokenly into the ground, his hands balled into loose fists at the sides of his head as he felt his face scrape forward with each of Wesker's cruel thrusts. All the fight was gone from him, his muscles sore and all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and hope to god that he died, right then and there.
"Oh, but Christopher, I'm only beginning to know you; I don't think I've had my fun yet." Wesker gritted out, sucking in air hungrily above him. The pace increased, and Wesker grunted every so often. Chris watched his reflection in the mirror-like surface of the metal wall, watched as the bastard curled his lips back, thoroughly enjoying every second of this. A hollow numb feeling overtook Chris' limbs, and he felt himself losing consciousness; welcomed it, even.
However, Wesker seemed to notice it too, and he pulled Chris' head up by the hair, forcing the man's eyes to shoot open, a strangled cry escaping his bruised lips.
"You've got to pay attention, boy," Wesker hissed out, and Chris tiredly threw an elbow at Wesker's ribs, connecting. The older man disengaged his body from Chris', and flipped him over, smacking his face. Blood poured out between Chris' teeth, choking him, and Wesker pressed a hand to the side of Chris' face to prevent him from choking to death. Chris lay there, unmoving; breathing heavily; no more will left in him.
Wesker smiled down at his handiwork, and slowly ran his hands down his captive's chest, eliciting a moan from the weaker man. He not only wanted to shame Christopher, he wanted the man to be ashamed himself; and what better way to do that then make him feel pleasure? The older man flicked his tongue over the tip of Chris' flaccid member, circling it slowly, before bringing his mouth down around it, suckling gently, purposely.
Chris' eyes fluttered open, and he tried to push Wesker off him weakly; Wesker just brushed his hands aside, pinning them down at his sides. His body going traitor, Chris groaned at the sensation of Wesker's hot mouth enveloping him; he could feel himself growing hard. His hips bucked upwards as the man above him took him deep into his throat, swallowing hard, and almost gagging.
"You are big, Christopher, much bigger than I had anticipated. It's a shame, really, that I won't be feeling you penetrate me." Wesker said, pulling the younger man's pants off effortlessly. Chris made to sit up, only to be covered again by Wesker's hulking form. This time, Wesker slowly, inch by inch, buried his cock into his tight opening, gently stroking Chris' thickly engorged member. Chris moaned, tears still falling down his face, his arms feeling limp and heavy.
Wesker manipulated his erection expertly, making Chris moan and buck up into his hand, and the older man leaned his adversary's legs forward. Pumping into him, he grinned maniacally as he felt himself hitting against the brunette's secret inner spot, causing Chris to cry out in ecstasy.
The blonde kissed Chris' lips as he continually rammed his hardness home, panting into the kiss. He felt as Chris' body tensed beneath him, felt as his swollen member widened impossibly, and he quickened his pace, releasing his seed with a grunt into the other man. Chris muttered something under his breath that Wesker didn't quite catch, before he, too, spilled his seed into the older man's grasp, moving his cock roughly against his hand.
It was a moment before Wesker pulled out of Chris, standing and adjusting his clothing. He picked up Chris' ruined shirt, wiping his hands on it, before extracting his gloves from his coat pocket and putting them on.
"Get dressed, Christopher." Wesker ordered, turning. Chris sat up shakily, and vomited in the hallway, bile spewing out and splattering against Wesker's boot. The man standing above Chris curled his lip up in distaste, before striding down the corridor, disappearing into another room.
Chris panted, muscles aching, ass sore, and the wound on his face throbbing. Wearily, he pulled himself to his feet, legs wobbling beneath him. Collecting his gun and knife, but leaving the shirt, Chris touched his com-link, and said, "I'm heading back to the rendezvous point. Continue your search; I'm not finding anything here."
"Roger that." Jill's voice rang out, joined by a chorus of three others. Chris limped determinedly back from whence he'd come, hurt and angry, but most of all; curious as to why Wesker hadn't killed him.
He felt guilt rack through him, tear at his conscience horribly; a blush coloring his face as he remembered the feeling of release. Chris touched his lips lightly, that last kiss hadn't been half bad...
FIN...
Okay, so there, I have done it; I hate myself for producing this, but I had to get it out of my system. This idea has been circulating in my head for a while. While the subject material disturbs me, not because of the guy on guy, but because of the forcefulness of it; I couldn't resist the overpowering urge to piece this monstrosity together. Hope that someone out there likes this.
The Eskimo