The antebellum plantation that Jill had bought was huge, two stories of nothing but massive windows for natural lighting, a full finished basement the only thing she'd completed, and expansive attached land. And older, she was good for that, liked them older and with character. Jill enjoyed the old things she could fix or repair. Just like how she felt about her old partner and nursing him back to health after her return from death even though she'd done a shotty job of that. Piers had picked up where she left off though, and turned the world right side up again, even if it meant his own soul as a price. Still, it was a nice patch of heaven in the middle of nowhere with a surrounding wood that kept the pesky onlookers who did take the back roads, away. Four shattered windows in rear from the years of disuse and then flaking paint. Just an ordinary white decrepit thing to anyone else, but splendid home despite looking like shamble to Jill, with a picket fence in desperate need to repair. It would be cute, if they weren't looking to hide from their own people. This place made them look like soldiers hiding in an underground railroad, or that the British would march through with their rifles and burn it to the ground in their sleep. Whatever the case there was one thing this place had that no other place did. It had been Jill Valentine and Chris Redfield's object of affection for almost a year, with a zillion rooms for storage and a basement filled to the brim... with whatever two B.S.A.A. specialists could ever want, and from the outside? A run down oldstyle Georgia home with nothing but a few broken windows and a front porch swing that was dragging where the chain broke, clanking in the wind.

The long time rumbling of a muffler in need of a tune up had become the swan song of the two S.O.U. run aways, the only constant in their currant flight. A lurch of the truck coming to halt, shifting it's gravity forward startled the sniper awake from recovery, started with eyes bursting open until he realized it wasn't an assault but rather just the halt to their voyage. Sighing a heavy breath, he cracked his back using his own palm shoved against his spine from the discomfort it caused sleeping in a truck with no lumbar support, feeling disks shoved dramatically back into the position with loud pops. The seats killed his back along with the balance of his hips from being slumped so precariously in his seat. Biting the inside of his cheek, sharp eyes rest on the magnum; stealing it away from the other party, shoving it forcefully into the small of his back where what was left of fatigues hugged it to him. There was no holster to hold it for him, and even then he never had carried a weapon such as that, Chris was the true marksman, despite his old status. Piers preferred long range weaponry, but as it was the only thing he was fully capable and willing to carry it. "You're sure this place is safe right?" Rhetorical. Chris was rarely ever not sure and when he was it wasn't something he readily admitted. They had the record from China to prove that. Slipped out of the truck, kicking the door shut with hands trust deep in his pockets, Piers leaned against the cold metal of the hood, crossing his feet at the ankles, tipping back his head to look at the constellations. Long time soldiers could tell where they were approximately by using them. He'd never picked up that ability, but they were still beautiful. They would have lost their appeal if everything in life had to have a purpose. After coming back alive from that Hell hole under the sea, it became easier to recognize the beauty in the little things.

Chris followed suit shortly after, exiting out the driver's side and took a good look at the place. Jill intended to fix the place up, but intentions all good and fine when you are someone with enough time and independence to spend a lifetime fixing up a house and making a family for it. People like them though, all it was was good intentions. She never got around to it due to the endless missions and their lives complicated by every new threat to society. After that, with the end in sight she found herself being used by Albert Wesker for two years and considered dead. Once Chris and Sheva rescued her, she honestly forgot about the place since she was busy getting her life back together again. It made sense. What kind of person faces death and then returns to the world with an invigorated sense to fix up old houses. She abandoned the project and bought a house near base. Chris had come here from time to time though; to bring guns, ammunition, and other supplies here that might be something essential come the plague, an outbreak, or well... this. He never bothered to fix the entire home up, it wasn't as though Chris Redfield had time of his own to be a handy man, but if the entire world went to shit, he wanted to be ready for it. There was a small basement where he kept the supplies he would bring over more storing like a squirrel. Also, he kept one of the rooms clean for his use completed for overnights. The others were set up rooms for everything required come the eventual book of Revelations. After all Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, and Piers Nivans were soldiers, not family types. "Piers, one of the rooms should be remotely clean since I used it last time I come by," Chris said fishing out his duffel from the back and hooking it over his broad shoulder. He went to the back of the truck to remove the guns and ammo he had stored there as well in a place normally people with real jobs kept their tools. "I will put these down in the basement. That's where I keep the extra guns, ammo, and anything else you might need. There should be a couple of sniper rifles down there too, a few I've used over the years, but you are going to need to clean them up they haven't seen use in a few years. Why don't you go on ahead, I will meet you in my room in a few minutes," Chris grumbled as he unloaded his truck, heading within to get to work. There was a lot that needed to be done before they could even consider relaxing in any capacity.

