Warning: Contains M/M, massive spoilers for RE 7&8, NON-CON, explicit sexual content, necrophilia/somnophilia, mentions of torture and vivisection, obsession, unhealthy behavior. This dove is as dead as it can be. Read at your own discretion - dark stuff ahead.
"Yo, Redfield! Taking out the trash again?" one of the younger guys called out. They belonged to the research staff in this Umbrella facility, an arrogant, vile bunch if he had ever seen one.
"Yeah, gotta take it back to its place," Chris replied, hiding his discomfort talking this way. "Only task I got for today, again."
"Easy life you got, old man," another laughed. "Don't break your back lifting! Those little shits are heavier than they look."
The group laughed and shooed him away, talking to him was beneath them unless it was to make fun of him. He pushed the gurney with the corpse around the corner and along the blindingly bright hallways to the elevator in one of the secluded corners of the building complex. The key card hanging on a strap around his neck allowed him access to the floors where the test subjects had their cells or, in case of the more valuable and docile ones, apartments. Those weren't any more luxurious than the cells, but gave the occupants a little more privacy.
Chris looked down at the lifeless body on the bed, trying to sort out his feelings of need and guilt. He was just supposed to dump the body back onto its bed and leave it there.
Threats and blackmail had reduced him to Umbrella's lap dog, running errands and wasting his life for a cause that was no longer his own. They were experimenting on the poor man he had just fetched from the operation theater, poisoning him and cutting out vital organs during vivisection as they pleased to study them under a microscope. Chris didn't know much about this Mold they wrote about in their reports, besides that the creatures it and this son-of-a-bitch scientist had created were nightmare fuel. If he was being honest to himself, Umbrella had probably counted on him dying in those mines while trying to retrieve the research notes, and now he was back against all odds, they didn't know what to do with a former soldier. Well, they had to keep him employed unless they wanted to risk him spilling the beans about their real work and goals. The BSAA was already under their control, the thing Chris had created himself corrupted to its core, but there still had to be organizations out there that would object to their methods.
The body had a name, Chris reminded himself. Sometimes he preferred to forget that. The durable ankle bracelet on his left foot said 'Ethan Winters', but they had never been introduced, not formally. Unless one counted the brief meeting when he had touched down from the helicopter, catching a glimpse of the 'survivor' of the night, before duty had whisked him away to chase after this rat-faced bastard with his traps and lose the last few good men he had under his command.
Another guy was tasked with bringing Ethan to the lab and preparing him, one of those medical students scurrying around the place like vermin. Chris didn't even know how Ethan's voice sounded, if his laugh was as delightful as slender hands, if he had dimples when he smiled. Every time he saw him, he was just a corpse being transported back to his two-room-apartment within Umbrella compounds. It was a job no one else wanted to do, the others had refused to convey him because seeing the same person freshly killed each week, only to escort him to his next death the next week was creeping the younger employees out. Redfield, the strange old man, was the only staff member willing to haul the corpse every time, no matter how late in the evening or early in the morning, when they called for a transport, he was there without fail. There weren't any cameras or bugging devices in that apartment, Chris checked for that on regular intervals. Maybe if there had been, things wouldn't have escalated the way they did.
Carefully, almost revering, Chris moved the body from the gurney onto the bed, making sure the head was positioned naturally on the pillow. He wanted it to look like the blond was sleeping, he needed to keep up the illusion. The hospital gown, all the body was wearing, wasn't a hindrance, it was usually only tied at the back of his neck. Chris had spent enough time looking around in the apartment to know where everything was and he always laid out some fresh clothes before he moved Ethan. Swallowing dryly, he debated with himself. It was a fight he could only lose each time.
It had started out so innocent, a little idle curiosity about the man he was pushing about the place. He had read about the wife, she was in another facility and no matter how often the man had asked, they wouldn't give him a chance to talk to her. Whenever Chris moved the corpse from the gurney to the bed, he felt so light, like he wasn't getting enough food. Or maybe he was, but his body used it all up to come back to life. He had made a mental note to leave him something to eat next time he had to transport him. Normally, he used the blanket that covered the surface as a protective layer to pull him over onto the mattress, but for whatever reason, that one fateful day he had decided to carry him. The body lay in his arms, soft and light like a down feather and as he put him on the bed, his hands touched cool bare skin. He had just wanted to catch a glimpse of what he looked like without this shapeless, thick fabric around him and so he had undone the knots that kept the strings together and pulled the gown off. The body wasn't as ethereal and angelic as Chris had imagined it, but slim and soft enough to stir up something in him. Confused about his feelings, he had haphazardly draped the garment over it again and realized that he had stared at him for several minutes.
The next time, he didn't hesitate to remove the piece of cloth. He cradled the body against his chest before laying him down and exploring the pale skin with his hands. The scars from the vivisection the week before were already gone, fresh ones stood out pink and red against intact tissue. Bruises bloomed all over him where he had been restrained. Chris traced them with reverence as he knelt between the spread legs, heart racing and erection growing at the sight and the knowledge that this man would come back to life, not like the things he had fought his whole career, but just the way he had been before his death - staring down at the naked corpse, it was like a revelation. He had never been religious, but this… to him, it felt like the return of his personal savior. When Chris was finally able to tear himself away from the view, he searched the wardrobe until he found some underwear and sweats he could put on him, his hands shaking.
