Stage Nineteen: Absorption


Life goes on. It can't do anything but that. It was a series of moments where no one lived - and everyone survived.

Claire tried, she did, to fill her world with love and devotion and redemption. She clung to the idea of hope so hard that she was afraid she'd smother Piers with her needs. But he just...stayed. He kept on staying. He just kept coming back to her.

She choked him so hard once during sex he nearly passed out. Horrified, hurting, she'd hid in the bathroom until he came for her - and brought her back to bed to hold her. He didn't ask, but he knew whatever she'd lived in the Black Forest had made her a shell of herself. He just...kept on coming back to her.

Sherry refused Leon entrance to The Compound to see her.

He tried. Every day for three months, he tried. But she had him barred at the door. Claire was allowed, but he was forbidden.

After three months, he stopped trying.

Sherry cried herself to sleep for nearly a year in misery. Claire tried to explain, but Sherry quickly shut her down. She was done with him, she avowed, and meant it. She meant it.

But she slept with his jacket like a security blanket anyway.

She saw him only once, once, when Jill Valentine had stood been whisked away after her return from Africa to be deprogrammed. Alive, but a shadow, the woman who'd nearly killed him was hidden somewhere for intensive treatment. Leon and Sherry had stood in the lobby of the BSAA and locked eyes.

He moved like he'd speak to her and she turned away, sliding through the crowd. He ground his teeth and called, "...little fool!"

The glass of scotch in his hand was launched into the wall where she'd been like a bullet. It shattered, taking the ragged pieces of his rage with it. Heartless bitch, he seethed, to cut him out like he was nothing. Nothing.

He almost afraid he'd become obsessed with her. She'd bled her needs all over him - and left him empty when she'd fled.

He moved his way up the stairs to the bathroom. The mirror reflected his face back at him - haggard and old. Old. He felt a thousand years old, lusting after some young girl like an idiot. It was karma, his wanting her like he did. Karma. Because he'd used so many women - now he wanted the one he couldn't have.

He fucked other girls. He was grieving, not dead. He fucked plenty. Each one bored him.

The end of Albert Wesker was a gift. Joy spread through the world like the birth of Christ or something. People lined up to celebrate his demise in the bioterror field like someone had killed Hitler or Bin Laden. Hadn't they? They had...definitely.

The world was a safer place.

Claire broke down and wept, like nothing anyone had ever seen. Relief? Rage? Regret? She wouldn't say. She couldn't say. She grieved, in ways that had no name.

Piers stayed at her side, holding on. Silent. Supportive.

The night the news broke about Wesker's death, Claire and Piers made love - maybe for the first time. Soft. Needy. Slow. She purged the pain of it, the hate of it, the rage of it - and finally let him in.

She was never quite sure what was left for him to find in her. But she let him in. Neither knew what they'd build from the ashes of that acceptance...but they were going to try.

As the nightmares came and went, as the horror turned her to misery and sometimes madness that left them both aching, he stayed with her - offering her light when there felt like she'd drown in the dark. It was Piers, and Piers alone, that kept her grounded the moment Alex Wesker took her away to test her strength.

It was Piers that kept alive - because with him...she was no longer afraid.


Outside Edonia - 2012


She'd never figure out how he knew where they were sending her.

For Sherry, her missions were always so very simple, so very staid, so very boring. They sent her in to clean up and extract some target that was of little importance.

Until they sent her to extract Jake Muller. The information handed to her was so hostile, so unbelievable that she'd stared at Simmons like he had a second head. "What?"

"Muller is the offspring of Albert Wesker."

It seemed surreal, but she took the helicopter he poked her on to a small hovel in the outskirts of Edonia anyway. They needed his blood, Simmons said, to make vaccines. They needed him to change the world.

She'd be a hero if she brought him back. She was authorized to pay his price - up to a point - for his cooperation. He was a mercenary, they said, and would agree for right amount of money.

Sherry set her little bag on the cot in the hovel where she was staying. It contained her piece and her jacket. Nothing else. She had her phone, her gun, and her freedom - it was enough. If she completed this, Simmons told her, she was FREE. She could barely contain the feeling of desire that coursed through her veins.

She didn't think there was anything she wanted more in the world than her freedom.

The door rattled on her little hovel. It was little more than stone and dirt here. She was aiming down the barrel of the big gun she carried when the door edged open.

And she was very aware that there was something in the world she wanted more after all.

Leon Kennedy stood in the doorway of the hovel - in a torn black fleece and dirty jeans. He looked tired, beat up, and bruised. His hands were empty, he wasn't armed and yet, she hadn't dropped hers. She kept it on him.

"What do you want?"