Chris' deep voice jerked the sniper from his thoughts over the belt of Orion, following it toward the dippers he could never quite locate even as a child. His hazel eyes flicked over to the man collecting guns from the trunk and gave a brief nod not truly focusing all his attention on his captain If he were to think too long on the matter, it was possible he'd start in too soon, before they really had time for that conversation. Sniper rifle. Those were the last words he heard before his legs took him already halfway to the house, the rest of what his captain prattled on about. That was something he needed, something that would help make him feel whole again. He never felt better with a rifle snuggly braced again his shoulder. The door was locked bu of course, but the broken out window didn't really serve as any kind protection not that much traffic passed through this part of the country side. It was a body length window, old and meant for letting in the natural lighting, big enough for throwing himself through it foot first by grabbing the frame of it as leverage and landing on his feet. Gun pulled at the ready, mismatched eyes made tour of the darkened halls, one handing the magnum and letting his right hang to the side. He secured each room too many to count on the first level before; instincts on a contact high from being so long out of the field as he cleared each individual room before slipping down into the basement. A quick tug on the pull chain lit it via swinging light bulb enough to find what he wanted making note that obviously Chris had never come at night or preferred the Umbrella agency creepy zombie style of ambiance to normal lighting.

It was no anti-material and the scope was shit, but Chris had definitely stock piled weapons to his credit. His feet echoed off the unfinished walls, rafters with cobwebs dangling and sweeping over lean shoulders as each step was traverse, bringing him with ease to the gun cabinets, which yawned the expanse of three of the four walls, the last a work bench. An M40 bolt action quickly found ti's way into his loving hands, fingers tracing the curvature of the weapon with familiarity and giving it the attention desired, finger prints showing on the dusty casing. It felt so comfortable in his hands, a weapon he'd learned to use several years back before entering into the the army, fingering and drawing back slide checking for the rounds to make certain the weapon wasn't preloaded. She needed TLC, but she was superior to anything else in this cabinet in reference to long ranged weaponry. The Lightning Hawk and all its heft was quickly removed and replaced by an S.O.U. 9-0-9. He didn't need a magnum with his handgun and it was overkill in a pinch, he required more finesse, but this was Chris' arsenal and he was well known for both bark and bite. Slipping the scope up to his eye, he felt the ease of his body move into position, gripping a stand for it along with the ammunitions required, enough to supply him with getting the gun ready properly sighted and more for the oncoming battle. The only thing missing was the... at least Chris was thorough, the cleaning supplies.

Jogging up the moth eaten carpeted stairs, clear past Chris without any acknowledgement, mounting the steps of the first floor, then the second, and winding through the steps all the way to the highest most floor; just finding the highest point and immediately setting himself to the task at hand. Finding a window faced in the direction of B.S.A.A.'s most likely resource of a chopper. If one were to come it would be from that direction. At that, he cleared out the window, destroyed all remaining glass with a shatter, pieces raining down on the wooded porch below, clearing the rest out with his sleeve and kicking the shards aside with a booted foot. First to a knee, he lowered his body one hand to brace on the ground as he put weight to one hip and shifted his leg up to counter balance so that he was, laying prone, feeling comfort wave over his body. This place was his, a bubble of personal space surrounded Piers like a white light that no one couls see but blocked out all the noise and static and calmed his heart rate. In a different world this would be the only thing, his only thing... but those dreams were lost in China. Alligning the sights would be last, and first, would be to clean, fingers already weaving and getting to work with the rags and oils, his fingers burning with the familiar sting of old friends. He could easily live in this own personal bubble of his, where no human dared enter for hours on end the comfort and sanctity of it cleaning like a wonderful and expansive catharsis. After the moon hit the center sky and at last the pieces of a puzzle were soothed together to mate in a beautiful ceremony, Piers sighed, and dropped the scope to lock in position, and started religious ritual. Marking their position.