That should have been the end. But the week passed and nobody called him out on the fact that the body had worn more than before he had transported him. He was tasked with the same route, the same cargo, again.
So, it started like this, slowly like creeping vines. The first time, going back to his own shabby apartment and jerking off to the memory. The following week, Chris didn't make it back to his place: After worshiping the fresh cuts and bruises and dressing Ethan, he barely managed to get into the tiny bathroom, releasing into the toilet bowl and rinsing both the spend and the bile following it down the drain.
From there, the decline was a steep spiral and he missed every chance to get out of the vicious cycle. Nobody questioned his presence in the apartment complex, he was just another lowly Umbrella worker. Light-hearted flirting with the head of housekeeping got him insight into the schedule of the cleaning troupes, he learned that they rarely had to bother coming to this part of the housing complex, except to provide new supplies to the occupants who kept their own places tidy and clean. The older lady had nothing but praise for the bioweapons kept there: polite, mostly quiet, proper. Winters had a foul mouth, but a kind heart and they used him to train new maids for higher security areas as their proximity warning devices reacted to his movements like they did to more dangerous bioweapons.
The younger scientists only saw Chris as an oafish brute, fit to hold a weapon, carry cargo, and follow orders, but not more - the older ones were too stuck-up and snobbish to even think anything of him at all. He took a bit of time transfering the body from the operating table to the gurney and read some of the research notes about the recovery time. What he read made him sick, all the experiments conducted and cruel ways they were killing him over and over again. When he knelt over him later, he told him that he didn't deserve this treatment.
He noticed the obsessive behavior he was developing, but without anyone caring about him or the B.O.W., it was all too easy to justify it to himself. He just wanted to help the blond to get through this, after all, even if he would never learn about this.
Chris should have never started carrying condoms in the vest pockets of his uniform. It was bad enough that he hadn't even bothered to leave the room to masturbate after the first shock had faded, but just sat down on a chair in the corner, then the next week on the edge of the bed, then right next to Ethan. The slight numbing of wearing a condom should have dissuaded him from jerking off over Ethan, but touching him and kissing his pale lips without leaving some evidence that could be his downfall was worth the decrease in sensitivity.
Chris had still tried to justify his behavior when he had rolled on the Trojan and pushed Ethan's legs together tightly, thrusting in between the thighs while he imagined Ethan moaning along with him. He was bringing him food, telling him he was deserving of so much more than Umbrella gave him, and promising the man he would get them out of here, even if that meant killing every single researcher with his bare hands.
The descent into this madness had taken not much more than two and a half months, hitting rock bottom when Chris broke the only strict rule he had set for himself and overstepped the last border.
The Y-shaped cut running over Ethan's chest and belly was still tender pink, a sign it was regenerating and it would still take a few more hours until he would wake up again. Usually, there was a break of a week until Umbrella did something that would kill him again. Chris had learned to plan around this, to estimate by the chart the researchers had drawn how long it would take the body to start working again after specific procedures and set a timer for when he had to leave. If he didn't want to feel as lonely and horny as he was for the week, he would have to make the time count.
Tracing his fingers along the cut, he placed a kiss on the pale lips and parted them with his tongue. No matter how often he did this, he couldn't get enough of this feeling, of the soft, warm mouth that contrasted the cold exterior skin so much. Ethan's outside was room temperature, but his inside was a furnace and Chris loved how it burned him, how the fever spread from the body to him, making him want, no, need more.
Moving down to the chest, Chris circled the nipples with his tongue and fingers, imagining the younger man whimper with anticipation.
"Do you like this?" he whispered hoarsely, pretending the other nodded. "God, I love you so much."
Carefully, he pushed Ethan's legs up towards his torso and kissed his way down towards the exposed midsection. He couldn't stop himself from gently, playfully, biting the soft flesh of Ethan's thigh while he held the legs in position.
"I know you can't get erect like this," he mumbled against the silky skin, "but I hope this feels good for you."
Goodness knew what kind of diseases he could catch, but Chris still ate him out when he was in the mood for it. He liked the fact that the blond was shaved clean down there, no matter if this was his own decision or something the staff did when they were experimenting on him.
The uniform stayed on, it always did in case he would have to get out of there quickly. He pulled his semi-hard dick from the confines of his pants and stroked it to its full size and, as he looked at the outline of his teeth on the pale skin, almost painful hardness before he rolled the condom down the length. Chris didn't prepare Ethan like he would have with a normal lover. Lube would raise too much suspicion and the lifeless body didn't put up that much resistance anyway - just enough to make it enjoyable. Maybe if that wasn't the case, he would be able to stop himself. With one smooth thrust, he pushed himself all the way in. He liked to think that Ethan was getting used to it and that he was enjoying the act as much as Chris was when he started moving. Surely, the blond would moan his name and push back against him. Chris lifted the slender legs to rest over his shoulders, allowing deep penetration that should hit the prostate with each thrust before sinking to the hilt into the tight heat. He held the ankles with one hand and wrapped the other around the flaccid dick that was hard and leaking in his imagination. He wanted to last long, but…
"Fuck, you feel so good," Chris moaned.
