The blood and fear and cool rage of Marigold's normal dreams didn't come.

She dreamt, more ephemeral memories, snatches of conversation. She recognized and few of the voices, but drifted past them into deeper sleep before she could attach names to voices.

Marigold surfaced on her own - the alarm still had about twenty minutes to go. Well, she had definitely slept. What that meant for the future was another question.

Wesker had pulled her against and almost under him, her back pressed to his chest. She had fallen asleep with her head pillowed on one of his arms, the other arm draped over her waist. Wesker had thrown a leg over hers. Pinned again, of course. Marigold still wore the clothes she had worn through the night, and to the gym. He might have been comfortable stripping down to his underwear. Marigold had still been reeling from their encounter when she had trailed in here after him, but she'd had a few working brain cells left, at least.

At least, she had. Of course the one person who she had every reason not to trust would smell fantastic to her over-sensitized nose. She'd noticed it since the ride in the van. Weeks without her suppressants had only made the situation worse.

Waking a little more, Marigold realized that she has snuck a hand down her own pants, awkwardly trying to relieve tension. Wesker was pressed up against her back, breathing steady and even.

Correction: A very hard part of him was pressed up against her back.

Had Marigold been more than half awake, that might have startled her. In her present state, she really couldn't move anyhow without alerting him to the current situation, so… she did what felt good, and pressed harder. She kept her movements small. The sweat she had worked up earlier had cooled, making her clothes feel clammy.

In her half-awake attempt to avoid detection, she had entirely missed that Wesker had been fully awake for several minutes, observing quietly.

Marigold jolted back into him with a hiss as the little bundle of nerves she had been working over finally woke up and flared to life.

Wesker's free arm now moved, gliding over her forearm, traced the delicate bones of her wrist, to her hand. His hand pressed hard over hers. The other shifted downwards to ruck up the hem of her shirt.

The fabric caught under his wrist as it traveled back upward, stroking. The light touches countered the hard press below before he pinched a nipple hard enough to make her whimper. The arm below her then wrapped around her ribs, pulling her firmly back against him.

Her pants had already been pulled loose by her own ministrations. The hand pressing over hers released, and continued downwards, pressing hard before pulling the offending garments further down to tangle around her knees. She lifted her hips in an awkward side-plank and opened her legs a bit more in response, caught up in the tide of sensation. Marigold whimpered against him, clawing helplessly at the arm holding her down with her free hand. Her head had tipped back, lips parted, eyes hooded, unfocused. He gave a huff of approval, giving the length of her sex a long stroke before pressing one finger into her, then another. They stayed like this for several moments while he worked her open.

Behind her, she felt Wesker bury his face in her neck, nipping at the join at her shoulder. Clearly, she wasn't the only one so affected. Marigold slowly allowed herself to go limp in his arms, save for her own writhing.

Then he pulled his hand away, catching her by the wrist and forcing her to stop the frantic pace she had been working herself over at. A whine of protest escaped her throat before she blinked, looking at him in confusion.

"Ask for it." For all he held himself aloof, it was clear Wesker wouldn't last long. She could hear just how hard his heart was pounding, feel the way his hips were beginning to twitch against hers. He seemed to be on the edge of ceding control of the situation himself, stopping himself just before breaking and tearing at her clothes to fuck mindlessly into her. "Otherwise I'll go off into the shower down the hall and finish there, and you can go back to your room." The words felt calculated. It wasn't an idle threat, though.

Marigold really didn't give a damn right now, right on the edge. Earlier, she might have shut this down out of sheer distrust and anxiety. Now...it had been so long, even discounting the time she had lost, with only her hands and awkward mechanical stimulation. Her skin was thrumming with sheer need. She screwed her eyes shut, her face turning red as she finally got the words out. "Please. I…yes. Please."

