WARNING!!!!!!! This story contains adult language, sexual themes, violence, and my favorite; slash! Slash is male on male entertainment, if this offends or displeases you, then click the back button now. Otherwise, enjoy! P.S. If you're reading this despite the fact that you don't like the idea of a Chris and Wesker pairing parody, I don't care. I'm not forcing you to read it. Flames will be laughed at, mostly because you're too retarded to be able to laugh at your favorite characters. I can. And I am. P.P.S., this is Bruce, the co-writer. I'm a huge fan of R.E. (and most likely a bigger fan THAN YOU.), and I find this concept hilarious. And I don't like gay guys, -okay that's a lie, I don't like the prissy-mcbutt-gravy ones. FYI, that was another lie, have a sense of humor. P.P.P.S. This is Wesker, moody, no-sense-of-humor Wesker. I would like to say that I find this story to be quite delightful. Thank you for your time. NOW EAT THE UROBOROS!!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with the Resident Evil series nor its characters. 'Cause if I did, you'd end up with something like this. . .
Chapter Six: Flippin' FINALLY, pt Two
And that time came far too swiftly for him. He and Wesker were on the way to the local men's clothing store (Jill heard about the mission that they were heading out and warned Wesker of Chris' major lack in this little thing called style). Chris sat deathly still until "I'm Never Gonna Dance Again" popped up on the radio and his hand unconsciously moved to turn it up. Wesker did the same simultaneously, their fingertips lightly made contact. Chris immediately shrunk back with a high-pitched squeal and tucked his hands between his knees. The scene reminded him of a female high school virgin about to ---his train of thought was cut short when he realized he always compared the rookie boy to females. He decided it was mostly due to the fact that even though Chris was handsome and apparently a mac-daddy among the ladies, he acted girly and skittish around him. Then he decided that it was because of him (Wesker) and it wasn't his fault for making Chris act like a pussy. He couldn't help the fact that he was hot.
Wesker turned the volume dial up a tad, just enough to hear George Michael's voice clearly, "Well, then."
"Sorry." He said, cheeks slowly cooling down from red to a light pink. "Why exactly do we have to go…shopping?" He gave an obvious shudder with the last word as if it was something evil. Something far worse than the reason he was doing it for.
The blond glanced at him slightly through the side of his sunglasses "Because you can't go in your gym clothes, your Air Force outfit, or your work uniform."
"Why not?"
"Think before you speak, Lug-head." Was his flat reply.
Chris stared at the floorboard, squinting as he racked his head for a reason. Then after two full minutes, the light switch turned on "Ooohhhh. We don't have to get anything expensive, right?"
Wesker shook his head, "Calm down, Christopher. I'll take care of the clothing. Think of it as a gift, something you can continue to wear next time we go out."
His lips lemon-puckered thoughtfully, "We getta go out somewhere again? Like to a restaurant?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Redfield. To go out with our co-workers is one thing, but having dinner and wine together is another, we have reputations to live up to as the city's Special Operatives unit."
Chris sighed as he imagined it, yeah, that would most definitely draw stares. He leaned back into his seat and muttered, "Yeah, I guess so."
The car's engine cut off and they stepped out into the parking lot of one of Raccoon City's finest male clothing stores. Of course, Chris being Chris and all, once they headed inside he ran to the fugliest clothes he could spot. In less than two minutes, he picked out an entire outfit, though it left Wesker nearly –if not completely- appalled. Chris pouted after seeing Wesker grimace "…You don't like it?"
"No." Wesker immediately responded, "You look like Denis Rodman. Only worse."
Chris frowned "Who's that?"
"Are you serious? What, did you grow up in a cave or something?" Wesker sighed. This was going to take a lot of effort on his part. Otherwise, Chris wouldn't make it to the first game. "Come on, Chris, follow me."
He followed his captain to the right side of the store, where the formalwear was and before he knew it, he was already in the dressing room trying outfits on. "Um…. Wesker?"
"What?" he slightly snapped, irritated because he'd actually found a few things he'd like to own. But that feeling quietly subsided as soon as he spun around and set eyes on his sweet, innocent, extremely stupid lover "I'm sorry, Chris, what do you need?"
Chris stood with his arms slightly out, showing obvious discomfort "Don't you think it's a little…much?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's all black."
Wesker raised an eyebr
ow "That statement is like a kick to the groin."
"Why?"
He smirked slightly, yes, anyone else would've definitely pissed him off. But, for some reason, he found Chris rather cute. He turned around a full three-sixty, and waited for Chris to figure it out.
"Ohhh, wow Wesker, I never noticed you dressed so drab. Maybe we should switch hair colors." Chris peeled the black dress shirt over his head, accidently popping one of the buttons.