Knowing the captain, he intentionally let Piers go ahead of him into the house while he took his time, allowing him the long needed exercise of securing the area and getting some time alone to recover from what he could only feel to be the most invasive of moments in his lifespan. He knew that Piers was going through something he couldn't help him with, he could relate now yes, because his own body was going through changes he didn't yet understand. But Piers was always different than Chris on that level, Chris was a man of action, Piers lived inside his head. He needed space always did, he lived with about ten feet of personal space all around him at all times. But all he needed was time, it was all he ever needed. To process, then find the highest point to lie down and scope the area, sooths the savage beast. It was what he did in the field and since both men were in a dangerous situation with everything going on, Piers was going to do what he was familiar with. As Piers went downstairs to the gun room, Chris closed his eyes for a moment and let the world stand still.

He could remember Wesker hunting him down in West Africa like a feral cat, using nothing more than his superior sense of hearing and couldn't help at wondering how long it had taken for Wesker to come to understand his virus. To become a the machine he was, to control those abilities rather than blindly push forward on faith as they had done at the quarantine facility. A genius such as Albert Wesker, one who had spent a lifetime studying, hadn't required much time at all to become a force to reckon with, one that no man, even himself could hope to match. Without an understanding of virus genetics or anything else for that matter all he could do was go on instinct, the way that a baby learns to take their first steps, except Chris was a bull in a china store and didn't have time for baby steps. Instead, he made the obvious choice, test out the new equipment, learn the ropes the down and dirty way and just do it. Straining his ears, all Chris' concentration drifted to the floors above and below. He could hear footsteps going down stairs and knew it was Piers just from the characteristic swagger of musicality to his step. Chris could also hear Piers picking up and setting down weapons, sorting through gear and combing through the necessities. He listened for a couple of minutes longer and then stopped focusing to his ears as best as possible, senses befuddled by their sudden sharpness. The home was secured, enough to do the job, but securing the lower levels to invaders or the expected, their B.S.A.A. comrades was necessary and Chris shook away his want to explore these new found abilities, and sorted out the objectives. Safety first.

Chris knew some of his senses were better, but if he focused on one of them, they would be enhanced until he stopped, until all other senses were blotted out and he could could feel his sight fraying as he focused only on hearing and the same repeated when he put too much focus on his eyes, and the world became mute, tasteless, and all other senses ran a muck. . This was different than with Wesker it seemed, because with his arch rival the man seemed as though his senses were always enhanced all of the time, they were in fact his normalcy after injection, where Chris required to train his thoughts. Wesker was an advanced being, not an immortal one, but he was advanced, and it had made him a supremacist. Chris honestly wondered what else he could do, but he knew he had some things to do, so he went inside the home to drop off the weapons he brought with him and to pick up some to take for a stock pile within the room he wanted for security purposes.