He narrowed his gaze at her, "I came to help you."

She waved the gun at him, "Get out. I don't need your help."

She watched the anger on him and felt it shiver like an aphrodisiac over her. "Go play hero somewhere else, Leon. I don't need you."

That was a lie. A huge one. A big one. A massive one. She needed him. She'd always needed him. But Claire loved him. And she loved Claire. It was best to stay where she was, with him there outside her door.

He tossed the small assault bag in his hand on the floor and moved into the hovel. He kicked the door shut, flashing warning signs of rage around him. "Put the fucking gun down, Sherry, and stop being stupid."

She didn't. She put a bullet into the wall an inch to the left of his left ear. It made him freeze...and slowly lift his hands. "Easy. Take it easy."

She shook her head, "I said get out. I meant it. I'm not stupid. I don't need a savior. I don't need a hero. I am just fine, thanks. Get out."

He shook his head and the shaggy spill of his hair made her chest hurt. "What the fuck is wrong with you? This is business, Sherry. It's business. In 24 hours, you're going after the biological child of the most powerful hybrid known to man. We need him secured and you need all the help you can get. So let me help you, and stop being so stubborn!"

A long moment passed in silence. Her heart was slamming in her chest. She licked her lips twice and whispered, "Fine. FINE. But I'm in charge."

Surprised, he arched a brow, "The gun doesn't make you powerful, Sherry. This is what I do, let me do it."

Hoarsely, she whispered, "Take off your coat."

They held eyes, for a long, long, long moment. She felt her world dip and he finally spoke, gruff and deep, "I'm not armed. It's in the bag."

She breathed, "...prove it."

And the world fractured again. His hands raised and caught the zipper of the fleece. He jerked it down and shed the coat, tossing it on the floor. He grabbed his shirt over his head and she hissed, "SLOWLY."

She watched the command cause his teeth to flash like a wolf. He toed off his boots and held his arms to the sides, showing himself unarmed. She shook her head, "All of it. To the skin."

Jesus.

He grabbed at his belt and whipped the leather, throwing it to the floor. She instructed, sharply, "Kick the belt to me."

His eyes flashed again but he did it that too. His fingers popped the buttons on his fly and she caught a glimpse of him beneath. Nothing else. Just him. She felt her breath catch and hold.

And the jeans jingled as he dumped them on the floor.

He stood there, naked and beautiful. She hadn't look at him in years. She'd been so young and stupid. He was still beautiful - crisp with hair in the right places and muscled in a way that stole her breath. He was scarred and wonderful and perfectly made.

She breathed, "Touch yourself."

And shattered the last image of herself as the girl in his hotel at his command. He slid his hand around his dick and rolled it, holding her gaze across the room. It was a moment of power so intense, she damped her panties just looking at him. Her breathing was catchy and raw.

She kept the gun on him and kicked off her boots. She peeled her pants down her legs and her panties in a single jerk. The gun wavered as she moved toward him.

He shook his head, stroking himself. His voice was breathy and damning. "Don't, Sherry. This is business. Don't do this."

"Shut up. Do you hear me? Shut up and touch me."

His other hand moved. It crossed her hip and dipped lower. She shivered but kept the gun on him. "Two. Sharp. Now."

He obeyed and pushed two fingers into her so quickly that she made a gasp of pain. Her hand shot down to grip his wrist as he held them there, watching her.

She could end it like this, with him hard and ready. She could deny him and hurt him and be done with it. But she couldn't. She wanted to own him. His thumb parted her folds of its own and stroked her clit, taunting her. She let him, leaning into the touch and his fingers moved in her, slow and damning.

He breathed, "Damnit, Sherry. Damnit." He dropped his gaze to watch his fingers penetrate and retreat. He let go of his own dick to push the other hand under her shirt and find her breast beneath it. No bra, no cover, it slipped into his waiting palm to peak for him.

He grunted, "You want me to fuck you?"

He slid his eyes up her body. She shook her head no.

And she was stronger than him. She was. They both knew it.

Something must have been on his face. He slid his fingers out of her. "Don't."

The gun clattered to the floor.

Sherry grabbed his face and startled him. She jerked him up to her mouth and forced her tongue on him so that he had to open she'd break his jaw. He opened and she fucked his mouth, fisted a hand in his hair, and possessed him.

When she let go, he made a sound. "Don't, Sherry."

'I'm sorry." And she looked it.

She pushed a hand against his chest and sent him stumbling. He bumped the cot and ended up sitting. He lifted a hand like he'd stop her and she knocked it aside. She shoved him on to his back and jerked him over by his hair. He caught her wrist and she shoved his shoulder. He hissed but it wasn't terrible. It only stung now. He was bruised and wounded.

