A/N: I'm convinced that I can't write WxC that isn't fluffy. Fluffiness seems to be a rarity for this ship, so I guess its why I tend to write a lot of it. Anyways, I've had this fic laying around for a while and found that it tied in to Cough sorta well, so I thought I'd just edit it a bit and include it in that story. Not really anything M-rated here, sadly.
The sun leaked through the curtains, casting a light glow upon the two naked men snuggled closely together. A white comforter had been stolen by the brunet sharpshooter, Chris Redfield, making his captain, known as Albert Wesker, huddle closer to the other man for warmth. Chris had always been naturally warm, making the need for the comforter seem useless, but it was one of the many things the S.T.A.R.S. Captain loved about his pointman. Whenever he was cold, he always latched himself on to the brunet, or found himself wanting to when they were in public. No one knew about their relationship that had been going on for a good month and a half, but Wesker was damn sure they speculated something was going on between the two. They kept it a secret, not because of the fear of people knowing about their sexual preferences, but because Chris understood that fucking your boss was usually a big no-no. Wesker honestly didn't give a damn, but he respected Chris's opinions and saw the importance of not letting it out in the open. The blonde rustled awake for a moment to adjust his position and cuddle into the sharpshooter, smiling and sighing softly.
BEEP BEEP BEEP. BEEP BEEP BEEP.
Chris and Wesker practically jumped out of bed, startled at the alarm abruptly blaring throughout the previously serene room. The brunet groaned when he hit his head against the headboard, instinctively bringing a hand up to rub it. Wesker reached across the injured brunet to smack the snooze on the wretched alarm, reluctant to get out of bed and thinking they could spare ten minutes. But as the captain eyed the bright red LED sleepily, it dawned on him that they, in fact could not.
"Chris," Wesker groaned in annoyance, jumping out of bed and dashing to the bathroom to hurriedly brush his hair. "You set the alarm an hour late, you buffoon!" Chris immediately sat upright, staring at the clock in shock. Their meeting was in fifteen minutes! The brunet rolled out of bed, rushing to throw on a dress shirt and retrieve a tie that were thrown to the ground lazily during last night's activities. He dug out a pair of pants from his dresser, slamming the drawers shut rather loudly. Wesker stormed out of the bathroom, bending over to grab his sunglasses and tie off the floor. The blonde muttered something about 'borrowing Chris's pants' before ransacking the dresser.
When both men had gotten fully dressed, they rushed out the front door (with Chris clumsily tripping along the way due to improperly tied shoes) and into Wesker's car. Irons is going to throw a fit, Wesker thought as he started the engine, glancing over at Chris, who he had found was still shaken and trying to recollect his thoughts from the morning's chaos. Sighing, he backed out of the driveway and into the street. They were practically driving to their own graves. The blonde adjusted his sunglasses as he turned the corner. His eyes had averted to the brunet once again after five minutes, this time finding his pointman passed out, with a trail of drool falling from his lips. I'll let him sleep until we arrive, the captain decided with a smile, admiring how angelic Chris looked when he slept, aside from the drool and all.
Arriving, Wesker tried shaking Chris awake by his arm, but to no avail. Poking him, still no response. Placing a little peck on his cheek? Nope. He huffed and formulated a plan to get the brunet awake.
"Redfield! Do you have those reports completed yet or not?! Get to work!" Wesker barked. Chris's eyes snapped open as his head jerked to the side and hit itself against the window. The man certainly had a knack for harming himself when waking up, it appeared.
"Yes, Captain! Right on it!" he replied in a pseudo-positive tone, before realizing where he was. Seeing the black dashboard, his mind practically screamed, "Oh, you egotistic asshole," as he glared at Wesker harshly, who was smiling evilly and attempting to hold in laughter that was trying oh-so-desperately to escape.
"Let's go, slacker. We're late," the blonde reminded Chris, tapping his watch. The younger man nodded and stepped out of the car. They walked across the parking lot towards the station frantically. Wesker ran a hand through his silky hair as he held the door open for the brunet, grumbling when he felt it wasn't in it's usual perfect state.