Chris went directly into the gun room and unloaded the weapons he brought with him, completely depositing those inside his duffel and replacing them with the necessaries that he wanted fro his security upstairs. He was always prepared for the worst case scenario since the Raccoon City incident where basically his favorite horror movies as a kid came walking right out of the television and he was forced to deal with those people that he'd know so personally. He was the only one left from Raccoon that didn't want to forget what happened. Who wanted to remember such a time? The man who wanted to be prepared for everything and anything including the inevitable possibility that some day down the road it wouldn't be him hunting them, but them hunting him. Dealing with Umbrella, Tricell, and Albert had taught him to always be prepared for the worst. His gun room had more than regular guns in it. He had a thousand and one cataloged grenades, timed and remote mines, to which he noticed some were missing no doubt thanks to the man above, shotguns, sniper rifles (looks like Piers took one of them as well), machine guns, and handguns; a grenade launcher... He kept some of his old guns from his past in this room such as the ones he used when he was in S.T.A.R.S. heirlooms and functional instruments of killing. There was also one more handgun in here that was a spoil of war: Albert Wesker's custom Samurai Edge. Chris grabbed the gun and held it in his hand. 'You used your powers for personal greed and to take over the world. That kind of power is meant to protect not to destroy. That is the difference between us Wesker.' If there had ever been a time that Albert had felt human emotion then Chris didn't know it, but these powers were not for destroying a universe they strove to protect, it was for saving the one person he knew stood for all that honor and loyalty. Piers was the person he loved even if at the time he hadn't known it. Chris set the gun back down, grabbed his 9-0-9 handgun, assault rifle, a magnum, and two grenades before abandoning memory lane. He saw Piers go past him as he went to the highest point in the home. Chris went to up his room and set his weapons down on the table, time to prep. He began to think of the plans that needed to be made so both men could get out of the country.

Piers fingers nimbly adjusted the sight of the weapon that his Captain had dutifully supplied. He'd loaded her and had pulled the targets out of the sky without a second shot. He was hitting all the easy sweet spots and clinging to the grip, tightening it to his shoulder before relinquishing his hold on the weapon, stroking one hand over the top of it as a sort of praise to the device. The black metal left a faint tingle in his hands of beautiful familiarity before he left it staged toward the road abandoning the project to do recon on his captain below. His feet moved silently until he hit one of the squeaky boards that Jill hadn't had time to fix with her career in mind. It made him chuckle after the startle wore off, making note that if the end came, fix the squeaky floor boards, leading himself into Chris' door frame, comfortably settled there with arms taut across his lithe chest and embracing a large breath, the first sigh of relief. "Looks clear upstairs... probably won't stay that way but your truck is fairly nondescript, Captain. I'd say until they break out heavy artillery they won't be onto us for at least 6 hours... that's give or take considering the resources at H.Q. have never been high on the front of a man hunt and they won't want to raise any flags that will get them into the dog how with any local government or higher up." A smirk threatened his lips curled into a smile watching the older man, even giving a report he could help at observing how easily he adapted to his new senses compared to his own experience with the mutated C- had been more of a nightmare. It still was a nightmare that Chris was infected but physically the man seemed fine, almost too perfect considering their situation.

Swallowing down the heat and tightness in his throat, a hand slipping up to feel the warmth sliding under his hand and flesh before pulling it away, making certain the motion went logged as nothing more than a dry throat. Understandable considering his screaming for the last few hours. Chris informed him in the car it had been days..., no wonder he'd broken finally, but they hadn't discovered everything. They hadn't discovered all his personal changes and they hadn't been able to contain him either. He still kept his own secrets and those would go with him to the grave if possible, the less mutated people thought he was the less likely it would be for others to not trust him, that other being the one person who had come to save him from that Hell hole. The last thing he wanted was his Captain being any more worried than his state already suggested, he was still covered in blood and grim from the days before, and his being was almost completely worn from the physical exhaustion required when the virus took hold and he blew out the building he was being kept in. That entire scenario was one he'd sooner forget, considering it had landed them here, running from their own organization and completely dismantled. This was his fault, in a few manners of speaking, but he couldn't help blaming the captain for coming to get him. It was his professional responsibility to turn himself over, it was Chris' personal one to keep him safe.

His thoughts didn't stay long on that line of thought; they changed gears as soon as his eyes rested on his point man's muscled back, easily visible through the stretched shirt that tried and failed to hide his body. Chris was so much better than the rest of the world and Piers never wanted to leave his side again no matter if it had been right to do, there was nothing more right that Chris. Through thick or thin, this was his Captain, one he'd sacrificed his life for. He would struggle through this beside him, if this was really what his captain wanted. Still his thoughts were stolen from the worry at hand and fled, wanting a back of scars and map of history on that massive back, unintentionally earning him a snarky remark form his sniper that most likely in this instance shouldn't have been aired. "Need to learn to buy bigger shirts Captain... that one is doing nothing but aiding the imagination."