He took a long moment to respond - sadist - before growling softly into her exposed throat. The arm pinning her to him shifted just a little to grab the collar of her shirt from the inside, tearing the thin fabric open. Somewhere in her quiet frenzy, she had already managed to kick away the tangled material around her legs. Then he released his hold and shifted up to step over her, to the floor. He was already pulling his thin t-shirt off. Marigold stared, openly this time. Wesker was built like a swimmer, all definition and smooth, hard lines. The scarlet in his eyes was plainly visible now.

The taste of copper flooded her mouth - Marigold realized belatedly that she was biting her lip so hard it bled.

Marigold's fingers twitched. She itched to touch.

There was a moment when the warning bells rang out in the back of her mind. She'd been maneuvered into this position, that much was clear. Just because she wanted what was before her didn't mean it wouldn't hurt her. He very much could. She still didn't know for sure where she was being led.

But…that went both ways, didn't it? All of her own contacts seemed to have gone to ground or resumed their lives. Umbrella hadn't found the ones she had touched. The fact that they seemed to have viewed the torching of her house with mild bafflement told her that much. With the virus now in play in both directions…she wasn't sure how it would play out.

She did have an idea of the possibilities.

Did Wesker know? Did he care, even if he knew the risks he was taking? This was someone who had actively cased her out, laid an ambush. She hadn't been as careful as she'd believed over the years. The poor office manager who had rushed into the line of fire in '81 was proof of that. Why would he take this kind of a risk?

…did she care? The virus was a new vector. Its...interactions. This (mine) was a new vector.

Then the boxers came off. The heat in her belly swirled, and tightened. It might be a bad decision, but it was a great idea as far as she could make herself care right at that moment.

Marigold took a sharp breath at the feast laid out before her. Wesker smirked (asshole) at the look on her face. He stroked himself, almost lazily as he placed one knee on the bed and reached down to yank her by the hips towards him.

She might have squeaked.

Even with the preparation, he was larger than anticipated, and the isolation had left her tight. Marigold whined and screwed her eyes shut, panting as Wesker pressed in, slowly. Inch, by inch. He was stretching her out, and it burned. She panted, trying to arc her hips up into him, but those hands locked her in place.

"Look at me." She opened her eyes, confused. Wesker changed his grip to pin her soft thighs to her sides. Marigold flushed, realizing how exposed this left her.

He pulled himself back, nearly all the way out. Then pistoned back in, hard. The sense of burning intensified for a scant moment before subsiding. The heat in her belly crested, and she clenched hard around him with a tiny moan. Wesker held himself there, visibly straining, one hand moving down to press small circles to that little bundle of nerves and - oh. Her moans took on a broken, stuttered quality.

Marigold tried to arc back further, only to find the position had stolen away any leverage she might have had. When she reached to grasp him by the forearms, wanting to move, she found her wrists suddenly pinned above her head with one large hand. The sound that came from him was almost inhuman in its predatory ferocity.

Then finally, finally, he started to move inside her. Out, slowly, Snapping back in with enough force to jolt her whole body. Again. Again. Faster. Marigold wrapped her free leg around his hip, meeting him thrust for thrust.

Blinding, bruising pleasure. Lips, teeth, nerves, all blending together. She came, over and over again in rapid succession before his body, caging her in, tensed gloriously and let go.

A moment passed as he slumped over her to one side, both breathing in ragged bursts. The alarm Wesker had set earlier blared to life, startling her slightly.

Wesker smirked at her. "I'm assuming you slept."

Marigold scowled and batted at his shoulder half-heartedly. There was an odd sense of freedom in being able to do that little thing without calculating her strength. "I did," she says quietly.

Somewhere in the next wing, two technicians looked at each other, faces pinking. The taller one, who had unknowingly been dubbed 'Statler' by their resident patient, smirked. "Twenty bucks."

"Dammit." The shorter man reached for his wallet, expression sour. "I hate this place."

"I told you, never bet against the desert island scenario. "

I don't want to be here when Gilligan leaves the island."

"Better hope that it's someone else's rotation then."