Sometimes, Chris Redfield dreamed. Never frequently, and never clearly, but sometimes he would find himself waking up, chest heaving, fragments of images and words still clawing their way around inside his head. He could never truly understand them, and the longer he was awake the more they faded, vanished into some dark part of his mind that he could never reach.

A helicopter, running through a forest with gunshots and footsteps pounding in his head, a mansion with a million different rooms each full of fear, so much fear—

victims were apparently—

But none of that mattered, not anymore. Wesker said it didn't.

And he lived for Wesker.

"The BSAA Agents," Wesker said tersely, his shoulders tense. Chris wanted to do something, anything to erase that tension, to make Wesker happy, but instead he stood nervously in place.

Something was wrong.

"Are they dead?" he continued, turning and staring at him intensely, his gaze making him shudder.

"Yes," he answered, trying to keep his voice steady. "All of them."

Wesker didn't relax.

Something Chris Redfield did remember was Albert Wesker. Even as the rest of his memories blurred and disappeared, Wesker remained. He could remember meeting the man for the first time like it had happened an hour ago, even though the reason they were meeting was unclear to him. He could remember the arousal building in him as they talked, as Wesker looked at him from behind the sunglasses covering his eyes.

What were they talking about? Did it even matter?

He could also remember the first time they were intimate, every touch, every kiss, the pain of entry, the pleasure of knowing that he was owned, that he belonged to Wesker now and that nothing could change that.

Where had they been, that first time? An office, with some type of emblem on the wall—

Special Tactics and—

"I can go back and check," he offered desperately. "I'll make sure they're all dead. No one will stand in your way. I'll make sure of it."

"No!" Wesker shouted, his hands flying out and grabbing Chris's arms, his fingers tightening around them until they hurt, the nails digging into his skin. "No, don't go back."

Chris's heart thudded in his chest, heat beginning to build inside him. The pain, the energy, the proximity, the heat—

"Wesker?" he rasped, leaning in against his chest. "Please tell me what's wrong?"

The grip around his arms only increased until he was sure his bones were going to snap, but then Wesker was letting go, shoving him against the wall and ripping at his clothes.

"You're mine, Chris," he hissed into his ear, venom in his voice. "You belong to me. You do understand that, don't you?"

There were some things about Wesker, however, that were just as blurry as everything else, things that he sometimes dreamed about and always vanished in the aftermath with the rest of it. He tried to find those memories more than any of the others, but he never could.

But it didn't matter, Wesker said.

Helicopters and forests and mansions, a destroyed island and a woman in purple and a friendship with Dan DeChant and a long, long fall out of a window and—

not human anymore, but just look at the power I've—

None of it had anything to do with the present.

Now, Chris existed for Wesker and Wesker was going to make a beautiful world for him to live in, and that was the only thing that mattered.

He heard a zipper being pulled down and then Wesker was inside him and he was being fucked hard against the wall, and it hurt but it was good pain, because Wesker was causing it.

"How far would you go for me, Redfield?" he demanded, the tips of his fingers punching little holes in the wall where his hands were braced. "How much would you be willing to do?"

Chris threw his head back and gripped Wesker's shoulders tightly, barely able to concentrate on the question.

It had a simple answer, however.

"I've done . . . so much. I'd do—anything—"

"Anything," Wesker breathed, darkly satisfied laughter following the word. "All for—"

"For you . . . Anything for you . . ."

He kept repeating it again and again, like a mantra, a chant, until it was over, Wesker finishing and pulling out while Chris fought for air after his own completion.

When he'd finally righted himself, fixing his clothes and standing up, he repeated his earlier question, even though Wesker didn't seem as upset as he'd been previously.

"What's wrong?"

Wesker turned away from him, cracking his knuckles and pushing his sunglasses higher on his nose, striding in the direction of the door.

Chris had concluded he wasn't going to get an answer when he paused at the threshold.

"Claire Redfield is in Kijuju," he said, and stepped out the door.

RE--RE

RE--RE

Author's Note: Yeah, I think I've written man on man action maybe once before, and it was way less than this. *cringes*

HOWEVER--I promised you yaoi, and yaoi you have! I stayed up until one thirty in the morning working on this! And I even changed the story's rating because I'm afraid of getting banned! Or . . . whatever they do to you here.

Yes, Chris is way fucked up. That's all I can say for it.

-Anna