Smooth tenor had a way with winding its way so inappropriately in times likes this and sounding far more fitting despite their currant situation. It didn't matter though, this was the man Chris strove to save and protect, so it couldn't have been more appropriate to respond, it was a delicate reprieve from this war. Chris always knew the shirts he wore sometimes were tight on his frame, more than tight; like a second skin that advertised his physical prowess, but he loved the way they felt and in the field, they were practical for him to wear. Of course right now, he could feel Piers' eyes on him not seeing the technically helpful parts of tight clothes but rather just what lay beneath, and he turned around to take a look at his ace. Piers still had the remains of his torn outfit from when he was at the Quarantine Facility and they did very little to hide that wonderful body that Chris loved to look at, no matter if Piers personal bubble included being blatantly stared at. The two hadn't spent time together to be together in nearly forever, and on top of that as proud and as certain of themselves as they were they were never truly physical. Those kinds of moments weren't the kind shared between captain and sniper even if one of them was never shy on the matter. They were soldiers though, and tender moments weren't in their vocabulary, and breeching rank wasn't in Piers' vocabulary. Despite all the obvious hindrances though, Chris wanted to have Piers in the worst way and he wanted him now. Getting up from his chair at the table side where he had been going over weaponry and cleaning up gear for the possible assault on their persons, he abandoned the project and walked over toward Piers. The bloody clothes still in place and drying against his broad pectorals, that never seemed to break his stride, nor the straying eyes on his frame. He invaded Piers' personal space in one step, his eyes beginning to glow a dark sanguine. Chris put his hand against the door frame and issued the challenge. "If you don't like my shirt Nivans, then take it off me."

Chris could almost hear Piers' heart skip a beat entirely, knowing full well the expressions and well read mannerisms of his partner and how quickly they changed when Chris issued anything akin toward challenge toward him. He could see the swallowing again as Piers stopped to let his eyes roam over the plains of muscle hidden by fabric, eyes resting lower on his stomach dragging hungrily. He knew they shouldn't be thinking about this, about how Chris always smelled like musky cologne and gunpowder, how even looking at the man was sinful. The blood sticking to him was ungodly off-putting but not enough so to stray his sights. His tongue curled in his mouth, fight the urge to break the tension and reach out and touch him, just to feel his body and those hard muscles under his fingertips. They were supposed to be hiding. Still, fuck, everything about his Captain made him shiver at the thought, sparks dancing between his fingertips as his clawed the fabric loosely cupping his hips as his breath hitched from the way Chris eyed him conceitedly, knowing the effect he created on the poor sniper. The crimson like hue of those eyes bore straight into him daring him to invade that last ounce of personal space he retained but instead they both held back, Piers tipping his head back against the frame, his cheek resting beside Chris' fingers that clutched the door frame under a crushing grip. "That's alright Captain, I fine admiring the view." Whatever was wrong with his throat however wasn't happy to just stand back an watch and it coiled practically cutting off air being so close to Chris' heavy scent.

Chris smirked at Piers' attempt to back away from what was going to happen, it was like this though. His sniper was well versed in everything except intimacy and he shirked away like an uneducated child, but Chris knew what he wanted and how to get it. Everything going on aside his frustration had built up in other ways and just the implication between them was enough to make those things take a backseat. He felt too hot and horny at this moment, but then Piers had that effect on him even before they were ever together, it had started long before, when they had first become partners. When Chris told Piers he belonged to him, he truly meant it in every sense of the word, no other part of him had thought of anyone since, and he put his career on the line for this man so many times before. It he didn't realize how he felt by now then his sharp as a tack ace was duller than blunted crayon. But right now, it was too fun and there was too much tension to say no. "I am having a hard time admiring the view," Chris smirked, Piers eyes narrowing and portraying his infamous confusion toward his captain's advances until Chris grappled Piers without time to react and kissed him. Chris poured every bit of passion into the kiss and without subtext or coy games and pressured his body against the damaged soldier, his hands struggling to rip off the remaining bits of clothes Piers had been regrettably been confined within. Chris knew his partner, his reluctance toward anything but being a machine, but he wanted Piers to truly 'feel' what he was feeling at this moment how flooded he was after the adrenaline pumped through his veins. Chris was going on pure instinct and he grabbed onto Piers while still kissing him, tipping their foreheads together. 'Do you feel this Piers? Just let go…'