"Perhaps we should. Also, good job on your vocabulary usage, Chris, I'm actually surprised you know what 'drab' means." He patted Chris on the head like a puppy, the action cause Chris' overly gelled hair to make a crunching sound. Wesker cleared his throat "Hair gel is next to go."
"But you wear hair gel, too."
"Yes, though the kind I use doesn't give your hair that crunchy feeling after it dries. See, feel." He grabbed the brunet's hand and smoothed it over the soft strands.
Chris blushed shyly at the sudden action, but quickly relaxed with Wesker's hand over his (even though he was wearing gloves) "Oh, that's nice. It's so soft!"
"Yes, now for comparison…" he grabbed Chris' other hand and touched it to his own hair, earning the exact same crunching sound.
Chris' face twisted in disgust "I see what you mean… It feels like I put a ton of jiz in it."
"Precisely. Now come here." Wesker effortlessly knocked Chris to the ground and straddled his chest.
"Ah! You just said we can't do stuff like this in public!" he struggled against the older man's weight and sheer strength.
"Resistance is futile! Now calm down, I'm getting that crap out of your hair." He stripped off one of his gloves and ran it through Chris' hair to loosen the stiffened mess.
Chris winced slightly, "Ow, ow, Wesker, not so rough!"
"I thought you said you liked it rough, you little bitch!" Wesker raked his fingers quicker, for fear that someone would see them.
"Ouuuuch, not my hair! Wesk-" Chris' sentence was cut short by someone's sudden fake cough. Both men froze and turned towards the unexpected noise.
A man with black, shoulder length hair pulled back into a ponytail stood in front of them, a suit draped over his forearm.
"WHAT?!" Wesker spat, trying to recover from the interruption.
The man raised an eyebrow, "You're blocking the dressing room."
"Oh." Wesker cleared his throat, yanking Chris with him as he stood to his feet. "Ugh, sorry, about that, um, how's the boy suppose to get a girl with hair like that, ya know?"
Ah, the one time Wesker's fabrications falter.
The man simply nodded in agreement "Too much gel."
Okay, this guy is just as dense as Chris.
They watched the stranger disappear into the dressing room. Chris exhaled a breath he wasn't aware he was holding in the first place, "Close again today, man I'm starting to think I'm not cut out for this whole thing."
Wesker soothingly patted Chris' back, thoughtful expression on his face "It's not your fault, Chris. It's mine."
His eyebrows knitted briefly, it was true that he was the one that ran his fingers through his hair and jumped on him, but Wesker wouldn't have had to if he didn't struggle.
The captain suddenly flashed a cocky smirk "I know it's probably near impossible for you to keep your hands off me. Not that I blame you, of course."
"Hmph, and here I thought you were being serious." He said, childishly shrugging Wesker's hand away from him.
"Why would I? Nothing is ever my fault." He suppressed a snicker, messing with a flustered Chris Redfield was just too much fun.
"Nuh-uh! You didn't have to-"
Wesker interrupted "And I'm always right. Now get your tight little ass in that changing room," he gave Chris a swift slap on the rear, eliciting a small yelp from the young man "I've got another idea."
Chris rubbed himself, mumbling what sounded like curse words under his breath as he re-entered the dressing room.
"And make it snappy," he ordered, looking at his watch "we only have thirty minutes before we have to leave."
"Sir, yes, sir." He said sarcastically, unbuttoning his pants and letting them fall to his ankles as he reached for his work shirt and vest.
Literally two minutes later, Wesker glanced at his watch again, prepared to go in there and drag Chris out whether he was dressed or not. Luckily for his counterpart, he stepped out before Wesker could even take his first step. "What took you so damn long?" as soon as Chris opened his mouth to reply, Wesker interrupted "Never mind that, follow me."
Chris grumbled to himself, not understanding why Wesker had suddenly gotten so short with him. He considered that maybe it was because he got on his captain's nerves, or possibly that the said captain was bipolar. Wesker quickly sifted through a rack of shirts, muttering single words like "Ugly" and "Small" and the ever usual "Worthless!", occasionally tossing 'maybes' over his arm until he noticed Chris' somber, deep-in-thought expression. He was still a little irritated with him, and it showed "Aw, what's the matter, my sweet little pookie-bear, did I hurt my Chrisky's feelings?"
At first, Chris didn't catch the sarcasm and sniffled a little "An itsy bit."
Wesker rolled his eyes "Good. Now hold this."
Chris held the shirts close to himself, pouting and glaring at Wesker, watching the man pull out a few pairs of pants.
"Okay, go try these on." He handed them to Chris, who was still using his 'you're-a-big-meanie-head' face. Wesker groaned in irritation "Chris. You're twenty-three years old. Act like it. I don't intend to seem angry with you, but time is a factor. We need to get this done quickly, I'll make it up to you later. So, pretty please, with sugar on top, put the fucking clothes on."