"You look fine," Chris muttered nonchalantly, as if reading his thoughts. Knowing the Redfield, if they were anywhere else, he would have put extra emphasis on fine. The blonde was not satisfied with the words, however, and continued to huff about how certain strands fell out of place and such.
Finally reaching the conference room, Wesker threw open the door and stepped inside, Chris following behind him. The room, which was previously filled with voices debating certain subjects, fell completely silent. A million dirty looks scrutinized the two, some expressions confused. It was expected that Chris was late, but Captain Wesker was usually the one always nagging people about being punctual. Wesker could feel people mentally deeming him a hypocrite as the silent seconds went on.
"Ah, Captain, Redfield, nice of you to join us finally," Chief Irons chided, looking the two over with scrutiny. Wesker stood in front of Chris in a formal, yet defensive stance, biting back a heated glare towards the chief. The blonde subtly ground his teeth together, adjusting his glasses, and hoping his words did not convey his true hatred towards Irons.
"Yes, I'm sure it is. Christopher's car broke down and he called me about likely being late to the meeting. Feeling it my duty, as S.T.A.R.S.'s Captain, to make sure my team members arrive on time, I picked him up at his house. However, my pointman's a slow morning person, and made us late," Wesker explained smoothly, successfully keeping salt out of the words.
"Your pointman?" a no-name employee sneered questioningly. Chris rolled his eyes.
"Correct. My pointman. As in, a member of the team I command, if you're so dearly interested," the blonde retorted quickly, glaring daggers at the unknown officer. The other man quickly took the hint that it would be best to keep his thoughts to himself, looking down at his paperwork and not wanting to meet the captain's eyes.
"Well," Irons interjected. "take a seat; we're almost done here anyways."
"Almost done," Chris's ass. The meeting dragged on for what seemed like hours. When it finally had wrapped up, people began stacking their folders into piles and gathering their belongings. Chris looked over to find Barry whispering something in to Jill's ear, while simultaneously glancing at him and the Captain. Narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms, he nudged Wesker with his shoulder. The blonde, who was formerly occupied with talking to Enrico, focused his attention on what the brunet was showing him. Wesker listened in on what Barry's conscious was going on about, and the words "Chris wearing the captain's tie" stuck out very prominently. Deciding to confront the two's gossip, he got up and tapped Jill on the shoulder, gesturing out into the hallway to have a chat with them.
Chris idly sat spinning in his chair, fumbling with a pencil and glancing at the clock every five seconds. He couldn't help but stress over what they were whispering about and wanted his captain to come back with answers and evidence as soon as possible.
Finally, Wesker came walking through the door and sat down next to Chris again. He looked at the blonde with eyes full of wonder, only to get a grumpy glance in response.
"Look at your tie, Christopher," the blonde muttered simply.
Looking downwards, his eyes caught the sight of a dark, deep blue fabric that everyone saw Wesker walking around in most of the time. Oh, shit... Chris facepalmed. To this, Wesker made a small noise in agreement.
He was wearing Wesker's tie.
How the hell do you explain having another man's tie on? He couldn't say he borrowed it from the Captain; he had no excuse to. There were a million ties in his closet, and Jill, who visited him regularly, knew that. Plus, the blonde guarded every fashion accessory he owned with his life. He couldn't say he happened to buy the same tie, because the extravagant asshat had his named sewed into the back. The cat was out of the bag, and all because of one little tie. A piece of insignificant fabric spilled the beans about his relationship with Wesker.
And to be honest, he didn't care. Chris wanted them to know. He was sick of the little guessing games they played behind his back. So, he dragged his Captain, his Captain, by the wrist out into the hallway where Jill and Barry still resided. Before Wesker could raise an eyebrow and get a grasp of what Chris was thinking about, Chris slammed him against the way and caught him in a deep kiss.
"No more secrets," Chris's mind spoke to the blond, breaking away slightly, his lips still brushing Wesker's. That's all the blonde needed to hear before he had his lips back against the other's, kissing him eagerly. Chris laced his arms around Wesker's neck and Wesker wrapped his own around his pointman's waist.
"Aside from the big one, correct?" Wesker's thoughts protruded into Chris's. The brunet simply nodded against the kiss, grinning like an idiot.
The look on Barry and Jill's faces as they stood in utter shock was priceless, to say the least.