There were muffled words meant to stay between only them lofting in the air, but Piers' words tumbled off as Chris' mouth sealed on his own, letting the man hold him tight to the frame of the door smothering him, his back gouged against it and not caring as his shirt was torn up over his shoulder blades, seperating their kiss only long enough to throw it aside, not that there was much left to the tatters anyway, discarded on the floor beneath stumbling feet. His lean form fit perfectly to Chris' larger one, but then neither were small men, they were fit and hard muscled, slick with blood and sweat the way soldiers were meant to be. Quick reflexes found dexterous hands snapping to the trim waist of his older lover, holding them apart just as well as his strength would allow to keep their bodies from melting into one another. Stronger and faster, Chris had the upper hand in every department except agility and there the younger man triumphed much to his captain's chagrin; releasing his grip on muscled hips and peeling away off the door frame before ducking under Chris' bicep and stepping backward through the room. Air restricted, wincing shortly against the wave of electricity that surged over him courtesy of the adrenaline Chris pumped him full with as well as the arousal of the game they played at. Gritting his teeth against the feeling of those other things squirming in his throat and distracting from the unadulterated pleasure of the single moment they shared. He always felt strongly for Chris, once they had become more than partners though it had become more more difficult to express himself instead of easier. Each step took him further away but bought him time to accommodate to the flurry of emotion that attempted to over take him, along with the wrought voices in his mind hissing violent orders at him to throw Chris to the wall and caution to the wind and act solely on impulse. "Tell me Captain. What you said in the truck... Who do I belong to?"

Chris was obviously amused at his Piers trying to play hard to get, or to get away at all considering their obvious situation. 'Always so stubborn,' Chris thought. He felt pure titillation from Piers via their bond, and then notice just as he thought it... they had a bond. Whatever it was that had happened to these two, whatever had been transmitted between their systems through their shared mutation was binding. Was that even possible? To be connected to Piers on a purely instinctual level? To feel what they had almost like animals sensed through a sort of sixth sense. Through pheromones and otherwise? Perhaps why he could tell his partner was going through an anxiety attack over just having their mouths meet. But he was going to win this game, and with an added weapon to aid in his arsenal now it would make things potentially easier. Piers had more agility that was certain, and the virus enhanced it even further, but this was close quarters; Chris was faster and stronger than his Piers. It was interesting to feel the sort of dedicated struggle within his partner, with their bond, but he could feel the underlying reason for it and knew full well that it was the same one he was willing to overcome right here in this room once they discarded any remaining concerns.

Turning around to face his lover who was across the room now Chris slipped a smile on his features, removed his shirt and dropped it along with the pieces of his hospital issued pale blue, stained crimson. Chris noticed that Piers unconsciously licked his upper tier, moistening it either from his display of prowess or because of the kiss from his Captain taking all his breath away. Slowly, he walked towards the sniper each step measured, who was getting himself backed into a corner literally and figuratively. Piers was always a challenge, on the field and off, this was how being with him was and after so many years in the field and their associated nature to the military it was the only way. Chris' red, slitted eyes showed amusement, but more over lust. He smirked a lopsided grin at Piers when he realized now that he had snaked his way backward into a corner there there was nowhere to go and after a single hiccup his captain wasn't going to relent particularly after his small display of smugness pertaining to the shirt, or the way their lips melded together. It was something that mattered to him. Where before it would never have mattered that the blurred line that existed for them was a place lost between soldier and commander, and lovers. Piers never accepted the latter. He'd admitted to his feelings all of once, but since then it had always been Chris to be the straight forward take action type. He didn't need an invitation to act, never had. Piers needed incentive, needed a push to remember he wasn't just his captain's soldier all the time, and more over it would never be the same way again.