Yeah, sure, he sounds like he's being a dick, but he was right; if they didn't hurry up they'd end up getting there about the same time that "Al" got there. Plus -as you all know- Wesker's not known for being a tardy sweetheart like Chris in this story, so yeah…okay never mind. He's a dick. Wow, I wasted so much time babbling that Chris is already done trying on the first outfit, let's take a look, shall we?
"Okay, Chrisky, give us a nice spin around." Wesker swirled a gloved finger around in the air as Chris modeled the tight green tee with khakis "Yes, good, go on and try the other one on."
Chris' attitude picked up a little when he heard that Wesker liked it, so it was time for him to try on the outfit that he picked out. He changed in a record one-point-ninety-six seconds and exited the dressing room.
Wesker blinked underneath his glasses, staring at the black-and-white zebra-striped pants with matching over shirt and black shirt "If you're going out like that," He rubbed his temples in frustration "we might as well dye your hair gray."
"You don't like it? I'm wearing black and even sunglasses like yours."
"Yes but that's the only good thing about that outfit. The print is garish and just plain tacky." Wesker said, nudging him back into the dressing room. He understood Chris was trying to be more like him, which was cute, but the boy wouldn't know style even if it smacked him in the forehead at mach-three speed.
Chris walked back out, this time sporting a fitted white short-sleeved shirt with jeans "What about this then?"
"Yes, I like this one a lot, it accentuates your round ass quite nicely. I think it's missing something though…" he tapped his chin lightly, wondering what would complete the look when, suddenly, he had it –or literally the rack behind Chris had it; a brown leather jacket reading 'Made in Heaven' with nukes above it. He quickly pulled off the rack "Try this."
Chris slipped his arms through and turned his head around to see what it looked like in the full-length mirror. He nodded to himself "This looks awesome."
"'Awesome' isn't the word for it," he stated, a raging hard-on growing at an alarming rate "fuckable-for-five-bucks about says it all."
Chris was totally oblivious to the 'impending danger' threatening to pound him into next week "That's five words, Wesker. But yeah, it's even comfortable which is a total plus." He bent over to touch his toes, sealing his fate.
At that point, Wesker's entire demeanor crumbled for all to see; without think, Wesker grabbed the back of Chris' pants and carried him by them towards the dressing room.
"Eeeeeek!" Chris shrieked "Wesker, put me down! I don't like being carried!" He frantically scratched at the floor, attempting to grab hold of something, anything. "What'd I do????"
"Stop struggling! We can still get to the bar on time if we make this quick!"
"Quick what???? Wesker, you're scaring me!!!" Chris flailed his legs.
He basically through Chris into the claustrophobic, cheap drywall area, locking the door behind him. Despite the room's tiny proportions
Which is designed to shelter only one full-grown man, so you can imagine how tight-a-fit it is to shove two fully-grown muscular men into one.
Chris managed to stand up, chest to chest with Wesker. The light bulb lit up in Chris' head, finally, after feeling Wesker's 'problem' pushed up against him. He didn't even have enough time to say anything even as short as "oohhh" before Wesker's lips were pressed firmly against his. Wesker planted hands on either side of Chris' face to give himself better access, their short, nearly desperate kisses heating up the situation so quickly that they thought they might actually finish in time after all. Wesker's hands slowly snaked down Chris' face and neck, slipping under the jacket and sliding it down his arms, further restricting the younger's movements. Chris slipped his tongue into Wesker's mouth, while the latter untucked the white shirt and stuck his hands inside the younger's boxers.
There was a sudden knock on the door, Wesker snarled and spat "WHAT?!?!"
There was a nervous cough on the other side of the door. Both S.T.A.R.S. members froze realizing that Wesker should've just kept his big mouth shut in the first place and the person might've left. They waited for him or her or it to say something, a feminine male voice spoke "Um, excuse me sir, but intercourse is not allowed in our dressing rooms so I'm forced to ask you and the lady to step out now."
Wesker smacked the palm of his hand against his forehead in frustration, and whispered "This is all your fault, Chris!"
"How is it my fault?! You're the one that carried me in here!" he whispered back as low as he was able, which, luckily for them, made him sound like a girl to the outsiders.
"How dare you! I told nothing's ever my fault, even if it is! You were the one looking all sexy like that, I couldn't help myself, you could've kept your moaning down!"
"That's a natural reaction, you jerk!" Chris shoved Wesker back a full inch, to where both their backs were touching opposite walls.
Wesker glared at Chris through his glasses and shoved Chris, "No one shoves the great Albert Wesker! Therefore it is your fault!"