He grunted, "Don't." Again. As if she'd care.

Sherry shoved him back and grabbed his hands.

She forced them over his head.

"Don't…Sherry. Don't."

Her hands jerked off her shirt. She caught his as he reached for her and bound him while he struggled. It was the first time he'd ever been controlled like this. By anyone, ever, anywhere. He wasn't a man who submitted. He just wasn't.

She bound him to the headboard like it was nothing.

He jerked, angry now. "Let me go."

"No. Shut up. Or I'll hurt you." She nipped his mouth and made him stop struggling to stare at her. And she whispered, "Do you want me to hurt you?"

He answered, "I want you to stop."

But he shivered. He shivered as she stroked his nipples with her nails and made a liar out of himself. She breathed, "I love you. I've missed you. Did you miss me?"

He shook his head no and her hand closed around his dick. He made a small sound as she worked him, watching his face. She tried again, "Did you miss me, Leon?"

He gasped, eyes flickering. "...yes."

"...I'm going to fuck you now."

"...Sherry,"He shivered again as she licked the tip of his cock, torturing him, "Don't."

"I'm sorry. I am. But I need you."

He gasped, bowing a little toward her mouth. "Let me go."

"...I'm sorry. I can't. I'm going to make you come for me."

She did. She straddled him and took him. He made a sound because she rode down on him so hard it almost made him come in her in one move. She grunted. And she rode his body with a wet, sticky, slapping rhythm that stole both of their breaths. She wasn't quiet. She wasn't still. She didn't obey.

She just took him.

He gasped, "Jesus Christ..."

Wild. She was wild. She cried out, she kissed him, feeding him her tongue. He craned his neck, he sucked it, he gave up and met each dive of her body down on him with a surge of hips. She fucked him so hard it hurt them both as she came down, went up, and came down again.

He gasped and she whispered, "I'm sorry. Oh, I'm sorry. MINE….please."

He'd never had a woman apologize for being obsessed with him. It was insane. She ground her mouth against his. "Please. Say yes...It won't hurt too much... Just me. Just me. Please. Say yes."

Undone, he let her claim him. "...yes."

It hurt him. It hurt his back and his legs and his hips. She was all speed, all strength. She went up, she smashed down, he lost his breath. Her breasts bounced, her hands held him down. She finally released his hands to sit straight up on him and roll.

His hands snapped up to grab her hips. He held on, shaking. He was shaking. It thrilled her. It killed her. She put his hand over her heart and threw hers on him to mirror it.

She gasped it, "Mine."

And she came. She came around him so wet, so tight, he couldn't do anything but answer it. He grunted, he surged. His back bowed, throbbing, and he hit the end of her while he spilled inside of her. She clamped around him and took. She took him. It was that simple. It was that complicated.

And then she collapsed on his chest and slid against the sweat of him.

She curled her fingers into his chest and gripped, feeling his heart hammer, feeling him shudder beneath her. He wheezed when he breathed. He breathed short and choppy. She died. She died on him while she wanted him.

Finally, he spoke into the sex filled silence, "….I said don't."

She trembled. "I know what you said. I just didn't care."

He wanted to be mad. He wasn't. He wasn't mad. He was pretty sure he was going to have a heart attack and die…but he wasn't mad. But that wasn't the point. At all.

He sat up and she spilled sideways in his lap. Oh god, she thought and waited for it. His hand curved over her bottom petting. And then it struck. He wasn't gentle. Not at all. He spanked her while she moaned, shaking, quivering, and gasping. He played his fingers into the sign of her victory of him, pushing them into her juices and his to torture her. And then he spanked her harder.

He spanked her pretty little ass pink and blushing. He played with her body and made her insane. She milked his fingers and mewled like a kitten while he punished her. Tender, she shivered as she arched into each blow.

The third time he brought his hand down she caught it and tugged. It spilled him to the bed beside her. She pinned his arms over his head and straddled him. "From now on, you only punish me when I beg for it."

Lord.

She gripped his sticky shaft in her hand and played with it. He was half erect before she even started moving her hand.

"But right now, you don't go until I tell you."

It was the moment he knew he was obsessed with her - the master had become the student. There was nothing left for him to teach her...and a lifetime of learning he was ready to begin.


Post Note: It feels like one last chapter to tie up this version of the story - potentially. I'm still feeling out how exactly I want it to end. It was never meant to be a happy ending - and as we know Piers soon meets his end, it can't end that way anyway. The obsession that bridges between Leon and Sherry isn't all beautiful, there are parts that redeeming in the sheer scope of submitting yourself to someone else completely. But the pain of that tight a bond would eventually choke you both.