The greatest of epiphanies was that the fact that Chris had been altered in such an immense way that it was incapable of understanding everything but he understood one thing very clearly. The virus connected them more than he had ever expected. It connected these two soldiers on a level they could never have comprehended, it a way that seemed to make such sense to Chris. All his hesitations, his concerns were gone. Piers small quirks the man had all the reservations, he could feel them. Chris made him feel whole, but he scared the absolute shit out of him at the same time, and he had absolutely no idea why. It was more than like that same physical aspect that he carried and the rank. Piers was a soldier through and through. But if he could make Piers realize that that this virus... the way he'd been blocking it out for all these months, fighting it; if he just let the virus finish what it had set out to do, then he would feel this too, feel the connection that there truly was between them. Once that was done, Piers would be better off and the two of them would have an empathic bond that went both ways. Chris truly wanted Piers to 'feel' what he felt, especially at times like this. "You belong to me, Piers. You are mine. Mine to love, mine to possess, simply put, mine." Chris said it to deep, low, and dangerous, the way he was, commanding. He didn't need his superior speed, but the strength exhorted to grab and hold Piers in place was enough to keep him from the struggling he was so known for. He looked at Piers with his glowing red, snake-like eyes that looked resembled the raging inferno within the volcano in Kijuju. As he grabbed onto Piers, he kissed him with as much passion and love as he could muster, loosing himself inside the man. He knew Piers wouldn't be able to escape his hold , but Piers wasn't in control of his electrical powers, and he could feel the shocks arching off his body, tearing through his fingertips where he held tight to him, burning him to the bone. It had killed him to the core the last time they'd been intimate, the only time they ever had been. Piers' electricity amplified with his heart beat. He'd nearly suffered a heart attack being with him because the surges of energy, but now, his skin felt none of it, it was a warmth that burned into him in trails of a kind of tingle pain that tapered off and pooled in his stomach like a well known feeling he could recall. He didn't understand why the white sparks weren't hurting him, but they were deliciously sinful, making him groan into the younger man's mouth. 'Piers, I love you so much! Just give in to me Piers. Be one with me.'

"Yours," the words were soft, whispered against Chris' demanding lips, reveled in them, letting those pouty pillows part and slid his tongue tauntingly against his Captain's. The helix inside his mouth, those things inside him he'd hidden so well stirred, threatening to slip up and invade the warm cavern of his own mouth, making him bring the tiers back together. Eyes flutter shut, his hands finding those taut strong muscled pectorals and narrowly taking ribbons of flesh as they slipped over his plains, nails catching on strong abdominal muscles and threatening further as jolts of electricity slid over his skin like velvet. "What makes you think I'm yours, Captain? What makes you think I belong to anyone?" His own body couldn't help but react, mumbling against those strong kisses holding him fast to the corner. "I don't feel owned Captain..." His right hand pressed hard against Chris' chest, lightning flashing over them and through his fingers shocking him back with an almost playful look despite at how aroused the captain was getting despite the lightning teeth gouging his skin. Chris had to earn that title if he wanted it so badly.