"I won't be blamed, Wesker, not on my watch!" said whisper-shouted, trying to shove harder by forcing his body flush with the captain's.
"You're not wearing a watch, stupid." He pushed Chris back against the wall.
"Don't call me stupid, stupid!"
Wesker shoved him again, "Is that all you have, Chris? Only a complete moron would deny the inevitable!"
"Stop shoving me!" he shoved him back as hard as he could.
"Then stop shoving me!"
"NEVER!!!!" Chris SOMEHOW managed to execute a flying tackle on Wesker, the impact knocked a few bolts out of the drywall.
"That does it!" with inhumanly great force, Wesker palm-thrusted Chris while yelling "Cobra Strike!"
The entire dressing area crumbled to pieces, the back wall knocked Wesker on top of Chris and covering them up. They froze once again, in another oh-shit moment. Wesker's 'survival instinct' finally kicked in, in the next half-second, he jumped up and dashed off. If the Matrix was around back then, that's what it would be compared to. Before he could realize what was going on, Chris was being helped to his feet by the sales associate.
"Oh, my gosh, are you alright, sir?" the rather flamboyant male gasped.
Chris rubbed the back of his head "Yeah, I think I'm okay."
"I am so sorry, sir, we've been putting off renovating that old dressing room so long that-" the sales rep covered his own mouth, realizing he said something very, very foolish.
And miraculously, Chris picked up on it "Gee, I'm surprised that I wasn't crushed to death by the debris. You know, I think we can work a deal."
He bit his lower lip, "Um, all right, I'll give you a two-hundred dollar gift card and we'll forget about the whole thing, okay?"
"I don't know, my neck hurts a little… Better make it three." He shifted his shoulders slightly, his neck popping in response.
The sales rep's left eye twitched on it's own accord, he huffed slightly "Fine. I give you a three-hundred dollar gift card and you forget that you were ever here fucking some floozy."
"Deal." Chris smiled smugly while he watched the employee ring up the gift card.
The man huffed again and said, "Nice doing business with you, sir."
"Come on, man, no hard feelings. I could've sapped a lot more money from this store if I were to sue, so you're pretty lucky."
"Yeah, yeah, I know that already." He lightly snapped, trying to shoo him off "Now please, sir, my managers might come here at any minute!"
Chris stuffed the free plastic money in his pocket, sloppily saluted the sales rep before gathering his work clothes and new attire, and set off to find Wesker.
The man sighed, looking at the wreckage, feeling defeated "I got jipped by a punk."
Chris found Wesker leaning up against a shelf of jeans about twenty feet away from the 'crash' area, the blond slicked his hair back "What took you so long?"
He glared "How could you just ditch me like that? That was so not cool, man."
"Serves you right. Beside, just think about what would've happened if I stayed? How would have that gone?" he smirked.
"Good point…" he shrugged, he reached into his pocket "Oh yeah, look, you don't have to buy my clothes now!"
Wesker looked at it for a moment "Don't have to, but am anyway."
"But why? I thought you were just buying it cuz I couldn't."
"Yes, but it had another purpose; so you can't say I never did anything nice for you." He pushed himself off the shelf to stand upright.
"Aw, Wesker, that's so sweet! I lov-" before Chris could finish his sentence and hug him, Wesker smacked him upside the head.
"Don't be a moron. Now let's go." He placed a hand on Chris' back and led him to the registers.
The cashier gave them a funny look, mostly to Chris, who was covered in a chalky-white substance from the drywall and was still wearing the clothes un-purchased clothing "Will this be all for you, gentlemen?"
"Yes, thank you. As you can see, my friend here was quite taken with this outfit." Wesker smirked.
The girl raised an eyebrow, and mumbled under her breath, "That's not all he was taken with. M' Gay-dar's off the chart."
LOL, Gay-dar, it's like radar only instead of detecting objects, it's detects gays! This chick is funny!
"What was that?" Wesker thinned his lips into a light line.
"Nothing!" the blonde girl chuckled nervously and all-too-quickly started scanning the clothes. She cleared her throat, now trying not to make eye-contact with either of them for fear of getting smited "That'll be three hundred-thirty-nine dollars and seventeen cents."
Chris almost gagged when he heard the ticket price, and then again when he saw Wesker nonchalantly pull out a huge wad of cash the size of Chris' fist. Mostly hundreds "Um, ma'am, are you sure that's right?? That sounds a little steep."
Still averting, her eyes, the girl scanned the receipt "one-hundred for the coat, fifty for the jeans, seven items total… it looks right to me, sir, but I'll give it to you after I ring it through."
Chris watched the girl punch in the numbers and the register drawer pop open. Wesker collected the change and handed the clothing bag to Chris. "Now, we can still get a few drinks in if we haul ass."