His hands grabbed Ethan's hips, nails digging into them as he trusted sharply, the soft slap of skin on skin and his own breathy groans fueling his fantasy that the other man was whining and whimpering for release under him and crying out his name when he reached his orgasm.
"I love you, Ethan," Chris groaned and with the next deep thrust he came, throbbing and shuddering as the latex caught the load. "I love you so much."
As much as he wished he could have a cigarette, he shouldn't smoke in here, this wasn't his apartment and leaving evidence could eventually get him in trouble. Chris wasn't sure if anyone even suspected what he had been doing for several months now, but since no one had asked about the breaks he took after bringing the corpse back, his secret seemed to be safe. No one cared much about him, anyway, as long as he did the one or two tasks he was given daily, none of them taking more than a few minutes.
So, he sipped on the beer he had brought with him while sitting on the bed next to Ethan, waiting for his recovery.
"I don't know about you, but I could go for another round," Chris mumbled and leaned over to kiss him again.
Gently, he flipped Ethan over onto his stomach and lifted his hips to place two rolled-up pillows underneath. Then he turned his head so he faced the mirrored surface of the wardrobe door, arms stretched out upwards. Ethan looked so inviting with his chest flat against the mattress and his ass presented like this, Chris hardly had to stroke himself to get hard again so he could put on another condom. He had always loved to see his partners in this position, ready and waiting for him to take them.
"Let's do it like this, I think you'll like it from behind," he whispered and positioned himself. "Relax, I'll be gentle."
Ethan rolled onto his side, arms wrapped around himself. There was a paper bag with some homemade food and a chocolate bar on the table. That guy always left something for him, fast food in the beginning when he had just looked - healthy, delicious home-cooked meals since the day he had first fucked him. Payment or recompense, Ethan presumed. He wasn't sure which was worse when he accepted the food, feeling like a victim forgiving their abuser or like a prostitute. His whole body shook as he wiped the tears running over his face. The scientists knew what happened after he was taken from the lab back to his place, he had told them after the second time. Maybe they didn't believe him or they didn't care. They mocked him when he had to give sperm samples every week, telling him to 'pretend his boyfriend was fucking him' or 'imagine he was getting back at the guy'. Besides, they said, no one would want to touch Ethan without gloves on, anyway, this had to be wishful thinking on his part.
One of the lead researchers had told him more about the stranger, his past and his fight against Umbrella, but in a twisted way that painted him as the crazy one, the villain, trying to stop progress and prevent a better future for humanity. Hearing what Ethan recognized to be a broken hero defamed like this almost hurt more than having his spleen pulled out again - his body was growing numb to the pain.
It wasn't that he enjoyed what this man, 'Redfield' according to the name stitched on the front of the uniform, did to him. Hard to enjoy something one was barely conscious for and during which one was unable to speak or move. At least the stranger was gentle, even though he probably knew that Ethan wouldn't feel pain. The way he touched him, almost in a worshiping way, telling him over and over how good he felt and how much he loved him, brought Ethan to tears every time he lay alone in his bed after the stranger had left and the soft touch lingered on his skin. Surely, if he could be in full command of his body, the other man would make sure he would be satisfied, too. He didn't know what he was supposed to feel anymore, hate towards him for subjecting him to this? Compassion for a sick, broken man?
"Hey, before we start today, can I make a request?" Ethan asked the scientist shackling him down to the examination table.
"Hm? How unusual for you to do that, Winters… you know, I can't make it painless. I already told you the narcotics mess with our methods," the doctor replied.
"No, it's not about that," Ethan assured them. "Could you… could you wait a bit longer today before you call the transport guy and give me a fresh cut when you do?"
"Is this about your crush again, Winters?" one of the lab tech guys asked. "I swear to god, you're out of your mind if you think anyone would do that with you, you freak."
"Yeah, I know, I know. I think you're right and I've imagined it all," Ethan said. "I just thought I'd thank him for handling my body with care and not dropping me. And maybe scare the shit out of him to remind him he's not in control, you guys are."
"Oh, playing games, are we? If you weren't a test subject, you would fit right with the team," the doctor laughed and fastened the silicon bit in Ethan's mouth so he wouldn't bite off his tongue during the procedure. "Sure, I can do that. Now, try to think of something nice, this is going to hurt."
Ethan closed his eyes and waited. When his nerves went haywire from undamped pain and his heart rate became erratic with blood loss, he surrendered himself to the sweetest daydreams: slaughtering every last one of these bastards, burning Cell Block A and all its irredeemable, feral inmates to ash and dust, and walking out of there. Maybe his visitor was the ticket to freedom he needed. It was about time Ethan had a talk with him.