The scores of electric surging off of his partner's body increased with every second longer that they kissed, and Chris felt every moment that the feeling danced inside their mouths, sparks against his tongue. Piers couldn't control the lightning as much as he couldn't control his heartbeat, the exposure to his captain enough to turn a naturally stoic soldier into complete putty in his hands. The two were locked together, Chris' hands winding while Piers, tongue urged him on, his fingers weaving into the legs of what remained of his own clothing. In prior days it would have been impossible to stay together this long. Being this close to the electric shards that weaved around his body was like being in the eye of a storm, heat and fire burning his flesh, but instead he felt a kind of tingling, a heat that swirled and bit into his fingertips and pooled into the pits of his stomach. He felt no pain from this whatsoever. He did feel whoever, an incredible amount of pleasure from what Piers was unintentionally doing to him. Part of him wanted to give
into the pleasure his body straining to stay poised while their hardened bodies meshed together in the heat of their mouths, but if he did that then Piers would win and Chris would not allow that to happen. He resisted what Piers was doing to him, eyes clenching shut as they warred for some semblance of dominance. Chris' pants were already uncomfortable, straining from the amount of tension growing between them even now, and now they were burning away from the amperage that surged off his partner; kicking away shoes and socks, but he never released his hold on Piers. If anything, Chris held on tighter and showed that he was not in any pain at all on the contrast from the man heatedly grimacing in his arms from both agonizing pain that wounded his body. The way Piers fought with the c-virus, refusing to allow it to take him over, and at constant battle with the voices in his head, the soldier was swallowed in pain warring within his tightly muscled body, while his captain was filled with a lush arousal that had him keening for more. Like the facility, flesh went unmarred, despite how the white lightning tore way what remained of his clothing. But it was Chris who hedged first; and while he kissed Piers those hands holding him so tightly in place, slid down sweat soaked electrified skin down his abdomen to brush his calloused fingers over Piers' cock.

The mutated C-Virus changed both men in different ways. Piers' body mutation was externally-based while Chris' is internally-based. Piers' mutation was on display for everyone to see, and it gave his self confidence a huge gouge while eyes seemed to constantly undress him down to the arm that twitched and constricted when his captain gave those forceful touches. While Chris' new mutation was hidden in a way. Chris' body was turning into the closest thing to a tank that an organic organism can get. Removing Chris' skin would be very difficult and bonded and created by the same c-virus hat plagued his partner they were created counter parts. Even if the electric could remove flesh as it ripped and teared away to make electric burns, there was another layer, a more... fitting layer, of skin underneath. Of course, there is more to that than meets the eye…

"Chris... stop..." Heat emitted from the infected duo as if they were a chemical reactor, the searing electricity as a result of the advanced genome mutation within Piers creating frantic currents within Chris' musculature. Pouted lips were dry and aggressively kissed by the elder man, muffling his protests and warning. Unwittingly, Piers had become a biological weapon, capable of mass destruction. He could still remember the excruciating pain which had racked his body in the underwater facility as he watched the monster pursue his Captain's escape pod. Electricity had filled the entire room, and the blast which came afterwards rivaled even that which Mother Nature could summon. His shining, silver ocular widened as the brawny arm of Chris reached down into his jeans to clutch at his meaty girth. Piers' stress level began to increase as he could sense the hormonal shift within the larger man above him, he could feel it. Chris was an impressive physical specimen, especially after the effects of the C- Virus, but how could he simply embrace and accept the changes the virus had upon him? Never again could Chris walk the streets without being persecuted or feared. He could never maintain a normal life. Albert Wesker had truly embraced his mutation, yet he had been the closest to genetic perfection a man could get. He had been an absolute genius, despite having become a megalomaniac. Piers clenched his eyes shut as electricity enveloped the two, turning his head to the side as he did his very best to suppress his power by keeping his heart rate down. Thoughts raced through his mind, and his own hormones began to go on the fritz, but the outcome of which would prove very differently than what happened to Chris. Accentuated pheromones began to warp, and he had no control over them as they seemed to come from his very pores. Not only can pheromones alter sexual attraction, they also have the capability of altering sensory perception. As his muscled pectorals heaved with each breath, the pheromones assaulted Chris not physically, but mentally. Soon, it seemed as if the room was spinning, more than the highest level of inebriation. There would have been multiple visions of Piers, haunting whispers within Chris' head just like the whispers within the walls of his own. It would not have been the worst that his pheromones could do, but it most likely would have been enough to allow Piers to squirm his way out from between the 'rock' and the larger physique of his Captain, stumbling a few feet away as he gasped, feeling the sudden lack of physical contact. Calm down, Piers... you can do it, step away; otherwise a section of Jill's house would become a crater.